Every human being that is connected with this work will have to be tested before he can enter into the Celestial Kingdom of our God. He will try us to the uttermost. If we have any spot more tender than another, He will feel after it. He will test all in some way or other. George Q. Cannon

Pure Joy

Lincoln is such an intense little boy.  His emotions could be described as elated and thrilled or angry and crazed rather than a simple happy or sad.  I love the light he brings into my life.  I love the dynamic he adds to our family.  Even though he is intense, he has a lighter personality than the rest of us.  I wouldn't describe me or Jason or Katelyn or Ethan as "light."  He has a great sense of humor.  my other kids can have a sense of humor if they are in the mood for it, but Lincoln is the jokester. He breaks us some of the meticulous and exacting natures of the rest of us.  He is like the sprinkle on an ice cream sundae...it just wouldn't be the same without them.  Here are a few pics of him.  okay...it's more than a few...

God's infinity does not preclude either His immediacy or His intimacy.
                                                                                                                      -Robert L. Millet

Death ends a life, not a relationship. -Jack Lemmon

Chastening

I don't know why I don't write as much anymore.  I'm sure anyone reading this really enjoys me saying that over and over again.  I can't put my finger on the change in me (and that bothers me).  I used to write several times a week.  I like being able to at least understand what is happening in my mind even if I can't always steer my thoughts in the direction I like.  I wonder why writing hasn't been as much a part of my life when I compare my feelings post Eli versus post Miles.  When Miles died something sort of snapped inside me.  I can't totally put my finger on that either although I spend a lot of time thinking and praying about it.  Maybe it is beyond my ability to grasp.  But...I do have the urge to share things every once in awhile. Today I was reading in Hebrews.  If you haven't read through this book in awhile, I invite you to do it.  A lot of what Paul said to these people has been very helpful to me.  In chapter 12 verse 11 he says:

"Now no chastening for the present seemeth to be joyous, but grievous: nevertheless afterward it yieldeth the peaceable fruit of righteousness unto them which are exercised thereby."

I looked up the definition of chastening.  I find that I frequently look up definitions as I study.  It's not that I don't know what the word means...or at least I think I have a general idea of what most words mean, but I usually gain added insights as I break it down.  One of the definitions of chastening is to prune of excess, pretense or falsity.

I hope (and mostly believe) that the non joyous chastening I have experienced and continue to experience and experience and experience is pruning me of excess...of anything that does not REALLY matter.  I want it to.

I also want it to help get rid of any pretense that is left in me.  I am not much for pretense.  I think the pretense part of my brain never really formed correctly and I am quite blunt and straight forward.  When me and Jason visited England I thought I might fit in better there.  Pretense seems almost absent from their culture.  People have told me this is refreshing, but I wonder.  It isn't always refreshing...(like if I say something you don't like).  I think we prefer the truth only if it agrees with us; if it convenient. Sometimes the truth doesn't.  I also wonder if my grief is helping me gain some pretense instead of  getting rid of it.  In general, I find that people SAY they want to know the truth, but that isn't always the case.  Sometimes it's just better to fake it and pretend like everything is okay.  Some people need you to.  Grief has taught me that.  How sad (I think it's sad, at least).  Maybe a bit of pretense is good... but to be honest, I just think it's lame.  I like it straight.  Even when it hurts.

So chastening is unpleasant, at best, but necessary.  I like the imagery of pruning...pruning the excess.  It reminds me of a clip I saw awhile back:

The Will of God

God, please prune me...and please help me to endure it without becoming bitter or despondent. Please help me to trust this process that seems long and agonizing and sometimes just plain mean.  I trust the process, but don't always trust myself in the process (if that makes sense).  I'm not sure I can hold up against the fire at times.

Dates

There are a lot of dates that I know can be difficult for me.  For the first while after Eli, I would struggle every Wednesday.  Wednesday was the day we delivered Eli.  I would watch the clock as the day would wear on and I could relive what had happened the day of his birth and death.  I also anticipated Mondays for awhile.  Monday was the day we buried him.  I would also relive this day.  I anticipated the 5th and still do.  Would it be a sweet day filled with peace and contentment or a day of pain and longing OR would it be just plain agonizing?  I just had to wait and see...like a surprise...but not an exciting on. After some months went by, the Monday's and Wednesday's began to fade and the 5th because more prominent.  As we drew closer to Eli's birthday, each 5th seemed like a countdown to his 1st year birthday, instead of counting up.  After his one year mark, I began the countdown for the 18 month mark.  During this time I was also pregnant with Miles, so I anticipated every Thursday which would signal a new week for my pregnancy.  Since Miles passed away, I have added some new dates to the anticipatory mix.  I hope you realize that I don't do this on purpose, but this has been the way of my grief.  I would love to pick  and choose which days mean what to me, but it hasn't worked out that way.  I found out that Miles' heart had stopped on a Monday at approximately 11:15am.  I delivered him on a Tuesday at 8:00pm. We buried him on a Wednesday.  My day changing week in my pregnancy was a Thursday.  Do you see the problem here?  Of course I still had the 5th to anticipate, and then there was the 26th, which was a new idea.  I can't tell you how overwhelmed I felt by all of this; like my whole life was either counting up to a date, or recovering from one, or actually living in it.  If I could shut my brain off I would do it, but that doesn't always work to my liking.  Luckily, I knew that some of these days would fade into the background.  I knew, from my experiences with Eli, that the Monday's and Tuesday's and Thursday's would fade.  I knew it would take time.  It felt like everyday was a problem for awhile.  One of the first questions Ethan asked after we told him about Miles' death was, "So, are we going to go to the cemetery on the 5th and 26th?"  He wasn't emotional, but rather seemed to be planning out his schedule.  I remember just being speechless as I started to process this idea (it had only been hours since the shocking news...).  It just felt like too much.  It still feels like too much...a bimonthly trip to the cemetery for our whole family. I mean, logistically, that felt excessive.  (I go a lot more than that, but the whole family?).  I just told Ethan I wasn't sure and we would figure it out.  I guess he just wanted to know what this meant for him. Oh, and don't forget the "due date."  The arbitrary date that no one really has their baby on.  That is currently hanging over my head.  It bothers me as I "wait" for what exactly? Miles was due January 26th...obviously, for that is the day he was born.  Unfortuneately, my mortal brain had mapped out more time with him and I thought his "due date" would be much later....like now.

