Love, Loss and Living Again

The truth is plain to see - she was sent to rescue me.

2011-12-05T14:56:00.005-05:00

There are times in your life where you feel forsaken. Where nothing is going right, in a big way. When desperate prayers go unanswered month after month. When you are convinced nothing good will ever happen again. Since December 23, 2008, that is how I felt. A little lost, a little desperate, insecure about the future and continuously wondering "Why, God? When, God?" Losing Webb was the

worst imaginable experience on Earth. Then I had a traumatic miscarriage 7 months later that left me, in some doctor's minds, completely infertile. I thought to myself, "Why wouldn't God want me to have more children?" I didn't feel like He owed me a child, but I was confused as to why future children seemed impossible. Yet, a small, still voice kept whispering, "Wait on me," everytime I asked Him if another child was in store for us. I begged Him to take the desire out of my heart if He did not want me to have another baby, but the desire remained. In January 2010 I was lead to LA, to a magnificent doctor who was able to remove the scar tissue caused by my D&C, scar tissue doctors in Atlanta seemed skeptical could be removed. I thought that surgery solved al my problems; I was wrong. After three chemical pregnancies, more research and more prayer, I was able to get the doctors here to diagnose what I suspected all along--- that the infection caused by the miscarriage/ D&C was still present. Again, I was led to a wonderful doctor, this time in New York City, who was able to use a special antibiotic treatment, and my infection was gone. Two months later, I was pregnant again. But after four failed attempts, I did not get my hopes up. But ultrasound after ultrasound, appointment after appointment, I felt a calmness in my heart. The doctors were on high alert, telling me I was "high risk," and even saying a few times they thought my prior issues were causing placenta problems. I remained calm, knowing in my heart everything was going to be ok. Then, on November 28 at 9:45 PM, my precious miracle was placed into my waiting arms, and I felt.....blessed. She weighed over 8 pounds, and had the most beautiful scream I have ever heard. I looked into her eyes and knew I would never be the same, this time, in a good way. Am I still sad over losing my precious Webb? Of course, maybe today even more than almost three years ago. I know he is his sister's guardian angel; I am just sad she won't get to meet him in this lifetime. Having this child does not replace the one I lost. It does not mean my fears are gone. But seeing this miracle of life, God's greatest blessing, gives us hope. Hope for a future that seemed shaky these past three years. Hope that we will make it, despite all the odds.

Bess Catherine Broach

November 28, 2011

9:45 PM

Eight pounds, Five ounces

19 3/4 inches

Two years, five months, one week and four days

2011-06-06T12:01:00.001-04:00

Sometimes it seems so much further away. Other times, it feels like it just happened yesterday. Here is where I am at two years, five months, one week and four days :

I’ll never get over it.

I can still laugh until my stomach hurts.

I still cry at the drop of a hat.

The people I love still save me every day, but only God can give me peace.

I have a new appreciation for everything.

Important things matter more; trivial things matter less.

I love bigger.

I am more afraid my kids will get sick, hit by a car, bitten by a snake or four thousand other possibilities that never crossed my mind before.

I am afraid I am forgetting little things about him.

At times, I struggle to keep it together.

I still wonder, “Why us?”

I still have hope.

I think we are going to make it.

Yesterday, the twins turned four. Whit asked me if he has two birthdays since he and Webb were born on the same day. I said we just have to celebrate double for Webb down here, but think of the party he’s having in heaven! He looked so sad. I had to excuse myself and cry. June 5 is a day of what could have been and what will be. We are so blessed by our precious Whit, and we miss Webb so fiercely it hurts. I can’t believe we’ve celebrated three birthdays without him. I long to see what he would have been like at age four. When I get to heaven, I hope he’s still 18 months and I get to watch him grow up. Does it work that way?

We have big things happening right now. We are having another baby! I want to tell you all the whole story, but I am going to save it for another post. I am fourteen weeks along, and so far everything looks good. Don’t even get me started on the fears I have been battling. I would sure appreciate your prayers for this sweet little soul we have already fallen head over heels in love with.

Perfection

2011-04-13T14:08:00.001-04:00

There are so many days when I feel and see myself getting better. Times when I look back on the past two and a half years and think, “Ok, I am getting through it.” And then there are times when still it stops me dead in my tracks. The other day I was sitting in my office, and all of the sudden I had a vivid flashback of being in the hospital with Webb, and I was once again crippled with pain. The fact I lost Webb is something I still think about no less than 20 times an hour. Maybe more. But the actual flashbacks of the hospital and funeral started to come less and less the past several months. Maybe that’s why the latest round hurt so incredibly. It’s surreal to see his identical twin grow and thrive. It gives me a glimpse into what Webb would look like and be saying and doing, but he was his own unique person, and I just want to see him, right next to his brothers, sharing in their fun. I don’t know how to make this life fit into what my family used to be. I don’t know how to be completely happy here when my heart still aches for what I once had. I feel so helpless. I know I can survive just about anything that is thrown my way, but gosh, I don’t want to. I want to go back to the days where I expected the best instead of always anticipating the worst. It’s almost as if I’m scared to believe anything good can happen. I remember walking into the twins’ room right before Webb got sick. They were curled up in their cribs, right next to one another, bottoms in the air, sleeping soundly. I looked at them, and then Bo sleeping in the room next door, his hand curled around three extra pacifiers, and I had this feeling of utter joy. I actually remember saying, “God, what did I do to deserve all this perfection?” I will never forget that moment of feeling like my life was everything I wanted it to be. I will never feel that again on Earth. Because no matter how many wonderful things will come our way, there will always be that hole, that something missing. I want it all back. That moment, those days, the perfect 18 months of my life where all my children were safe in their beds. I want it back.

Hold on to my hand....

2011-03-11T15:58:00.003-05:00

Thanks to everyone for your kind words about Kaki. Her death has certainly been upsetting, and 2011 has not gotten off to a wonderful start. Around the time of Kaki's death, I had some very adverse reactions to some antibiotics I was on, and on Super Bowl Sunday, I woke up in the middle of the night because my hands and feet were tingling...I walked to the bathroom and realized I was kind of having a hard time moving, and when I got to the bathroom, I was extremely nauseous and totally out of it. My body felt like it was on fire, and I looked down and was purple from chest to toe. I don't know why, but I instinctively knew that I should immediately call 911- and it's a good thing I did because I was in anaphylactic shock. By the time the paramedics got there, I was slurring my words, my blood pressure was dangerously low and I was taken to the emergency room. Luckily, those reactions are the kind that you can treat 99% of the time, and some epenepherine, benadryl and IV fluids reversed the situation pretty quickly. But it was definitely traumatizing. I felt like a fragile little bird. A few days ago, I went to Webb's grave and "talked" with him for a while, and I told him I felt like I keep escaping death. I'm not really scared of death anymore, but the thought of leaving Bo and Whit motherless has certainly given me more than enough reason to want to live. I just don't know sometimes how I will keep on with the pain and fear that constantly reside in my heart. I feel most days like my soul has the flu. I feel like we've had such a run of bad luck for the past two and a half years that I've started to anticipate the worst instead of the best. I have also recently begun processing the miscarriage I suffered seven months after Webb died. At the time, I was still clouded in grief over Webb, so I was unable to process the trauma of losing my unborn baby at 13 weeks. But now I am realizing how much I feel that loss, too. I found out through genetic testing shortly after the miscarriage that our baby was a girl- which I barely processed at the time since I had become so sick with infection after the D&C. But lately, I have been thinking about her. Mourning her and wondering if she is with her brother. A person I have met since that miscarriage told me she had a dream about Webb where he kept telling her about his sister....that person was convinced that meant there is a daughter in Zac's and my future. But all I could think of was the baby I miscarried. Was it her he was talking about? I don't know how all that works, but it gives me a small sense of peace, thinking they are together waiting for me. I don't equate the pain from my miscarriage to losing Webb- in fact, it's not even on the same planet. But the month after month effect these events have had on my life have been very exhausting. I am tired. Life gets better and worse every day. It's a crazy way to explain it, but it's pretty accurate. I feel so changed, and yet, I am the exact same person I've always been. Bo and Whit are turning in to such precious, thoughtful little people and I practically burst with love every time I see their sweet faces. Every night, after they are asleep, I go to each of their beds, lean down, inhale their sweet scents and whisper, "Thank you Lord...how could I ask for more...." and I mean it. I am so thankful to be their mother. I have no right to ask God for anything more or less than He is willing to give me. I could not ask for any more than what I have- precious children, an amazing husband I love more every day, parents that mean the world to me and friends that have saved my life. I do feel blessed. And yet, I am always praying for a break. A break from the fear that grips my heart when it comes to my children's health. A break from the stress that is obviously wreaking havoc on my physical well-being. A break from the constant wonder about what is in store. So for those who have asked for specific prayer requests from me, there you go. These are my daily requests. There is a song I listen to almost every day by Nichole Nordeman (love her). It is called "I am," and there are so many great words in that song about how God is with us throughout the various phases of our lives....such a great reminder He is the beginning and end....and the only One who can truly mend our broken hearts. I am working on it.

I Am

Nichole Nordeman

Pencil marks on a wall
I wasn't always this tall,
You scattered some monsters from beneath my bed,
You watched my team win,
You watched my team lose,
You watched when my bicycle went down again,

And When I was weak unable to speak,
still I could call You by name,
and I said “Elbow healer, Superhero,
come if You can,” and You said “I am”

Only 16, life is so mean, what kind of curfew is at ten PM
You saw my mistakes, You watched my heart break
Heard when I swore I’d never love again

When I was weak, unable to speak,
still I could call You by name,
and I said “Heart-ache Healer, Secret-keeper,
be my Best Friend” and You said “I am”

You saw me wear white, by pale candlelight,
I said forever to what lies ahead
two kids and a dream, with kids that can scream
too much it might seem when it’s two AM

when I am weak, unable to speak,
still I will call You by name.
“Oh Shepherd, Savior, Pasture-maker,
hold on to my hand,” and You say “I am.”

The winds of change,
And circumstance blow in and all around
us so we find a foothold that’s familiar,
And bless the moments that we feel You nearer
Life had begun, I was woven and spun,
You let the angels dance around the throne, who can say when,
But they’ll dance again, when I am free and finally headed home

I will be weak, unable to speak,
still I will call You by name
“Creator, Maker, Life-sustainer,
Comforter, Healer, My Redeemer,
Lord and King, Beginning and
the End, I am, yes, I am.”

Kaki is holding my baby....

