Rainbows and Sewage...

Isn't that a nice subject line.  But I bet it caught your attention right?

Yesterday was such a wonderful day here.  We decided to get up and watch the sun rise over the ocean.  At least that's what we wanted to do.  Turns out, the fog that comes in each morning and evening doesn't burn off until after the sun rises.  So I guess there's not much to see in a San Diego sunrise (or maybe its just been the case since we've been here).

But still it was nice.  Jarrett and I walked along the shore taking in the beautiful sea breeze, I looked for seashells to take home to the kids and we talked of course about them and Noah.

 It was 5:20 in the morning. And with how peaceful, quiet and calming it was, it reminded me of the NICU in the middle of the night.  I'll always be thankful I went to help with Noah's 2:00 a.m. cares.  I know some of the nurses and physicians thought I was crazy to get up in the middle of the night, drive 20 minutes to the hospital, to help with about 10 minutes worth of cares consisting of taking his temperature, changing his diaper and only on a few days, getting to feed him.  It seemed like a lot of effort to just take care of a few things, but it was the whole experience that made it worth it to me.  It was getting to walk into the darkened, quiet, and peace-filled pod d, that the world seemed okay and my heart felt comforted that peace had wrapped itself around my son.

I will always be thankful I got to be a part of it.  Its another one of those happy memories, I try to hold onto when the sadness becomes too difficult to stand.  

On the beach yesterday morning, as the sun was somewhere behind some cloud makings it arrival for the day known, my mind was back at Banner Desert in that NICU with my son.

After our sunrise walk, Jarrett got ready for his conference while I went out for my daily run.  The run that helps me to clear my mind.  Each day I wonder if my passion for running will return.  So far it hasn't, but I keep venturing out, because I have hope someday it might.  At least it gives me time to process my thoughts, time to try and find the good in the day and to talk to him... Noah that is.

In the afternoon after Jarrett's classes had wrapped up for the day, we decided to grab a late lunch.  Several people have told us about a great Mexican restaurant near the hotel and so we set out determined to find it.  I went to ask the concierge for their recommendation and before I could even get the entire question out, he responded, "You want to go to Miguel's"  It turns out it is literally across from the hotel and it lived up to its expectations.  Jarrett and I joked that we felt we were out on a date, and couldn't remember how we were supposed to act or even what to say.  We're so used to interruptions at dinner, spilled drinks, and fights over who's touching who, that we were almost giddy in the time we had to actually talk.  We decided to celebrate by having sangria... an entire pitcher.  Its been years (probably more than 10) since we've done something like that.  And it was enjoyable.  We ate chips and salsa, sipped our sangria and talked about life... the kids, our home, work, and what our next trip (a family one) should be.  

 After lunch we returned to the hotel and decided to spend the afternoon at the beach.  Jarrett, not the greatest lover of the sun (he gets burned easily) said he would rent an umbrella and lay under that while I sat outside of it...I like the warmth of the sun.   As we went to get the umbrella, the beach attendant Nicc told us going in the ocean was forbidden for the day.  I asked why, thinking it might be strong currents, sharks, something like that.  She instead said, "No, its because of sewage."  "What?" I inquired. "Yes she said because of the storm on Sunday, Mexico had a sewage leak that has now traveled up to our coast.  Its dangerous to go in because there's high levels of bacteria."  "Yuck." I said... Guess we will just sit on the sand.

 As we were walking toward the beach my sister texted me and asked, "What are you doing today?"  I texted my family back, Going to the beach but it's closed due to a sewage leak.  Isn't that the shits?  Literally.  

So instead we just put our feet in the sand and made the best of the situation.

Jarrett laid under the umbrella and fell sleep.

And I sat there and cried.  Who cries on the beach?  I guess I do. Thankfully I had my sunglasses on.  

I have been reading the book, "I Will Carry You." by Angie Smith.  Its the story of a mother who lost her fourth child soon after giving birth.  There are so many similarities between our stories, its like she's read my mind and is spitting out all the thoughts that come and go.  From low amniotic fluid, to the terrible survival statistics shared by doctors, to her need to plan things out and be in control, to trying to find understanding in why this happened.  Why God would let our children die.  It strikes a cord and so I keep reading.

Yesterday I read the account of when her daughter was born and how she passed.  Angie writes how she prayed for a miracle, that God would come and save her miracle baby.  She said that on the day she knew Audrey was going to pass, she realized that only God had the ability to save her.  She writes, "One way or another our daughter will be healed.  Praise God with me for this is the truth."  I couldn't help but think God had done the same for our Noah.  While I begged God for a miracle, we all prayed for God to save him, I guess in the end... God did just that.  It was just that his version of a miracle was to take him home.  My version was to leave him with me.  Different requests... God still did what we asked.  He saved our son.

As Angie went through detail after detail of the manner in which her daughter left her arms, I found myself sobbing, so it was similar to the way Noah said goodbye to us.  "Everything was moving slowly all around me. I clung to her, keenly aware a part of me was going to go with her, never to return.  She was cold. I wrapped her blanket tighter.  I knew it couldn't warm her but it was the only thing that made sense.  I lowered my face to hers for the last time.  I knew she wasn't there anymore, but the mother's heart doesn't know how to stop loving, even in the wake of death," she wrote. 

I cried.  I had done the exact same thing, and no matter how closely I held Noah to my chest, no matter how tightly I kept the blanket wrapped around him.  He wouldn't stay warm.  I knew.  We knew.  He had left us. Where was our miracle?  I asked God.

Reading Angie's book yesterday, I realized God had not only heard but he answered our prayers.  And while the answer to our prayers brought us unbearable and unending pain, Noah's in Heaven and not in pain.  Shouldn't that be enough to make me happy.  

Angie Smith continues, "It was one of the hardest moments of my life. I prayed for the Lord to sustain me.  For the strength to accept that the cup had not passed.  For trust in Him despite the fact that I felt horribly, maddeningly betrayed."  She questioned, "What did He think of all this?  What God watches a child die in her mother's arms and doesn't intervene?  How could any of these things really be happening?"  