Yesterday, being the 26th, was four months since delivering Miles.  It was a difficult day.  I thought I would be just about ready to deliver a baby; not stand over a his grave for this Memorial Day weekend.  People ask me what we are doing for Memorial Day.  Is that a nice way of asking if I am having a BBQ?  (I know my sarcasm is shining through...it's a great coping mechanism).  I'm not really upset when people ask this, but just so surprised to see where my life has gone over the last 2 years...wishing I were only thinking of a BBQ right now in some ways.  But on the other hand, I am grateful for where my life has taken me.  I no longer see anything the same way.  I don't take for granted the nights where I lay by Lincoln while he falls asleep.  I treasure the hugs from Ethan and look into his eyes more often knowing what a gift I have in him being here.  I see the way Katelyn grows and tries to navigate through this increasingly confusing and chaotic world.  I see the beauty of life more vividly as I have dealt with the sorrow of death.  I feel anchored to my Savior...completely secure in His care.  I have two truly angelic sons.   I know them separately and distinctly.  If you knew my sons you wouldn't feel bad for me.  If you knew the depth of my grief over them you would.

My experience with Miles has been completely different than Eli even though the end result looks roughly the same.  My pregnancy was very quiet, his short life was almost unknown.  He was gone before most people knew he came.  My grief has also been quieter...not inside myself but for everyone around me.  I am learning a lot. What day was Miles due?  He was due January 26th because that is the day he came. I didn't know that (obviously). I anticipated much, much more time with him. That is part of the reason I didn't feel rushed to run out and tell everyone I was pregnant.  I had very strange and conflicting emotions while I was pregnant, but I didn't worry about them too much.  Grief has taught me a few things over the last little bit and I knew that my emotions would be difficult when I got pregnant again. It was a lot worse than I thought, but I was patient with it.  I kept thinking, "I will feel different about this pregnancy.  It will take time, but I will feel different."  Time passed and passed and I didn't really feel that different.  But I didn't worry about it...I had TIME...I would get there.  This would become a joyful and exciting thing for me.  The ultrasound came and I thought, "This will be the moment I begin to feel different.  This is the moment where everything changed for me with Eli, so I just need to get past this part.  I need to go and realize that I am carrying a healthy baby who I can spend my life raising.  I will feel different."  Well, I didn't.  They told me I was carrying a healthy baby boy and there were absolutely no concerns with his development.  The doctors tried to speak peace to my troubled mind with their reassuring words, but I still didn't feel that different.  I was sorrowful.  I was troubled.  I was unsure why I didn't feel joyful or anticipatory about this baby.  I told Jason that I was as sorrowful as if this baby were going to die.  I was pregnant with a healthy baby boy but I had no desire to talk about it with anyone.  I should probably clarify that I did not think he was actually going to die even though I felt so dismal.  I just thought it was my grief and hormones talking.  I knew that Eli was my most recent experience, so it made sense that my mind was not processing this pregnancy correctly.  I knew this baby could die (that wasn't a far fetched idea anymore), but I didn't think he would; especially since we had already had that experience.  I heard plenty of other women celebrating their pregnancies and anticipated changes in their lives.  I was upset that I didn't feel that I could join in their happiness even though I also carried my own beautiful child.  I just kept thinking, "Wow...grief is tricky business and I can't understand why I feel this way, but I will get there.  Maybe it will be when I start feeling him move more.  Maybe it won't be until after his delivery and or when I take him home or even later.  Maybe this is going to be harder that I thought."  I was struggling quite a bit while I was carrying a healthy baby boy. And then he died. He has been in the ground for over 3 months and I was under the impression that he would still be inside my womb.  If that isn't a strange experience, I don't know what is...

Therefore, how can you and I really expect to glide naively through life, as if to say, Lord, give me experience, but not grief, not sorrow, not pain, not opposition, not betrayal, and certainly not to be forsaken. Keep from me, Lord, all those experiences which made Thee what Thou art! Then let me come and dwell with Thee and fully share Thy joy!” -Neal A. Maxwell

Isaiah 57:10:Thou art wearied in the greatness of thy way; yet saidst thou not, There is no hope...

Miles

Eli has a younger brother.  His name is Miles Gardner Gause.  He was born on January 26, 2016 at 8:00pm.  He is with Eli.