2011-01-27T10:13:00.001-05:00

Catherine Marie Munch Mauzy died peacefully and surrounded by loving family in Atlanta, Georgia on Tuesday, January 25, 2011. Catherine was born on October 5, 1924 in Rochester, Illinois and was the daughter of Reverend Henry Curtis and H. Leona Munch and the wife of John Conway Mauzy, Jr. "Coss," all who predecease her. Catherine and John were married March 27,1942 in St. Joseph,MO. They lived in several Illinois cities throughout their marriage, including Jerseyville, where they raised their four children, Terry, Cathie, Pamela and Dawn, and where Catherine worked as a legal assistant. Catherine and John moved to Lake Worth, Florida in 1974 where she continued to work as a legal assistant until John's death in 1993. Catherine spent the last 5 years of her life in Chattanooga, TN and Atlanta, GA where she was lovingly cared for by her children.
Catherine is also predeceased by her brothers, Joe and Henry, her sister Florence and her great grandson Webber Bennett Broach. She is survived by her sister Mary Moon of AZ, her four children and their spouses: Peg and Terry Mauzy, Cathie and Jim Ross, Pamela and Stephen Webber, Dawn and Steve Rippley; her precious grandchildren: Shawn Evans, Ashley Webber Broach, Krista Ross, Justin Mauzy and her four great grandchildren: Chloe and Ariane Evans and Bo and Whitaker Broach.
Funeral services will be held at Oakland United Methodist Church, Oakland,IL on Sunday, January 30, 2011 at 1:00 pm. A graveside service will follow the ceremony. In lieu of flowers, the family asks for donations to be made to Crossroads Hospice in memory of her. Crossroads Hospice, 1957 Lakeside Parkway, Suite 500, Tucker, GA 30084

Old and new...

2011-01-17T16:07:00.004-05:00

I have not blogged since December 13 because there just don't seem to be words to describe what another Christmas without Webb felt like, or what it feels like to have lived through another anniversary of his death, or what it sounds like when your children ask if Santa comes to heaven. Whit has decided when he outgrows his clothes, it's time to pass them on to Webb. He also loves for me to tell him how he and Webb were in my tummy together at the exact same time. He hasn't quite grasped the twin concept and instead sees Webb the way we all do- as an almost 19 month old baby. It's heartbreakingly complicated, this life we live. We are, as usual, overwhelmed by the amount of love that was showered upon us during the days leading up to the 26th. Cards, texts, emails, voicemails, little gifts, a surprise dinner and bottle of wine- we truly have amazing friends. Complete strangers emailed me to tell me we were on their minds. God has touched us all by showing us what goodness looks like. So we are blessed, even if you can't imagine having been through what we've been through. If you have been there, you know what I'm talking about.

On another note, my grandmother, Kaki, is having a rough time. We have a special relationship. I am named for her and spent all of my life with her and loving her the way only a granddaughter can. She has suffered from dementia for many years, and she really does not know exactly who we are anymore, which is heartbreaking. We will lose Kaki twice, as it is with all dementia patients. About ten days ago, she had a heart attack. My mom told me things were bad, hospice was called. I raced out of a deposition, tears streaming down my face, a little hysterical. I know Kaki is suffering, and that when Kaki passes, she will be at peace, but I couldn't stop the tears. I got to the hospital and raced to her side, and there was no question she knew me. We made our faces at each other and sat in peace for a while. The doctor said she would not make it through the day, but she did, and as I sit here typing, she is still with us. Since I had Bo, I have been so sad Kaki has not been able to interact with my children the way she would have pre-dementia. She would have absolutely adored those boys. And when Webb died, I said a silent prayer of thanks she had no idea because if she did, it would have killed her. But in the hospital last week, I got a little excited that soon Kaki would be in heaven with Webb. I know he will be waiting for her, and she will spend everyday until I get there spoiling that baby rotten just as she did me, loving on him and telling him stories about me. So even though I am not ready for Kaki to go, I know her legacy will live on and her heavenly days will far outshine the days she is living now. Please help me pray for a merciful end to her magnificent life.

'Tis the Season...

2010-12-13T11:52:00.002-05:00

I miss him. The most wonderful time of the year is the most difficult for us. The lights, music and smells take me back to the three days we spent in the hospital, the last three days we spent with our Webb. Bo and Whit do not know we associate Christmas with their brother’s death. They are blissfully unaware of the significance of those dates, and we are grateful for that. But that does not mean they don’t feel it. In fact, we talk about him more than ever these days: putting the decorations up, hanging his ornaments, talking about the two Christmases when there were three boys on Santa’s lap and looking at those pictures….. It has prompted a series of questions. First, from Whit, who for the first time asked, “Mommy, when is Webbie coming home?” And then, from Bo, who is older now and needs more details about why his brother is in heaven. I answered all their questions as honestly as I could. I cried when talking with Bo because he asked, “Why did you let Webbie die? How many doctors did you take him to?” He cannot comprehend the parents who fix all of his problems couldn’t fix his brother’s. And I am heartbroken he had to come to that realization at the age of five. So, no, we are not feeling merry and bright. Christmas is incredibly and increasingly difficult. Most people acknowledge this- some don’t know what to say. But our little unit of four remains as close as ever, wiping each other’s tears and holding each other close, and really, that is all that matters. We love each other very much. We are grateful for our Savior’s unfailing love for us. We are hopeful for blessings to come. And we are remembering our angel with every minute of every day. Love and peace to all of you this season. And thank you for loving and praying for our family.

Ashley

“If you know someone who has lost a child or lost anybody who's important to them, and you're afraid to mention them because you think you might make them sad by reminding them that they died, they didn't forget they died. You're not reminding them. What you're reminding them of is that you remember that they lived, and that's a great, great gift.” ~ Elizabeth Edwards

The Power (or not?) of Prayer

2010-11-11T14:08:00.003-05:00

Children are dying. Everyday. I have heard of four just this past month. And today, as I went to preschool to read to Whit's class, I find out a 5 year old precious member of our church was diagnosed with neuroblastoma. I want to scream and throw up at the same time. Why is this happening?? Why are our children dying of cancer?!? I feel helpless and pointless and scared....because, by the way, once you actually lose a child, it doesn't mean you've "paid your dues." I am highly aware and sensitive to the fact I could lose another. And that makes me want to die. It's so risky, this business of having children. It's the most vulnerable you will ever be because the love you feel for them is so overwhelming and intense....which makes something happening to them (or even the thought of something happening to them) so incredibly painful and hard to take. What can we do? Before Webb died, I would say we should round up the troops, pray like crazy and hope for a miracle. And I suppose even after Webb died, I would still say the same things, but for very different reasons. Before Webb died, I believed if we prayed hard enough, long enough and had enough people by our side, we could change the outcome. I know now that is not how it works. God can still perform a miracle, but it won't be because we stormed the throne and "made" him do so. Why did I ever think I was important enough or powerful enough to change God's mind?? God already knows what the outcome will be. He knows the day we find out the diagnosis whether He will perform a miracle of healing or whether He will call someone home. No matter how many "prayer petitions" or "prayer warriors" or how many people we have lined up begging Him for the same thing, the outcome is still up to God. And we don't get to change His mind. Of course we don't. Do you really think God looked down on us and said, "Well, Webb is sick, but they only got 1000 people to pray, and the little girl down the hall got 2000, so I will spare her and 'take' Webb." ?? No. That is obviously not how it works. SO WHAT IS THE POINT? WHY EVEN PRAY? My past few Bible study groups have wrestled with this question, as I know many, many more have for time immemorial. What is the point of prayer? If God already knows the outcome, why do we bother? I don't know for sure. But to quote a dear friend (hi, Amy Walker)- the point of prayer is not to change God...it's to change you. Because not one person can lay in the bed with their sick or dying child, calling out to God for a miracle for 3 straight days and nights, and walk away without a changed perspective on the world. And having been that person, who laid in that bed and went home with every single prayer unanswered, I can still tell you God listened. And yes, if He performed a miracle and healed Webb that day, I would have given Him all the glory and probably even said it was the power of prayer. But really, the healing would have been the power of God...the prayers would have changed the people praying but not the ultimate outcome. I know the Bible teaches us to pray. We have to, for our sake and for our sanity. But what about when the prayers are unanswered? What then? Do we pull away from God because He does not constantly perform miracles? Of course not. I still pray. All the time. I still ask God for a certain outcome, even if I believe He already knows what that outcome is. And I am a better person for the prayer, even if I sometimes do not know the point. My God still is the all-powerful healer, and the one who performs miracles. We just don't get to tell Him when He should do it. All this is to say, yes, I think you should keep praying. Of course I think you should still ask for a miracle and for healing when you or your loved one is sick. But don't feel forsaken if those prayers aren't answered - it's nothing you did or didn't do. The flip side of saying that healing was caused by the power of prayer is that death happened because we didn't pray enough. And I just cannot believe God works that way. All that said, I would ask for the thousands of parents who have recently lost their child or may lose them and are living through an absolute nightmare right now- we need to round up the troops, pray like crazy and hope for a miracle. The miracle will be up to God. The change will be in you.

Poured out from the inside....

2010-10-12T14:36:00.002-04:00

Two years ago today, Webb started his "episodes" of throwing up and then continuing with normal play. Two years ago, I started taking him to doctors and doing test after test. Two years ago, I had no answers, except that he was probably ok- he was growing and talking and acting otherwise fine. Two years ago, I thought life was perfect. I remember telling Zac, "One day we'll tell Webb about his throwing up, and how he scared us." Two years later, I am left with a giant hole and the reality that children get cancer. Children can die. And it's not always obvious that it's happening. In the past two years, I have struggled with more loss than I know what to do with. I have questioned God, gotten angry, wanted to give up and wondered WHY ME?! more times than I can count. I have fallen to my knees, begging God for answers. Sometimes the answers come, and they are not what I want to hear. Sometimes the answers don't come, and I am more confused than ever. Sometimes I feel at peace, sometimes I feel panic. I keep thinking as long as the boys continue to grow and thrive, I will be happy. That is my standard, but I know there are no guarantees. Surprisingly, I am not a miserable person. Those who know me can attest to the fact that I am usually smiling, quick to laugh and easy to be around. Most days it is not an act. Some days I deserve an Academy Award. I know everyone wants to say the one thing that will make me feel better, but the truth is, that "one thing" does not exist. I am so thankful for prayers as I struggle to adjust to this reality that will never seem right. This year, there is one less school bag, one less Halloween costume, one less laughing red haired boy than there should be. And nothing in this world can make that seem normal. So we pick up the pieces and do our best, sad for the people we used to be, but hopeful life will not always seem so....empty.