 I too had written, had asked, have shouted to God all those same things. As I sit on my bathroom floor and cry, I ask "Why... why would you take him away?  Why? God Why?"

As I blew my nose in the Kleenex that was my former bookmark, I woke up Jarrett who was sleeping peacefully on the soft silky sand.  He asked me, as he does most times he wakes up next to me, "Are you okay?"  I sniffled and wiped away the tears rolling down my cheeks.  "I'm okay, I'm just so sad."  I shared with him what I had just read and how Angie Smith went on to explain her understanding of how God's still present in our lives, when we think he's done the most awful thing to us.  How God grieves too, not because our loved one has passed but because of the pain he knows their absence causes us.  

She says, "He knows they can't see that hope.  And neither can we.  There is a difference in despair and the deep sadness over the time that will pass until we can see her again.  It is a conscious, daily choice to experience weeping, the sadness that allows one to grieve with the expectation of redemption."  

It is the redemption that takes away the despair I realized.

I find hope that one day I will be with Noah again.  I guess Angie is right; there is a difference between despair and my deep deep sadness.

With my heart so heavy, Jarrett intervened and said, "Let's go get some ice cream." So we did.  Walking up to the shop, we noticed "Ant Man" walking along the beach.  I haven't seen the movie or really know anything about him/it, and I can't figure out why he was on the beach.  We knew the kids, especially the boys would be excited to see Antman, so like all parents do when they see something their kids would like,we chased after him down the beach like two crazy fans.. trying to get close enough to snap a picture. 

 He looks like he belongs at the beach doesn't he?

 Walking back to our towels and umbrella, ice cream in hand, we came upon a sand artist who was creating a masterpiece along the beach.  We watched him for a while and took note of the pride he took in his craft.  Children surrounded him and made comments, "You're a really good sandcastle maker?  "I really like your sandcastle, will you build one with me now?"  Children, they are just naturally good, to to their core.

Walking hand in hand Jarrett and I returned to our spot on the beach, sat for a while longer taking in the sights and sounds of the waves crashing along the short, and I prayed to God to help me as we return back home.  It's easier to find joy, happiness and relief when you are on vacation, at a beautiful resort, with the sand and sun at your feet and head and all you have is time to dream and think.

Life is a bit more difficult when the weight of reality hits your shoulders, when the reality that your baby won't be there when you return, that your family is and will never be complete in this world again.  Thinking about that makes me realize what awaits me when I return.  It scares me.

We returned to our room, and I told Jarrett the sadness was sliding back in like the darkness coming each night.  I hate that feeling and while I try so hard to stop it at the moment it begins, the pain of losing him, of never getting to experience all that we dreamed about doing as a family, its paralyzing pain.  Sitting on the side of the bed, telling myself I need to stop feeling this way, my phone on the nightstand next to me buzzed.  I looked over at it to see I had a message from Facebook.  My brother-in-law Adam's brother, Matt and his wife, Lisa had tagged me in a picture.  Knowing they were 2500 miles away from me back in Iowa, I thought, what picture are they tagging me in.  I haven't seen them lately.  I opened up my phone and saw this...

It was a rainbow.  The sign I seek from Heaven.  It was my reminder, that its going to be okay.  That Noah's okay.  Just at the right time, when my deep sadness had started to turn to despair, there was my sign.

When Noah first passed, I use to think I need to be the one to spot the rainbow to know he is okay.  In the days and weeks since his passing, I've learned that the signs don't have to come directly from him to me.  While I loved that rainbow I saw on one of the first mornings I started running, and the 4 angels that were given to me on the day of his funeral, I've found the signs he sends through others come at some of my hardest moments.

The timing seems impeccable.  Its happened so many times, when I feel at my worst, that I can only trust it comes from the place of flawlessness.  The sadness so strong, the pain so hurtful, and then... a message of support, often with a picture like this...

This double rainbow sent by my great friend Sonya on her way back to Arizona after a family trip across the country.  She wrote, "Double winks from baby Noah! Coming to you from Texas.  Hugs my beautiful friend."  

I opened her message and it just happens that it was at a moment I had crawled into bed, pulled the covers up over me and tried with all my might to wish this world away.  Seconds later, her message appeared.  Its saving grace when I just feel so so sad.

And then this morning, as I pack up our "safe place" for the last 4 days.  I feel the pressure, the sadness, the reality coming back to me when my phone buzzed again.

This time my sister's best friend from high school...

"Hi Ang!  Its Arica.  I'm on vacation in Montana and saw this double rainbow last night.  Noah is everywhere!"   

And it's in those moments, when I look up to the sky and thank God.  I thank Noah.  For not only are those images so reassuring to me, but they remind me of the care, the support and the love so many have shown us, all because he came into our lives.  

And that's what gives me strength, when I feel the opposite, that life has to keep going.  So many others have thought of us, continue to pray for us, and to be the messengers of hope when they see a rainbow in the sky.  I'm so so thankful for each of you, who have sent your notes of encouragement, who see a rainbow and think of our son, and who continue to be reminders of just how blessed we are.

We are so thankful for you.  Some days life seems to be pretty crappy, (literally like sewage has taken over), but as you look to the sky and to others, the rainbows of hope are apparent. 

Until next time...its time to head home.

Angie

Sailing...

At the conference Jarrett is attending he met up with a few acquaintances he has interacted with during his professional career.  One of them, turns out, is a sailor in his free time, and asked Jarrett and I if we'd like to come out on the sailboat with him, his wife and a few other of their friends.

Jarrett told me about it, asked me if I wanted to go and ended his ask by saying, "When in the world will we ever be able to do this again?" 

In this time away, I'm trying my best to just let everything go... with regard to planning activities, the thoughts in my head, and the way I think about how to pick up the pieces.  I find myself talking to God when I'm alone.  God, if there's one thing I'm suppose to learn from this, maybe there's a million things to learn.  I ask, "God, are you trying to teach me that I must turn all control of this life over to you?  If so, you have my attention, I'm listening... tell me then, what do you want me to do?"    So far I don't hear his response, so I keep my ears open and try to listen, to watch for the message he has to be sending me. 

