February 24, 2014
It's hard to believe that we are almost through February. But when I say it's been sixty nine days since Hannah was born sometimes it seems like a long time and sometimes it seems like it was yesterday.
Time has been healing for us. But it's been very intentional time, not simply just the passing of time. It's been time crying, time reading, time understanding why I am crying and if the reasons seem healthy. I have had to plan time to rest so that I have time to do these thing. For the first few weeks I would cry and it was okay if I didn't know why. We all knew why. But then as the weeks go on I've been trying to understand the reason for my crying. I understand that at any time, it's okay to cry but it helps me to figure out why.
At times I'm crying and then after thinking through it I realize it's because I miss my daughter. And that's something that doesn't contradict truth, it's okay to miss her. It's the very best reason I cry.
Other times I'm crying and I'm in a desperate place and I begin to cry more because I feel as if I've been singled out. As if the Lord has left me to all of the sorrow. And then I remember that his truth says he will never leave me or forsake me. I cannot believe the lies, I must believe the truth. The sorrow is okay, but to think the Lord has left me is a lie. To think that I have been singled out may be true, but I may have been singled out to be called with a purpose for the Lord, not simply to be a target for hurt or pain, but to be one who has been called to understand his love more deeply, to comfort those who share my pain, to share with others the truth of his word even in suffering, and to proclaim his unending love to everyone who can hear my heart even through tears that are pictures of my hurt.
This weekend was a wonderful time. I would say it felt almost 'normal.' Few things reminded me of my sorrow. We volunteered at a wonderful fundraising event, we stayed the night in a nice hotel, we went to brunch at a yummy place the next morning and the weather was perfect. But there was a line to wait in for the brunch place, Kyle suggested maybe we try another restaurant. Tears welled up in my eyes and I had to excuse myself so I could cry the bathroom stall rather than cry in the middle of a busy restaurant. Kyle didn't do anything wrong. But here I was crying.
I'm not sure why I was crying. I tried to figure it out. I think our 'perfect' weekend suddenly hit a flaw and it was hard for me to handle. I don't know if it had to do with Hannah directly, but maybe that I'm just trying too hard to hold it all together. I was so proud of our weekend feeling so very 'normal' for the first time in a long time, that maybe a bump in the road sent me to tears. Or maybe I'm still very delicate when it comes to the changing of plans, after all the changing of plans we've been through.
Maybe it was because the weekend had been busy and I had put off grieving. Maybe it was time it caught up to me.
I don't have all the answers, but I'm trying my best. I do know I cannot believe the lies that my sorrow tries to tell me, but I must believe the Lord's truth. I must believe what his word says and hold fast to that. I cannot let satan take what the Lord can work together for His good.
God gets all the glory on this one. I won't let anyone else take it, including myself.
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 28, 2014
Three Letters
I continue to share these memories, because I want you to see how every day the Lord has made us stronger in Him. Some days it's five steps forward and some days it feels like fifteen steps back. But the Lord has never left us, never forsaken us. Oh how the Word is so full of truth, we are blessed to see His truths lived out daily. These are the memories.
March 4, 2014
Today we had a snow day. It's something so wonderful and crazy to be happening in March in Texas. The schools were closed and I got to stay home in my cozy house.
Kyle came back from the mailbox with letters in his hand. I guess the mail people really do deliver in rain, sleet, or snow like they've always said.
Those three letters meant a lot to me.
Our mail box has been filled with letters since last fall. First the letters congratulated us on our baby to come. And then in December the letters said how sorry they were for our loss. The letters came from so many. I got mail from so many states from so many friends and family and friends of family and family of friends. I was so very encouraged by how many people were praying for us, by how many people sent us scripture and truth, by how many people shared with us that they had been in our shoes before.
We had letters come in filled with love. We had letters filled with scripture and truth. We had letters filled with checks too. I say this because those checks and that support meant more to me that I ever would have imagined. When you're planning for your firstborn you don't think about saving up for things like funeral expenses. We even had a letter come in unnamed with quite a bit of money in it; we have no idea who it is from so we can't even write a thank you letter, but we truly are grateful. Thank you.
Some days our mailbox was filled with packages. I had a friend from long ago send me a necklace she made for me, for Hannah. It had Hannah's name on it. I opened it and I cried. Even though we didn't have our baby, this necklace was proof she was real. It's was something I could hold in my hand to remember that she really happened. Thank you.
One day Kyle delivered the mail and there was a package from the wonderful people I worked with at my very first job as a dietitian. Many of them are still like family to me. One I recently found out even came to Hannah's funeral. I did not see her, but I found her name on the list and now I know she was there. But inside the package was a letter from those wonderful people. And inside was a beautiful silver heart necklace. I looked closer and saw that the heart had Hannah's initials on it. And then I turned the heart over and saw that the other side was engraved with my initials. It became a tangible reminder to me that not only was our baby girl real, but she was mine, our hearts would be forever connected. You should see how beautiful this heart is with her name on it. Thank you.
We received more letters. My cousin who lives so far away sent me multiple letters. I haven't even written her back yet because I'm not sure what to say. They always told me growing up that I was like her. It was always a compliment to me, but now we're both 'grown up' and seeing her words in those letters it makes me even more proud of that compliment. Thank you.
We received more gifts too. The ones that seemed to mean the most to me were the ones with Hannah's name. We got a blanket with her name and birthday and weight on it and I love that blanket. It's really soft too. We got a couple of Christmas ornaments with her name on them and I love that we can decorate the tree with Hannah's ornaments every year. She will always be our Christmas baby. But I would say I'm glad we only got a few things with her name on it and that I'm glad they are mostly things we can wear and use at special times of the year. If we had gotten lots and lots of things I'm sure I would have held onto them too tightly. Pilling them up. Because I just simply can't get rid of the few things that were Hannah's. Thank you.
But today I got three letters.
The first was a letter from the Louisiana Baptist Children's Home. I don't know much about the home, but I know growing up our church was always supporting the children's home. Someone had donated to them in Hannah's name. Our Hannah was helping other children. Thank you.
The second letter was from the McNeese State University Baptist Collegiate Ministry. No, I did not go to McNeese, but many of my family members did. And my uncle is the director of the BCM there. He works so hard to love college students well and to challenge them to be more like Christ daily. He challenged me a few times and it changed my life. It made me smile as I thought about our Hannah 'encouraging' people to help that ministry. Thank you.
The third letter was one of a few we have received from Sky Ranch. Sky Ranch is part of our daily ministry. We leave in the summers to serve at their family camp in Colorado; you should see how that camp impacts families for the Lord. And Kyle turned to me just a few days after Hannah was born and told me of an idea he had. He had seen before how people sometimes say 'in lieu of flowers' and recommend a foundation or ministry that can be donated to in memory of one who had died. Kyle thought about the families we serve. And he thought about how a family, especially one where siblings remained, would be rocked by losing a child. So he setup a fund in memory of our girl, the Hannah Grace Hess Scholarship Fund to scholarship a family, to pay their way to family camp in Colorado. We could not imagine a more special time for a family. To have fun, to laugh, to be loved on, and to be reminded of a Lord who loves them and who had created their family for a purpose.
And so I read that letter. I read all the names of the people who donated in Hannah's name. I have no idea how much has been raised. I have no idea who this family will be. But I pray this is somehow a blessing to them. I pray that this family would feel as loved as I felt when I read all those names. Thank you. All those people who loved us, who loved our Hannah, who helped give our Hannah an impact on this world that she never lived in.
Thank you.
Romans 8:28 God works all things together for good...
For those who have asked, if you would like to make a donation to the Hannah Grace Hess Scholarship Fund, you can contact Sky Ranch at 469-484-4840 or by visiting SkyRanch.org and clicking on donate.
March 4, 2014
Today we had a snow day. It's something so wonderful and crazy to be happening in March in Texas. The schools were closed and I got to stay home in my cozy house.
Kyle came back from the mailbox with letters in his hand. I guess the mail people really do deliver in rain, sleet, or snow like they've always said.
Those three letters meant a lot to me.
Our mail box has been filled with letters since last fall. First the letters congratulated us on our baby to come. And then in December the letters said how sorry they were for our loss. The letters came from so many. I got mail from so many states from so many friends and family and friends of family and family of friends. I was so very encouraged by how many people were praying for us, by how many people sent us scripture and truth, by how many people shared with us that they had been in our shoes before.
We had letters come in filled with love. We had letters filled with scripture and truth. We had letters filled with checks too. I say this because those checks and that support meant more to me that I ever would have imagined. When you're planning for your firstborn you don't think about saving up for things like funeral expenses. We even had a letter come in unnamed with quite a bit of money in it; we have no idea who it is from so we can't even write a thank you letter, but we truly are grateful. Thank you.