I feel so far from where I've been....

2010-09-01T14:32:00.000-04:00

I wish I could say I have not updated this blog because I have been too busy, or too happy, or because nothing was really going on right now. I wish I could say I was at a place of contentment, and that nothing was bothering me, and that I am doing great. Unfortunately, I am not there yet. And at this point, I am wondering if I ever will be. Of course, I know that I will never have a time where I don’t desperately miss Webb. But I somehow thought by now, the intensity of the pain would have lessened. It has not, and that makes me believe it never will. I am no longer consumed with the pain, that is true, but the intensity of my grief is still as strong, if not stronger than ever. I am no longer protected by shock. And that is rough. Next week, Whit will go off to his second year of pre school, and for the second time all we will see is that Webb is not by his side. That huge, gaping, obvious hole is a part of our reality, and that is so unfair. Whit asks where Webb is, and Bo is always quick to add in his prayers, “Jesus, please take care of Webbie from up there.” Their sweet innocence breaks my heart and comforts it all at once. I do not know what I am doing. I have no answers. I am scared. Prayers have gone unanswered time after time, month after month, day after day, and that leaves me insecure, unsure, and a little panicky. My stability has been shaken to the core. Nothing is what I thought it would be. Change is certainly coming, and I hope it is change that brings great joy, but for now, I’ll take no more pain. I have the urge to run, but every time I try, I realize I am struggling with something I cannot escape from. The mind is complex, but the soul is even more complicated. My soul is still battered and bruised from saying goodbye to Webb, and nothing except eternal salvation can fix that. I am standing on the rock, looking toward the horizon. I can see peace in the distance, so close I can almost touch it, but it keeps slipping through my hands.

Keep on Keeping On....

2010-07-22T14:02:00.003-04:00

Images of Webb are always in my mind. The same dream replays over, and over and over.

The dream where I still have him, and we're trying to make him well again. In the dream I have so much hope. I wake up and the heartbreak begins again. My sweet Whit won't go to sleep now without his twin's blanket. I check on him after he's fallen asleep, and Webb's blanket is always clutched tightly in his hand. The other day we bought the boys new shoes, and Whit wanted to know whether Webbie gets new shoes in heaven. Oh, how I wish my children did not have to ask questions like this. The pain is still raw, the grief is ever- moving, ever-present. The fears are still there, and I am sad my children will never know the carefree, innocent person I once was. While I try to be calm for them, it is obvious they sense my fears. This became most evident when I discovered Bo wasn't telling me when he felt bad because he didn't want me to worry. What a sweet boy, but clearly I need to try and get a grip. My fears about my children's health are constant, and I know it's justified and "normal" considering what we've been through, but I have to remember the Lord has it all in His hands. Hard to do when your living children are in pain and an ice cold hand squeezes your heart and takes you back to a cold day in December when the world stopped moving. Nonetheless, I am working on it. Praying about it. Asking God to keep me steady. And the boys' health is fine. We are, all things considered, doing well. Bo and Whit are growing and laughing and loving the way they should. We shield them from our pain. I answer their questions about Webb when they ask, but I am thankful they are still too little to comprehend what we've lost. I can barely comprehend it. We are clinging to the cross, resting in the truth He is mighty to save. Thanks as always for your prayers. They are precious to us all.

And I Can't be Holding on to What you've got, When all you've got is Hurt....

2010-06-21T16:41:00.002-04:00

There are things that we don't want to happen but have to accept,
things we don't want to know but have to learn,
and people we can't live without but have to let go.
~ Author Unknown

Well, isn't that the truth? When I was younger, I never dreamed things would not go my way. Sure, I assumed I would have trials and tribulations like the rest of the world, but I also assumed it would be something I could handle, or at least look to several other people for advice on how to handle. I knew I'd probably lose my parents, and hoped it would be when they were very old and ready to leave this world. I thought about getting sick, about losing a job, about having a child go through a difficult experience, divorce, relationship issues, and all the other things I was familiar with. Losing a child? That never crossed my mind, and it was the first horrible thing that has ever happened to me. And I don't know anyone else it has happened to. And I'm afraid people are a little freaked out about how to be around me. And I don't know what to do about any of that most days. I realize I could stay in denial. I know plenty of people who do that on a regular basis. They think, "Well, if I just pretend this didn't happen, or this person didn't treat me this way, or that person still loves me or he didn't cheat on me, or even, he didn't die, everything will be the way it always has been." But all those people in denial are probably crazy (or will be shortly), and honestly, that is no way to live. We have to face the things that happen to us, and we have to face them head on. Who wants anything bad to happen? It's not the things that happen to us that define us, it's how we handle them. I am not an ostrich kind of girl. I don't put my head in the sand, and I detest people who do. I cannot stand pretending. And I honestly don't have the energy for it. Unfortunately, life has thrown some serious curves at me. I have had the worst case scenario play out before my eyes. And you know what, it sucks. Bad. But I cannot change it. And I cannot run from it. I can't even rationalize it or make sense of it. So the only choice is acceptance. I have to accept the fact that Webb is gone, even though it goes against every fiber of my being to do so. Accepting it does not mean getting over it, nor does it mean I don't think about him every minute of the day. It just means not fighting it, not torturing myself that it happened. After all, we will be together again, and until then, the Lord will carry us through every possible twist and turn. That much I know is true. Pretending will not carry the day, nor will it carry us. That is why I love the quote at the top of this entry. We often don't want a lot of things. We don't want to move, or our spouse to cheat, or lose a job, or our parents to disappoint us or our lives to be the way they turned out. But none of that matters, because if it's actually happening, it's something we have to deal with. Keeping it inside will poison our souls, and these little pieces of denial will add up until you are merely a shell of the person you once were. Accept. Learn. Let go. It is what God wants us to do, and it is what we must do for our sanity and the people who love us. I couldn't imagine losing a child, and I did. It happened. I can't pretend it didn't, and I really don't want anyone else to pretend it didn't either. I don't mind hearing about him. I long to hear about him. Bringing him up to us doesn't remind us he is gone- as though we could ever forget. It hasn't gone away. His birthday was hard this year, just like it was hard last year, and just like it will be every year until we are together again. It isn't a family secret that our child died. Bo and Whit know their brother is in heaven. Yes, it will be hard for them, but it is part of life, a huge part of our lives. Accept. Learn. Let go. Until you do, you will never be free. It may not make you happy, but it will make you real. And after all, if we cannot be honest with ourselves, who are we?

Happy Birthday, Baby...

2010-05-28T14:06:00.003-04:00

I have been crying a lot lately. At first, I didn't know why. After all, I have plenty of reasons to cry, but tears don't come like they used to, so this latest cycle of crying caught me a bit off guard. At first I thought nothing very specific had happened to start this emotional roller coaster, even though I certainly have been "dealing with" my fair share. Then I started to put it all together. It's the time of year. Obviously, I know exactly when the twins' birthday is: June 5. That date is solidified in my mind as well as the other most significant days of my life. But June 5 is not the only day that brings my mind back to happier times. It starts around the middle of May when I was, only three years ago, miserably huge and pregnant with the twins. I remember school getting out and seeing those "Congratulations Graduates!" signs at the front of my neighborhood, and I used to picture the future and seeing Bo, Whit and Webb's names on them. I remember preparing for the twins' first birthday party, and then having the party in our back yard and laughing at Webb screaming through "Happy Birthday." At the time of year when summer is about to begin, when the pool is about to open, when it just starts getting really hot---I am instantly taken back to the two years when my life was perfect. When I didn't think children could die. When I certainly never imagined one of mine would die. Now June 5 is a day of mixed emotions. Of course, joy because Whit is another year older, and that is something we certainly don't take for granted anymore. But also intense sadness because his twin should be by his side, talking up a storm, opening presents, eating cake and enjoying life the way he is. It is incomprehensible that he is not here. And as of this past Wednesday, Webb has been gone 17 months. It is almost to the point where he has been gone longer than he was with us. How can that be? The pain is still so present and raw. It still seems so unbelievable. I am still struggling to find answers. I want to know Webb as a three year old. I want to see him playing with his brothers at the pool all summer. I want to know if his personality still would be the way I remember....I want so much. And yet it is out of my hands. He is out of my arms. I cling to my other boys, and they have gotten me through some horrific days. But this missing piece of my soul remains. June 5. So much joy, so much hurt, wrapped up into one little day and two little red headed boys. How can this be the way that it is?

For better....or worse.....

2010-05-02T19:04:00.003-04:00

This is not my typical post, but I feel so led to write it, I figure God is up to something. I have written many times about the support system I have felt since Webb died. And it is true, I have an amazing network of friends and family that have helped pick up the pieces of my broken life. But I rarely talk about the biggest human supporter I have, and I seldom explain the immense impact that person has had on me. I think it is because our journey has been so private, intense and special, but the person who I have counted on more than any other during this horrific time is my amazing husband. He is the only person on the planet who understands exactly what it feels like to miss Webb. We have different ways of grieving and expressing our grief, but the identical bond that we have in common needs no explaining- whether we cry together or not, we are each other's lifeline. Without him, I truly would not have been able to face morning after morning without my baby, and I would have no future to look forward to. Most couples our age have not even come close to experiencing the level of trauma we have. Usually the first thing young couples "go through" are financial troubles or the death of a parent. The divorce rate is still over 50%, and I think part of that is because couples do not know how to work through problems and bail when the going gets tough. But if you ever have something truly traumatic happen, you are going to want a partner to help you through it, and ideally that person should be the one you vowed to love for better or worse. I say this now because I have been thinking about it, and I am truly sad at how our generation often faces marriage. You marry the person who is (hopefully) you favorite, and then you throw yourself into married life. At that time, he makes you happier than anyone else. You love being a wife. You cater to his every whim. He thinks you're adorable and hilarious. Then, you decide to start a family. If it works right away, great. If it doesn't, you become consumed with getting pregnant. So much so that your husband is just a bystander in your plans to have children. It becomes a goal, an obsession, it takes the place of the moments you used to share and takes on a life of its own. Then, once you have children, they become your obsession. They take up all your thoughts and every hour of the day. Your husband becomes a nuisance to you. You quit going to dinner alone. You never take a vacation just the two of you. Before long, all you talk about is the kids and you go to bed every night without ever having a meaningful conversation. You blame it on "being busy," but that is just a cop out. Plenty of people throughout time have had more children, more responsibilities and more to do than you, and their marriages didn't suffer for it. The children have become your only identity. Their well-being, sports, activities and mere presence is the only thing you've got going anymore. You think this is normal. It's not. What if, God forbid, something happens to one of your children? Who will you lean on? Or the more likely scenario is that nothing will happen to your children, except they will leave the house one day, and you are now living with a complete stranger. I do not mean to stereotype and say that women are to blame for this phenomenon, but I do think we can be a guilty party in "letting our marriage go." Don't let this happen. Some people are so obsessed with their children, they have made them little gods, dictating their lives, chipping away at their marriages until nothing is left. Try to remember the man you married and the reason you married him. Talk to him about his day, his job, tell him funny stories that have nothing to do with the kids. Go on a vacation with only him. Go to an "adult dinner" at least once a month. And if you can't, wait until the kids go to bed then go outside and have a glass of wine together and talk about your day. Don't wait until something bad happens to decide what defines your marriage. The Bible dictates that your marriage is the most important relationship you have, after God. Guess what comes next? I'll give you a hint, it's not your kids. We love our children more than anything. We want to protect them and we want them to be loved and secure. But shouldn't this start by showing them what a real marriage looks like? God did not intend our children to be our most important relationship - it's why they grow up so fast and leave the nest. And when they do, you don't want to be living with a person you barely know anymore. Take care of your marriage. It will get you through the best of times and it will pick you up in the worst of times. But you have to work at it. I am not sure why I felt so led to write this, but I pray it speaks to someone, and I hope you all take the time to cultivate this precious relationship.