With Jarrett waiting for my response, I could tell he was expecting me to come up with a reason why we shouldn't go.  He knows it is still hard for me to be around others, talking and "pretending" life is great, when its not. It's hard, it's exhausting, and so I often find myself preferring my natural introverted tendencies.  In the spirit of "letting go" I told Jarrett he was right, "This may be that once in a lifetime experience and so we should go."  

Yesterday afternoon we, 8 of us total, 4 couples, sailed around the coast of San Diego.  Jarrett got a chance to learn what its like to be a captain's assistant.  Is a deck hand the right title?  The youngest by probably 20 years, he was the muscle to help pull the ropes, fasten the lines, throw the buoy, he loved it.  I got the easy job, sit, relax, drink champagne, and take pictures.  Talk about letting go.

We got to watch as a U.S. Navy War Ship returned home from active duty.  The sailors were all lined up on the top deck and were greeted by smaller boats pulling along side to welcome their loved ones home.  What happiness those families must have felt.

We went with two other couples who didn't know our story, didn't know anything about the thoughts consuming our minds, and invited us along just to enjoy life.  They, at different points in their career, are thinking about retirement.. what the latter quarter of their lives will look like.  With the sea breeze blowing in our faces, Tom, the captain, sang songs, told stories and gave orders.  It was clear he was in glory.  His wife, Cynthia, a wonderfully kind woman, seemed to know what he was thinking before he uttered a sound.  She'd assist him in getting what he needed before he had to ask.  And it went both ways.  Watching them I saw a level of respect and honor that is the foundation of long term relationships. It was clear to me that the vows they probably recited on their wedding day... to honor, to respect... were carrying them through the years as they grow older together.

And then I looked at Jarrett and realized that I believe we have the same thing going for us.  While we are far from retirement, we are growing older together with the same respect and honor we shared with each other on the day of our wedding, now almost 12 years ago.  

Sailing was wonderful.  I'm so thankful for the opportunity and invitation to go.  I talked to the other ladies on the ship, we talked about the boat, about San Diego, about the difference between the open ocean and where we stayed, inland, closer to dry land.  While we talked some, a lot of the time, I didn't talk at all.  

I watched the shore line, the clouds move in, the water brush against the side of the boat and the sun peek through the fog every once and a while.  I thought about Noah, how I miss him so terribly.  How I felt happy on the boat but thought about going home and the pit growing in my stomach.  I long to see the kids, I know they will make me smile.  It's just the reality that everywhere I turn will be a reminder of our incomplete family.  It just makes me so sad.

Looking at the shore, and knowing our "safe place" was a mile or so away, from where we sailed in the middle of the bay, I thought, if something terrible would happen to this boat, we'd have to swim to the shore or wait for someone to come rescue us.  In that moment, the image running through my mind of the boat sinking, made me realize, this is how I feel in my life right this minute.  A mile off shore, with my "safe place" in sight, yet feeling too weak to swim so far, or be rescued by anyone.  This swim, this endurance race beyond any other in the past, is for me to complete, I must find a way.  While others may be there to cheer me on, to provide encouragement and tell me, "You can and must do it." saving myself is the only way to get to the shore.  

So how do I do that.  I don't know.  I've never even practiced for this sort of challenge.  I don't know any other way, than to let go of the need to know how, to let go of the need to control the situation, and to let go of being afraid.  The only way I can think to begin this life saving swim is to simply start.  

So one stroke after another... on the ground it looks like to me as one step in front of the other.  I'm hoping that one day I'll get to the shore, stand on the beach looking out to where it all started and say, "That wasn't as hard as I thought it was going to be."  I know I'll be a different person, I'll probably have bruises from hitting the rocks along the shore, scars from the coral, and strengthened muscles I didn't even know I had.... but I will be there.  I'll stand on the shore, I will be in a "safe place" again and God willing, I hope I'll be thankful for the challenge.  

The vision of me standing on a shore recovered from this endurance race is like the mornings here... foggy.  But I see a shadow of someone waiting to greet me, I see the light of hope on the horizon, so I know nothing else but to let go of the sinking boat (my crushed spirit from losing my son), and to start this swim. 

It wasn't my choice to begin this challenge, but I'm here now.  So swim I will, swim I must.

Until next time,

Angie

I have a responsibility to carry on.

If I were still pregnant with Noah, he would be due in 75 days.  Doesn't that seem still like a lot of time?  Noah arrived 113 days early.  The fact that he was able to survive the birth and was born alive despite being so early, reminds me of the miracle he was.  To conceive him was a miracle, the trials he fought through to be with us; a miracle, and the fact that he fought for more than 12 days to be in our lives… that was a miracle too.

Thanks to a friend I wear a bracelet daily that reminds me I am the mom of an angel.  When the gift arrived in the mail, it didn’t say who it was from.  Opening the box and seeing the beautiful bracelet, I loved it immediately.  I took a picture of the gift and sent it to my family saying, “Is this so pretty?”  A few minutes later my sister replied to my text, “What an honor.”  It took me a second to figure out what she meant and then I looked down at the gift and realized, she was referring to the saying, “Mom of an Angel.”   

Isn't it pretty?  I have another story about the beautiful Noah bracelet, that one coming soon.

I thought for a moment, and realized, you’re right MaeLyn, it is an honor.  While I’d much rather have Noah here in my arms, the truth is, I can’t.   But I am still his mother and he’ll always be mine right?  And I do believe he is an angel in Heaven.  So I guess the charm is accurate, I am the mother to an angel.  Thinking about it that way, yes I agree, I feel honored to hold that title.

In that honor comes responsibility. 