I haven't written in months.  I'm not sure why.  I think part of it is because I wouldn't even know where to start.  I could start at the beginning, I guess, but I am really, really tired...physically, emotionally, spiritually.  Maybe I don't want to open up about it.  The pain is too hard for me to face at times.  I'll keep it simple today:
Miles is a beautiful and sacred part of our family.  I feel great comfort knowing He is safe with Eli and that they are together.  I know this is part of God's plan for our family.  Miles' mission here was much quieter.  I can't tell you how much I love my boys...and how much I miss them.

Christmas overhaul

I haven't written about our Christmas yet...I think I had some excitement and some anticipation going into the holiday season this year.  I remember last year and figured it couldn't be worse than that, so that was reassuring...but I also remember last year and that made me a little anxious.  What would it be like this year?

I remember... before Eli died... I would hear things about the holidays being tender or difficult for people that had lost a loved one.  I barely understood what grief was in a theoretical sense, so I certainly didn't know what it would mean in my new reality.  I thought...I won't have to deal with that.  Lucky me.  That only applies to people who have once enjoyed a holiday with their loved one and they have since passed away.  Eli was never here for Christmas, so that won't stir up anything for me. There are multiple things I thought I wouldn't have to deal with in the world of grief that have surprised me and this was one of them.  Something I have learned is that grief covers everything in your world.  It permeates your whole life and affects things that you didn't think it could or should or would touch.  It sort of descends on everything and makes some things better, some worse, some more meaningful, some without meaning, etc.  It just changes everything.

I have graduated, somewhat, from the naive feeling I had about the holidays not "affecting" me and knew that Christmas would affect my grief.  I have found peace with this idea.

This year felt like big deal to me.  I practically missed last year.  I was so absent emotionally.  As I look back at pictures I see myself, but don't honestly remember much about being there...probably because I wasn't.  Your mind has a powerful way of transporting you somewhere else even if you body is present.  I felt excitement about this year as I prepared and shopped and did traditions with my family again.  I also felt some sense of anticipation as we changed a few traditions to help us remember Eli and make the holidays meaningful.  I felt DONE with the fluff...the silliness...the extra's that just ended up weighing me down and taking up my time.  I wanted to trim the fat and do only those things that would help us remember our Savior and feel closer as a family.  I also wanted some meanigful traditions that would help us feel a closeness to Eli.  We planned our holidays, partiuclarly Christmas Eve, and I wondered how it would feel.  I really wondered how the kids would receive it.  It wasn't as much "fun" as what we had done in the past and I worried that is would be a disappointment to them and they would simply "tolerate" what mom had planned.  But as the days played out, things were smooth and sweet.  We all enjoyed our new simplified and meaningful traditions and I felt a sense of peace about our changes.

I'll share a few things we did.  On Christmas Eve we went to the cemetery and left a lighted candle on Eli's grave.  This is a tradition that many people have and it is was very sweet to me to see so many families gathered around graves in the snow...probably heading off to their holiday parties afterwards...but taking time to remember their loved ones on this important day.  We also decided to sing some Christmas carols.  We aren't exactly a Christmas caroling family, but I enjoy singing and I thought it would be fun to try.  We stood there in the cold and sang.  At first, it felt a little awkward for us.  There was a family near us and we aren't exactly the Mormon Tabernacle choir, but after just a few lines I started to feel comfortable.  I didn't care who heard.  We were there and we were sharing some sweet moments with our son.  We had a nice candle lit dinner that night and spent some time talking about Eli and our other brother, Jesus Christ.  We talked about how sacred and holy Eli's birth had been.  He is the nearest thing to perfection that we will meet in this life.  Then we tried to imagine how Christ's birth had been.  Because of Eli, our family has a very tangible and real connection to something that was more of a story before.  We were able to connect the sacredness of Eli's birth and death to our Savior.  I think it made it much more real for my family.  I think about Mary and her experiences.  I feel I can read that story with a new perspective now.  We talked about two brothers in heaven...how both wanted us to come back and would do anything to help us get there.

We gave each of the kids a little box that looked like a treasure chest.  Each year Eli will give them a gift that will help them remember him in some way.  We also had a family gift from Eli...a "memory gift."  It is meant to be something that will help us to keep creating meaningful memories as a family much as we did when we did our baby bucket list.  This year he gave us passes to a children's museum we hadn't been to. I was surprised as I watched our kids.  They seemed happy and content and hardly missed the crazy, fun things we had done in the past.  I guess we all want to be spiritually fed no matter our age and that need is stronger than our need to just have "fun."  (Of course, there is a need for fun too, but on this day, we needed something else). Our family just needed to be fed and strengthened.

This year I had a stocking made for Eli.  Each year, we will buy him a book.  This year it was "As Long as I'm living my Baby you'll be."  It was very fitting and appropriate for how I feel right now. I will always feel that he is my baby in many ways...even thought I know he isn't in infant form right now.  He will always be my "baby" literally and figuratively just as all of my kids are my babies.  We read this book together .  We also  read the books we had read in the hospital when he was here with us.  It was tender and sweet to do that as a family.

This year, I felt that taking the time to do those things on Christmas Eve was tremendously helpful in my grieving process.  I needed time to think and have tender feeling towards Eli.  When the excitement of the other Christmas festivities came along it wasn't grinding on me because we had taken that time already.  It was okay to have fun and enjoy the lighter side of Christmas because we had done the things of true importance first.