More than Words...

2010-04-14T19:34:00.003-04:00

The other day I had an acquaintance tell me she knew a woman who lost a child and wondered, "what do I say to her? What words helped you?" I know this is a common concern, and it was one of mine before I had lost so deeply. I thought about it for a minute, and I wracked my brain trying to remember one thing someone said that brought me comfort after Webb died. I couldn't. That is because it doesn't matter what you say (well, that's not entirely true, the offensive things stick with you), but mostly, it's all about what you do. I cannot remember who said what to me after Webb died, but I can tell you what everyone did, and those actions meant more to me than any words could have. Of course people said things, but unless they were upsetting, they didn't really make a difference. So you see, all the times you have been worried about what to say - it doesn't matter! As long as it's not offensive, or ridiculous (which is rarely the case), you are fine. Anything in the neighborhood of, "I am so sorry," or "I love you," or "I am thinking about you," works. It's the actions, the things people do, that stick out. The people who are there, who are not afraid of saying the wrong thing, that matter most. And really, just do what makes sense for your personality, and for your friendship. It takes all kinds of friends to get you through a horrible time, and I was lucky to have them all. You don't have to do everything, just do something to show you care, to show you're there. Pulling away can be the only "wrong thing" to do. And when I think about it, I had a variety of people who brought their own precious, unique personalities into my grief and that made all the difference. It's not words that make the difference, it's actions: a friend that makes you laugh, one that lies in bed with you while you cry, one that cooks for you, one that cleans your house, one who watches your kids, the one who answers the phone, one who brings you books, one who brings you the entire series of Dawson's Creek on DVD, someone to send you Scripture, someone to send you wine, someone that talks everything through with you, and one who sits in silence. Someone to help fix your hair, someone to remind you to eat, someone who sends a card every week, one who calls every day, the ones who remember the hardest day of every month and the ones who don't, but you know they are thinking about you anyway. Don't talk, just act. Just love. It's what gets remembered, but more importantly, it's what works. Thanks to all my "life savers" I am still standing, breathing and making it through the worst time imaginable. So I would tell anyone out there who is worried about what to say, to forget about it. It's what you do that matters, and if that action is pulling away out of fear of saying the wrong thing, well, that hurts more than any "wrong" words ever could.

Disconnected....

2010-03-24T11:47:00.004-04:00

Ugh- I have been so bad about posting lately! For my Lenten discipline this year, I chose to give up all internet and emailing after work. Nothing at home. It has been difficult to say the least. My job is not conducive to being cut off to the outside world. However, that is the purpose of a Lenten discipline, to be uncomfortable, so I have suffered through it. The odd thing is, at a time where I am supposed to feel very close to and connected to God, I am going through something a little different. I am feeling disconnected. Not abandoned, not forsaken, just disconnected. I have certainly been in that phase before, but not since Webb died. I have to keep reminding myself this is a relationship and it is normal to have some disconnect. God and I have been through an intense 15 months together, and one of us was likely to pull away. This time, it was me. I still feel His presence, and I still talk to Him, but right now I am feeling a little off. I know I will get back on track and I am not worried. It is just the latest in how I'm feeling, which I always promised I would report truthfully to those of you who still follow me. (Does anyone still follow me? Who knows...but this blog has been such a wonderful outlet for me, I don't care if I'm the only one who reads it. :))
My grief is still extremely intense. I feel it and him all around me, all the time. Every trip I take, I imagine what it would be like if Webb were there. Every time I buy the boys a new outfit or new pair of shoes, I think, "I should be buying this for Webb, too." Every picture still has a giant hole. My heart still has a giant hole. It DOES NOT go away. I am not surprised by that, but I guess I thought the intensity of it would subside after a time. It has not. I will find myself pulled under by grief often and forcefully, and I never know when it will strike. It is troubling and unsettling, yet it is here to stay. My "whys" are still there. I don't understand. It's too big. I miss him too much.
Someone recently sent me this poem and it spoke so closely to how I feel....and it reminds me now matter how much I disconnect, no matter how much I pull away, my need for God is still evident.

Don't surrender your loneliness
So quickly.
Let it cut more deep.
Let it ferment and season you
As few human
Or even divine ingredients can.
Something missing in my heart tonight
Has made my eyes so soft,
My voice
So tender,
My need of God
AbsolutelyClear.
- Hafiz

"Little" Losses

2010-02-27T09:16:00.003-05:00

Fourteen months ago, I said goodbye to one of the loves of my life, and since then, I've never been the same. Recently I looked at Bo and Whit and realized our lives would be completely different if Webb was still alive. They would be different, their relationship with each other would be different, their relationships with us would be different...and for some reason, that makes me so sad. I can no longer easily picture what our lives would be like if Webb was still with us, and the realization of that loss is huge. You see, when you lose someone, their life itself is a giant loss, but the losses that flow from their death, the ones that pop up months, even years later, are the ones that take you by surprise and keep you constantly in a state of evolving grief. It's part of why there are some losses that are impossible to "get over." I experience these "little losses" all the time, which are still part of the giant loss but need their own mini grief session all the same. For instance, Bo and Whit have been sharing Bo's room for several months. Recently, I decided it made more sense for them to move back to the twins' room since it is twice the size. We had not taken down Webb's crib yet. It still sat in the exact same place it did the last night I laid him in it, December 22, 2008, with his name hanging above it. I could not even THINK about taking that crib down the first year. But once I decided to move the boys into that room, I was able to do it. I was sad, but not hysterical because I did it my way, in my own time. It was a loss, but one I had prepared for, so handling it was something I could do without breaking down. The rest of my life I will have to deal with these "little losses" that aren't so little.

Many people have asked me how we have been able to maintain our strength, our sanity, our faith and our marriage in the midst of such unspeakable grief. I have a lot of answers, but "the answer," of course, is by the Grace of God. Something happens when you are faced with the worst of all, something I have a hard time putting into words. "The peace that transcends all understanding," is the closest I can come to describing what Jesus does for those who are broken, but I heard those words a million times before I felt them and didn't appreciate them until I experienced them. It's a double -edged sword, because I would not wish this type of experience on one person, but in a way, I feel incredibly lucky to have heard and felt God in a way that I never knew existed.

Part of a song that captures some of what I'm talking about is copied below. It is called "Held" by Natalie Grant, and I must have listened to it 100 times a day right after Webb died and still listen to it every once in a while. For me, it is such a great description of the way I felt when Webb was ripped from my life - "held." After Webb died, God didn't sweep into my life in a big way and start telling me I was going to be ok and help me in and out of bed. No, it was much more subtle than that. Looking back, He was there the entire time, but sort of off to the side, giving us His gracious, quiet presence and His small, still voice. I remember feeling warm, comforted and peaceful - "held" is an almost perfect way to describe it, similar to the way I imagine my children feel when they are in my arms - safe and secure no matter what may come....

Held

by Natalie Grant

Two months is too little
They let him go
They had no sudden healing
To think that providence
Would take a child from his mother
While she prays, is appalling
Who told us we'd be rescued
What has changed and
Why should we be saved from nightmares
We're asking why this happens to us
Who have died to live, it's unfair

This is what it means to be held
How it feels, when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive
This is what it is to be loved and to know
That the promise was when everything fell
We'd be held

This hand is bitterness
We want to taste it and
Let the hatred numb our sorrows
The wise hand opens slowly
To lilies of the valley and tomorrow.....

Picture of my soul....

2010-02-03T15:43:00.003-05:00

For 13 months I have been unable to look at pictures of Webb I wasn't used to seeing everyday. Of course, I have several in frames in my house and in my office and in my parents' house that I see all the time. But then there is also this giant box of all these pictures I have not looked at in so long. Pictures of the twins' birth, right up through a week before Webb died. I finally opened the box. I looked at hundreds of pictures of my boys and remembered those days. I thought I wouldn't be able to tell the difference between Webb and Whit because they were SO identical - especially when they were younger. But I could. I could tell which one was Whit and which one was Webb in every single picture. And it filled my heart to see that baby, in a way I couldn't even describe. I had been avoiding looking at the pictures because I was afraid I would feel such pain because those days are long gone. And there were little stabs to the heart as I looked through the pictures. But I mostly felt peace. And love. And looking at those cheeks, those eyes, that dimple, that smile, reminded me how happy he was. Right until the end. I was able to tell myself he was not in pain and believe it. I looked at pictures of myself and in ways I was barely recognizable. Did my face used to be that round? Did my eyes really sparkle like that? Was my brow smooth then, not furrowed? I have changed, inside and out. I am not that girl anymore. And although that makes me sad, I know that I have grown, and I know that I have an insight I never had before, and although I would trade all that for Webb, I cannot, so I must accept this new reality that is my life. I closed the box and cried. Cried for me, for Webb, for Zac, Bo and Whit. I wondered again why we are on this path and why the roads are not straight for us. I wondered why, 13 months later, we still have so many challenges, so many obstacles to face. I do not know the answers. I do not know why some people move through life without one bad thing ever happening to them and why others cannot catch a break. But I don't think God causes those circumstances anymore. In fact, I know He doesn't. God didn't promise us that being good meant life would be good. But He does promise to be there when the bad comes. And He is. He is here. But to quote Mother Theresa: "I know God will not give me anything I can't handle. I just wish that He didn't trust me so much."