In the first few days after Noah’s passing, life was extremely dark.  There were thoughts I had, feelings I shared with those closest to me, that I don’t feel I can share here.  Let me just say, they were very difficult days.  Jarrett, my parents, my sisters and a select few others I shared my inner most thoughts with, told me “It is your responsibility to carry on.  You have to for us, for Gabriel, Michael and Isabelle… and you have to do it for Noah.”  At the time I really didn’t care, honestly, I REALLY DIDN’T CARE.  And I couldn’t understand why they were telling me that.  I didn’t care.  I felt so terribly lost, devastated, destroyed that I didn’t believe I would ever, ever recover from losing Noah. 

And then there was this morning, and yesterday and the few days before that.  Maybe its because I’m sitting here in the beautiful, flower filled, green, lush environment of San Diego, with the ocean in my sights.  But sitting here this morning, I realize today feels different.  Yesterday felt different than the day before. And last Tuesday felt different than the morning of June 26^th.

People keep telling me the only cure to getting through the loss of a loved one is time.  When your hearts been crushed and you’re just hours out from losing your most precious loved one, time is the worst answer.  Who the hell wants to hear you just have to give yourself time to recover.  Seriously, when people would say you just have to give yourself time to be able to live a happy life, I wanted to punch them in the face.  (Sorry to all you loved ones who told me that.  You know I really wouldn’t have punched you but I may have thought about it.)

Just give it time…that sucks.  The only time I wanted to think about was going back in time… to freeze it, so I’d never have to live through the terrible parts of losing him.  I’d go back to Father’s Day and live that day over like I was Bill Murry in Groundhogs Day the movie.  That’s the time I wanted to talk about.

But time doesn’t stop, and time keeps marching on.  Here we are 38 days out from Noah’s birth, almost a month from his passing, and I’m starting to see a glimmer of light in the message so many wonderful people shared with me.  Time doesn’t heal… time makes the pain of living with a lost loved one, easier to bear. 

And that’s where I’m seeing my responsibility of living here on Earth with an angel in Heaven and three more needing me here. 

I went running this morning along the beach.  I continue to use that time to ask God questions, to search for answers in the sky and to pray.  It doesn’t matter to me the miles anymore or the pace, I go long enough until I’ve asked God all the questions I can remember, until I’ve searched the sky for all signs and until I’ve gotten that yucky feeling out of the pit of my stomach.  This morning’s view as I ran, reminded me of the mess in my head. 

San Diego in the last couple of days set a record for the most amount of rain ever in the month of July.  Yesterday the rainstorm was beautiful….it poured rain, and thunder rolled in the sky for hours.  Sometimes it recessed to a slight sprinkle and then other times, the rain poured down like it was a pitcher of water being poured from the sky.  It’s how the tears fall from my eyes these days too.  This morning the thick, dense fog had rolled in and I could see the sheets of the white, thick air move across the beach in front of me.  It’s like the waves of sadness, of happy memories, the guilt, the paralyzing pain of never being able to hold him again… all different fronts coming at me at once.  That’s how the weather feels this morning. 

While the weather here can’t decide if the sun wants to shine, if the fog will remain, the rainstorms reappear or if the wind will blow gustily or gently…  I relate it to trying to figure out what direction our future should take.  I can’t decide.  I guess I may not get firm answers now, or even in the next couple of days, but there is one thing I have realized.  I have a responsibility to keep on keeping on.

Waking up this morning , as normal Noah was first to my mind. (On a side note: I think I’m going to start viewing it as a happy thing, rather than a reminder he’s not here.  Maybe it is his way to telling me good morning.  He wants to be first to do it and I would love that greeting. It’s a paradigm shift…think Win Win as my kid’s school says.)  As Noah and my love for him came to my mind, it was the reminder of my responsibility to carry on that came second.  While I might not feel like carrying on, I have to.

When Jarrett and I decided to build a family through adoption we made a commitment to those three children, the angels who answered our prayers; that we would be there for them, through everything.  Through the good times as we celebrate their cheers, and through the bad times, that come as a part of the package to living a quality life.  We are in the midst of the bad times.  These are some really bad times.  Worst than I’ve ever had before. 

Thinking back in my life to past challenging times, I am reminded that good times have always followed.  It still seems hard to me to believe that good times can and will follow the loss of Noah, but just as my belief in God above, I have to believe good times will come again too.  And I want to be there for Gabriel, Michael and Isabelle to see the good times with them, to celebrate and cheer again and to watch life bloom through their eyes.

I’m not sure why Noah had to leave us, I don’t think I’m ever going to understand while I still have a beating heart, but despite how broken I feel, I must try to fix this and heal, because I do have a life worth living.  I want to live long enough to see my children grow, to find the loves of their lives, to find a job that makes them happy and provides enough for them to live an adventurous life they’ll enjoy.  And I want to live to see my children become parents.  For me, it was the best gift in the entire world and what joy it must bring to watch your children given that gift too.  That is why I must go on. 

In Noah’s 12 days of life, we were given so much love, comfort, prayers and support.  While the reason for the gifts was because of Noah, the reality is all of them came from you.  From friends, family, neighbors, work colleagues, and even strangers.  Thousands of people visited our blog each day and the messages of support rolled in like the waves.  Jarrett and I have never felt more carried, more love and we know our children (all four of them) felt it just as much.  We continue to be so grateful.  Yesterday on our drive here,  Jarrett and I talked about what we want to do to honor Noah’s life.  So many of you have given memorials in his honor, we are not only grateful, but we hold a responsibility to make sure that money goes to great use.  Right now it is being set aside until we can determine what we feel the best way is to honor him.  We’ve talked about some ideas and we will continue to discuss and work out the details to share with you in the coming weeks ahead.  We believe Noah’s life here on Earth served as a reminder for so many of gift of hope, the power of prayer and the strength others can gain from kindness.  We were the recipients of that strength because of you and we hope that it wasn’t only us that found rejuvenated through hope and prayer on those days he was with us. 

As we think about what October 3, 2015 and the dream it was supposed to bring us, we know that day will be different than what we were originally planning.  But instead of making it a day of sadness, we want it to be a day that reminds us, reminds you, reminds as many people as we can, about the gifts hope, faith and kindness can be.  For that was the message Noah and his life brought us, thanks in part to so many.  So we ask you to help us… save the date of Saturday, October 3.The details will be coming but for now we ask you to please plan and join us. No matter where you live, no matter what your busy schedule entails, we ask you to jot down on your calendar and save the date to help us make this world a better place, just like our son did.