Some days our mailbox was filled with packages. I had a friend from long ago send me a necklace she made for me, for Hannah. It had Hannah's name on it. I opened it and I cried. Even though we didn't have our baby, this necklace was proof she was real. It's was something I could hold in my hand to remember that she really happened. Thank you.
One day Kyle delivered the mail and there was a package from the wonderful people I worked with at my very first job as a dietitian. Many of them are still like family to me. One I recently found out even came to Hannah's funeral. I did not see her, but I found her name on the list and now I know she was there. But inside the package was a letter from those wonderful people. And inside was a beautiful silver heart necklace. I looked closer and saw that the heart had Hannah's initials on it. And then I turned the heart over and saw that the other side was engraved with my initials. It became a tangible reminder to me that not only was our baby girl real, but she was mine, our hearts would be forever connected. You should see how beautiful this heart is with her name on it. Thank you.
We received more letters. My cousin who lives so far away sent me multiple letters. I haven't even written her back yet because I'm not sure what to say. They always told me growing up that I was like her. It was always a compliment to me, but now we're both 'grown up' and seeing her words in those letters it makes me even more proud of that compliment. Thank you.
We received more gifts too. The ones that seemed to mean the most to me were the ones with Hannah's name. We got a blanket with her name and birthday and weight on it and I love that blanket. It's really soft too. We got a couple of Christmas ornaments with her name on them and I love that we can decorate the tree with Hannah's ornaments every year. She will always be our Christmas baby. But I would say I'm glad we only got a few things with her name on it and that I'm glad they are mostly things we can wear and use at special times of the year. If we had gotten lots and lots of things I'm sure I would have held onto them too tightly. Pilling them up. Because I just simply can't get rid of the few things that were Hannah's. Thank you.
But today I got three letters.
The first was a letter from the Louisiana Baptist Children's Home. I don't know much about the home, but I know growing up our church was always supporting the children's home. Someone had donated to them in Hannah's name. Our Hannah was helping other children. Thank you.
The second letter was from the McNeese State University Baptist Collegiate Ministry. No, I did not go to McNeese, but many of my family members did. And my uncle is the director of the BCM there. He works so hard to love college students well and to challenge them to be more like Christ daily. He challenged me a few times and it changed my life. It made me smile as I thought about our Hannah 'encouraging' people to help that ministry. Thank you.
The third letter was one of a few we have received from Sky Ranch. Sky Ranch is part of our daily ministry. We leave in the summers to serve at their family camp in Colorado; you should see how that camp impacts families for the Lord. And Kyle turned to me just a few days after Hannah was born and told me of an idea he had. He had seen before how people sometimes say 'in lieu of flowers' and recommend a foundation or ministry that can be donated to in memory of one who had died. Kyle thought about the families we serve. And he thought about how a family, especially one where siblings remained, would be rocked by losing a child. So he setup a fund in memory of our girl, the Hannah Grace Hess Scholarship Fund to scholarship a family, to pay their way to family camp in Colorado. We could not imagine a more special time for a family. To have fun, to laugh, to be loved on, and to be reminded of a Lord who loves them and who had created their family for a purpose.
And so I read that letter. I read all the names of the people who donated in Hannah's name. I have no idea how much has been raised. I have no idea who this family will be. But I pray this is somehow a blessing to them. I pray that this family would feel as loved as I felt when I read all those names. Thank you. All those people who loved us, who loved our Hannah, who helped give our Hannah an impact on this world that she never lived in.
Thank you.
Romans 8:28 God works all things together for good...
For those who have asked, if you would like to make a donation to the Hannah Grace Hess Scholarship Fund, you can contact Sky Ranch at 469-484-4840 or by visiting SkyRanch.org and clicking on donate.
Mar 27, 2014
Two Options
It's been one hundred days since our Hannah was born. Today we celebrate our girl and so much more. Oh how the Lord chooses to bless us in ways we could have never imagined. Every day the Lord has been with us, and every day he will be. This post is just simply posted in order, but it seems so appropriate for today. I thank our Lord daily for our Hannah.
If you'd like to read more about the story of our Hannah Grace click here.
January 14, 2014
If you'd like to read more about the story of our Hannah Grace click here.
January 14, 2014
As I read today I thought about how I’ve wondered why the Lord
didn’t save our Hannah, why she didn’t get to live.
And I thought about how we
think those are the two options: she could live and she could die and 'God let
her die.' But that’s not the only other option. He could have never given her to
us. What if the two options instead were: have us get pregnant or have us not
get pregnant. And then the perspective changes, and then we thank him. We could
have been trying for months to get pregnant with no success and then we would
cry out ‘Lord where are you?’
But instead he gave us sweet Hannah Grace. Yes,
her life was short, but oh we are blessed. How do we so quickly blame the Lord
for the bad without thanking him for the good?
Oh, Lord thank you for our sweet girl Hannah Grace. We are
truly blessed.
Mar 26, 2014
I Want the Memories
I continue to share these memories, because I want you to see how every day the Lord has made us stronger in Him. Some days it's five steps forward and some days it feels like fifteen steps back. But the Lord has never left us, never forsaken us. Oh how the Word is so full of truth, we are blessed to see His truths lived out daily. These are the memories.
If you'd like to read more about the story of our Hannah Grace click here.
January 14, 2014
If you'd like to read more about the story of our Hannah Grace click here.
January 14, 2014
Grief is a funny thing. It’s like a scab that forms only to
be ripped off again at the smallest of things. I’ve yet to determine if things
like this are more like ankle sprains or bone fractures. If the body is weaker or stronger after the injury has healed. I feel as if the Lord says
we’re stronger, but there are many moments I feel so weak. But that’s when the
Lord is my strength.
Grief comes and goes and lasts a lifetime really. It seems our society would have invented a fix-all pill by now for things like grief. A pill that would take away all the hurt and all the pain and all the memories.
But I would never take it.
Because I want the memories.
Grief comes and goes and lasts a lifetime really. It seems our society would have invented a fix-all pill by now for things like grief. A pill that would take away all the hurt and all the pain and all the memories.
But I would never take it.
Because I want the memories.
Mar 25, 2014
A Good Season
I continue to share these memories, because I want you to see how every day the Lord has made us stronger in Him. Some days it's five steps forward and some days it feels like fifteen steps back. But the Lord has never left us, never forsaken us. Oh how the Word is so full of truth, we are blessed to see His truths lived out daily. These are the memories.
If you'd like to read more about the story of our Hannah Grace click here.
If you'd like to read more about the story of our Hannah Grace click here.
January 14, 2014
Today it’s been four weeks. Today is Tuesday. Hannah was
born on a Tuesday and I wonder if or when there is ever be a Tuesday when I
don’t think of my sweet girl.
I don’t know whether four weeks constitutes a month or if
I’ll need to wait until the 17th, but I’m remembering her in a
different way today. I remember her as I celebrate the fact that we’ve made it
this far. That it’s been four weeks since her birthday and we have not fallen
apart yet. I keep remembering in the hospital, in the tears of the night, in
the moments before her funeral, Kyle and I kept telling each other, ‘I know
we’re going to be okay. I know we’re going to make it. God is good.’ And here we are making
it with the Lord as our strength. Here I am packing up the nursery, throwing away the funeral gift flowers,
packing away the Christmas tree and thinking about my sweet girl.
Not that there’s a good season to lose a child, oh, there is
never a day for that kind of loss. But Christmas is a good season. We lost our
sweet baby girl and then a few days later celebrated the birth of our Lord. We
filled our house with love and presents and Christmas decorations and we loved
one another. We mourned while we ate our way through gingerbread cookies. We
took our time to grieve as the world took their Christmas vacations.
And then
the new year came, this time with even more hope. We were surrounded on New Year’s
Eve by the family of friends we have here in our little town that filled our
hospital room just a few weeks prior. The ones that hugged us and held our
hands and cried with us and brought us meals. The friends that came over even
though it would be awkward, even though the night could end in crying and the
visit filled with discussions of loss and grief. As the clock turned to
midnight we welcomed the new year. It was a new year, a year when our baby
didn’t die. It felt good to watch the year end. And now there’s a freshness in
the air.
We are working on getting back to our new normal. As the world makes
resolutions and goes on diets and makes exercise plans, I put on my shoes and I
walked just a little. All by myself, I was so proud. There is a warmth to the
air that I cannot remember any other January, like the Lord reminds us that
spring is coming and that the cold of winter will soon be gone.
Mar 24, 2014
Brave
I continue to share these memories, because I want you to see how every day the Lord has made us stronger in Him. Some days it's five steps forward and some days it feels like fifteen steps back. But the Lord has never left us, never forsaken us. Oh how the Word is so full of truth, we are blessed to see His truths lived out daily. These are the memories.
If you'd like to read more about the story of our Hannah Grace click here.