My hands are small I know....

2010-01-19T20:20:00.004-05:00

I have had a hard time posting lately. And it's not because there is a lack of things on my mind, or a lack of things to say. In fact, there is so much on my mind, so many things I am thinking and processing, I do not know how I would be able to write them all down. I have been dealing with some medical issues (nothing life or death), and it has again put us back in the "dealing with stuff" mode. And I am tired of dealing. I am worn out, exhausted and all-around over it. I have taken to writing things down I am thankful for everyday to remind myself I am blessed, despite the mounds and mounds of horrific events we have been through. One of these major things I am thankful for is the health of Bo and Whit. Thanks to all for your prayers for Bo's HSP. His last urinalysis was negative for protein, and we are now 3.5 months past the HSP diagnosis which is a good indication his kidneys have been unaffected by the disease. We will continue to monitor it and continue to pray his body suffers no more effects of the HSP. Whit has also been healthy this season, after a bout of croup and double ear infections. Once you lose a child to an illness, healthy times take on a whole new meaning. I never take my children's health for granted. In fact, if nothing else goes right, but they are healthy and safe, I will be happy despite any other challenges being hurled our way. I do have some fears I have been struggling with besides my children's health....I am in such a strange stage of my grief. While Webb's death still seems so current and present for me, it is no longer at the top of everyone else's list. I know there are many who probably think we are "over it," or at least "moved on" as it has been 13 months. However, nothing could be further from the truth. As those who have loved and lost know, we will never be over it or move on. We have shifted into a different reality, but let me tell you, that reality still sucks. We are forever changed by losing our baby. Out faith has been solidified, validated and strengthened. We are soldiers of the cross, fighting this fight with Christ on our side, but the days and nights without sweet Webb are just as unbearable as they always have been. I know God is here and hears our cries. I know He is supporting us, holding us and pushing us when we feel like we can't go on. He is a very real presence in the midst of unspeakable tragedy. We will not turn from Him. The devil would like nothing more than for us to throw up our hands and say, "That's it! I can't take anymore! We are cursed!" I will not give him that satisfaction. We will march through these trials with the Lord on our side, by our side. And in the end, when I finally hear, "Well done good and faithful one," I will know I have led the life I was called to lead. I am one person, with a small voice, but I will sing to the Lord, because He has been good to me.....

A Long December and there's Reason to Believe Maybe this Year will be Better than the Last....

2009-12-28T12:30:00.003-05:00

We lived through December 26, 2009. How was it? Well, better than December 26, 2008, but still very, very difficult. How is it possible that Webb has been gone a year? One year ago today, we were attending the funeral of my almost 19 month old baby. Zac and I kissed his casket and then sat in a packed church while our friends and family sat shocked, sad, scared and unbelieving behind us. I remember it well - too well. I remember what I was thinking, what I was wearing, the outfit we picked out for Webb - all of it. After that, I remember little from the next several months. Thank God for that. This year, we did not know how to celebrate Christmas, but with a 4 and 2 and a half year old, we didn't have a choice. We knew staying here would make it almost impossible to give our children the "Merry" Christmas they deserve. Although they know Webb died, they have no idea it happened on December 26, or even what those dates mean. So instead, we packed up on December 22 and went to Disneyworld until last night. It was the best decision we have ever made. It is hard to be depressed when you are watching your children have that much fun. And we each took time out of our day on December 26 to honor Webb. Two of my best friends surprised us by making each Zac and me a spa appointment that day, which gave us each time to be alone, relax, reflect and think about Webb. Luckily, my "spa therapist" asked no questions when I cried throughout the pedicure. I wasn't really sobbing - just kind of leaking. Tears were coming fast and furious. It was a nice release. And to be honest, it was nice spending those days with just Zac, Bo and Whit. We escaped all family drama associated with Christmas, which was actually refreshing. And I knew in my heart no one except us would truly be able to honor December 26 and the emotions of that day. We would not have been able to pretend like it wasn't happening, yet we would not have wanted to cry all day in the presence of others. For us, Christmas means something different now, and being around people that don't understand that would have been tough. We did it our way, and because we know ourselves well, that is what worked. We returned home last night, exhausted and happy for the joy we gave Bo and Whit. They thought today was Christmas and had fun setting out cookies for Santa last night and playing with all their toys this morning. For all the dread and leading up to this time of year, I am proud of how it turned out. Nothing will erase the sadness associated with this time, but we have to make sure our children still have Christmas. What I am feeling truly blessed for is the prayers that carried us through a difficult month, week and day. I cannot think of one person in my life that is important to me who did not reach out with a phone call, text, email, Facebook message or card in the days leading up to December 26. That is incredible. You have no idea how much gestures like that mean to me. It reminded me of why I have been able to survive this horrific year - this support system around me is the most incredible gift I could have ever asked for. Thank you for your prayers, for loving me and my family and for helping me during this most difficult time.

Scattered thoughts from a broken heart....

2009-12-21T21:07:00.003-05:00

We took our children to see Santa last Friday and Bo took one look at him and turned to us and said with sad eyes, "I wish Webbie was here to sit on Santa's lap like last year." Zac and I both started crying. "So do I," was all I could say. It seems so strange he is gone. Every day that inches closer to "the" day, it seems a little less real and a little more real, all at the same time. We are sad. We are aching. Bo is asking questions, more complicated questions every day. I feel like I am sort of hovering above and looking in on our lives. Living life completely right now is too impossible. Christmas isn't really Christmas. The missing him is too big. One year ago today, our world was perfect. We were innocent. Then, in the span of five words and 10 seconds, everything changed: "Webber has a brain tumor." I'll never forget the room we were in, the faces I saw, the nurse who kept looking at the floor so she didn't have to see the panic in our eyes, the tiny scream that came from my husband and the images that ran through my mind of my children laughing the night before. The horror comes flooding back. I'll never forget. The wall of grief, and pain and trauma is so big it will never come down completely. One year has come and gone, and the only thing that has changed is the feeling of being overwhelmed by the grief. The sheer panic of facing the day has subsided, but what we are left with is just as impossible. Not overwhelmed, just sad. Unbelieving. A little confused. A little lost. And a little found. I can't even comprehend the grace that has come from His presence alone. For that, I am blessed. Blessed to have known Webb for 19 months. Blessed to know he is with our great God. Blessed to have the promise of life eternal with him. All because of His amazing grace.

Be still and know that I am God. Psalm 46:10

Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. Lamentations 3: 21-22.

The Lord gives strength to His people; the Lord blesses His people with peace. Psalm 29:11

We are hanging in there, leaning on each other and finding strength through our faith and our precious children. Life goes on and time goes by, one year will turn into many, and we will always know we were forever changed on December 26, 2008. Forever changed, but not defeated. We have lived, because He lives. We will approach 2010 with our heads held high, knowing we can endure anything, everything, because we have lived through the worst. We ask for continued prayers and support during this most difficult season, and the ones to follow. God bless you and your families and thank you for loving our family.

And all the roads we have to walk are winding...

2009-12-12T15:55:00.003-05:00

I don't have much to say as this Christmas season and anniversary of Webb's death approaches and our year of "firsts" winds down, except that we are in survival mode, and covet prayers, and are doing our best to put one foot in front of the other and make it through for the sake of our children. We managed to put up a tree, but looking at the ornaments made me sick, so we only got about half way through the box. That's enough for now. I did not send Christmas cards out this year. I couldn't imagine one that didn't include Webb - the "someone missing" would have been all I could see. Christmas music is not playing on our radio, and we will not be having a traditional celebration this year. It just seems like the best way, since we are not feeling festive. I am looking toward December 26 with dread. Somehow, I thought I'd feel different after a whole year, but I don't really know if I do. I am starting to relive memories of December 2008 I had pushed way down. I think I never wanted those memories to resurface, but they have and it has been painful. I guess the old adages "time helps" and "the first year is the worst" are probably true - but I cannot imagine I'll wake up January 1, 2010 and feel much different. It's still a long, winding road ahead. And while we've come far, we still have miles to go. This year, I am thinking about Christmas in the truest, most basic way possible. I am so thankful for that night in Bethlehem all those years ago, when God sent Jesus to save us. 2008 years later, almost to the day, He took Webb into His loving arms. Without Christ, I would not have the promise of eternity with my son, which would be the ultimate knife through my heart and soul. Instead, I have heaven with Webb to look forward to. And if that is all I ever associate Christmas with again, so be it. Trees, parties, dinner, presents, Santa and all the rest really mean nothing in the grand scheme of things. And in a year where celebrating seems impossible, knowing the true reason for the season means Christmas will not be lost on us at all. But it is still hard facing these dates which are associated with the worst moments of our lives. I am not quite sure yet how I feel about that.

Thanks....

2009-11-28T09:58:00.003-05:00

Giving thanks. Surprisingly (or not), it came easier than I expected. I woke up on Thanksgiving and looked at Zac, Bo and Whit, and I felt love, peace, strength. Of course, throughout the day, I had my visions of Webb, and I could almost see him standing, playing, laughing with his brothers. It seems no matter how our family is sitting, standing or moving, I always see a giant hole where Webb is supposed to be. I keep thinking about this year of pain and what it has meant. All the events that have given me a new perspective run through my mind. Enduring pain is horrible; grieving is unbearable, especially when you're grieving your child. But it seems little (and huge) life lessons have come out of each. Having the miscarriage, dealing with strange (and common) childhood illnesses and struggling with relationships: all of these things have taught me about the fragility of life, the need to seek strength from Christ and the importance of facing my fears head on. Losing Webb is too big to break down so easily, but I am starting to see how the pain, the tears and the heartache are shifting me, molding me and carrying me into what I will become. Am I ready to give thanks for that? No, certainly not. Not now, and I cannot imagine ever. But it seems all of the pain that came with this year has made me see what I am thankful for in a different way. And I am thankful for so, so much. I am thankful for my parents who raised me to be strong and stand on two feet - I bet they never knew how much I would have to draw from the strength they gave me. I am thankful for my husband who- like no other- knows how I feel and without a word can tell me he understands, he knows and we will be ok. I am thankful for friends who did not give up when things got tough. These friends are here on November 28, 2009 as much as they were there on December 23, 2008. Every phone call, email, card, text, visit, dinner, smile and hug is forever etched in my heart. Angels on earth. I am thankful for Bo and Whit, my two creative, silly, sensitive, loving boys who fill me up, pick me up and remind me why we must go on. I am thankful they saved our lives. And I am thankful they have no idea they saved our lives. I am thankful for Webb and the short 19 months I got to hold him, love him and raise him. I am thankful I knew his sweet soul and I would not trade those 19 months. Not even if I knew the pain that losing him would bring. I am a better, stronger person for being his mother, and my love for him is endless. Finally, I am most thankful for my God, my savior Jesus Christ. He has literally carried me through these horrific months. He has rocked me, guided me, pulled me out of the mud and mire and set my feet on solid ground. Without Him, there would be no children to love, no friends to call, no reason to live. He is the reason for everything, and I am learning to rely on him as my sole source of strength. He is getting us through, and we are truly thankful for it. This year, Thanksgiving was like none before. But somehow, that wasn't entirely a bad thing.

