Morbid Thoughts

last night, as i was holding miles and getting him ready for bed, he looked up at me with his charming, toothless grin, and i found myself thinking, what if this is the last memory i have of him? 

it's a little morbid, but every so often, i have these types of thoughts and it scares the sh*t out of me. 

you would think after losing two children that i would "cherish every moment" like nobody's business. but instead, i prepare myself for the worst, which looks less like "cherishing" and more like "obsessing," causing panic and fear. two emotions that are the perfect fuel for a raging "i love my life" fire. (sarcasm.)

i guess it's completely understandable why i'd feel this way. my daily reality, and the only thing i have known up until now, has been living with merely a handful of precious noah and baby isaac memories.

a handful. that was all i got. 

not anywhere near enough. and i grip onto them like, at any second, they could slip through my fingers.

so i put unbearable amounts of pressure on myself to enjoy miles 24/7 and remember every single sweet, and not-so-sweet moment, i'm given with him. 

then i feel crazy-making guilt because i don't do it. (because it's physically impossible to do.)

yet, there's always grace. and i choose to receive it, again, today. 

because i know, i can love without the presence of enjoyment. and i can be grateful even while wishing circumstances were different.

that's life.

The Seduction of Darkness

last night at support group i was asked how i was dealing with the news of robin williams' death. i was just about to answer, "it's so sad, but i haven't really thought about it too much or been that affected." when, instead, i just started to talk. and i began to realize how much heaviness i've been carrying, but have been unable to really process it while caring for a two month old 24/7.

this is one of the reasons why support group is so healing. it creates a space, that otherwise is too mucked up with daily life, to bring the underlying hurt, fear and anger to the surface.

this is how i basically answered the robin williams question. no pre-thought. no analyzing. the words just came.

...

when i was in high school a classmate of mine killed himself and it scared the crap out of me. i couldn't imagine what was possibly going through his mind the days and moments leading up to that one, huge decision to take his life. such a permanent choice. that kind of depression, the kind that feels the only way out is to end it forever, really, really frightened me, because i didn't understand it.

i understand it now.

in those intense few weeks and months after noah died i experienced that kind of darkness. my pain was so deep, i couldn't fathom a way out. it was too much. so heavy i couldn't breathe.

my entire life, and all i ever knew, was radically shifted. all my beliefs. everything i trusted. wiped clean. i had a new life now. i lost a child and could never go back to my other self, my other life.

and this new life was a life i didn't want. it repulsed me. it exhausted me.

how could i go on living when, quite literally, a part of my very being was gone? noah was a part of me. my own dna, who i nurtured and carried for nine months. and he was ripped violently away. it's like if the entire right side of my body just up and disappeared. how do i go on?

(at this point, i'm weeping. and made apologizes for my sleep deprived emotions.)

but somehow i forged together 0.5% of hope. and i held onto what shred i had to save my life. my husband. my future children. my seemingly microscopic-sized faith. they gave me hope.

without that hope, my life was over. hope was that dot of light in the vast, eternity of darkness.

the fate of robin williams. that could have easily been me.

...

the group went on to talk about the fine line of darkness beyond hope. it's seductive. it is terrifying. one tiny step and it's over, no going back.

i grieve that robin felt that way. i grieve that anyone would feel that way.

i grieve noah. i grieve isaac.

but i made the choice to live. i make the choice, every single day and moment, to live.

this world is f'ing messed up. i know that all too well. it's absolutely not easy to exist here sometimes, when things don't make sense and fairness is extinct.

yet, we move forward. embracing the darkness and welcoming the light. sharing our stories with others and perhaps giving someone else hope in their despair. that's the beautiful thing about humans, we can bear each others burdens. we can lighten the load for another, while bringing redemption to our own soul.

don't pretend you have it all together, that your life is perfect. it's too exhausting and you'll eventually crack under that kind of pressure. be honest. be authentic. open up your heart and let others in.

we're in it together.
and that gives me hope.