January 13, 2014
It’s now the middle of January and our Christmas tree was still up this morning. I love the way it shined in the darkness of our mornings, I love the way my husband turned the tree lights on before leaving for work so that they greeted me when I finally decided to get out of bed.
I think the hardest part was that our Christmas tree was supposed to have a new ornament this year. Before Christmas I searched for the best ‘Baby’s First Christmas’ ornament, but waited to buy it. I waited because I thought maybe our sweet girl could be born after Christmas and then we’d need a different year on the ornament. I never thought she just wouldn’t make it to Christmas. She never had a ‘first’ Christmas with us.
So when I look at the tree in our living room it tricks my mind into thinking that maybe Christmas hasn’t come yet. Maybe that’s why we don’t have a baby yet, because she was due on Christmas Eve and the remaining tree tells me Christmas is still on the way. The tree lies and tells me our baby is still on the way.
It’s a comfort, but a comfort without legs to stand on. The tree only lies. Just like the nursery full of diapers and stuffed animals and beautiful dresses, the nursery is still waiting for the baby to come. And by leaving the tree setup, by leaving the nursery stocked I think I’m trying to wait for Hannah too. But she’s not coming.
So today I packed up the Christmas tree. I took off the ornaments and wrapped them in their bubble wrap like the overly organized person that I am. I took the wreath off the front door and placed it carefully in our Christmas storage boxes. I tried to take down the entire tree, but only my husband has the physical strength to do that. I picked up the unwrapped presents and I put them in the appropriate place around the house. Pineapple slicer in the kitchen, new makeup in the bathroom drawer. I said goodbye to Christmas, because let’s be honest, it’s January. It’s not Christmas anymore.
And the tree was the easy part. But it gave me a little courage to go into the nursery, to look at the storage bins we purchased and to think about them without crying. Many times this week I’ve spoken to myself a few small words from 2 Corinthians 12:10. I keep saying over and over to myself ‘for when I am weak, He is strong.’
I looked at the nursery today in a different light. I remembered what Kyle said the day we walked into the nursery for the first time with empty arms, he said “this nursery wasn’t for her.” And it’s so true. We have friends who will be living in the nursery this summer, filling it once again with the love of friends who are like family while we are away in Colorado. Those friends will need space. All of a sudden I was very practical and got to work. I needed to make space for the friends who will be coming, and then later I’ll bring the baby things back to the nursery when or if we need them again. I thought, I'll just 'get started' packing and somehow that made things easier.
I’m glad I didn’t rush it. I’d tried many times before to pack away her things and all those tries ended with crying and mourning the loss of my sweet girl. And that was good then. But there are very few things that were truly Hannah’s: the blanket we wrapped her in at the hospital that we kept, the pictures of her, the pictures of my belly with her inside, her little name bracelet from the hospital, and then all the loving cards and gifts after she passed. All the rest I realized weren’t hers. The car seat is for our next baby, if we are blessed to ever have another. The toys, the sheets, the crib, the clothes: those are all for Hannah’s brother or sister later on. She’s just so generous giving them away like that, right? Oh our sweet Hannah who could do no wrong.
Bin by bin I packed away the nursery. Not so much packing it away to hide it because she was gone. But to save all the wonderful things so that they’ll be ready when we need them again. First the diapers, then the sheets and blankets, then clothes and onesies and dresses, then tiny little hats, then the books, and then the toys. And then bin by bin was labeled and the lids were shut and it was done.
I felt so brave. Somehow I was proud of Hannah too, but I guess a mother is always proud of her sweet baby.
If you'd like to read more about the story of our Hannah Grace click here.
January 13, 2014
It’s now the middle of January and our Christmas tree was still up this morning. I love the way it shined in the darkness of our mornings, I love the way my husband turned the tree lights on before leaving for work so that they greeted me when I finally decided to get out of bed.
I think the hardest part was that our Christmas tree was supposed to have a new ornament this year. Before Christmas I searched for the best ‘Baby’s First Christmas’ ornament, but waited to buy it. I waited because I thought maybe our sweet girl could be born after Christmas and then we’d need a different year on the ornament. I never thought she just wouldn’t make it to Christmas. She never had a ‘first’ Christmas with us.
So when I look at the tree in our living room it tricks my mind into thinking that maybe Christmas hasn’t come yet. Maybe that’s why we don’t have a baby yet, because she was due on Christmas Eve and the remaining tree tells me Christmas is still on the way. The tree lies and tells me our baby is still on the way.
It’s a comfort, but a comfort without legs to stand on. The tree only lies. Just like the nursery full of diapers and stuffed animals and beautiful dresses, the nursery is still waiting for the baby to come. And by leaving the tree setup, by leaving the nursery stocked I think I’m trying to wait for Hannah too. But she’s not coming.
So today I packed up the Christmas tree. I took off the ornaments and wrapped them in their bubble wrap like the overly organized person that I am. I took the wreath off the front door and placed it carefully in our Christmas storage boxes. I tried to take down the entire tree, but only my husband has the physical strength to do that. I picked up the unwrapped presents and I put them in the appropriate place around the house. Pineapple slicer in the kitchen, new makeup in the bathroom drawer. I said goodbye to Christmas, because let’s be honest, it’s January. It’s not Christmas anymore.
And the tree was the easy part. But it gave me a little courage to go into the nursery, to look at the storage bins we purchased and to think about them without crying. Many times this week I’ve spoken to myself a few small words from 2 Corinthians 12:10. I keep saying over and over to myself ‘for when I am weak, He is strong.’
I looked at the nursery today in a different light. I remembered what Kyle said the day we walked into the nursery for the first time with empty arms, he said “this nursery wasn’t for her.” And it’s so true. We have friends who will be living in the nursery this summer, filling it once again with the love of friends who are like family while we are away in Colorado. Those friends will need space. All of a sudden I was very practical and got to work. I needed to make space for the friends who will be coming, and then later I’ll bring the baby things back to the nursery when or if we need them again. I thought, I'll just 'get started' packing and somehow that made things easier.
I’m glad I didn’t rush it. I’d tried many times before to pack away her things and all those tries ended with crying and mourning the loss of my sweet girl. And that was good then. But there are very few things that were truly Hannah’s: the blanket we wrapped her in at the hospital that we kept, the pictures of her, the pictures of my belly with her inside, her little name bracelet from the hospital, and then all the loving cards and gifts after she passed. All the rest I realized weren’t hers. The car seat is for our next baby, if we are blessed to ever have another. The toys, the sheets, the crib, the clothes: those are all for Hannah’s brother or sister later on. She’s just so generous giving them away like that, right? Oh our sweet Hannah who could do no wrong.
Bin by bin I packed away the nursery. Not so much packing it away to hide it because she was gone. But to save all the wonderful things so that they’ll be ready when we need them again. First the diapers, then the sheets and blankets, then clothes and onesies and dresses, then tiny little hats, then the books, and then the toys. And then bin by bin was labeled and the lids were shut and it was done.
I felt so brave. Somehow I was proud of Hannah too, but I guess a mother is always proud of her sweet baby.
Mar 20, 2014
Missing Her
This continues the moments that made up our lives for the weeks following Hannah's birth. We are doing so very well now, but I wanted to share what it was like in the days and weeks after we lost our girl. Here they are.
If you'd like to read more about the story of our Hannah Grace click here.
January
9, 2014
I think
the hardest part sometimes is that I honestly genuinely with my whole heart and
soul miss my sweet girl. I think that when people see someone experience the
loss of a baby they ‘never met’ that they think it’s something that happened. That it’s a sad day to remember, a tragedy, or an
event to be mourned.
But it's more than that. We
did meet her. We did know her. She lived inside me in my body and so much in my
heart for forty weeks. That sweet girl was a part of our family. And so we don’t mourn a sad day, a ‘horrible
tragedy,’ or some thing that happened to us. But I cry because I miss my
daughter that I knew, that I carried, that I cared for, that knew us. An event
didn’t happen to us. We didn't just have a stillbirth, we had a baby. We lost our daughter.
I did not know I could love someone
so much so very quickly without any reason or circumstance. I didn’t love her
because she was kind or generous or loved me back. I just loved her, like only
a mother or a father can love their own child. A literal part of me died, my
own flesh.
So I
think it’s okay to cry. Because I’ll miss her every day for the rest of my
life. She’s not something that happened in the past, she’s my daughter that
lives today with the Lord, but whom I long to know and miss so very badly.
That’s why although our next baby will be a blessing if we are so blessed, but it won’t ‘fix the
problem’ because my baby girl Hannah still lives apart from me and my heart
will always long for her.
A
sentence in I Will Carry You by Angie Smith left me in tears yesterday. It is the most
difficult of my thoughts. It displays how selfish I am, but it is the truth.
It’s a question to the Lord,
“Will you tell her all about me and what I would have been to her? Will you show her glimpses of how we would have lived life together?”