I have a responsibility to carry on. 

Until next time,

Angie

Starting to rebuild...

They said it from the very beginning of this up and down journey.  Doctors, nurses, friends, family, strangers… they said it.  You two have to stick together.  You created Noah out of love, your family out of love and your love is what will help carry you through. 

I’ve heard many statistics in the last5 weeks and the reality is most of the facts are terrifying.   When we showed up at the hospital that early morning on June 7^th, we were told Noah’s chances of survival were pretty much, well, basically there was very very little chance.  We were given statistics about how long they could usually hold off labor when someone’s water had prematurely ruptured… again not the greatest.  And when Noah was born we were told statistic after statistic about what his chances to get X were and what % of micro preemies get y.  The statistics are terrible. 

And I wondered if when the machines were finally turned off and we had to say goodbye to him for now, if the statistics would end too.  I’ve learned they haven’t.  I’m in the process of reading several grieving books, in my search for answers.  I’m hoping they will give me the answers to how I move forward.  How we find a way to live a happy life, when I can only seem to feel sadness in my heart.  In reading the grieving books, I’ve learned the statistics follow us outside of those hospital walls too.  As I read about the grief associated with losing a child, I’ve read over and over it seems to be the ultimate form of loss.  Many “experts” describe it as the worst type of grief pain to experience”, life shattering, unbearable- those are the words in the books.    As I read, I came across a statistic that made me stop cold.  My book fell to my lap, my head sunk into my chest and I told Jarrett, who was sitting next to me , “I can’t imagine.”  He immediately asked, “What?”  To which I replied. “I just read that parents who’ve experienced a loss like we have, report on average it takes 6 to 10 years to find a view life as happy again.”  I just can’t imagine I told him.  “The way I feel today, I can’t imagine living like this for even 2 years, let alone 6 to 10.  What kind of life will this be?”   Jarrett being the ever source of optimism said, “I don’t think it will be that long, everyone is different.” 

That statistic has stuck with me since reading it more than 3 weeks ago.  I can’t shake it, but since then there has been another stat that has taken its place as the more important one to focus on.  That statistic has to do with the number of relationships, marriages, partnerships that dissolve after the loss of a child.  It is staggering.  I’ve been told between 85 to 90% of marriages are significantly strained because of the trauma associated with this loss and many, too many end as a result.  If I’m being honest, I really am not surprised.  If a couple wasn’t concrete in stone about their relationship prior to the loss of a child, I think this experience would rip two people a part… to no one individual’s fault.  And that’s why it’s become my focus.  It’s become our focus.

I would say Jarrett and I are as secure as the sorcerer’s sword in the stone, but this too had caused us to stop and try to process, how do we continue on.  I’m learning the correct lingo and that we will never “move” on from losing Noah.  Instead we will learn each day how to better cope with his loss, and therefore we will learn to live life in a new way.  The life we had before, the life we were trying to reclaim, is gone.  We must learn to live a new life and so, like a toddler learning day by day, we are learning as adults, stumbling, falling, struggling but still getting back up to try again. 

In learning how to cope, Jarrett and I realized, that in learning how to cope with Noah’s passing and to find the answers to our future happy life, we have to start where it all began… with Jarrett and me.
 

We do not want to be one of the couples who add to the sad numbers of relationships ended.  We instead want to be one of those couples who go on, who learn how to cope and to find a way to rebuild a happy life.  So sitting here today writing, I write with the sound of waves crashing into the shore, with sand between my toes and with a clean, crisp sea breeze at my back.  I write today from the beach. 

Glancing up every few minutes, I see the looks I’m getting.  I think I’m the only one who has brought their laptop to the beach and yet I’m doing exactly what I want to do.  Writing.  I think writing is going to be the way I move through this grieving process.   By writing I experience all the emotions and thoughts running through my mind.  For years’s it has helped me to find answers to my thoughts, to the struggles I face and it reminds me of the blessings I have… all keys feeling happiness in my life.

Jarrett and I left the house this morning early and I was packing last night, I realized this was the first time in our lives as parents that we’ve left the kids for more than one night for a vacation.  Yes we’ve gone on date nights and even an overnight trips, but prior to going to the hospital for Noah’s birth and passing, we had never left the kids for more than one night.  I feel kind of guilty to be leaving them again so soon after we were just in the hospital a month ago and gone for 9 nights, but I realized in leaving, we are doing it as just as much for them, as it is for Jarrett and me.

The last 4 weeks at our home have been stressful.  All of us feel sad, emotional, stressed to the max and we all express our feelings differently.  The fighting between the kids, the screams- shrieking  of teasing or excitement, they are almost like triggers that make me so frustrated and at my wits end.  The other night in talking with a friend I confessed, I feel guilty about so many things.  Besides the guilt I feel for thinking I caused Noah’s life to end because I wasn’t able to carry him to full term, I feel guilty for not being the mother I’d like to be for Gabriel, Michael and Isabelle lately.  There, I’ve admitted it.  I find myself with far less patience than I normally have.  I find myself yelling, screaming and even begging them to please do what I ask and to stop fighting.  I find myself feeling so consumed in the sadness of losing Noah,  that I am not as attentive to their needs and wants.  I find myself doing the minimum, just to get by.  And that isn’t the mother I want to be, that isn’t the support I want to be for them.  And so I add to the guilt I feel. 

Jarrett returned to work the day after Noah’s funeral and in being gone for so long from the office, he had so much to catch up on.  He’s been working day after day, trying to catch up and keep our family moving forward.  I think he thinks it’s his duty.  So when he comes home, sometimes for dinner, sometimes just in time to tuck the kids into bed, and sometimes after they’ve long gone to bed, the stress of the day I feel comes out.  He’s stressed from work, I’m stressed from the life of balancing three kids and trying to keep the house going and standing in the kitchen for our 5 minutes a day to talk, it ends up boiling down to stress.