Guilt, It's What's for Dinner

apparently it's world breastfeeding week. i find it a little amusing that there exists such a thing. i also find it a little ironic that, on world breastfeeding week, i found myself feeding my child outside, half dressed, sitting on the cement, in the back of a building, next to a dumpster, in the rain.

maybe our world does need a "breastfeeding week."

because as i sat there, uncomfortable and embarrassed, i wondered, "why do i feel the need to sequester myself with my hungry baby, while my husband gets to remain in the restaurant enjoying his beer... alone?"

something that really surprised me about motherhood was the guilt. heavy, nagging, irrational guilt. i felt it immediately with noah. we're not doing enough to help him. we didn't do enough to save him. what did i do while i was pregnant that made his lungs form incorrectly? i should visit noah's place more often. why am i not raising thousands of dollars for ACD research in noah's name? i shouldn't take any photos of noah down.

and on and on it goes. and it didn't stop with noah.

how is miles sleeping? is he sleeping through the night yet? (the underlying judgment in these questions, i feel is - because if he's not, you must be doing something wrong. do you have a nightly routine? that'll help. are you feeding your baby enough during the day? that'll solve it.)

weather forecast says 100 degrees. we leave the house. it pours down rain. i don't have anything to warm my child.

losing my patience with a screaming baby, because i have no idea what he wants.

not doing what i should. or doing what i shouldn't. guilt is anything that makes me feel like i'm not a good mom. i hate that it does, but it's true. we live in a world where there is so much pressure to do everything perfect... or maybe i just want to be perfect. being a good mom is so, so important to me, because that napping, tiny human is my world. why wouldn't i want to do motherhood well?

but i wouldn't be completely honest if i didn't mention the guilt i feel about not loving every second of motherhood. this emotion has been incredibly difficult for me because i have wanted to be a mom literally my entire life! and not just wanted to be a mom, like "wouldn't that be fun", but dreamed and ached to be a mother because it is the core of who i am.

and being a mama to miles is amazing and i really do love it (because i'm madly in love with him), but there are times i am so exhausted and frustrated that i want to throw him out the window. (i really just wrote that. and it's so awful - guilt - but it's true.)

i had a veteran mom say to me once, "you probably don't feel like this, because of what you went through with noah, but, for me, getting up multiple times through the night was HARD."

um?? and for me it's easy? i must just hum and giggle as i leap out of bed for the millionth time each night, tending to the mystery need of my newborn human.

yes, i lost a baby and for so long would have given anything to hear my son cry or to lose hours upon hours of sleep because of him. i still would. but that doesn't make me automatically and permanently grateful-for-every-little-moment-of-spit-up-and-scream-crying that will ever happen in my life. being a mom is hella hard, for anyone, no matter what. i'm not immune. i'm not a robot.

(would a robot cry when her husband goes to mow the lawn because she's jealous he gets some "alone time"? i don't think so.)

one of the biggest lessons i learned in the grief journey (and am still learning, obviously) is that in order to stay sane, i have to do whatever it is i need to do to survive. (besides bomb our neighbor's house or anything else destructive.) because whatever i feel is okay.

i may not love being a mom every second of every day, but it doesn't mean i don't love being a mom.
i may not feel grateful to spend each day with my little monster, but i'm unbelievably grateful he's here.

there is always grace.

so next time miles is hangry and i hear that voice in the back of my mind that says, "go hide in the shadows while you feed him so you don't make people uncomfortable" or any other time i feel ashamed of myself, i will say to that voice...

shut the hell up. i'm a mama. i'm surviving. i'm loving this little person and his daddy fiercely, with my whole self. and that takes courage and strength that is out of this world.

i'm a brilliant human making sacrifices for love left and right.

though at times i feel empty, with no energy or milk to give, i get up out of that bed again. because whatever i am, i'm enough.