And I know the truth is that she doesn’t need to know my love now,
for it pales in comparison to the complete love she now sees in the Father. She
doesn’t need me anymore, she doesn’t need my love, she doesn’t need my comfort,
my care. She doesn’t even need glimpses into our ‘would be’ life together, because she finds everything she needs in the Father’s presence.
Although that is my comfort daily, that she is with the Lord, it also hurts
most of all. In some crazy way it's like when your daughter goes to her first day of
school without you, when your daughter moves away to college, when your
daughter walks down the aisle to become more a wife and less a daughter, but in
a way that encompases all of those moments and more. My little girl
doesn’t need me anymore, and I’m left here needing her so badly.
Oh, a mother’s
love.
And
then I think about how much I wanted her to love me. And I see such a clear picture of our Lord. He does
not need my love, but he longs for it. When I think about how much I wanted Hannah's love, I can't even imagine how much more he wants the love of his
children.
The Lord is good.
Mar 19, 2014
I Will Think On These Things
This continues the moments that made up our lives for the weeks following Hannah's birth. We are doing so very well now, but I wanted to share what it was like in the days and weeks after we lost our girl. Here they are.
If you'd like to read more about the story of our Hannah Grace click here.
January 8, 2014
Yesterday was a hard day. By the end of the day I looked very similar to how I looked when I first returned home from the hospital and encountered my reflection. In that same mirror that had all the best lighting when I was pregnant, now my reflection looked like death. Not in the way that people get too few hours of sleep and wake up with messy hair and say they look like death. But I looked like a soul that had been trampled by death over and over again and barely survived or was barely surviving.
I looked like that for days after we returned home. I did my best the day of Hannah’s funeral to not think about her before the service. I didn’t want to cry that morning. I iced my eyes so the swelling would go down. I carefully put on makeup to hide the bruises under my eyes from crying so very much. I didn’t want people to look at me and think I’d lost all hope. Because we have a great hope.
But the first time I saw my reflection, I saw my empty belly and I saw my body the way it looked like death and I scared myself. But I knew the truth of my hope. Others who may not know my hope, they would have seen only despair.
Yesterday, again, that’s what I looked like.
Yesterday I thought about my sweet girl all day. My soul longed for her. I told Kyle that it was strange that I could miss someone so very much who wasn’t even here a year ago, who we didn’t even know about yet last new year. So strange how we grow to love our children with our very soul before we even hold them in our hands. And so my soul called out for my sweet girl.
It was good to cry. It was good to remember.
But I remembered a verse spoken to me just a few days ago in a crowd of one hundred.
Still tears come to my eyes because I miss her, but the tears drip down my face over my smile. The joy that my sweet Hannah Grace brought to us is worthy of praise. I will think on these things. No need to replay the moment when the doctor told us we lost her over and over again in my mind, but instead the proud moments replayed. We will think on these things.
For I feel like the Lord has called us for a very special purpose because of her. As one very beautiful song says; the Lord has called me deeper than my feet would ever wander, my faith will be made stronger in the presence of my savior.
I need to be ready for the works of the Lord.
If you'd like to read more about the story of our Hannah Grace click here.
January 8, 2014
Yesterday was a hard day. By the end of the day I looked very similar to how I looked when I first returned home from the hospital and encountered my reflection. In that same mirror that had all the best lighting when I was pregnant, now my reflection looked like death. Not in the way that people get too few hours of sleep and wake up with messy hair and say they look like death. But I looked like a soul that had been trampled by death over and over again and barely survived or was barely surviving.
I looked like that for days after we returned home. I did my best the day of Hannah’s funeral to not think about her before the service. I didn’t want to cry that morning. I iced my eyes so the swelling would go down. I carefully put on makeup to hide the bruises under my eyes from crying so very much. I didn’t want people to look at me and think I’d lost all hope. Because we have a great hope.
But the first time I saw my reflection, I saw my empty belly and I saw my body the way it looked like death and I scared myself. But I knew the truth of my hope. Others who may not know my hope, they would have seen only despair.
Yesterday, again, that’s what I looked like.
Yesterday I thought about my sweet girl all day. My soul longed for her. I told Kyle that it was strange that I could miss someone so very much who wasn’t even here a year ago, who we didn’t even know about yet last new year. So strange how we grow to love our children with our very soul before we even hold them in our hands. And so my soul called out for my sweet girl.
It was good to cry. It was good to remember.
But I remembered a verse spoken to me just a few days ago in a crowd of one hundred.
Phillipians 4:8-9So today I choose to think about the truth. The Word of the Lord. Whatever is lovely, oh how our baby girl was so lovely so beautiful so perfect. Worthy of praise is the joy the Lord gave us with her, the kicks, the things about her that made us laugh so much, the time we reveled in her existence, the bragging about how she was growing so well, so healthy. Worthy of praise is the time I sat at her funeral smiling ear to ear because I was and still am so very proud of my sweet girl. So proud of the lives that she touched and is continuing to touch because of her story. That the Lord would choose my girl to use to bless others, to draw them closer to Him. Oh, the glory of the Lord.
Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.
What you have learned and received and heard and seen in me – practice these things, and the God of peace will be with you.
Still tears come to my eyes because I miss her, but the tears drip down my face over my smile. The joy that my sweet Hannah Grace brought to us is worthy of praise. I will think on these things. No need to replay the moment when the doctor told us we lost her over and over again in my mind, but instead the proud moments replayed. We will think on these things.
For I feel like the Lord has called us for a very special purpose because of her. As one very beautiful song says; the Lord has called me deeper than my feet would ever wander, my faith will be made stronger in the presence of my savior.
I need to be ready for the works of the Lord.
Mar 18, 2014
Are There Stages?
This continues the moments that made up our lives for the weeks following Hannah's birth. We are doing so very well now, but I wanted to share what it was like in the days and weeks after we lost our girl. Here they are.
If you'd like to read more about the story of our Hannah Grace click here.
January 7, 2014
I’m not quite sure about the stages of grief. They say we all grieve differently, but then they have five stages. They say we all spend different amounts of time in each stage and that the stages do not necessarily occur in a particular order, but then they say most people do move in the same order. I wanted a map to tell me where to go. They say we often move between stages before achieving a more peaceful acceptance of death. We had peace almost immediately, so where do the stages come in?
Denial and Isolation. I think I was in denial as they assessed things, before they brought in the ultrasound. Before the doctor nodded. And then for a moment when I cried out ‘are you sure?’ But then the doctor nodded again, and I don’t think denial was there any more. Isolation I don’t know if I ever had, my husband was at my side. My Lord was with me.
Anger. I have not yet been angry. Anger does not reside in me very often. I am heartbroken, not angry. There is no one at all to blame, so I have no one to be angry at. I understand many people could be angry at someone who was the cause of a loss, angry at themselves, but we had the peace of knowing our Lord is sovereign and that he loves us. The Lord works for good. His good may look different than ours at times, but He is Good. And we were so very blessed by knowing the cause, no second-guessing, but just a knot that no one could have known about and that no one could have done anything to prevent. Although I will note that I don’t pretend that anger could not very easily creep up later, when someone who ‘doesn’t deserve it’ gets pregnant and has a healthy baby. But then who am I to say who deserves or who lives, how lofty of me, that’s is for the Lord.
Bargaining. They said in a book I was reading that ‘the normal reaction to feelings of helplessness and vulnerability is often a need to regain control.’ Often questions like ‘if only we had sought medical attention sooner…’ come up. And yes I have felt these often creep into my mind. But again we are blessed to know the answers, that for a knot in the cord even if we knew the moment the knot tightened that it would still be too late. That nothing we did in pregnancy could have caused a knot in the cord. The thought at times creeps into my head, but what if I had wanted a ‘convenient’ c-section or induction before the holidays got too busy, or something like that. I think ‘she would have survived if we had gotten her out a few days earlier.’ I think about how if she had been outside my body she would have been able to breathe and live, but that my body trapped her. The guilt that comes with that feeling is painful. But I cannot let my mind linger there long, because I know that if she was supposed to breathe in this world the Lord would have helped her to do that. I know that if she was ‘supposed to’ be born earlier I would have gone into labor earlier. We did not know. But oh the Lord knew, and he’s sovereign, and he’s good. But yes. I experience this one. It creeps in and only the Lord’s truth can put it down. I think ‘if only I would have had stronger faith, been a better Christian, then the Lord would have heard my prayers and saved her’ but that statement is so full of lies and so far from His Truth. He heard my prayers. He is sovereign. So he had control, but sometimes our good is not the same as the Lord’s good.
They say the stage of Depression is next in two forms: sadness or regret and then a more subtle depression. We are blessed to have no regrets with our sweet Hannah. Oh so very blessed. But sadness is great. It is the most overwhelming of all. I cry because I miss her. Not because I am angry or guilty or confused. But I miss my baby girl that I knew for 40 weeks and only held for a moment. I miss my daughter. I just love her so very much and I long to hold her. I just miss her so very much.