Jarrett had the idea first. He seems to have all sorts of really good ideas.  Back in January, he was signed up to attend a continuing legal education course in San Diego in July for work.  He asked me back even before we knew about Noah, if I wanted to come.  I said No, it would be too expensive and what would we do with the kids.  I’d just stay home, I said, it would be okay.  And then we found out about Noah and he asked again, “Do you want to come with me?  It could be like a baby moon before he comes?”  This time I thought about it, thinking with the four kids,  vacations alone would be few and far in between.  So I said, “maybe.”  Jarrett took it as a yes and booked a mini trip away for the two of us.  And then… the complications started.  The scares followed by the frequent trips to the doctor, reassurance, followed by another scare and the process repeated itself.  In May, after my trip back to Iowa ended in an ER visit, my doctor asked me not to leave the valley.  I look back now and wonder if she knew something I didn’t.  So Jarrett canceled the trip and adjusted his schedule so he would travel as minimal amount as possible.  And then the greatest day of our year happened (June 13), followed by our worst (June 25). 

Sitting at home one night a week and a half ago, I had shared the statistic about crumbled marriages with Jarrett and he asked again, “Let’s go to San Diego.  Come away with me.  We need it.  Don’t say no.” and he stood up to hug me as I felt apart in his arms again. Before I could let my mind jump with the million reason why this was not what we should do, that we have too many responsibilities, it isn’t the best use of our money right now, even though it would be a work trip and the laundry list of reasons; I let my shoulders fall, released all the tension inside me and I said, “yes.”  Jarrett pulled my arms away from his chest, looked down at my face, in my eyes and said, “I can’t believe you said yes.  It will be good for us, I promise.”   

So here we are, I’m sitting on the beach, the rain is falling down now.  Its so peaceful and Jarrett’s in listening to a lecture about some law related topic.  And the sound of the waves crashing into the beach have been replaced by the rolling thunder and pouring rain.  I guess I’m officially a desert girl, because I’ve learned to love the rain again.  And as I sit outside under a covered canopy I’m writing.  Like I said at the beginning, Jarrett seems to have the best ideas. 

Already Jarrett and I have been able to talk more than we have since Noah passed.  The drive here this morning was filled with quality conversation, no interruptions.  We laughed, we cried, we talked about those many hours in the hospital, about his birth, our favorite thing we got to do with Noah, the sadness we feel so deeply about losing him, and what we plan to do to honor his life in the future.  Seriously without that 5 hour car drive, it may have taken us 5 years to talk about all those things back at home living our regular life.

Driving here, I found so many reminders about the reasons why I married Jarrett.  I’ve always loved him and have found our love to grow each year, but I was reminded today in the seat next to him of the reasons why I said, “I do.”  Jarrett’s outlook on life and the ever present urgency to enjoy the days we have here is admirable. He views life in a “must do” attitude.  I think his health battle almost 8 years ago solidified that in him.  Jarrett’s never absent, head-over-heels, in-love with me view.  He seriously thinks I’m the most beautiful person to walk on this Earth.  He does.  While I’m still not convinced; he reminds me of this every single day.  Even in the hospital when I looked at my worst, and where he had to care for me in very unattractive ways;  still he told me… “I think you’re beautiful.” He doesn’t mean just the way I look.  The way he’s there for me, the way he knows just what to say before I can even open my mouth to ask for reassurance; it makes me love him even more.  And while I might not be the best at telling him in the same wonderful ways he tells me, I think he’s the most beautiful man in the world too.  And that’s why after 20 years (yes 20 years together) he still makes my heart skip a beat. 

So San Diego it is.  I have high hopes for this town, this visit.  Our schedule is low key, as minimal as it can get.  Beach, sand, drinks, food and talking.  Sometimes heavy topics, many times light.  We want to start this rebuilding process. While the foundation is firm, its time to start putting up the beams. 

Three days to just be us.  To grieve, to grow, to find hope again and to come back together as a couple and as a mom and dad ready to be there for our angels waiting for us at home. 

San Diego we have high expectations… I don’t think you’ll disappoint.

One of our first views as we arrived.

Until next time,

Angie

Poems..

Yesterday I went to the hospital to pick up our final package from the hospital.  I realized it would be the last time, I had a legitimate excuse to go to the hospital.  Next time I go, it will only be because I want to see the wonderful people who made a permanent imprint in my life.

Yesterday I went to pick up the package of pictures the hospital took of Noah.  These days every picture is a treasure and I care and protect them as if they were our life savings.  To me they are just as important.

Within the package of pictures there were two poems... one for me as his mother and one for Jarrett, his father.

When I got home and pulled the pictures out, I handed Jarrett the folder with his poem in it and I pulled out mine to read.  As we read the poems, the tears flowed down our cheeks and standing next to one another, I could feel the heartache in Jarrett's chest as much as I felt it in my own.

We are both broken hearted, we both struggle to move forward, we both try to do our best for our children, for our other responsibilities, but we both wish more than anything Noah was here.  We look at his pictures, have images of what our future was going to be like flash in front of our eyes.  Then we struggle through the pain of wiping those images away and filing them under the "delete" folder in our minds.  It is a parent's worst nightmare.  It is our reality.

I cherish the words found in poems and am thankful for those that have been shared with me.  Tonight I share the poems found in our precious packet of pictures sent from the hospital.  It seems these days some works speak to me as if they seem to be coming directly from him.  These two poems spoke to us...

Noah,
Oh how I miss you so terribly.  Everything reminds me of you.  As I drive and look in my review mirror to see the kids, I see three and know there should be four. As I sort through Isabelle's clothes and see the "Big Sister" t-shirt I made her for when we told the kids they were going to be getting a baby brother or sister... it reminds me of you.  As I look at the books next to my bed... gone is the "What to Expect When You Are Expecting" and replacing it is the grief book, "Empty Arms:  Coping with Infant Death."  So many reminders; from the food I eat, to the water I drink.... everything Noah reminds me of you.  I know you are in Heaven and everyone tells me it is a better place than here.  Yet I can't help but wish you were in my arms.  Isn't a mother's arms the best place for her baby? As the night falls, the sadness seeps back in.  I think of you always.  Never forget how much you are loved.  Please help us Noah...we miss you so terribly.  