One for the Books

this past month was really "one for the books."

june 5. noah's first birthday.

june 11. my husband's birthday.

the unbelievable anticipation waiting for miles to arrive.

june 15. the birth of a son.

june 18. the first anniversary of our firstborn's death.

not to mention, just plain 'ol, crazy life with a newborn. 

it's been filled with the wildest of terrors, the purest of joys, the deepest of sorrows and the highs of love.

and sleep deprivation.

there's no way i can share all the complexities of these emotions, and our experiences with them, in one simple blog post. but what i do want to say is: we are still grieving. even with all the beauty and wonder that miles has brought into the world, i miss noah.

you may have had a fleeting thought that maybe i was done with the blogging, and therefore have 'finished the grief journey.' and although i believe the harshest, most intense part of our grief is over, it's still not over. 

so i will continue to write. to share my heart. to try and make sense of a world where one butler baby is alive and the other two aren't. 

you'll hear the story of miles' late, yet fast and furious, arrival. 

i'll write about why it's so difficult to talk about baby isaac. 

i'll try to put into words the paralyzing, insanity-making fear that accompanys welcoming a living baby, after knowing only how it feels to hold two dead ones. 

we're beginning a new chapter, but it's the same story.

and the theme of this new chapter can be summed up by one unbelievable experience...

before we could go home from the hospital with miles, he had to pass some weird car seat test where they monitored his oxygen levels while he sat for 90 minutes in his car seat. so bizarre. i had never in my life heard of it. after they kind of sprung it on us, the next thing we knew we were blindly following two nurses to where it would take place. 

as we walked, i began to recognize the all-too-familiar route. we were heading to the NICU. oh my god. the last time we were there was with our noah ... when our world began to rock and crumble.

i almost couldn't breathe. the horror-filled memories flooded back. 

but not only were we back in the NICU, we were led right into noah's old room. 

i know. it's insane.

and miles proceeded to get hooked up to the very same monitoring machines his big brother was hooked up to.

way too familiar.

john and i were stunned. pissed. anxious. and about crawling out of our skin to get out of there.

as we waited the grueling 90 minutes alone in the room with miles, my husband and i had a "not from us, so must be God" type thought -

with our healthy son sleeping peacefully in his car seat, God, right here and right now, was making something new. 

yes, baby miles is, in and of himself, "something new" obviously. but it was more than that. God was taking an evil, awful situation and working good into it before our very eyes.

what happened with noah can never be erased from existance. that NICU room where we experienced hell is still there, but with miles added in, there was hope and joy that wasn't there before. and that hope and joy was sitting right alongside the fear and pain.

the very same room. two polar opposite experiences inhabiting the same space.

that's my life. 

our wildly creative God can make miraculously beautiful things out of absolute garbage. 

miles is a testimony of that. we all are.

i can't wait to tell miles that, for 90 minutes, he shared the same room as his big brother. 

the only place on earth they overlapped.

#365daysofrainbows

Noah's Birthday Story: Part Three

it's going to be quite difficult to put into words everything that happened on june 6th, 2013 and how truly precious and sacred it was. so i'm not even going to really try.

of course we didn't know it at the time, but this day would be the only day we'd have with noah while he was healthy. we look back at this day and wonder, did it even happen? it was like a fantasy.

june 6th, 2013 was my favorite day of all the days in my entire lifetime. and if i only had one word to describe that day, it would be pride.

every second of june 6th was seeped in pride.

i was so proud of my son. he was perfect. i had no idea what he would be like or look like, but he was everything, and more, than i could have imagined. it was mind blowing. 

i was so proud of my husband. we had just gone through the most exhilarating, emotional experience together and i had never loved him more.

i was so proud of myself. i had actually delivered a human being.

it was an amazing day.

so, 4 hours after noah was born (the early, early morning of june 6th) we were finally all alone, just the three of us. john and i were able to rest a bit, but i couldn't really sleep. too excited. my long, long awaited baby boy was here and he was sleeping just two feet away from me. he was so peaceful. never really cried. he would actually sing in his sleep. oh, i love him.

then at about 8am i get a text from my dear friend, annie. she stopped by to meet noah. his first visitor. at this point, john was actually fully asleep and woke up to the sound of us chatting. it was pretty cute.

a couple hours later my mama returned. (she had left after noah was born to get a good night's sleep at our house.) she pretty much hung out all day with us. i'm so thankful she was there and got to know noah so well. and she watched him while i took the most beautiful shower. that was lovely.

that day noah also got to meet our dear friend becky. and then julie and her boyfriend, matthew, came.

i adored introducing him and showing him off. so much pride.

he also was paid a visit by two of our high school students from church. they were so generous and brought noah lots of treats. we were really spoiled. they were so kind to come.