The subtle depression ‘is more subtle and, in a sense, perhaps more private. It is our quiet preparation to separation and to bid our loved one farewell.’ I know I’m there too. I think this is where I settle, the stage of grief where I have been since moments after we heard the news, this is where I still am.
Then they say last is Acceptance. I think I’m reaching that point. But I’ve reached it many times. I waiver between acceptance in one moment and great sadness the next. I’m not sure if I will ever be completely ‘healed’ of all this in the way that means I never cry, I never miss her. But there will be healing. But if absolute healing means I’ll never miss her, that my heart will never ache for her, then I don’t want absolute healing. Because I want there to always be a place in my heart for my sweet girl Hannah Grace.
There is always a reason the Lord blessed us with her.
If you'd like to read more about the story of our Hannah Grace click here.
January 7, 2014
I’m not quite sure about the stages of grief. They say we all grieve differently, but then they have five stages. They say we all spend different amounts of time in each stage and that the stages do not necessarily occur in a particular order, but then they say most people do move in the same order. I wanted a map to tell me where to go. They say we often move between stages before achieving a more peaceful acceptance of death. We had peace almost immediately, so where do the stages come in?
Denial and Isolation. I think I was in denial as they assessed things, before they brought in the ultrasound. Before the doctor nodded. And then for a moment when I cried out ‘are you sure?’ But then the doctor nodded again, and I don’t think denial was there any more. Isolation I don’t know if I ever had, my husband was at my side. My Lord was with me.
Anger. I have not yet been angry. Anger does not reside in me very often. I am heartbroken, not angry. There is no one at all to blame, so I have no one to be angry at. I understand many people could be angry at someone who was the cause of a loss, angry at themselves, but we had the peace of knowing our Lord is sovereign and that he loves us. The Lord works for good. His good may look different than ours at times, but He is Good. And we were so very blessed by knowing the cause, no second-guessing, but just a knot that no one could have known about and that no one could have done anything to prevent. Although I will note that I don’t pretend that anger could not very easily creep up later, when someone who ‘doesn’t deserve it’ gets pregnant and has a healthy baby. But then who am I to say who deserves or who lives, how lofty of me, that’s is for the Lord.
Bargaining. They said in a book I was reading that ‘the normal reaction to feelings of helplessness and vulnerability is often a need to regain control.’ Often questions like ‘if only we had sought medical attention sooner…’ come up. And yes I have felt these often creep into my mind. But again we are blessed to know the answers, that for a knot in the cord even if we knew the moment the knot tightened that it would still be too late. That nothing we did in pregnancy could have caused a knot in the cord. The thought at times creeps into my head, but what if I had wanted a ‘convenient’ c-section or induction before the holidays got too busy, or something like that. I think ‘she would have survived if we had gotten her out a few days earlier.’ I think about how if she had been outside my body she would have been able to breathe and live, but that my body trapped her. The guilt that comes with that feeling is painful. But I cannot let my mind linger there long, because I know that if she was supposed to breathe in this world the Lord would have helped her to do that. I know that if she was ‘supposed to’ be born earlier I would have gone into labor earlier. We did not know. But oh the Lord knew, and he’s sovereign, and he’s good. But yes. I experience this one. It creeps in and only the Lord’s truth can put it down. I think ‘if only I would have had stronger faith, been a better Christian, then the Lord would have heard my prayers and saved her’ but that statement is so full of lies and so far from His Truth. He heard my prayers. He is sovereign. So he had control, but sometimes our good is not the same as the Lord’s good.
They say the stage of Depression is next in two forms: sadness or regret and then a more subtle depression. We are blessed to have no regrets with our sweet Hannah. Oh so very blessed. But sadness is great. It is the most overwhelming of all. I cry because I miss her. Not because I am angry or guilty or confused. But I miss my baby girl that I knew for 40 weeks and only held for a moment. I miss my daughter. I just love her so very much and I long to hold her. I just miss her so very much.
The subtle depression ‘is more subtle and, in a sense, perhaps more private. It is our quiet preparation to separation and to bid our loved one farewell.’ I know I’m there too. I think this is where I settle, the stage of grief where I have been since moments after we heard the news, this is where I still am.
Then they say last is Acceptance. I think I’m reaching that point. But I’ve reached it many times. I waiver between acceptance in one moment and great sadness the next. I’m not sure if I will ever be completely ‘healed’ of all this in the way that means I never cry, I never miss her. But there will be healing. But if absolute healing means I’ll never miss her, that my heart will never ache for her, then I don’t want absolute healing. Because I want there to always be a place in my heart for my sweet girl Hannah Grace.
There is always a reason the Lord blessed us with her.
Mar 12, 2014
I Never Did Give Up
These are the moments that have made up the last two months of our lives. As the Lord has taught us, I have been writing. It does me so much good to put into words what the Lord is teaching me or what I am feeling as we go. If at times it sounds like I'm preaching to you, it's more than likely not the case; but I had to write it to preach to myself. To have something to read and remind me of what this was like, when I feel as if I've made no progress at all, it helps me to read about the past. When I forget the goodness of the Lord, it helps me to read of his blessings.
If you'd like to read more about the story of our Hannah Grace click here.
January 7, 2014
We have the boxes ready to store away our baby things. We have diapers and toys and the cutest little outfits. We have stuffed animals and blankets and sheets for days. The boxes are in the nursery, just waiting.
They wait like the toys have been waiting to be played with, like the crib has been waiting to be slept in, like the little onesies are waiting to be worn. Like my arms still wait to hold our sweet baby girl.
But the waiting is in vain, because my arms won't hold her again on this earth. 'The nursery' is what I try to call it now, because 'her nursery' or most of all 'Hannah's room' is just too hard. I try to remember what Kyle whispered in my ear when we first returned to our vacant nursery, "it was never her nursery.' And it helps, it helps to know know that the Lord knew this entire I time that I was decorating the room for something or someone else. But it still hurts.
We've talked about packing up the room. At least the closet full of clothes, the basket full of toys, the shelves of diapers, and the drawers of blankets and sheets and cute little hooded baby towels. They need somewhere to live. Not because I need them out of my sight, but because they'll only collect dust on the shelves. They'll only take up room that could be used to host other hearts, friends, family, guests.
But it's so hard. Because I go in her room and I think about trying to pack something away and it feels so very real. It feels just like handing my sweet little baby girl's body to the nurse knowing I'd never see her again. I know that she's gone, just like her soul was long gone from that body. But somehow it feels like I'm giving up on her. That by packing away her things I'm no longer waiting for my baby, for my Hannah to arrive, to come home to us.
I know we can pack things away nicely, to keep them ready for someday another little baby Hess. Oh we pray for more babies. But the reality is that even another baby won't be my sweet, sweet Hannah. By putting her things in boxes, they are no longer hers, we are passing them down for someone else. And so it feels like I'm giving up on her.
But the reality is I never did, I never did give up. I believed she would be okay until the very last moment. And then I had them check again. And even then I thought maybe just maybe she'd still be born okay. I fought hard for her every day, I took care of her before myself, I rested, I did no heavy lifting, I put my feet up, I ate all the right things, I avoided all the wrong things, I wore a crazy mask when I painted even with the super-safe paint. Every piece of lunch meat I ate was 'steaming hot.' I prayed for her constantly, I told her stories, I made sure she knew how much in this family we love her daddy, my husband Kyle. I made sure she knew how much we love Jesus and that he loves her even more than we do. And I never gave up on her.
And so packing is hard. I know it will be good. But every piece, every item of blessing is painful, but good. I'm not ready to pack away my tears yet, to pack away my grief, or to pack away my love for her. It's like I'm still waiting for her, my heart does not yet know, even though my mind knows the crib will remain empty.
If you'd like to read more about the story of our Hannah Grace click here.
January 7, 2014
We have the boxes ready to store away our baby things. We have diapers and toys and the cutest little outfits. We have stuffed animals and blankets and sheets for days. The boxes are in the nursery, just waiting.
They wait like the toys have been waiting to be played with, like the crib has been waiting to be slept in, like the little onesies are waiting to be worn. Like my arms still wait to hold our sweet baby girl.
But the waiting is in vain, because my arms won't hold her again on this earth. 'The nursery' is what I try to call it now, because 'her nursery' or most of all 'Hannah's room' is just too hard. I try to remember what Kyle whispered in my ear when we first returned to our vacant nursery, "it was never her nursery.' And it helps, it helps to know know that the Lord knew this entire I time that I was decorating the room for something or someone else. But it still hurts.