He Knows what He's Doing

2009-11-14T16:39:00.003-05:00

This past week has been torture. Last Saturday night, Bo got sick again. High fever, throwing up, moaning in pain. Then his eyes started swelling, which had me in full-fledged panic mode. I could tell it looked like an allergic reaction, but my pediatrician wanted us to take him to "be seen," and the only place to "be seen" on Sunday is the emergency room. Back to that place. Zac took him (I still can't bear the thought), and he was sent home with a "fever" and they said the swollen eyes were due to an allergy. They did not test him for flu, even though I suspect that's what he had. They did a urine test since he had HSP a few weeks ago. As I said on a previous post, damage to the kidneys is the most severe side effect of HSP, and the way they test for that is to measure protein in the urine. His urine showed traces of protein (of course), so we spent the week having blood and urine tests. Another round of tests. Everyone, including my pediatrician, assured me they thought he was fine, but exactly one year ago, we were doing similar tests on Webb and they were saying the same thing. And he was not fine. Back then, my instinct kept me having more and more tests run on Webb. This time, with Bo, it was my fear. Now my only real instinct when it comes to the health of my children is fear. Because regardless of what I know is rational, I had the worst happen, and the chances of the worst happening were low. Why would this time be any different? Two tortuous days of waiting for tests results laster, the outcome was different. Bo is fine. His kidneys were unaffected. The trace protein was just that - trace amounts, and it was probably due to the fever. I found myself crying out to God, shouting praises to Him, thanking Him for positive test results. But this is no way to live. Every fever, every cough, every hurt tummy has me fearing the worst. Is it cancer? A deadly disease? Kidney failure? The extremes are no longer distant possibilities. My child had a brain tumor. And died. And I did everything right. Can you even imagine how vulnerable that makes me feel? How out of control? I know God is there. I know He has a plan. I know all of that, but when I am trying so desperately to hold on to my children, to keep them HERE, it seems far away. He seems far away. My soul has been battered and bruised. A small part of me wants to place my boys inside a bubble and leave them there. There are so many things that can happen!!! This world is so unsure, so dangerous sometimes. I had thirty perfect years of ignorant bliss, and now the band-aid has been ripped away. It's hard. So what do I do? I pray, of course, and cling to the Scripture, to God's Word. Bo's favorite song right now is an oldie but goodie we learned growing up. The words are so simple, and I've heard them a million times, but lately I find myself listening to it even when he's not in the car: "The Lord has given His plan to us, no need to fuss, He knows what He's doing and He will always take care of us if we will follow Him. God's way is the best way." He knows what He's doing. I know that. He is taking care of us. I know that. It was his perfect plan to give me Webb on the same day He gave me Whit, and it was His plan to bring him home December 26, 2008. I know that, even though I don't understand that. But I am not supposed to. I will still follow Him. His way is the best way, but His thoughts are not our thoughts and His plans are not our plans. Lord, please help us to remember that. Please drive every ounce of fear out of our hearts. Assure us You know what You're doing. And give Webb a kiss from me. Amen

She'll be alright - just not tonight

2009-11-01T17:41:00.003-05:00

To say this weekend was emotional would be a huge understatement. It was rough. I counted on Halloween being hard. I have so many amazing memories of my three boys last year, especially my little lion, Webb, who was crawling/walking with his long tail dragging behind him. I never dreamed it would be the last costume he would wear. I remember pulling the twins in the wagon and how happy Webbie was with his huge mane and pumpkin flashlight. It was a good memory. This year, Batman and Robin were clearly missing their other sidekick, and it was a knife to the heart, starting with Bo and Whit's Halloween parade, when it was obvious to no one except us how much was wrong with that day. How could he not be here for this?? I could just see him standing beside his brothers, walking proudly in his costume. It looked like a big, gaping hole was present in every picture. Of course, there is a big, gaping hole in our hearts and in our lives, so that is not surprising.

After Halloween, we moved on to November 1- today- All Saints' Day. I went to church and stood as my child's name was read among the few church members who have died this year. Tears slid down my face as they rang the bell for "Webber Bennett Broach," and Dr. Gil told a story about what he has meant to the church. It was surreal. I had prepared for it, but how much can you really prepare yourself for that moment? I took communion and sat at the alter where Zac and I got married, where my 3 boys were baptized and where we said goodbye to Webb 10 months ago. So much joy, so much pain in such a tiny little spot in the church. And such a big God, there for it all. The peace that passes understanding washed over me in the midst of my grief, which was all-encompassing in that somewhat public moment. I don't need a day to remind me my child is gone. I don't need a moment of silence to bring me back to the reality of this living nightmare. But having his death recognized, seeing his name among the saints, did remind me of how far we've come this year. I was reminded of the love I have felt, the blessings we have received and the God who has gotten us to November 1 of an impossible year. Somewhere in the midst of this pain, I feel the Holy Spirit, assuring me we'll be alright. And I know we will be. Just not tonight.

God's Promises

2009-10-13T09:36:00.003-04:00

I have been struggling the past couple of weeks. I think it's a combination of things. Of course, we are still dreading the upcoming holidays. And I keep thinking about "one year ago today." It was this time last year that Webb started getting sick, and we started taking him to doctors every week to run test after test. No one (except me) suspected a brain tumor. He just wasn't exhibiting the "normal" symptoms. As the weather gets cooler and school starts, I am instantly taken back to that time in my mind, and it has opened fresh wounds. We are still so vulnerable. Then, the weekend before last, Bo (who is almost 4), started complaining about his feet hurting. Within minutes, his feet were very swollen and started to bruise. I instantly prayed for a sprained foot, and he and Zac raced off to the ER. I couldn't go back - not yet, and not for a sprain. Plus, it was Friday night (don't things like this always happen on the weekend when doctors' offices are closed??) and I had to stay behind with Whit. Once Zac got him to the emergency room, he called and said the nurses did not think it was a sprain. It was now happening to both feet, he could not walk and had strange, red "dots" traveling up his leg, and they were going to run some tests. I hung up the phone, and immediately threw up. "Tests" in that emergency room, oh no. I couldn't even take it. I went into panic mode, shaking and crying. I hit my knees and prayed so hard for God to heal my baby. Not to take another of my children. To let it all be ok. I was pretty hysterical, and by myself, but I kept praying and praying and praying. At some point, I heard a small, still voice telling me to "Get up. It's going to be ok." Needless to say, I never heard that voice when I was on my knees 9.5 months ago, praying the same prayers for Webb. So I got up. I was still worried, but I had a peace, and I had a feeling Bo was going to be fine. Zac called back and assured me the nurses and doctors were treating us as the "low man on the totem pole." While this used to be annoying, it is now music to my ears. When we brought Webb in on December 23, the ER was more crowded than I had ever seen it, yet we had nurses and doctors all over us. We were the "trauma" that day. This day, we were just another family in line. So I started feeling even better. After 6 hours and blood work, Bo was diagnosed with HSP. I had never heard of it either (http://kidney.niddk.nih.gov/kudiseases/pubs/HSP/). It's not the rarest illness, but they definitely don't see it everyday, and the symptoms are VERY scary. If you have kids, check out this website so you won't be in the same type of panic if one starts exhibiting these symptoms. Basically, Bo is going to be ok, and this was just one of those strange "kid things," as my pediatrician told me. Of course, why it happened to our family, when we are already so fragile - I don't know. In the depths of my distress that night, I screamed to God, "We've had enough!!" It was the first time I have been angry at Him this year. I know that's hard to believe, but it was. I was at the end of my rope. Enough is enough. I have experienced a set back. Another reminder that life is so fragile, that I have no guarantees. Yet in that darkness, I also heard God's voice, telling me I'm going to be ok. And I believe it, but it's still scary. This life is no longer all happiness and dreams for me - it is instead rooted in the grim reality that the worst does happen. Your children can die. More than one. Cancer strikes out of nowhere, accidents happen. I always "knew" it, but now I am living it.
I am doing a Bible study right now on the book of Romans. Faithful followers know I have relied on passages from Romans throughout this year. It is a book that gives grievers hope. And as I read in Romans last night, I was reminded again that God does not promise life will be good just because we are good, and He does not promise we will live a life without hardship and pain. But He does promise to use that pain and those struggles to build character, to make us stronger. He also promises eternal life if you put your belief in Jesus Christ. And He promises to keep His promises. God has never broken a promise. Not to me, not to anyone. When he gave me Webb, He didn't promise to let me keep him my entire life, and that is a hard thing to swallow. But I know God will be glorified in my story, some how, some way. I know I will spend eternity with Webb, in a place where brain tumors don't exist. I am standing on the promises of God. And in a world where everything else seems shaky and unsure, that is a pretty great place to be.

Wish List

2009-10-01T14:22:00.003-04:00

I cannot believe it is October 1. And yet, I cannot believe it is only October 1. This year has taken forever. I look back on the months of 2009, and there is little to separate them - I barely remember January and February, March is blurry and forgettable, spring happened quickly, and then all summer I dealt with the miscarriage. Is it possible an entire year of my life will forever be "missing" from my memory files? Part of me hopes so, and part of me is sad because I feel like I "lost" such an important time in Bo and Whit's life. Last night, Bo and I were lying alone on the couch and he asked me, "Mommy, does God keep Webbie warm in heaven?" It sort of came out of nowhere, so after I regained my composure, I replied, "Of course He does." Then he asked, "But, who puts Webbie in his crib?" and I answered, "Probably Jesus or one of his angels." Bo thought for a long time and asked, "Who is Webbie's mommy in heaven?" I didn't answer. I didn't know how - partly because I have wondered the same thing myself, and partly because it breaks my heart to think of anyone being his mommy except me. Who is taking care of our babies in heaven? Do they need taking care of? It is all too much for me to think about.
So instead, I still just ponder those thoughts, and I wish. I wish for so many things:
I wish I still had Webb.
I wish I never knew what actual heartache felt like.
I wish I could say, "Oh, I'll feel better tomorrow, or next week, or next year."
I wish Bo didn't have to ask me questions like, "Who is Webb's mommy in Heaven."
I wish Bo and Whit would know their brother.
I wish Whit knew what having a twin felt like.
I wish I wasn't the mom who lost a child.
I wish people didn't look down, or away, when they see me.
I wish someone could say something that makes me feel better.
I wish people wouldn't say things that make me feel worse.
I wish I could literally forget the time we spent in the hospital.
I wish I wasn't so tired.
I wish I had a guarantee I would never lose someone else I love.
I wish, I wish, I wish.