Lincoln's thoughts

Lincoln is very matter of fact about Eli.  The other day he saw our family picture, at the hospital, and asked where we were.  It was strange of him to ask, because he has seen and talked about that picture many times.  It is on top of our piano, so it isn't exactly hidden away.  He said...we saw Eli at the hospital, them we took him to the cemetery, then we bought him a Christmas tree (the one from a month and a half ago), then it died, then we gave it some water and now Eli is happy.  So concise and true...pretty simple...

He frequently says to me, "Mom...we have a baby!! It's Eli!"  It's like he just clued into all of the talk about babies and he is connecting to it...he understands, as if for the first time, that we have a baby too!  I don't think he sees the discrepany between Eli life and any other baby's life.

Another random thought from Lincoln...I believe he is under the impression that there is a secret tunnel that starts as the cemetery and takes you to heaven.  He always talks about how Eli is up in the clouds...(which isn't something I have said)... and he got there by going underground in the cemetery up to Heavenly Father.  He likes to talk about this with elaborate hand motions indicating a direct route from his grave to heaven. I talk with him about the spirit and the body and how his body is at the cemetery and his spirit is in heaven.  It hasn't clicked.  I guess he had to make sense of the fact that we talk about Eli's grave at the cemetery and Eli being in heaven.  A secret passage makes perfect sense...now, if only I could find the entrace...

Kisses from Heaven

On  the 5th of every month, someone leaves 5 Hershey kisses on our front porch.  We don't know who this sweet person is.  We take them to the cemetery and pass them out telling the kids they are kisses from Eli.

Since a year has past now, I wondered if the kisses would stop.  In general, people are done talking about your grief before you are...you are never really done.  I have watched the differing responses to me over the many months.  I don't feel as judgmental as I used to about it.  Some never offered condolences...maybe it was too awkward.  Some were "done" after the memorial when things were just starting for me. Some continued in their sensitivity for weeks and months.  But as time has worn on, less and less people will ask me how I am or how I am feeling.  That has been hard as I have attended family and social gatherings, but I have learned how to deal with it (or avoid the gatherings...).  Some people are healing, some people are like salt in a wound and others and neither helpful or unhelpful.  I have accepted (somewhat) that people move on with their lives.  They have processed what has happened in your life even if you haven't and it doesn't occur to them that you are still hurting...a lot... and would love to talk about it...even for a minute or two.  Or, people are not sure what to say so they avoid the whole thing...either way, there is a lot less talking about Eli and a lot more talking about things I couldn't care less about it.

I also found that some people treated me like a fire and finally approached me after months....maybe thinking things had blown over by now and the fire was out, so we could talk about the mundane.  Through all of this, I have found some acceptance of this (because there's not much I can do about it)  and I knew that the kisses might stop at the pivotal 1 year mark.  I think I was bracing myself for it and it was okay.  I don't feel the need to talk constantly about Eli and my broken heart and I feel grateful for the wonderful kindnesses that have been shown to our family, so I felt I could take it if another person was "done" with doing this sweet thing.  It would be okay.

I was pretty surprised when I pulled out of the driveway again, after 14 months,  and saw a little bag of kisses hanging on the doorknob of our front door.  Someone remembered and they didn't have to.  I'm sure whoever does this for us has a million other things to think about and do...I'm sure their life is busy and chaotic at times, and yet, there they were...our kisses.  The smallest things mean so much to me.

Remembering Eli means so much to me.

Containable

I had this idea that a year or so into this journey I would feel more like sharing certain things....things about the day we buried him and the really difficult days that followed that.  Somehow, I thought I would be "ready" to talk about that part.  Instead, my feelings have taken a different path.  The longer I miss Eli and the less I feel the need to share everything.  

In the beginning, I started blogging about Eli and our experiences to avoid having to call everyone with updates.  I was too exhausted to have an interaction with everyone, but knew that there were people who cared and I wanted them to know what was going on...physically.  Then, for some reason, which I don't totally understand, because I am sort of a private person, I wanted to share so much of what was going on...emotionally.  It felt like an escape for me. My feelings were so overflowing and uncontrolled and for some reason, it felt necessary to share these things.  It is strange because I feel a certain amount of anonymity with I write...like no one knows who I am....which, again, doesn't make a ton of sense because people that I do I know read my words.  I'm sure people who read this have a reaction, but I usually don't hear about it or see it, so it feels like this safe little place where I don't have to measure responses and be calculated about what I say.  And I think reading something, in the quiet of your own mind makes you feel something different than a face to face interaction.  Anyways....somehow I have felt safe sharing things that I can't believe I would share.  

In the early months (when I say this I should probably clarity that the "early days" could be defined as 9 or 12 months or so... ha! It still feels like the "early days" sometimes because I can remember events and dates so vividly and this journey was entirely unknown to me before). Anyways...in the "early days" I would tell anyone who would listen, willingly or unwillingly, exactly how I felt that day and why.  I felt like I needed people to help me carry this weight that felt too large and much too heavy for one person to carry.  I couldn't have an interaction without talking about Eli and if I did have an interaction where we didn't talk about him, it was devastating.  I couldn't handle it.  My grief was spilling everywhere...no way to contain it and sharing was so necessary and therapeutic.

As time has gone on, I don't feel that need all the time.  I can talk to someone about something light and be perfectly okay with it.  (Or I can pretend I am okay with it and that is something).  I feel much more selective about what I share and who I share it with and am almost aghast at what I said to people before.  I don't feel like everyone needs or should know about Eli.  It is much too sacred.  Sometimes I wish I could move, so that no one knows about Eli and I can tell who I want and keep him a little closer to my heart.  