Until next time,
Angie

A different perspective..

It's been a busy week.  The boys are in a vacation bible school program, Isabelle returned to school for the first time in over a month and I'm back to working my normal schedule at work.  There seems to be so much to catch up on; we are back to the way things were before Noah came... always too much too do, not enough hours in the day, racing from one thing to the next.

Staying busy has some benefits, its helps me keep my mind occupied.  The drawbacks seem to be that when the time finally comes that my mind slows enough, the sadness comes back with a vengeance.   Those moments of sadness are really hard, but as everyone says, just keep going, so I try.

In the last 24 hours I've found myself viewing this situation, our loss, in different perspectives.

 Last night I met up with a great friend, actually we consider her part of the family... Aunt Stacey.  Stacey has known us for the past 5 years and was one of the first teachers the boys had.  I'll never forget the first time I met Stacey.  It was the first day of preschool for Gabriel and when I introduced her to him (she was his teacher), she walked with me toward the front of the school.  She looked me in the eyes and asked me about him and his background as she had known we adopted Gabriel.  In the genuine way she asked the question, I could tell she wanted to know, not just to know, but because she wanted to provide the best guidance, support and instruction to him that she could.  From that moment, a trusting friendship was formed.

We have remained close ever since and I find myself turning to her for guidance, for her other passion is that she is active volunteer for Hospice.  She helps families through their most difficult times.  I knew in losing Noah, she would be able to share helpful information and guidance.  Last night we talked for several hours and in hearing her give advice, share her knowledge and what she's experienced, it hit me that sadly all of us have or will have grief in our lives. In hearing Stacey share about the loss of her great friend, I realized that with any loss there is pain we all feel.  The way that we process, learn to cope and live with the grief is how we all go through this differently.

This morning when I woke up I looked forward to lunch as I was getting together with Kristal, my wonderful nurse from labor and delivery.  As I drove to Wildflower, all the questions I wanted to ask her raced through my mind.  We had spent several days together and while I got a snippet into her life in the hospital, I felt like I had so many more pieces to fit into the puzzle.  The minute I saw her walk through the door, all the warm, fuzzy feelings from back in antepartum rushed back.  This girl is amazing.  Kristal and I talked and talked.  Her outlook on life is amazing.  She shared with me her family life, where she grew up, her determination that she was going to be a nurse... a goal she had set for herself at a very young age.  In hearing the details of her youth, the challenges she's overcome and the high mark she's set and achieved for herself, my awe in her multiplied.  I knew as she held my hand in labor and delivery that I had met an incredible person in her.  In getting to know her even more on a personal level today, I am simply in awe of her kindness, compassion for others and her selflessness to give over and over of herself to help make the lives of other people's better.  I feel privileged to know her.

As Kristal shared with me her thoughts about life, about the challenges she's faced and overcome, I couldn't help but notice her positivity.  It was the same in those scary hours we spent together in antepartum and labor and delivery.  Her optimism and never-faltering glass half full spirit is so contagious and inspiring, I found myself thinking of life from other people's perspectives and realizing, "Geeze, why am I complaining; others have had it worse than me."    We talked about how we were lucky to have had Noah for 12 days and how amazing most of those days were.  Sadly, some families, some mothers have to give birth to a child they never heard cry, never saw take a breath and sadly never saw or felt a beating heartbeat.  I got to watch Noah's heartbeat for 12 amazing days  outside of my body and many more inside. I got to hear him cry and I watched his chest raise up and down as he took breath after breath.  I got to feel my son's warm skin on my chest, and feel him grasp my finger.  I got to sing him songs, see him turn his head in my direction when I talked and I got to be in his life for 12 whole days.

Kristal also reminded me that I was able to get pregnant and to give birth.  And she's right, my dream did come true.  I always wanted to experience pregnancy and have a baby.  I did. Just 8 months ago, I thought that dream was always just going to be that... a dream.  But Noah showed me it was our reality.  I got to have the experience of morning sickness for 15 weeks.  I got to see him on ultrasound not once or twice but 9 times.  And I got to know what its like to feel another living being, a precious baby created from my loins, move around inside me.  Kristal is right... being pregnant was a gift.  And it was pretty darn amazing.  

As I left our lunch date, I couldn't help but think of the word "perspective."  The reality is, life can and sometimes is pretty darn hard, some days I'd say it can be pretty crappy.  But depending on one's perspective, we can continue to focus on the crappy part, or we can break it apart and find the moments, the events, sometimes even an entire day, that was actually okay or pretty darn good. That's the perspective we need to hold onto and focus on to get us through those tough moments.

Now this isn't to say tomorrow morning I'm not going to wake up feeling pretty crappy and want to focus on just how sad I am at missing my son.  The truth is, that's probably how I'm going to feel.  But Stacey, Kristal and so many others of you have reminded me... to remember a different perspective.  So many others have suffered loss, have had to grieve loved ones, sad events and life just being life.  It is hard... some times it is terrible... but our perspective in how we look at things can make our struggles, our sadness, our loss, seem just a bit more bearable.

Remember this Angie, when you feel so so sad... find that different perspective to remind you of all the great moments you've had.  They are bountiful...

Until next time,
Angie

Week 16: Movement!

Another old post... oh to be able to relive those weeks all over again.

Week 16

April 23, 2015

This week the baby is 5 inches long and weighs between 3-5 ounces.  Tiny.  And yet so big compared to where he/she started.  I have an appointment today and realize the weeks of me having to decide what pronoun to call the baby will soon be decided.  We will be finding out if we are having a girl or a boy.  I say, I don’t know if I can handle any more surprises. 