I am thankful for a living Lord who knows these wishes. I am thankful I have a God who also knows what it is like to lose a son and who hurts because I hurt. I am eternally grateful for the promise of everlasting life, even though I don't deserve it. And I know He is by my side as I trudge through this deep, dark valley which seems never-ending. I don't just feel it, I know it. So out of all the horrible pain and suffering, I suppose I feel blessed to truly KNOW what I previously accepted based on faith alone, and that is that Christ will not leave you and will carry you through your darkest hour. I hope if there is one person reading this who doubts that truth, that you will now believe. He is real. He shows up. He will not abandon your side. While I hope none of you are ever faced with a situation as horrible as mine, I hope you are at least blessed to hear the voice of God and feel His love carrying you along at some point in your life. It is the true miracle in all of this pain. And above all else, it confirms I will see my baby again. Because God keeps His promises.

Long December

2009-09-23T09:48:00.004-04:00

It's been a while since my last post. I have been doing something I am often guilty of - filling up my days and nights with so many activities I don't have time to sit and stare....or think. Thinking is something I do constantly when I'm not distracted, which is usually fine. I am an only child and have been left alone with my thoughts my entire life. It's part of the reason I know myself as well as I do, and I like that part of me. But for the past 9 months, time to think only means time to think about what we've been through. Losing Webb. The miscarriage. The horrible infection and aftermath of the infection. The unsure, unstable future. I am also stuck in a place where I don't want to be continuously pitied, but I can't stand to think people have "forgotten" what we've been through, what we continue to go through. I have seen such a shift in how I relate to others and to the outside world. I want to be the same as I was on December 22, 2008, but the truth is, that person is gone. I still have many of her characteristics, but for the most part, she is gone. I am less tolerant of many personality traits and situations that used to make me merely roll my eyes. I am now completely annoyed by people who pick petty fights or worry about insignificant things. Don't they know??? Don't they realize the only important thing in life is that their children are still alive??? Then I have to remind myself, of course they do, but they haven't been through what you've been through. And I have to be the first to admit I used to get worked up about things that no longer phase me. It's human nature, and it's all relative, but it's sometimes hard for the new me to operate in the world of the old way of looking at things. I put on a happy face, and I continue to trudge through my days, and sometimes it's real, and sometimes it's fake, but right now, it's the only way. I always had a sense it would get harder as the months wore on. They say "time" is the greatest healer, but I think that is only true on some levels. Because really, what time does, is blur the past into distant memories so it is not all you have to think about. It will not bring Webb back. It will not magically change me into the person I used to be. It will not make me happier, or more settled. In some ways, time is my worst enemy because each day is one day further from the last time I saw my baby, and I don't WANT those memories to fade.
I went back and read the paragraph above and realized it sounds a bit rambling. But instead of trying to make it make sense, I left it because it represents how I feel right now - all over the place. In 30 minutes, I will no doubt be crying over the fact that so many people love me and continue to pick me up when I fall. It is the conflicting emotions I have talked about many times - the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. It's leading a bipolar life but not having the disease. It's a tough way to live.
I have used many songs on this blog and in my life to express how I am feeling. By now, faithful readers know I relate my life to music, and that one of the bands I do this with is the Counting Crows. I have all their albums and love to look for the deeper meanings in their songs. Although I have heard it a million times and know every word by heart, I am not sure why "Long December" has never occurred to me once over the past 9 months. But it was on the other day when I was driving home in the rain, and I almost had to pull over at some of the verses, like "the smell of hospitals in winter, and the feeling that it's all a lot of oysters, but no pearls;" or "I can't remember all the times I tried to tell myself to hold on to these moments as they pass..." It made me think about my "Long December" and I wondered, " Will I ever see a reason to believe maybe this year will be better than the last?" I hope so. But so far....no such luck.

First Days...

2009-09-11T08:31:00.003-04:00

I haven't posted in a while. I'd like to say it's because I have been so busy - which is true - but part of me just hasn't wanted to give words to what I have been feeling lately. Bo and Whit started school on Tuesday. Last week, I met the teachers that should have been Whit and Webb's teachers. I should have been holding both of their hands, showing them around their new classroom. I should have gotten 3 backpacks, not 2. Webb never went to school and he never will. It was another "first." Whit was nervous and anxious, and I know having Bo somewhere in the vicinity helped, but I couldn't help but think if Webb had been there, he would have been ok. He would have had his buddy. Instead, I pictured him sitting quietly in the corner, my sweet, shy little boy, sucking his thumb, feeling scared, and, well, it breaks my heart. It reminded me I am not the only person who has been torn in two. In some ways, although he is likely unaware of it, Whit's loss is much, much worse. I suppose every year he starts school, I will picture the way it should have been, with his twin by his side. It hurts.

We are already starting to dread Christmas. I cannot even believe this year is almost over. It has not "flown by" for us, by any means. In fact, it has been the slowest year of my entire life. What I cannot believe is that we are going to have to celebrate Christmas during a time that has so many horrible memories for us. I do not know how December 23 through December 26, what is supposed to be such a happy time of the year, will ever be truly happy for us. I cannot even look at Christmas decorations without feeling sick. It reminds me of the Christmas tree at the hospital, the running errands on December 22, picking out gifts we would never open. Or did we? I can't remember. It reminds me of the sleigh bells that jingled in the waiting room, as Santa's helpers passed out gifts to all the sick children. Did we get anything for Webb? I can't remember. It reminds me of so much - so many hopes and dreams (we couldn't wait to see the twins open their matching bikes), and so much heartache, so much pain, saying goodbye to our baby. I used to love Christmas. Now it will never be the same. Never. And that is our reality.

The first day of school, the first Halloween, the first Thanksgiving, the first Christmas - we know it will be hard. We are once again in survival mode. To top it all off, the baby that was supposed to be here a few weeks after Christmas will not. What a year. What a painful, horrific, tear filled year. We hope and pray this is the last time we have to face "firsts" like these. Please, God, please let it be the last worst year.

Webb's Room

2009-08-31T15:26:00.004-04:00

The pictures don't quite do it justice...but here are some shots from the Webber Bennett Broach Itty Bitty Forest:

Sweet Baby Webb

Bear playing with a ball

and another climbing a tree

Baby deer looking into stream with trout

My sweet Webb under the tree

Past and Present

2009-08-23T14:52:00.003-04:00

Today was unexpectedly emotional. We have been building a Storytelling Room at our church in honor of Webb. This summer we have checked in on the progress from time to time, but most of the building was done off site. The room is to be a forest theme and feature baby animals found in a North Georgia forest : bears, rabbits, deer, trout, etc. Zac and I were very involved in picking out the details....Webb's nickname was Bear, so we wanted twin bears; he loved balls, so we wanted one of the bears playing with a ball. I picked out a Scripture verse to be painted in the horizon, which was to be painted on the wall. And we wanted a painting of Webb sitting near the mountain and horizon. It was fun to visualize, but I had no idea how it would all come together. This morning, we dropped Bo and Whit off in the nursery and walked through Webb's room on the way to church service. Zac got there a little before me, and when I walked in, it was all I could do not to hit my knees. Our eyes met in a mixture of panic and disbelief. The room was done. The forest we had visualized was now a reality. We stood in the middle of it, crying and crying and crying. People and their children were walking through, having fun looking at the animals....they must have thought we were crazy. We were just not prepared. There were twin baby bears, one climbing a tree and one playing with a ball. There were lifelike trees, a waterfall, and a pond with baby fish. There was a beautiful sunset with the verse I picked out "Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the Kingdom of Heaven." Matthew 18:4 painted in the sky. And then, underneath the verse, underneath what looks like a horizon where Earth ends and Heaven begins, was a life size painting of my baby, so real, it literally took my breath away. The painting was done from a picture taken of Webb 3 weeks before he died. He was laughing his unique little laugh, showing the dimple on his right cheek. I stood and looked at this life sized Webb and almost felt like he was right there: I could see his eight teeth, his messy red hair, his sparkling blue eyes. I missed him more than I thought possible as I stood in that room 8 months to the day we were told he had a brain tumor. It was almost more than I could take. People were everywhere, so we left, both of us bawling, and sat in the church service. I had tears streaming down my face almost the entire time. I didn't know whether to stay put or run screaming. I could not believe there was a room downstairs honoring my child. How did that happen? It shouldn't be there. Webb should be with us, not drawn on a wall! It is surreal. It is heartbreaking. I was simply not prepared for the emotions that seeing his room would bring. It almost makes his death a little more permanent. We are still so raw. It just does not get easier. It becomes more manageable as time marches on, but it does not get easier. On Friday, I drove by the hospital where Webb died for the first time since I left the day after Christmas. I could barely even look in its direction. I had a vague flashback of that day - leaving the hospital without Webb, which was the strangest, most horrific feeling imaginable. I remembered exactly what I was thinking that day: "How many times have I walked through Scottish Rite and passed someone who is walking out these doors for the last time without their child?" I probably have - after all, there is no "secret exit" for parents who are leaving for the last time. I remembered wanting to run back upstairs to the PICU and grab my baby. I remembered shaking my head in disbelief, thinking, "Surely this isn't happening. Surely I did not just say goodbye to my baby. Surely I will see him again...."

I don't know if I can ever walk back in that hospital again. Driving by it almost killed me.

So no, 8 months later, it has not gotten easier. In ways, it is harder. I miss him more than is even imaginable. I feel sick without him. We will survive, but these feelings will not go away, and that is what makes this grief so impossible. It is forever a part of who we are, he is forever a part of who we were. And sometimes who we are and who we were just don't match up quite right.