There are still things that are very hard for me to think about.  I can't even imagine writing about them and I certainly wouldn't right now (or maybe ever).  I feel perfectly content with this.  Some things are too beautiful and sacred or difficult and raw to share.  I don't feel the need to anymore and that is reassuring somehow...because that is the ME I am used to.  

Christmas

I feel like I missed Christmas last year.  I know it happened.  I have pictures.  I have a calendar that says it happened, but I feel like we skipped it.  We only bought gifts for our kids...that is sort of a requirement.  I should probably clarify that Jason bought presents for the kids.  We didn't worry about anyone else.  Jason was a little concerned about it, but I wasn't (he is nicer than I am).  I figured if someone was mad because we didn't buy them a gift that would reveal a lot about our relationship.  Nobody got mad (that I know of).

This holiday season has been much different for me.  I am not missing it this year.  I feel like part of me is alive again.  I look forward to all of the traditions we do together as a family.  I have enjoyed shopping and seeing lights and making gingerbread houses. It is so refreshing to feel that again.  I feel a difference in my attitude towards the Savior.  I think that I always tried to focus on Christ this time of year.  I was constantly frustrated that we had to have relief society activities and books written about how to keep Christ in Christmas.  It seems that we have really gotten ourselves into a mess when that has to be the topic of anything...it is such a given and so unfortunate that it has become a challenge.  I'm not trying to act holier than thou when I say that...it is just so sad that our culture has necessitated that kind of dialogue at all.  So this isn't the first year where I felt that a visit to Santa was completely optional and not at all necessary for a complete December.  It isn't the first year where I've grown tired of hearing about Rudolph instead of Mary and Joseph.  But the birth of the Savior feels more personal to me now...for so many reasons....so many that I could never articulate or do justice to and some that are just too personal.  But, hopefully I can convey one thought about it.

We so desperately need a Savior.  Until He was born the entire human race was in "free fall..." as Jeffrey R. Holland said.  He states:

"What a plight! The entire human race in free fall—every man, woman, and child in it physically tumbling toward permanent death, spiritually plunging toward eternal anguish. Is that what life was meant to be? Is this the grand finale of the human experience? Are we all just hanging in a cold canyon somewhere in an indifferent universe, each of us searching for a toehold, each of us seeking for something to grip—with nothing but the feeling of sand sliding under our fingers, nothing to save us, nothing to hold on to, much less anything to hold on to us? Is our only purpose in life an empty existential exercise—simply to leap as high as we can, hang on for our prescribed three score years and ten, then fail and fall, and keep falling forever?  The answer to those questions is an unequivocal and eternal no!"  Where Justice, Love, and Mercy Meet

I think I sense more than ever the need I personally have for a Savior.  I have felt that need for most of my life, but it feel a little more precarious now.  I have a son in heaven.  He will certainly inherit celestial glory.  If I do not, somehow, get better than I am, I will never be with him.  I have a lot of shortcomings that need improving and feel pretty incapable of doing this.  I need someone to help me become something different than what I am now.  I need a power far greater than my own.  Without a Savior, there would be no hope for me.  Without a Savior, Eli's sweet little body that grew inside of me...that was so alive... would sleep forever in his tiny grave.  I can't really handle the thought of that...and, thankfully,  I don't have to because I know he won't sleep forever.  I need to know that he will be brought forth and his spirit and his body will be reunited again never to be separated.  I think this feels more personal to me because Eli's body was connected to me almost the entire time he was alive. He was part of me.  He is still part of me.  I am very protective of his mortal tabernacle.  He is my child.  I was partner in creation as I helped to form his body.  I am not okay with the situation right now.  I can only survive because I know this isn't a permanent situation.  The maternal instinct in me has never been so heightened.  I need someone to fix this.  Only my Savior can.  He has paid the price so that I can be reunited with my son.  He has paid the price so that I can change and be better through a power that is far greater than my own.  It is very personal now.  And without His birth into mortality, none of this would be possible.  I would be in despair.  So, Christmas feels different to me now.  His birth means something different to me now.  It isn't a nice story about a mother who had to ride/walk almost 100 miles while she was nine months pregnant only to give birth to the very Son of God in a stable filled with animals and who knows what else.... it isn't about some sleepy shepherds on a hill that were unexpectedly visited by angels telling of one of the greatest moments the earth had ever and will ever see.  His birth matters so much because of what Christ came to do and the sacrifices made by his earthly mother and father so He could do it.  Because I feel how personally and desperately I need Him, I rejoice, as did the angels, when I think about His birth.  I rejoice in the King of Kings that came to save us from death and sin and from mortality.  These truly are glad tidings of great joy.  I am happy that I am not missing Christmas this year. 

Me and Jason were lucky enough to attend the Millennial Choirs and Orchestras concert, Rejoice, last week.  It was one of the highlights of this holiday season.  Truly amazing!  My beautiful and dear friend, Kelly, sang in the performance.  They sang one of my favorite Christmas songs: O Come, O Come Emmanuel.  I feel this song captures the desperate need we have for a Savior.  His birth was a truly a time for rejoicing.  Listening to this song in person was so powerful and emotional.  The conductor gave an explanation of this particular arrangement (which I wish I could remember and regurgitate because it helped me understand and appreciate the performance so much more).  It's quite a long song and so much better in person, but this is better than nothing.