We've talked about packing up the room. At least the closet full of clothes, the basket full of toys, the shelves of diapers, and the drawers of blankets and sheets and cute little hooded baby towels. They need somewhere to live. Not because I need them out of my sight, but because they'll only collect dust on the shelves. They'll only take up room that could be used to host other hearts, friends, family, guests.
But it's so hard. Because I go in her room and I think about trying to pack something away and it feels so very real. It feels just like handing my sweet little baby girl's body to the nurse knowing I'd never see her again. I know that she's gone, just like her soul was long gone from that body. But somehow it feels like I'm giving up on her. That by packing away her things I'm no longer waiting for my baby, for my Hannah to arrive, to come home to us.
I know we can pack things away nicely, to keep them ready for someday another little baby Hess. Oh we pray for more babies. But the reality is that even another baby won't be my sweet, sweet Hannah. By putting her things in boxes, they are no longer hers, we are passing them down for someone else. And so it feels like I'm giving up on her.
But the reality is I never did, I never did give up. I believed she would be okay until the very last moment. And then I had them check again. And even then I thought maybe just maybe she'd still be born okay. I fought hard for her every day, I took care of her before myself, I rested, I did no heavy lifting, I put my feet up, I ate all the right things, I avoided all the wrong things, I wore a crazy mask when I painted even with the super-safe paint. Every piece of lunch meat I ate was 'steaming hot.' I prayed for her constantly, I told her stories, I made sure she knew how much in this family we love her daddy, my husband Kyle. I made sure she knew how much we love Jesus and that he loves her even more than we do. And I never gave up on her.
And so packing is hard. I know it will be good. But every piece, every item of blessing is painful, but good. I'm not ready to pack away my tears yet, to pack away my grief, or to pack away my love for her. It's like I'm still waiting for her, my heart does not yet know, even though my mind knows the crib will remain empty.
Mar 10, 2014
What They Did
These are the moments that have made up the last two months of our lives. As the Lord has taught us, I have been writing. It does me so much good to put into words what the Lord is teaching me or what I am feeling as we go. If at times it sounds like I'm preaching to you, it's more than likely not the case; but I had to write it to preach to myself. To have something to read and remind me of what this was like, when I feel as if I've made no progress at all, it helps me to read about the past. When I forget the goodness of the Lord, it helps me to read of his blessings.
If you'd like to read more about the story of our Hannah Grace click here.
December 28, 2013
Today I’ve been reading. Today I’ve been crying. Today I’ve truly been grieving.
But grief is something so strange. There are no perfect instructional books on the subject, there are not five distinct stages of grief for everyone. No matter what all the books and the websites and the blogs say. No one grieves exactly how I grieve.
Most of all though, it’s different. I am comforted by those who have been through my pain. I hate that some of my dearest friends have gone through something so similar, but I am grateful because they know how to listen when I need to talk, to laugh when I need to make a joke about something that seems so horrible for a ‘grieving mother’ to say. They know exactly what to say or do. And it seems like there are people very close to me that can say ‘I understand,’ but for most people they don’t really know what to say. But I’ll be honest I don’t really know what to say either.
The most helpful things have have been different than I ever would have imagined. My very first hug came from a friend who came in the dead of night to the dark empty hospital room to sit and wait outside just in case we needed anything. When I asked for a hug she hugged me, she said she was so sorry, she asked if there was anything we needed. She didn’t tell me everything would be alright, she didn’t give me any advice. Because she knew all I needed was a hug. She could do nothing to change what had happened, but neither could I.
Kyle and I knew within the hour of the horrible news that we’d be okay. We knew our God was with us, we knew he was sovereign, we knew his great love for us, we knew he was holding our sweet girl. And very often through miles of tears we’d say to one another, 'we’re going to be okay… we’re going to be alright.' But we weren’t ready yet for someone else to tell us any thing of the sort.
Hours later as the sun rose us we had friends come in, they brought snacks for Kyle and they brought new light. Two of my closest girl friends walked in the room and came immediately to me. They were in tears. They knew our sweet Hannah, they lost her with us, they cried with me and hugged me and let me share with them what I was ready to share. They laughed when I made a joke, because at some moments we needed to laugh. They sat in my bed with me and they held my hand.
As my labor continued the room filled with friends and family and the distraction was great. We laughed, we talked about everything under the sun. We shifted back and forth talking about our baby and talking about things like the barbecue place down the street.
It was interesting as visitors came. There were some that were crying when I was trying so hard to laugh, and others who came in crying when, yes, I needed to cry with them. I would have never thought I’d want flowers, but friends brought the really pretty kind of flowers that I loved and those continued to make me smile in a room that was sometimes so full of sadness and empty of life.
I think most of all I loved the people who listened to us, who waited to see how we were doing before they burst into tears. They didn’t ask for all the details, but they listened to every detail if that’s what I wanted to say.
Friends told me I looked beautiful even though I know I looked like death; there was a mirror. And when our sweet baby was born and I was a proud momma wanting to show her off, they let me brag about her perfection about her looking like me and Kyle. And they agreed that she was the most beautiful thing they’d ever seen. Even though I know that may not have been true, because many of them have their own children.
And most of all when they met her they waited for me to say ‘do you want to hold her?’ No one took her from my arms, and I would remember that. When a baby’s life has already been taken from her mother and father, don’t be the one to take the sweet little body out of a parent’s arms without waiting for an invitation. Hannah’s grandparents were the only one’s to hold her other than me and Kyle and then of course the medical staff. Others saw her, but by then I wasn’t willing to let anyone else hold her. I just wanted to hold her forever.
In the days and hours that passed. I had friends offer to help. I had one friend who was the buffer between us and our loving community. When we needed meals, another friend had them organized. When we planned her funeral and wanted balloons all we had to do was say the word and our friends did it all. When I needed someone to visit or talk to our friends were there.
My family stayed with us, they brought me medicine in the middle of the night, they fixed my plates, they helped me off the couch. They again, listened to my stories, but they also watched a Harry Potter marathon with us because it was fun. And they let Kyle and I retreat alone to our room everyone in a while just to cry and hold one another.
In the beginning our needs were different. It wasn't time to tell us what to do. It was just time to listen, to cry, to laugh, and to help in meaningful but simple ways. I'm not sure yet what to recommend, I'll be thinking about it. But I do want to put together a nice list of 'what to say' and 'what to do' because I know that when things like these happen people are all wondering.
We did know that we weren't alone. And I can say already that acknowledging our loss and our pain was something I was grateful for. To know that others were grieving with us, to know they were praying for us, to know that no one belittled our pain was quite a comfort.
If you'd like to read more about the story of our Hannah Grace click here.
December 28, 2013
Today I’ve been reading. Today I’ve been crying. Today I’ve truly been grieving.
But grief is something so strange. There are no perfect instructional books on the subject, there are not five distinct stages of grief for everyone. No matter what all the books and the websites and the blogs say. No one grieves exactly how I grieve.
Most of all though, it’s different. I am comforted by those who have been through my pain. I hate that some of my dearest friends have gone through something so similar, but I am grateful because they know how to listen when I need to talk, to laugh when I need to make a joke about something that seems so horrible for a ‘grieving mother’ to say. They know exactly what to say or do. And it seems like there are people very close to me that can say ‘I understand,’ but for most people they don’t really know what to say. But I’ll be honest I don’t really know what to say either.
The most helpful things have have been different than I ever would have imagined. My very first hug came from a friend who came in the dead of night to the dark empty hospital room to sit and wait outside just in case we needed anything. When I asked for a hug she hugged me, she said she was so sorry, she asked if there was anything we needed. She didn’t tell me everything would be alright, she didn’t give me any advice. Because she knew all I needed was a hug. She could do nothing to change what had happened, but neither could I.
Kyle and I knew within the hour of the horrible news that we’d be okay. We knew our God was with us, we knew he was sovereign, we knew his great love for us, we knew he was holding our sweet girl. And very often through miles of tears we’d say to one another, 'we’re going to be okay… we’re going to be alright.' But we weren’t ready yet for someone else to tell us any thing of the sort.
Hours later as the sun rose us we had friends come in, they brought snacks for Kyle and they brought new light. Two of my closest girl friends walked in the room and came immediately to me. They were in tears. They knew our sweet Hannah, they lost her with us, they cried with me and hugged me and let me share with them what I was ready to share. They laughed when I made a joke, because at some moments we needed to laugh. They sat in my bed with me and they held my hand.
As my labor continued the room filled with friends and family and the distraction was great. We laughed, we talked about everything under the sun. We shifted back and forth talking about our baby and talking about things like the barbecue place down the street.
It was interesting as visitors came. There were some that were crying when I was trying so hard to laugh, and others who came in crying when, yes, I needed to cry with them. I would have never thought I’d want flowers, but friends brought the really pretty kind of flowers that I loved and those continued to make me smile in a room that was sometimes so full of sadness and empty of life.
