Friday, October 28, 2011

Hopefully Not Forever...

Oh, how I ache! Oh, how I wish this pain would have passed me by!

How I desperately wish God would not have allowed this.

With the vibrant colored leaves falling, so have my tears. So many that I could soak the earth.

When I still had the beating of two precious hearts within, I was excited for Autumn. It is my favorite season. It was going to be the season I was going to rock into snow covered earth with my babies.

What am I supposed to do now?

I am back to keeping the curtains closed. I don't want to see the beautiful life that Spring brought die a beautiful death. I have seen enough of that. Even though I know the dying will usher in something new, I don't want to witness it.

I just want to rock my babies.

I want to pass by a baby section and not suppress a moan. I want to pass by a baby section and not fight back tears and be able to find a voice around the lump in my throat. I want to smile again from the depths within.

What if that is gone forever?

What if all that is left is this terrible desperation? What if all that is left is just the ability to endure and not enjoy?

What to do when faith and emotions don't always match up? How do you pour that Sweet Salve on what aches when you are too broken to see?

What do you do?

It is hard to trust, hard to see that there is a light in the distance.

It is rough. This road where I unexpectedly found myself, it is so rough, too black to see. I do not want to be here. I want to be in a rocking chair rocking my babies into a new season.

What am I supposed to do now?


Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Consider it Gift

I read these words about two months ago in a book I cannot remember. **

Do you love the gift more than The Giver?

Those are words, food for thought. Words that caused me to stop. To think.

I did not like the question at first because when I really examined self, I did not like the answer.

Yes. Yes I love my girls! More than breath, more than life itself. More than The One who blessed me with them?

Ouch! My answer stings. My response hurts.

Do you love the gift more than The Giver?

After days and weeks spent thinking, mediating, examining . . . No.

It was not an easy No for me. But the hard does not cause me to change my response.

Emmerson and Vivienne are a gift. They are His gifts to me. They are gifts and there was never a guarantee on how long I would physically hold them. The time spent does not take away the fact that they were His gifts to me.

It is up to me now, how I treat, how I react to His gift . . . my girls . . . my God. I will honor Emmerson and Vivienne. I will carry them in my heart until the last bit of air is pushed from the lungs.

Even now, I would not return this ache, this sorrow.

I hear of new mommies who want a full nights sleep, of their hope for the laundry load to be less. I now realize, through loss, how I desire for sleep to be interrupted with the cries of hunger and for my laundry to be dotted with tiny onesies. 

If before, I could have overlooked those things, those moments and chores as blessings, as gifts, then what more am I not seeing? What else does my eye need to fall on and consider it gift? Blessings?

Could my sorrow, my ache, be gift?

This question has caused me to take pause and examine my life.

There is no doubt that my life has been extremely blessed. 

Emmerson and Vivienne were and still are blessings in my life. They have caused me to open my eyes, my heart and to see everything that rains down as good. Blessings rain down. They rain down abundantly.

Blessings that cause me to hit knee and bow low. 

He rains blessings down. How often do we return those blessings with thanks?

How often do we entrust the beauty of what was given to the majesty of The Giver?

...My soul glorifies the Lord...For The Mighty One has done great things for me.
Luke 1:46:49


*I have received a lot of literature and have read a lot of books over the past few months. I have searched everything I have read and cannot find the source for the above question. I love to give credit where credit is due. If you know the one who asked the above question, please leave the name in the comment section that follows this post. The question is not from me.*

Monday, October 24, 2011

It Shows

On one of my previous post, I decorated it with pictures of my daughter's room. There was a famous doll sitting on the bed. I looked at the picture and was thankful that all the dirt and stains on her were not obvious in the photo.

Baby gets a bath (put in the washing machine) once a week. First I pre-treat her with a stain remover and sometimes I let her soak in my ever-present "soaking bucket" in the laundry room.

I feel the need here to pat myself on the back and tell you that I am pretty amazing at getting stains out of clothes. I really perfected my stain removing abilities after I became a mother. I used to be The Laundry Princess but in the last two years, I have had some upward movement in my company and have a new title now, The Laundry Queen. I wonder why with my new title I have not also received more pay? I guess that is a whole other post.

It is getting to the point with Baby that no matter how much I pre-treat her, soak her, or bathe her, she no longer becomes completely clean, free of the stains.

After I took those pictures, I thought back when to Baby first became a member of our family. She was so clean. There was not a speck of dirt on her and both bows on her dress were intact.

Now she has stains and one of the bows is missing.

I have tried in vain to make her like new again.

It never works.