O Come, O Come Emmanuel-Millennial Choirs and Orchestras

I also really like this version of the same song by Vocal Point.  It is much shorter and has a very different feel:

O Come, O Come Emmanuel- Vocal Point

Candlelight Vigil

Every year, on December 6th, there is a candlelight vigil held at the cemetery in honor of the children who have passed away.  We went last year.  This was our second year.  It has been a good experience for our family and is was interesting to note the difference I felt within myself from last year to this year.

Last year, it had only been a month since Eli had died.  His grave was very fresh.  I had never been to a candlelight vigil before.  I saw them on tv, but never attended one, so I wasn't sure if it would be healing or weird or something in between.  Each year they have a short speaker; someone who has lost a child and their experiences, insights and encouragement.  So far, both years a parent has talked about a child who died at a much older age, but the the emotions resonated so easily with me.  They also have a musical number.

Last year, I don't remember looking around very much.  I was in my own world and sort of wondering what I was doing at a "function" like this...wishing I didn't have to be here in a lot of ways. I remember we saw a couple that we had met at the cemetery at Thanksgiving.  They were kind and compassionate and reached out to us.  The mother had seemed very sorrowful...almost distraught the first time we met.  Her demeanor was less weighed down at the vigil, but there was still something heavy and forlorn about her.  It had been nearly 5 years since the loss of their little one and it scared me that she was still so filled with grief.  (Of course, I was only seeing a snapshot of her, but still...it scared me).  Me and Jason talked about them...about how I didn't want to be like "that..."  When we saw them again this year, her look seemed more familiar to me.  I understand her better now.  I understand in some ways how changed she is.   I understand that she carries a weight because part of her heart is missing...part of her is still with her child and she is straddling two worlds in order to stay connected to all of her children.  I understand that the intensity of her love hasn't diminished because her child has been gone 6 years now.  She loves him the same.  She grieves on his first day of preschool and kindergarten.  She grieves when she sees her kids running in the backyard wishing he could be with them.  Her heart probably aches when he isn't home on Christmas morning.  Because I understand her better, I saw her totally differently this year.  I saw myself in her and it didn't scare me.  Last year I wanted to run because I thought I could run away from these things.  I hoped I could escape the effects of death and mortality and grief, but I can't.  I feel more settled in my grief...it isn't raw and unrelenting like it was months ago, but it is still very much a part of my life.  I don't feel uncomfortable and distraught about this being part of my life.  I feel so much more accepting of the waves that come.   I feel the beauty in the pain.  Maybe I am like that...

I looked around at so many parents and families this time...there were too many.  I thought of  how they were going through the holidays without someone they love and it is painful and challenging at times, but they are ALL doing it.  It gave me courage and compassion.  They give everyone a white flower, and near the end, they invite everyone to place their flowers on the angel monument.  They invite anyone who has lost a child that year to place their flowers first.  I remember that moment last year.  Of course, I didn't see it coming because it was the first year...I walked up (while making sure to avoid eye contact with anyone) and put my flower down.  This year, I knew it was coming and I knew it wasn't me...but would be someone else.  When it happened and I saw those sweet mothers and father and sisters and brothers walk up and place their flowers, I  was overcome with emotion.  My heart broke for them and I wanted to reach out and take their pain and burden.  I knew I couldn't just as no one can take mine, but my heart had such compassion, knowing something of what they felt and the freshness of their loss.

On a lighter note, Lincoln was wild while we were there this year.  I talked to him about using a "quiet voice" and not running everywhere because I knew so many people would be there. He really isn't great about that sort of thing...ever.  I knew people would be there...some overcome with grief and everyone somewhat somber and it wasn't a time for Lincoln to be himself.  We got there and had to park in a place we don't usually park.  Lincoln wanted to know where Eli's grave was.  It was dark, so he couldn't see it.  When he saw the glow of his little lantern, he recognized it and started took off running .  He started yelling, "I see him!  I see him!"  Oh sweetie...I wish...  It was so sweet and brought tears to my eyes because someday that will be a highly appropriate thing to do.  We each received a white flower and Lincoln ended up breaking 2 of them because he was using them as swords.  Me and Jason ended giving all of the intact ones to the kids when it was time to put them on the monument.  I told Lincoln that he could put his up by the angel and he looked at me perplexed and told me he didn't want to.  He said he wanted to give it to Eli instead. I told him that was okay so he ran through the darkness, over to his grave again and carefully placed it there.  It was so tender and sweet.

The  musical number was: My Shepherd Will Supply My Need.
I listened to that song so much while I was pregnant.  I truly needed God to be there and I trusted that He would be.  The days before seemed so daunting and impossible and I relied on God in a way that I never have.  I have very tender feelings about this song.  It was such a beautiful gift for me to hear that night.

My Shepherd Will Supply My Need

Foreigner

A few weeks after Eli died, a dear friend showed up at my door.  She knew I needed a compassionate friend in that moment.  I opened the door, trepidatiously.  There were so few people that I could talk to in those moments with where my mind and heart were...even if they were good friends.  She said something to me that penetrated my heart. Her exact wording and analogy she used were something that could only be understood by me and God (and now her, it seemed...).  She tells me that my eyes lit up...like I could UNDERSTAND what she was saying.  I grabbed her and brought her inside.