I think most of all I loved the people who listened to us, who waited to see how we were doing before they burst into tears. They didn’t ask for all the details, but they listened to every detail if that’s what I wanted to say.
Friends told me I looked beautiful even though I know I looked like death; there was a mirror. And when our sweet baby was born and I was a proud momma wanting to show her off, they let me brag about her perfection about her looking like me and Kyle. And they agreed that she was the most beautiful thing they’d ever seen. Even though I know that may not have been true, because many of them have their own children.
And most of all when they met her they waited for me to say ‘do you want to hold her?’ No one took her from my arms, and I would remember that. When a baby’s life has already been taken from her mother and father, don’t be the one to take the sweet little body out of a parent’s arms without waiting for an invitation. Hannah’s grandparents were the only one’s to hold her other than me and Kyle and then of course the medical staff. Others saw her, but by then I wasn’t willing to let anyone else hold her. I just wanted to hold her forever.
In the days and hours that passed. I had friends offer to help. I had one friend who was the buffer between us and our loving community. When we needed meals, another friend had them organized. When we planned her funeral and wanted balloons all we had to do was say the word and our friends did it all. When I needed someone to visit or talk to our friends were there.
My family stayed with us, they brought me medicine in the middle of the night, they fixed my plates, they helped me off the couch. They again, listened to my stories, but they also watched a Harry Potter marathon with us because it was fun. And they let Kyle and I retreat alone to our room everyone in a while just to cry and hold one another.
In the beginning our needs were different. It wasn't time to tell us what to do. It was just time to listen, to cry, to laugh, and to help in meaningful but simple ways. I'm not sure yet what to recommend, I'll be thinking about it. But I do want to put together a nice list of 'what to say' and 'what to do' because I know that when things like these happen people are all wondering.
We did know that we weren't alone. And I can say already that acknowledging our loss and our pain was something I was grateful for. To know that others were grieving with us, to know they were praying for us, to know that no one belittled our pain was quite a comfort.
Mar 7, 2014
Today That's Okay
These are the moments that have made up the last two months of our lives. As the Lord has taught us, I have been writing. It does me so much good to put into words what the Lord is teaching me or what I am feeling as we go. If at times it sounds like I'm preaching to you, it's more than likely not the case; but I had to write it to preach to myself. To have something to read and remind me of what this was like, when I feel as if I've made no progress at all, it helps me to read about the past. When I forget the goodness of the Lord, it helps me to read of his blessings.
If you'd like to read more about the story of our Hannah Grace click here.
December 28, 2014
I went into the nursery to start to pack away the baby things into our storage boxes. I walked in so strong, but very soon I realized that I wasn't ready. I walked over and picked up a teddy bear made specially for me. A dear friend made a beautiful bear for me that weighed exactly 8 pounds 3 ounces. I picked up the bear and I could remember what it felt like to hold our baby girl.
I sat in the rocking chair in the nursery holding that bear and I cried. I miss my sweet girl. I wanted to love her, I wanted to watch her grow up, I wanted to rock her in this chair, I wanted to play with her in this nursery. Although our lives may be filled with more babies in the years to come, none of them will be my sweet girl Hannah Grace. I’ll never get to know her how I once longed to. I never saw her smile. I never saw her eyes, oh I bet they were beautiful, just like her.
The packing will have to wait. Today I get to sit in the rocking chair and hold the teddy bear and cry and remember her. I will cry and mourn and be comforted by our Lord, and today that's okay.
If you'd like to read more about the story of our Hannah Grace click here.
December 28, 2014
I went into the nursery to start to pack away the baby things into our storage boxes. I walked in so strong, but very soon I realized that I wasn't ready. I walked over and picked up a teddy bear made specially for me. A dear friend made a beautiful bear for me that weighed exactly 8 pounds 3 ounces. I picked up the bear and I could remember what it felt like to hold our baby girl.
I sat in the rocking chair in the nursery holding that bear and I cried. I miss my sweet girl. I wanted to love her, I wanted to watch her grow up, I wanted to rock her in this chair, I wanted to play with her in this nursery. Although our lives may be filled with more babies in the years to come, none of them will be my sweet girl Hannah Grace. I’ll never get to know her how I once longed to. I never saw her smile. I never saw her eyes, oh I bet they were beautiful, just like her.
The packing will have to wait. Today I get to sit in the rocking chair and hold the teddy bear and cry and remember her. I will cry and mourn and be comforted by our Lord, and today that's okay.
Mar 5, 2014
Reminders
These are the moments that have made up the last two months of our lives. As the Lord has taught us, I have been writing. It does me so much good to put into words what the Lord is teaching me or what I am feeling as we go. If at times it sounds like I'm preaching to you, it's more than likely not the case; but I had to write it to preach to myself. To have something to read and remind me of what this was like, when I feel as if I've made no progress at all, it helps me to read about the past. When I forget the goodness of the Lord, it helps me to read of his blessings.
If you'd like to read more about the story of our Hannah Grace click here.
December 27, 2014
Yesterday I went to the bank with Kyle to deposit checks. It felt good to get out of the house.
Yesterday we also wanted to watch a movie. Some people may think that sounds silly, but it's nice to have a break from our grief every once in a while. We had gotten a few movies as gifts, but we decided not to watch We Bought a Zoo because a few friends told us it could be a sad movie. So we decided to watch Man of Steel instead. I hadn't seen it and being an action movie we figured it was a safe bet. We put in the DVD and the opening scene played. If you know anything about Superman's beginnings you may know what happened next. Not our best choice.
The opening scene is a mother in labor. Very soon after birth the mother holds her newborn baby and the father reminds her that it's time to send the baby away. The mother claims that she's not ready. She says how much she wants to hold her baby. She comments about how she'll never see her baby grow up and never see him walk.
I knew her pain all too well. I started crying and my sweet husband comforted me as he quickly explained that he had not remembered this scene at all from the first time he saw the movie. So much for avoiding the 'sad zoo movie.'
Today we went to Walmart to buy a couple of needed items and the storage boxes for our baby things. I think I got a little overzealous about the shopping trip because halfway through I had to stop and be held up by my husband. I was exhausted. Quickly we checked out, but after making our purchases I remembered that I had wanted to look for a wrapping paper holder. I wanted one that stored the rolls and had a place on top to store tape and scissors and such. So Kyle took our purchases to the car for me as I looked at the Christmas storage area.
I found the one I wanted on a high shelf. I asked an associate for help and she redirected me to the front of the store where she said there were more on a lower shelf. Being the stubborn girl that I am, I walked all the way to the front of the store lightheaded and sweaty without Kyle by my side. I struggled but I made it all the way there to find out that those storage bins were different; no place to store the tape and scissors. I could see by the sticker on the side of the bin that they were in fact different.
So I made it back to the Christmas storage area. I made it back where Kyle was waiting for me, probably wondering where I had gone. I saw another associate, so I walked over to ask him about the bin on the high shelf. He told me about the bins at the front of the store on a lower shelf. I explained that the bins were different. Very quickly he replied that the bins were the same, that he just a few days ago moved all the bins from the high shelf to the front of the store. Then he turned away.
And I lost it. I started sobbing right in the middle of the aisle and I ran back to Kyle. I explained through my tears and I told Kyle we needed to leave. But my sweet husband climbed those shelves faster than I'd ever seen him move. He grabbed the bin and pulled it down for me. Turns out it wasn't exactly what I had wanted, but for the record, it was surely different than the 'same' one on the lower shelf. There was no real reason to cry right in the middle of Walmart over a wrapping paper holder, but that's hormones and that's exhaustion and that's grief, I guess.
We had joined a trial of Amazon Prime and tonight we decided to start to watch BBC's Sherlock. It's a pretty creepy show to watch at night, but watching shows and movies often gives us a break from our grieving. But it turns out in Sherlock's first episode of the first season they find out the victim scratched a name in the floor before she died. They dig deeper to find out the name is her daughter’s name. They decide to find her daughter, then one of the police guys says something along the lines of ‘no use, she died 14 years ago, before she was ever born actually, she was her stillborn daughter.’ Sherlock replies,’why would someone still care about that, something that happened so long ago?’
And again I was in tears. Hannah will always be in our heart, she will always matter. And so we soon after switched to a much more happy Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. It's a musical and it's probably the happiest thing you will ever watch. And in all the happiness they have a new baby girl. And the father turns to the mother and asks her name. And the mother replies, 'Hannah.' And then I started to cry.
Now we laugh because we couldn't have planned all of these movies had we even tried.
But reminders of our grief are everywhere, as much as we try to avoid them, they will follow us forever. I told someone it's like when you get a pair of Chacos, you realize how many other people are wearing them, you see them everywhere. Except that in this instance our 'Chacos' are loss.