She has been my daughters most adored companion. She has a lot of dirt on her.

She has been kissed, hugged, slipped under the covers with my daughter and kept her company while she dreams sweet, innocent dreams of a child.

She has been everywhere my daughter has been. Baby gets examined and receives her immunizations by the doctor before her forever friend.

It shows. It is evident that Baby has lived. That Baby has been loved.

So, the dirt and the wear and tear on Baby isn't really dirt at all. It is love made visible.

Love made visible . . .

". . . But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."
The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams


Wednesday, October 19, 2011

Interrupted Plans

I don't know what it is. I don't know what triggers it. It frustrates me! I am a planner; a mega-planner. I have back up plans for my back up plans. So when it comes out of the blue and hits me, I fall to my knees.

Yesterday, My Love and I were at the gym...together. Working out...together. We have not worked out together since our first daughter was born two and a half years ago. It was so nice. I felt like it was a date.

We were lifting weights and My Love said something to me (I forget what it was) and I responded with, after all, I did just have twins. We were laughing and joking around with one another before I said it and continued to do so after. But those words still lingered. I thought to myself, I did just have twins and when I go to pick up my daughter from the gym's childcare, I will just be picking up her, not Emmerson and Vivienne. I just had twins and they are not with me. They are not here.

A little while later, while we were still working out, I overhead a man saying something about his baby. Baby. I had two. When I go home, they will not be there. As we did our cool down, the sadness, the reality, weighed down on me. They are not here.

I stopped. My Love asked what was wrong. I did not respond. He took one look at my eyes (as he is accustomed to doing now when there has been a drastic change in my demeanor) and gave me a knowing look.

We get home and I retreat to my hideout - under the covers in my bed.

This morning upon rising, the lingering sadness is still there. I am trying so hard to just be normal. It consumes a surprising amount of energy.

My daughter has a fever and she is out of character for herself. She climbs up on my lap and she is still. She is never not moving. She is constantly on the go, constantly jumping and running. She does not know any other way to get from Point A to Point B.

She has climbed up on my lap and she is still. She cuddles with me and I relish it. She is never still long enough to cuddle and I can not remember the last time I have cuddled with her. Without trying, I remember back to when she was an infant and I cuddled with her all the time. I remember back to when I was pregnant with her and a smile grows on my face. Without warning, memories of my pregnancy with Emmerson and Vivienne hit me and I smile more and then I grow sad. They are not here. 

The sadness soaks in more. It takes more energy to just be normal. I am so weighed down that it begins to feel as if I am moving under water. I am so weighed down that a film covers my eyes and I can not see all that I have been blessed with.

I hurt. I ache.

It comes out of nowhere. It always takes me by surprise. I don't plan for the grief to overcome me and when it does, I do not know what to do with it.

Just when I think I am making some progress, I have set backs. When I am making progress, I fall back to what comes as second nature to me...planning. The grief comes and the plans stop. The day, the moment, stops and it stretches out to forever. It frightens me to see that as my life. I do not want it. I did not ask for this. I did not plan for this. I do not have a back up plan for this grief, for this new reality.

It is gloomy and raining on this October Day. I feel as if my heart, me, is gloomy and raining and I am having such a hard time seeing it as good. Seeing it as blessing.

I want them here with me. I want my arms to be full with the weight of them. I miss them so.

I miss and I ache so much for them. The grief has come and I am having a hard time being present.

I ask and beg of prayers from you today.


Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Promise Made

I see a husband and wife fresh and new on this journey of life together. I smile and wish them well. I smile and say a prayer that sorrow will not step into that life. I hope and pray that their worst day, their day of ugly is the day they said I Do. I hope nothing but beauty and good lies before them.

I see a newly married couple and I think of the day I glowed with love for My Love. I smile and think, what a wonderful day that was! I really believed that our life would appear as I had always dreamed: Love, Home, Laughter over dinner, Arms wrapped around in comfort, Cries and Coos of babies, Pitter-Patter of little feet, Those same little feet knowing of the love of child, Silver hair rocking on the front porch staring in awe at the sunset.

I had always wanted to be a wife, to be a mother. I wanted the simple but the grand. I wanted a simple life with My Love that held my dreams. I wanted the simple life but the grandest of loves.

My life has held those things, those desires and dreams but also has held hurt and sorrow and nightmares.

When I Do is sung on the lips of two promising forever, the breath that gives voice sound is the dream of good.

The promise of forever is framed with a smile and is swollen with love. The promise is made with the dreams and hopes of beauty and laughter.

But this is life. The weeping is as much apart of life as is the dancing.