She later asked me if I had ever been to a place where I didn't understand the language and really needed to.  I hadn't.  She shared an experience with me where she had been in that situation.  I believe her distress came because of a passport issue and no one around her spoke English.  Allof the sudden she heard some words she understood and saw someone a little ways away speaking English.  If I remember the story right, she made eye contact with this person and they immediately knew her need.  Someone was speaking her language and she could hear those familiar words out of crowd of people.  This person understood and could help her even though, up until then, this person was a stranger.  When she came to my door and started talking, she said I had that same look in my eye.

"You understand me.  You speak my language."

And that's why I pulled her inside. I desperately needed someone to know where I was and how to communicate with me.

When I talk about someone "understanding" me or "speaking my language,"  I think it's obvious that I'm not talking about a literal language barrier.  When your child dies...or is going to die, you suddenly become immersed in this new language.  The words may not sound different, but everything means something different.  The way you see life is different.  The way you respond to people is different.   The things that matter are different.  And it isn't just a theoretical exercise.  It is reality.

 When you meet someone that has lost a child, there is a new language that is spoken.  There is bond that is instantly and deeply formed even if the words you speak are inadequate....because your words are always inadequate, but somehow your heart isn't and this is conveyed in a way that words never can. You know them and their pain in a way that most people can't.  It simply isn't a language that can be learned unless you've lived it.  You can learn about it...you can read and observe and study about it, but it doesn't penentrate your heart.  The language isn't really yours.  When you meet someone that knows your language, it is so comforting and healing and immediately obvious.  There is someone you can talk to.  They understand what you are really saying.

I am in the midst of conversations at times and just hope someone will understand what I'm saying.  It is kind of like explaining to someone who doesn't have children how you love yours.  Love for a child can't be explained with just the words we have.  When you experience the birth of your first child, you are changed.  You use your language and clumsily string together words for how you feel about them... you would do anything for them...they are your world....you would sacrifice anything for them including yourself,  everything about your world changes....etc, but it really isn't sufficicnet to convey how deeply you feel for them...how much you really love them...how they are forever connected to you.  We just do the best with the words we have, but when someone else has also experienced this love, they understand what you are talking about and an instant, additional bond is formed.  The same comes with loss.  My words are inadequate to explain my feelings of sorrow and pain upon losing Eli, but when someone speaks my language, they understand what I am saying even though my words are clumsy and inadequate.  Of course, no two losses are the same...but there is a commonality that comes along with such a loss.

I think this language barrier that is so painfully obvious to me, eludes most people on the "outside."  This has made many interactions very difficult; especially when my grief was very fresh and or feels raw.  I  need to communicate and people think that's what they are doing, but the words seem to have no meaning.  There are times when I feel perfectly capable of being bilinguaul and using the language more common to the masses, but there are times when I can't speak that old language, try as I might.  I probably appear unresponsive and confused.  I am.  It's like I am a foreigner and I can't communicate with those around me.  I am so thankful for those angel friends that I have that do understand my language.  And, in time, I will learn how to be more proficient with my biligual skills.

The perfect tree

Oh, it's the 5th...it's the 5th!  I had the most touching thing happen today.  I have to tell the backstory.  December of last year was our first 5th without Eli.  We had talked about getting a little Christmas tree for Eli's grave, but the idea was hard for me.  I was too upset that these were the kind things I got to buy him...things for his grave...things you find in the lawn and garden area.  It just isn't the same as buying soft blankets and cute onesies, and the reality of it was hard to swallow.  We happened to be at Wal-Mart a few days after we buried him...you should know how I feel about that place from my previous posts.  Jason thought it would be good for me to get out of the house.  We saw the ugliest, crappiest little trees you can even imagine.  Sparse and plastic looking and just awful.  There was no way I was buying THAT for Eli.  Sorry..I would rather have nothing.  It felt insulting, but Wal-Mart can be like that.

The 5th came and we hadn't "planned" on doing anything.  We didn't have an routines or traditions in place.  I didn't have anything in place in my life. Trying to wrap my head around the idea of finding the tree I wanted required a lot of steps...getting up, getting dressed, going to multiple stores, interacting with cashiers...  It was all I could do to keep breathing and moving.  That evening, my friend, Ashley, arrived at my door with a beautiful, tiny Christmas tree. It had no resemblance to the pathetic offerings Wal-mart supplied.

It was alive.  It was simple.  It was perfect.

It was what I wanted without ever seeing it.  I felt such gratitude and was overwhelmed that that this perfect, tiny tree for Eli had literally showed up at my front door.  It felt like a gift from God himself.

On the 6th we went to the cemetery to attend a candlelight vigil in memory of anyone that had lost a child.  We were able to take the tree to Eli.  His little grave was still so fresh...the dirt was wet...the grass dead.  The small rectangle of sod was still completely separated from the surrounding grass making it painfully obvious how big the hole was that they had dug for his casket.  Putting the little tree on top of his grave made it more bearable to look at.

This year I knew I wanted another Christmas tree.  I didn't feel like I was being too particular in my specifications.  I wanted it to be alive and I wanted it to be simple.  Little details mean a lot to me when it comes to some things and when it deals with Eli, the details hold special meaning.  We had no luck finding one.  I didn't think something like this would be so hard to find during this time of year, but it truly was.