This week seems to have been relatively calm so far, with the exception of one highlight and I think it’s a pretty big one.  I felt the baby move.  Since I’m not really sure what it is supposed to feel like, I haven’t been sure in the last week and a half if what I’ve felt has been the baby or simply gas.  Everyone whose been pregnant before as well as the books and apps tell me it can feel like a butterfly in one’s stomach.  Prior to two days ago what I felt was more like a worm moving on my insides but not really any butterfly.  That was until Tuesday night.  I hadn’t slept well the previous two nights and I was determined Tuesday evening when I went to sleep I was going to sleep more than the 3 and 4 hours from the nights prior.  And boy did I.  I feel like the minute by head hit the pillow I turned into a rock.  Most nights I tossle back and forth from my right side to my left side while trying not to sleep on my back or my stomach.  Prior to this surprise, I mostly slept on my right side and my stomach.  Tuesday night in the middle of the night, I was immediately awaken by the feeling of a butterfly on the inside of my stomach moving across from one side to the other.  Instantly I was awake and I knew that must have been the baby.  After the excitement of realizing I had actually felt him or her, I then realized I was lying on my stomach and the movement was probably because I was squishing him.  I turned out, woke Jarrett up to tell him (still mostly asleep he didn’t comprehend what I said and started snoring a second later).  I was excited though.  While I really haven’t felt a similar movement since, I look forward to now knowing what it feels like and as my sister so nicely pointed out, having a buddy to stay up with me at night to watch TV when I can’t sleep.

Today I go in for my next doctors appointment and I have a feeling it will be a quick one.  I don’t really think they do anything special today other than ask me how things are going, make me pee in a cup and take my blood pressure.  I’m not quite sure when they will start measuring my stomach, and while I’d like to think I’m still at the hiding it stage with my clothes on, I definitely notice a full, rounder bump making its debut.  Jarrett kindly tells me daily he thinks I’m beautiful, while personally I’m having a hard time recognizing or feeling anything like that… instead I feel like a bloated, buffet visitor who ate too much.  I have two coworkers who are also currently pregnant and I’m due within two weeks of each of them (one before me, one after me).  This is both their second pregnancies and I feel like they are both showing more than I am.  I don’t know if I should worry or it is common to show sooner with a second baby. 

The other strange thing I feel this week is what I can only assume to be muscle stretching.  Every once in a while my entire stomach will get zingers all over.  Its almost like every nerve ending in my stomach starts tingling at the same time.  It seems to itch more than hurt but its definitely a sensation I’ve never had in my entire life.  I guess I would describe the feeling like what happens when your arm or foot falls asleep and it starts tingling.  That’s the feeling I get all over the outside of my stomach.  And then there’s the feeling like everything is stretching.  I understand my muscles are going to have to stretch through this process, but if I’m being honest it isn’t the most pleasant experience.  Again it feel s like I’ve spent too much time eating and just uncomfortably full… ALL THE TIME.   My sister gave me firm orders to put coconut oil all over my body a couple times  a day to avoid stretch marks.  Honestly, if I get it on once or twice a week, I’m feeling pretty good. 

The kids (boys especially) seem to be very interested in how this whole pregnancy things works.  Everyday there seems to be a new question they think of, mostly from Michael, but it makes me aware they are thinking about it regularly.  Today’s question was, “Mom, does the baby have germs?”  To be honest, I actually have no idea what the honest answer is to that question but with my limited knowledge of all things pregnancy, I gave him my best educated guess.  “Well Michael, I am not sure, but I don’t think the baby has any germs yet.  He/she hasn’t been exposed to anything in the outside world so I don’t think it would have come into contact with any germs yet.”  He wasn’t satisfied with that… still more questions.  “Does he have your germs then?”  I tried to give him a satisfying answer, “Well right now the baby is in his own little sack inside my stomach, like his house, that is separate from my insides.  He might have some of my germs but I don’t think they will hurt him, his or her little “house” is keeping him safe.”  He thought for a moment, paused and said, “When the baby is born, will he or she have your germs then because you have to have him or her come out of you?”  Knowing I was way too far in over my head, but also too deep to just stop there, I said, “When the baby is born the baby will be exposed to germs and that’s when his or her body will be strong enough to help fight them off. Until then the baby stays inside to build up weight and strength to be able to live in the outside world.  I’m sure the questions would have continued except we got interrupted by Isabelle who needs to have something in her typical urgent manner. 

I’m excited that the boys are so interested and curious about this new development.  It was something I never really knew how to bring up with them as we have the talk about the birds and the bees and by only having been adopted I knew it was a subject that would seem very unrelatable to their life story.  Now that they will have a sibling that comes from a pregnancy, we can talk about that life lesson through this experience.   Now how to have that conversation, how to discuss it and when to have it, I’m still unsure. 

Here are a few highlights from this week’s journey:

How far along are you? 16 weeks 5 days

How I’m feeling?  Content. 

Total weight gain…  I go to the doctor today so we shall see, I would guess maybe 5 pounds.  Now that I’m able to keep food down and find myself eating about every 2 hours, I would say some of that has to be sticking around. 

How big is baby?  The size of an avocado.

Maternity clothes…  Not yet, although earlier this week when I was having some Braxton Hicks contractions, I decided to wear the belly band I bought a few weeks ago to provide some support.  I thought it would help.  Otherwise still wearing regular clothes and hoping to for a few more weeks.  Definitely noticing the band around my pants is getting tighter.

Best moment this week… Feeling the baby move inside of me.

Movement… Just that one night when I was squishing the poor thing.

Food cravings… Not really any cravings, I find meat tastes pretty good.  Chicken especially.   

Food aversions… Still many things but I find myself eating more and more.

Belly button in or out… In

What I miss…  Mountain Dew.  Last week Jarrett and I had an impromptu lunch date at Panda Express.  It was yummy by the way.  While I sipped my water, he had a tall fountain Mountain Dew and it was calling my name like nothing else.  Yet I refrained.  I’m thinking I might ask for a fountain mountain dew when I’m in the hospital after the baby comes, yet I know it will give me one heck of a stomach ache.  Oh how I love my dew!

Until next time,

Angie