When the music fades and the dance ceases, what is left?

Isn't that what the promise if for?

The promise of forever is to hold it all. It is there to wrap one up in love, in the certainity that you are not alone when the lights dim, the sparkles are gone and the music is dead. It is there to double the laughter, brighten the smiles, and to hold the hand, the eyes in a sweet dance.

A few days after goodbye was spoken through tears, I laid curled up in My Loves arms and together we cried. I was overwhelmed with my love for him. I was overwhelmed with sorrow and regret. I regretted that he had to feel this hurt. That My Love was now a man that lost two pieces of his heart.

I looked up at him through a sea of tears and told him how sorry I was for his pain. That I hated seeing him hurt like he was and still is. I whispered to him through choked breath how thankful I was that I had him to walk this road with me. How blessed I am that he is still here to hold my hand.

I understand the beauty of the promise now. After eleven years, I understand. The promise is not for life to always glow in beauty, but to be that sliver of light, of forever, when life grows dark and ugly.

The promise is to grow in beauty, together, through it all.

That is what the promise is for.

And that is what The Promise is for...

Through it all, the weeping, the dancing, the laughter, the tears, He will hold us.


Monday, October 17, 2011


It seems that every month is an awareness month for something. There is absolutely no way one person could remember all the causes that each month holds.

I feel that it is common knowledge that October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. I am so happy for all efforts that are made to wipe out Breast Cancer. That is very close and dear to my heart because my Mother is a Breast Cancer SURVIVOR!!!

October is also a month that slows down to remember those babies lost during pregnancy or in infancy. I remember mine everyday. I also think of all those mothers who have gone before me and will come after me in this unimaginable journey.

Here is a site from a mother who lost and through that loss has done some amazing things. She started an online card store to help those who have also lost and for those who are close to the ones who have suffered the loss of their baby. She gives beautiful words for the ones who do not know what to say.

If you have suffered the unthinkable, the seemingly unnatural, or you are one who is walking with the one who suffers, please take pause to stroll through her store.

There are blessings everywhere!


Friday, October 14, 2011

Breaking of Whole

Communion is the consuming of that which has been broken and spilled.

I have been broken. But haven't we all?

Where a crack is present, it is more susceptible to break, shatter.

I break when I hear of heartache.

I break when I see one has become broken.

I can not do the mending. It was never intended for me to do.

I break and when I break, the pieces and holes are seen by the One Who Matters. The Mender. Let Him fill them. He can and will make it whole.

When Communion is received, it is drops and pieces that are consumed.

Makes me wonder. Makes me ponder.

Does He still choose to break that which He desires to be made whole?

During the Last Supper, Jesus took bread, gave thanks, and broke it. After he broke bread, He told His disciples to take it, that it is His body (Mark 14:22).

He gave thanks and broke the bread, in demonstration of what was to come.

He knew what He was about to endure and yet, He still gave thanks. He knew the reason and purpose for it all.

Later He went to the Garden of Gethsemane to pray (Mark 14:32) and while praying He asked His Father to take the cup that would soon press His lips (Mark 14:36).

He didn't like the breaking any more than I have. He asked His Father to take it from Him. Even though He gave thanks for it, the cup, He still asked for it to be removed. Could He have been more human in that moment?

He was able to foreknow that which was going to be broken. Him! He was still able to give thanks! He gave thanks for the breaking and the spilling, knowing greater glory would reap.

The glory causes me to think of Mary, Martha and Lazarus. Did I not tell you that if you believe, you will see the glory of God? (John 11:40)

If we believe, we will see glory. We were not promised that we would never see broken pieces, experience brokenness.

When Jesus told Mary and Martha that they would see, experience glory if they believed, did He know that He Himself would be the way of belief of True Glory?

Jesus had to endure breaking for that which was already broken. Crimson red spilled for the bitter tears that fall when something breaks.

God chose the breaking to be the vehicle for the fixing. Fixing, mending, filling in the holes of which was initially intended to always be whole.

Communion is a time to be spent reflecting on the blood that was spilled and the blood that covers. Do we realize that what is consumed is what was Broken for the broken? We consume fragments to mend whole?

Makes me wonder, makes me ponder.

Does God still choose to break that which He desires to be made whole?


Wednesday, October 12, 2011

The Ordinary

The sun rises and shines through windows, filling up the space that just moments before was occupied by the dark.

Another day begins.

Feet pat on the floor, down the stairs. Hands in soapy water scrubbing crumbs of what was eaten. Woven fabric flipping and flopping in suds, socks paired, shirts on hangers, pants folded, drawers and closets filled with the fresh and clean.