speaking of spoiled, noah also met his uncle mike and aunt laura that afternoon. i can't tell you how special it was that they came and met him. and they brought me a jimmy john's sandwich. so yummy.

i look back on that day and am so grateful those sweet handful of people were able to meet him when he was healthy. i feel like they have a secret knowledge and insight on our boy that only few do, and i share his memory with them in a very sacred way. it's like they are a part of the most exclusive, precious club.

i wish i remembered more from that day. i wish i took more pictures. i wish i took some video. i wish i held him more. i wish my brain were able to comprehend the weight of that wonderful day while it was happening.

but mostly i wish that day lasted forever.

Noah's Birthday Story: Part Two

so early, early on the morning of june 5th, 2013 (a wednesday) our midwife paid us a visit. since i hadn't started contractions on my own, she suggested i go on pitocin to kick start them. i was a little hesitant at first (not really sure why, i guess i always felt a little weird about inducing labor) but since my waters had broken and there is kind of a time window they want you to deliver after that, we decided to go ahead.

it was a few hours before the drugs arrived but pretty immediately after the first dose was given we were rockin' and rollin'! contractions came pretty strong and fast.

maybe an hour or so into labor the nurse started to up the pitocin dosage on the little IV machine. i must have missed the memo that the amount would be increasing, because this threw me off a bit. as she pressed buttons and the dosage number on the machine kept going up and up i felt a bit of dread knowing that this meant the pain would be going up and up as well. it was kind of a comical moment.

some memories i have from that day of labor:

john was an unbelievable coach and partner - so encouraging and patient. i couldn't have done it without him even though he jokes that he felt pretty helpless. "oh, you feel like you're getting run over by a semi truck? let me rub this tennis ball over your back. does that make it better? how about i just repeat the same three phrases over and over all day..."  the nurses and midwives kept commenting about what a great team we were. i was, and still am, so proud of my husband.

obviously we brought seinfeld dvds and i "watched" them a bit during labor. i remember during a contraction hearing something that made me laugh. so weird smiling and being in pain at the same time.

when contractions started getting super strong, i decided to take a bath. not as relaxing as i thought.

i vomited about three times throughout the afternoon. one of those times might have been on a nurse.

at the end of the day, right before i was fully dilated and about to start pushing, this was the view outside our window. a preview of the beauty to come.

at some point, when the contractions were at the absolute most intense i had a fleeting thought. did i not get any painkillers? 

finally i got the green light to start pushing. because of "everything" i know about childbirth from tv and the movies once you start pushing, it's like 3 or 4 pushes tops and he's out, right? so, in my mind, i was basically done and the hardest part was over! ...um, turns out that was not my experience. after every push, and he hadn't arrived yet, i was more and more discouraged. and determined.

throughout the eternally long hour of pushing i heard, "he's so close" about a thousand times. liars!!

i vaguely remember looking at a nurse i didn't recognize on my right and, with my eyes, tried to communicate with her to ... "help. me."

pushing was the most difficult thing i've ever done. i was exhausted. i was in a completely different dimension. all my memories are fuzzy, like a dream. everything in me wanted to quit. everything in me wanted to meet noah. i kept going.

i caught my mom about to take a picture (of my face, not anything graphic) and i immediately snapped, "you put that away right now!"

then at 11:56pm i finally heard the cry i had been waiting for.

and then i saw his face and he was placed in my arms.

i went into a state of bliss i've never, ever known. i kept saying to him, over and over, "you are so perfect. i love you so much. you are so perfect. i love you so much...."

his eyes were wide open. he knew me. i knew him.

for the next hour we cuddled, he had breakfast, we introduced him to my mama (she didn't know his name was noah until that moment)...

john got to give him a bath.

i cuddled with him some more.

it was around this time, while i was holding him, that i took about 5,000 pictures of this beautiful boy. i couldn't get enough! if you'd like to see any of them, they are on my phone permanently.

but here's one.

john had some special time too.

then at about 4am we were finally settled in our new, after-delivery-room. 

with our son. 

just us three.

what a day. 

i was still too excited to sleep.

part three of noah's birthday story tomorrow! his first 24 amazing hours.