My prayer is that these reminders will make us think of our sweet girl and smile at the joy she brought us, rather than crying because there’s still such a great emptiness where she once was.
If you'd like to read more about the story of our Hannah Grace click here.
December 27, 2014
Yesterday I went to the bank with Kyle to deposit checks. It felt good to get out of the house.
Yesterday we also wanted to watch a movie. Some people may think that sounds silly, but it's nice to have a break from our grief every once in a while. We had gotten a few movies as gifts, but we decided not to watch We Bought a Zoo because a few friends told us it could be a sad movie. So we decided to watch Man of Steel instead. I hadn't seen it and being an action movie we figured it was a safe bet. We put in the DVD and the opening scene played. If you know anything about Superman's beginnings you may know what happened next. Not our best choice.
The opening scene is a mother in labor. Very soon after birth the mother holds her newborn baby and the father reminds her that it's time to send the baby away. The mother claims that she's not ready. She says how much she wants to hold her baby. She comments about how she'll never see her baby grow up and never see him walk.
I knew her pain all too well. I started crying and my sweet husband comforted me as he quickly explained that he had not remembered this scene at all from the first time he saw the movie. So much for avoiding the 'sad zoo movie.'
Today we went to Walmart to buy a couple of needed items and the storage boxes for our baby things. I think I got a little overzealous about the shopping trip because halfway through I had to stop and be held up by my husband. I was exhausted. Quickly we checked out, but after making our purchases I remembered that I had wanted to look for a wrapping paper holder. I wanted one that stored the rolls and had a place on top to store tape and scissors and such. So Kyle took our purchases to the car for me as I looked at the Christmas storage area.
I found the one I wanted on a high shelf. I asked an associate for help and she redirected me to the front of the store where she said there were more on a lower shelf. Being the stubborn girl that I am, I walked all the way to the front of the store lightheaded and sweaty without Kyle by my side. I struggled but I made it all the way there to find out that those storage bins were different; no place to store the tape and scissors. I could see by the sticker on the side of the bin that they were in fact different.
So I made it back to the Christmas storage area. I made it back where Kyle was waiting for me, probably wondering where I had gone. I saw another associate, so I walked over to ask him about the bin on the high shelf. He told me about the bins at the front of the store on a lower shelf. I explained that the bins were different. Very quickly he replied that the bins were the same, that he just a few days ago moved all the bins from the high shelf to the front of the store. Then he turned away.
And I lost it. I started sobbing right in the middle of the aisle and I ran back to Kyle. I explained through my tears and I told Kyle we needed to leave. But my sweet husband climbed those shelves faster than I'd ever seen him move. He grabbed the bin and pulled it down for me. Turns out it wasn't exactly what I had wanted, but for the record, it was surely different than the 'same' one on the lower shelf. There was no real reason to cry right in the middle of Walmart over a wrapping paper holder, but that's hormones and that's exhaustion and that's grief, I guess.
We had joined a trial of Amazon Prime and tonight we decided to start to watch BBC's Sherlock. It's a pretty creepy show to watch at night, but watching shows and movies often gives us a break from our grieving. But it turns out in Sherlock's first episode of the first season they find out the victim scratched a name in the floor before she died. They dig deeper to find out the name is her daughter’s name. They decide to find her daughter, then one of the police guys says something along the lines of ‘no use, she died 14 years ago, before she was ever born actually, she was her stillborn daughter.’ Sherlock replies,’why would someone still care about that, something that happened so long ago?’
And again I was in tears. Hannah will always be in our heart, she will always matter. And so we soon after switched to a much more happy Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. It's a musical and it's probably the happiest thing you will ever watch. And in all the happiness they have a new baby girl. And the father turns to the mother and asks her name. And the mother replies, 'Hannah.' And then I started to cry.
Now we laugh because we couldn't have planned all of these movies had we even tried.
But reminders of our grief are everywhere, as much as we try to avoid them, they will follow us forever. I told someone it's like when you get a pair of Chacos, you realize how many other people are wearing them, you see them everywhere. Except that in this instance our 'Chacos' are loss.
My prayer is that these reminders will make us think of our sweet girl and smile at the joy she brought us, rather than crying because there’s still such a great emptiness where she once was.
Mar 3, 2014
The Marks She Left
These are the moments that have made up the last two months of our lives. As the Lord has taught us, I have been writing. It does me so much good to put into words what the Lord is teaching me or what I am feeling as we go. If at times it sounds like I'm preaching to you, it's more than likely not the case; but I had to write it to preach to myself. To have something to read and remind me of what this was like, when I feel as if I've made no progress at all, it helps me to read about the past. When I forget the goodness of the Lord, it helps me to read of his blessings.
If you'd like to read more about the story of our Hannah Grace click here.
And today, March 3rd, we are doing well. Better than I think I could have imagined, the Lord is by our side daily, but the following is from December...
December 26, 2014
It’s an interesting time being a mother without a baby. Interesting may not be the word, but I don’t always have the words anymore to describe what’s going on, what I’m feeling, what this entire experience has been like.
For the past 10 months I have looked in the mirror constantly. I watched as my belly formed and grew and I could not have been more proud. I watched as the scale went up and I watched as the stretch marks began to appear. I can’t tell you I was the most excited about the weight and the stretch marks. I had tried my best to gain the ‘correct’ amount of weight; I had applied the lotions and the creams to avoid the stretch marks. But the weight came and I neared two hundred pounds. The stretch marks came and grew. In the last few weeks very new stretch marks appeared for the first time on my stomach. I touched them in disbelief, but understood the cost we pay for our babies as women. It was worth it.
But when the time came for our baby, the Lord had other plans. Our sweet girl died in the womb at 40 weeks. The day after I finished the nursery, the day we bought her baby book, there was a knot in her umbilical cord that no one knew about. Thursday she was fine, Sunday her heart beat no more. My stretch marks did not earn me a baby…
We came home empty-handed. We returned to our home and my body was worn. I birthed our sweet girl, I had stitches, I had lost blood. I had very little sleep. I walked into our bathroom and I looked in the very same mirror through which I had gazed each of the 40 weeks.
And then I saw my stretch marks.
There they were, and I could touch them. When my baby was out of reach, I could touch the marks she left me with. I could feel them when I could not feel anything else but pain. The Lord truly saved us, brought us hope when we had none, gave us peace when we did not have understanding, reminded us of our joy when tears were great. And as I looked in the mirror I realized that my stretch marks were a gift from the Lord.
I love my stretch marks. They tell the world that although I don’t have my baby, I am a mother. Although our sweet girl never called me ‘mom’ that I carried her, I took care of her, I loved her, and I’m still her mother. They are the mark of a mother, and when I start to forget or when I wish I could touch her I look through that mirror and I remember, I reach down and I can touch the marks she left me.
If you'd like to read more about the story of our Hannah Grace click here.
And today, March 3rd, we are doing well. Better than I think I could have imagined, the Lord is by our side daily, but the following is from December...
December 26, 2014
It’s an interesting time being a mother without a baby. Interesting may not be the word, but I don’t always have the words anymore to describe what’s going on, what I’m feeling, what this entire experience has been like.
For the past 10 months I have looked in the mirror constantly. I watched as my belly formed and grew and I could not have been more proud. I watched as the scale went up and I watched as the stretch marks began to appear. I can’t tell you I was the most excited about the weight and the stretch marks. I had tried my best to gain the ‘correct’ amount of weight; I had applied the lotions and the creams to avoid the stretch marks. But the weight came and I neared two hundred pounds. The stretch marks came and grew. In the last few weeks very new stretch marks appeared for the first time on my stomach. I touched them in disbelief, but understood the cost we pay for our babies as women. It was worth it.
But when the time came for our baby, the Lord had other plans. Our sweet girl died in the womb at 40 weeks. The day after I finished the nursery, the day we bought her baby book, there was a knot in her umbilical cord that no one knew about. Thursday she was fine, Sunday her heart beat no more. My stretch marks did not earn me a baby…
We came home empty-handed. We returned to our home and my body was worn. I birthed our sweet girl, I had stitches, I had lost blood. I had very little sleep. I walked into our bathroom and I looked in the very same mirror through which I had gazed each of the 40 weeks.
And then I saw my stretch marks.
There they were, and I could touch them. When my baby was out of reach, I could touch the marks she left me with. I could feel them when I could not feel anything else but pain. The Lord truly saved us, brought us hope when we had none, gave us peace when we did not have understanding, reminded us of our joy when tears were great. And as I looked in the mirror I realized that my stretch marks were a gift from the Lord.
I love my stretch marks. They tell the world that although I don’t have my baby, I am a mother. Although our sweet girl never called me ‘mom’ that I carried her, I took care of her, I loved her, and I’m still her mother. They are the mark of a mother, and when I start to forget or when I wish I could touch her I look through that mirror and I remember, I reach down and I can touch the marks she left me.
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