Big hands cleaning small hands who spent the day in wonderment, experiencing new.  Little girl folded in warm comfort, folded in love. Kiss the eyes which will soon be seeing in her dreams.

Tuck self into sheets to rest so all can be done again. All that seems mundane and old, again tomorrow, a new day. A new day to do what is old.

As eyes drift close with the promise of sleep, the self wonders, what is all this for? The purpose?

What happened to the dreams of big? Of travel? Of wonder?

Out of the folds of mind and murky dark of half sleep, the word, This, is whispered in the ear.

This what?

This is the dream. This is the purpose.

Your dream, your first dream, has always been of love. Have you forgotten my love?

You wanted, desired, to love.

Love is the purpose. So do it well. Love well.

That is the purpose. It is the greatest.

It is the dream lived where sometimes it lies in forget and lost appreciation.

But the extraordinary lies in the ordinary, the mundane. Open the eye, mind, heart and see it, feel it, know it, remember it. Know it is your dream and be thankful.

Love and do it well.

And  now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.
1 Corinthians 13:13


Saturday, October 8, 2011

What is Faith?

I was always one to remain quiet about my faith. Thinking it was something personal. It was only meant to be personal and believing it was just between God and I.

It is not.

I am His.

Faith is designed to be shared.

I am His and woven into the fibers of creation is to bring glory to the One who created.

Some have wondered. Some have questioned. How can you praise when He allowed sorrow to take place?

How can I not?

How can I believe, know, my sweet babies are in the presence of Christ but not believe IN Christ? Son of God? Saviour?

They are not seperate.

How can I rave and dream and hope of the beauty of Heaven but ignore the One who created it all?

I can not.

I will not.

No matter what this life brings, He is the One.

He is the Reason.

He is the One who deserves praise. Always.


Monday, October 3, 2011

What I Tried to Say

Do you ever have moments where you have just heard someone speak or read something and then declared, That is exactly what I was thinking! or That is what I was trying to say!

You are so excited in your declarations because you are surprised by the reality that someone else has the same emotions as you? Or you are elated because someone was able to express what is tangled in you?

I just had one of those moments.

After I hit the button to publish my previous post, I hopped over to (in)courage to read some of their latest articles.

I came across a post by Sarah Markley. She was able to express what I was trying to type in my last post.

Jump on over and read it.



Do you remember when you were younger and your mom would say, if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all?

I do. I have changed it up a bit though to fit my current circumstance. Many people have said things to me, meaning well, but really come across insensitive, uncaring and rude. I know their intentions are good and that they are trying. I am thankful and grateful for their kind spirit, even when the words are wrong and wound.

How would I change that saying made famous by mothers everywhere?

If you don't know what to say, how to comfort with words, don't say anything at all. 

I know people have meant well. I know they are trying to help heal with their words.

Sometimes their words wound more than they help.

I have had some pretty awful things said to me.

Here are some things I have heard on a regular basis.

  • You can always have another baby.
  • Be thankful you did not get to take them home with you.
  • They probably would have been sick so they are better off in heaven.

Let me assure you, those words do not comfort. They hurt. They diminish my loss. They diminish the lives of my sweet girls.

I pray that we will be able to have more children. If we are blessed with more, those future lives will NEVER replace Emmerson and Vivienne. They were unique, loved individuals and nothing and no one will ever replace them.

I do not understand how and why people will say to someone who has just lost a baby or a pregnancy, You can always have more children. That is never uttered to a mother who has lost a five year old or a twenty-three year old child. Why? Why then is it spoken to a mother who has suffered a loss before there was a chance to live? Babies are people. They are wanted and loved.

It is human nature to want more. I would have loved to have had the chance to take them home. Create more memories. Had more time with them. More time to kiss, to hug, to love.

It has been said that my loss would have been greater if I would have brought them home. I don't know that. I know I would have had more memories of them. Some of my wonderings about them would have been answered. The question marks sometimes hurt more.

Loss is what it is. The words breathed intended for comfort doesn't make the love less. My loss is neither less or more than someone who lived more of life with their child. My love for them is not less or more based on the time spent.

It is quite simply, uniquely, and intricately, love.

Here are the things that wrap my heart up in a blanket with comfort.

  • Call anytime, day or night. I am always available to listen.
  • After I have cried and poured my grief out through words,  there are no words. I don't know what to say.
  • I would love to hear about Emmerson and Vivienne. 
When someone has acknowledged my loss, they first acknowledged that I loved.

It is this Mother's love that makes the heart weep.



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