Today came and we still didn't have a tree.  I wanted to take it to his grave tonight.  I needed to take one to his grave, but I didn't have one.  Our day suddenly filled up with other things and I didn't think it would happen.  I told myself I would find one another day and take it there, but that's not what I really wanted.  I called my friend and asked where she had found this rare thing.  There was no answer so I left a ridiculously long message trying to sound less desperate about getting the tree than I felt.

Just a couple of hours later I heard a knock at my door.  Ashley was there with a perfect little Christmas tree.  I gave her the biggest hug.  I really couldn't believe she was there...with the tree I NEEDED....again!  I really love this sweet, sweet friend.  I tried to express how much it meant to me and how truly grateful I was.  I think she understood something of how I felt despite my excessive talking...I tend to do that.  She said she had been thinking about Eli and the little tree for a few days and felt the spirit whispering to her...when she received my phone call, she sprung into action.  She must have literally stopped everything she was doing to get it to me so quickly.  It warmed my heart in a way I can't describe.  I feel so grateful she listened to a prompting.  Sometimes things seem so little, but as a grieving mother, it meant the world to me.  In a strange way, it was sweet that me and Jason couldn't find a tree.  One was provided...it felt straight from heaven.  I can't wait to take it to Eli tonight.

How many?

Today I had to take Katelyn to a doctors appointment.  It was a longer appointment than Lincoln would have liked, but he was doing pretty good and I was proud of him for trying at all.  The woman helping us decided we needed some ice cream coupons because of long visit and Lincoln's patience.  She asked how many kids I had....I hear a lot of people say this is a dreaded question for them.  It isn't for me. I don't mind the question at all and sometimes am really happy to answer it.  I almost say 4.  Sometimes I talk about about Eli for a second, which I love.  I love that I get to say his name and claim him as mine even thought he isn't physically with me.  It isn't uncomfortable or awkward for me, but it is for some of the question askers...which is kind of sad really because people die all the time and I don't understand why its so taboo talking about them.  And it seems the younger they are, the more awkward it is.  If you tell someone your grandma isn't around, no one acts skittish, but if you mention a spouse or child, it really can make people feel uncomfortable...I guess they don't want it to hurt you worse than it already does and ignoring things usually makes them go away, right?  Not so.  I always answer the question of "how many?" correctly.  When one of your kids goes away to college or on a mission, do you just stop counting them?  That would be a very strange practice...they don't count anymore because they don't live at home?  I feel like Eli has gone away in a similar way.  I feel how temporary it is and it would feel strange to say that he wasn't part of our family.

Anyways, she asked how many kids I have and in this particular situation I chose to answer 3 because she was really asking how many coupons I needed.  On a different day, it may have really hurt to have to say 3, but I was okay about it today.  As soon as I said three, Katelyn jumped in and corrected me by saying, "We actually have 4 kids in our family."  I looked at the woman and explained that one of my children was in heaven so he didn't need a coupon for ice cream.  I said he wouldn't be getting ice cream until another time.  She was really sweet about it and didn't act awkward at all.  She asked how old he would have been .  I gave Katelyn a big hug and let her know how happy it made me that she included Eli.  I always include him unless it is something like a count for ice cream coupons, but even then, I was grateful that Katelyn corrected me.  I didn't realize how special it was to hear my childs name and have the chance to talk about them until I had one that people couldn't dote on.  Hearing his name is the sweetest sound I can imagine....almost.

Laena

Just thinking about my dear friend, JaLaine, tonight.  It is her daughter, Laena's, birthday today.  Laena went back home to Heavenly Father just 22 days after Eli.  Me and JaLaine were friends before this, but never close.  There wasn't a reason...we just weren't; nothing had brought us together.
It has been a tender experience to have had my heart so closely knit to JaLaine as we grieved our little ones together. 

JaLaine went in for her routine ultrasound about halfway through her pregnancy only to find that her sweet baby's heartbeat had stopped.  She then had to go to the hospital to deliver the baby that she would never meet alive.  They sent her to the hospital the next day (Wednesday), but as the process unfolded she was there much, much longer than she had hoped.  Laena was not born until Thursday making her arrival on Thanksgiving.  In some ways this just seems like extra salt in the wound.  I am not trying to speak for JaLaine.  (She is much sweeter and poetic than I am).  I am just telling the story from my perspective.  So many people didn't even know that she was pregnant.  I didn't know.  So she went from some people knowing that she was going to have a baby, to not being pregnant at all.  I feel like because of the timing of Laena's death (and JaLaine's tiny little body that kept her pregnancy a secret), Laena went unnoticed by too many people.  Again, this is my opinion.  I think that some people see it as an "oh darn...just try again...." like a battery that didn't work or a burned out light on the strand of Christmas lights.  But I assure you that a mother doesn't feel that way.  JaLaine didn't feel that way.  Her husband, Mike, didn't feel that way.  Laena's siblings didn't see it that way.

When you child dies, it just sucks.  I don't care how old they are.  I'm not saying that some ways of dying aren't more traumatic...of course some ways are.  I'm not saying the age of the child makes no difference....of course it does.  I'm just saying that no matter how it happens or what age it happens at, it sucks.  Some children are more acknowledged than others which is unfortunate and complicates your grief, but in the end, a mother is a mother.  You miss your child not matter what.  You don't feel completely whole because part of you is gone.  Your heart will ache and grieve until you are reunited.  But there is also tremendous beauty in the pain because the pain came about because of your love. I know that JaLaine continues to love and yearn for Laena.  I can't wait to meet her too.