Joyful, Patient, Faithful

2009-08-16T21:21:00.003-04:00

Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. Romans 12:12

This is the scripture verse I have clung to the past week. "Joyful in hope:" there are times, if I really try and I really think about it, I am hopeful. I think about all the days we have ahead of us, and I am at peace. Bo starting "real" school, Whit playing "real" sports, learning to read, riding bikes, family vacations, another brother or sister....we have so many years ahead of us. When the worst nightmare happens at age 30, you can look at it in 2 ways : (1) we have many more years to experience joyful events or (2) we have many more years to live with the pain and agony of losing a part of our souls. I suspect we will fluctuate between those two perspectives, but we are hoping and praying the joyful events overshadow the pain overall - until we are ultimately reunited again in Heaven. But even in the hope, there is still the pain. Because no matter how many joyful things happen, we will always know Webb is not here to share them with us.

....So we become "Patient in affliction." "Affliction" seems like such an understatement when you're grieving the loss of a child, but I suppose in God's eyes, "affliction" is a pretty good way to describe it. His ways are not our ways, and to Him, I believe Webb being in Heaven is a blessing He knows we will comprehend when it is our turn. Being "patient" has never been my strong point, and I am in such a hurry to move past this horrible year. But trudging through it is the only way, and I am learning patience, even in this most horrific of trials. How does one do this?

....By being "faithful in prayer." It is the only way. You, my friends and prayer warriors, know I have struggled with this. When about a zillion prayers went unanswered all in a row, and the prayers were centered around the most important things in my life, it was difficult to trust that prayer makes a difference. I asked myself, "Why pray if God already knows the outcome?" Over time, I have learned that prayer is not always requesting things and getting answers. For me, prayer has become more of a way to tell God about my troubles and to change the way I react to the results. Of course, I still make requests, just as the Bible encourages us to do. But I have become more mature in what I expect to get out of prayer. Now, it's not just for results or guidance, but it's a way to center my soul, have an intimate conversation with my Savior and trust He will help me though whatever life has in store for me. He has proven faithful, time and again, in big ways and small. And even though what we prayed for the most - Webb's healing - did not happen, God was by our side the entire time. It's pretty hard to give up on the One who saved my life - I would be nothing, a shell of a person, depressed and lost, without His grace. I am not angry with God for not answering my prayer, because I trust in Him with all my heart, and I believe He only wants what is best for us. And I came to this realization by being faithful in prayer. So I pray. And I pray. I cannot stop.

Thank you for your emails, calls, dinners, prayers, cares and love. Our family is loved more than we could have ever known. I feel love pouring over me and picking me up when I cannot go on. So few people will ever experience such an outpouring of love - we are truly blessed. I have seen the spirit of God in so many people throughout these past 8 months. What a wonderful and cherished gift. I would ask for your continued prayers for our healing and for our weary spirits.

What's Going On...

2009-08-07T10:49:00.003-04:00

It has taken me a couple weeks to be able to blog about our latest struggles. Honestly, I was still trying to process it on several different levels: physically, emotionally, spiritually. I guess I have needed this time to be able to articulate exactly how I want to describe what happened and what I have taken from this experience. I will start from the beginning. In early May, I found out I was pregnant with our fourth child. Zac and I were very excited, yet we also recognized it opened up a lot of emotions about Webb's death and the aftermath of grief we are still firmly rooted in. I was feeling blessings on one hand, and strange fearful emotions on the other, like "what if something goes wrong? what if this baby is not healthy? what will we do?" I started to pray constantly for peace about the pregnancy. And on the other hand, I asked God that if the child was not perfect or healthy, to please take it in the beginning, in His natural way, so we do not have to endure that heartbreak again. That was my honest and sincere request. And yet I never felt a total peace. We hardly told anyone about it until I was well along, and after and ultrasound at 11 weeks, we saw a healthy heartbeat and started to feel a little better. At 13 weeks, I went to my perinatologist (routine visit), and we discovered there was no heartbeat. I had lost the baby, probably in the 12th week. After several consultations and a review of my past history (I sometimes hemorrhage during delivery), it was determined waiting and passing the baby naturally may not be the best avenue for me. I was quickly admitted for a D&C and woke up from that in some extreme pain. Long story very short, I had a uterine infection, from the fetus or the surgery, and I became very, very sick. I was in the hospital 5 days then sent home on oral antibiotics. I went back for a follow up and it was determined I needed another D&C. That was last Friday and I have been fine since, but have more follow up appointments. Needless to say, we are exhausted - physically and mentally. While the miscarriage itself was not completely devastating (what is after you've lost a child?) the entire situation, coupled with the fact we are already grieving so much for Webb, well, it's been tough to take.

So where was God in all of this? I'll be honest, for a minute, I did not know. First, we lost the baby, then to have all of these "rare" complications from the miscarriage. It left me asking "WHY US?!?" all over again. I felt like my children and my hope for future children were slipping away - it was like I couldn't get a grip on anything. And for what? Am I not worthy of more children? And then, I started thinking about the stupid psychic who told me I would only have 2 children last year. Wait - is that stuff real? Was that true?? I was spinning and spinning and spinning. I found my self on my knees, begging God to show up, asking Him to tell me what to do. I prayed fervently for a sign in my dreams, or in my devotional or in my life somewhere. I could not get the psychic's words out of my mind. As a dear friend told me, it had taken "bitter roots." My devotionals started heavily telling me to look to the Word. I didn't know where to start, so I said, "Ok, God, I am going to flip my Bible open. I know that doesn't always work, but if there is something you want to show me, now is the time." I opened my Bible to Zechariah, and let my eyes settle on the page. This is what God told me: "Ask the Lord for rain in the Spring, for He makes the storm clouds. And he will send showers of rain so every field becomes a lush pasture. Household gods give false advice, fortune tellers predict only lies and interpreters of dreams pronounce falsehoods that give no comfort. So my people are wandering like lost sheep; with no Shepherd to guide them." Zechariah 10. Ok, whoa. Thanks God, for reassuring me you are in control, and there are no other truths. I knew that, but I started to doubt it. He brought me back. He showed up, like He always does. Maybe not right away, but before it was too late. That's Him!! Of course, He was working along side of me the entire time, but sometimes I need a BIG sign, and this was one of those times. Isn't it amazing? I still get chills when I recall that moment and read those words.

As for the emotional part of the miscarriage? Well, I'm still working on that. Someone asked me if I went numb when I heard no heartbeat. The answer to that is no, not at all. "Numb" is "Your child has a brain tumor." "Numb" is "he's already got one foot in Heaven. I am so sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Broach." This was not that. Praise God. But I am still sad this wasn't the blessing we had hoped for. We did genetic testing and confirmed the baby had a common chromosomal disorder that ends in first trimester miscarriage 99% of the time. It was kind of comforting to be within the odds for that one. It was not genetically passed, so we have no reason to think this would ever happen again. We are still smiling and enjoying our boys, and we still talk about our future children, whether they exist or not. The point is, we know God is in control, and we can do all things through Christ who strengthens us. Thank you for your prayers and concerns during this incredibly difficult time.

Truths to Live By

2009-08-02T15:21:00.002-04:00

"When times are good, be happy; but when times are bad, remember: God has made the one as well as the other." Ecclesiastes 7:14

"I promise this very day that I will repay you two mercies for each of your woes!" Zechariah 9:12

"Call to me and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know," says the Lord. Jeremiah 33:3

"A righteous man may have many troubles, but the Lord delivers him from them all." Psalm 34:19

This is not our season. I know that. I have not embraced it, because I do not want to, but I am aware of it. We have been knocked down in the worst imaginable ways over and over again. I've been compared to Job at least 10 times this past week. "It's just bad luck" are words I am tired of hearing. "How do you do it?" I am asked all the time. Honestly, sometimes I do not know. We have been dealt more than our share of heartache. Plus, the heartache did not resolve the "problems" I had before it all began. I still worry about the future, finances and dysfunctional relationships in my life. I still struggle with the same day to day issues I always did. But, in a way, I feel richer and more blessed then ever. It's weird. It's also God-sent, and this I know and trust. It is my life, and I don't want another one. Much has been discussed about Job, the most "cursed" man in the Bible. But I don't even mind being compared to Job. Why? Because "the Lord blessed Job in the second half of his life even more than in the beginning." Job 42:12. We have truths like these to live by. We will enter our season of blessings. And we are promised eternal blessings, even if we don't see them in this lifetime. I think of all the blessings already waiting for me in Heaven and that alone keeps me going some days. He will deliver us from our troubles. We will be okay.

How Many Times Can I Break til I Shatter?

2009-07-24T08:12:00.002-04:00

We have suffered another huge loss. One that leaves us asking "Why, why, why?" all over again. Of course, nothing will ever compare to the loss of Webb, so even a loss that one year ago would have been hugely monumental only pales in comparison. But we have not yet entered our season of blessings. Soon?

People say bad things happen in threes. Ok, I think we reached that number a long time ago. But as I sit here, crying and trembling over my keyboard, I still am not in despair. When Webb died, I was drawn very close to God, right underneath his loving arms, and I did not once doubt his presence. Lately, as that tangible connection started to fade, I am left asking all my questions over again. Why do bad things happen to good people? Why do multiple bad things happen to good people? This just is not fair. It isn't. And I don't know another way to say that. But I am not in despair. His grace is sufficient. As my precious grandmother used to say, "This too shall pass."

I know my latest posts have been heavy. My heart has been heavy. This grief is heavy. It is hard to walk around with this weight I constantly carry. We are being lifted up - I know it and I feel it. This too shall pass.

She says she's tired of life - she must be tired of something....

2009-07-15T14:45:00.003-04:00

I am tired of grieving. I am tired of walking by an empty crib every night and every morning. I am tired of reliving the hospital and the funeral and the weeks and months before Webb's diagnosis. I am still in disbelief. How did this happen? Why me? How will we go on - really? How? It is strange how grief comes in waves, some big, some small. Right now it feels like a tsunami for some reason. I guess it is my brain's way of taking in things bit by bit, piece by piece. But it hurts. And it's exausting. I often picture myself as bobbing along in the water, barely above the surface. It sounds a bit suicidal, I know, but it's nothing close to that. I still enjoy life and want to keep living it. I just can't believe this is my new life - it's very hard to articulate the feelings. It's hard to square the happy, carefree person with the person I am now. Still happy on many levels, but...different. I can't believe I ever thought I went through "hard times." It annoys me when people who have not lost a child think they have a rough life. I am sure many have faced horrific obstacles, but I am being 100% honest when I say I think ANYTHING would have been better than losing one of my babies. I would have endured absolutely anything and said, "At least I still have all my children." I know that for a fact. There just isn't anything worse. In a way, it's kind of liberating. The worst has already happened, so I fear little, except, of course, losing another child. But death no longer scares me. While I don't want to die or be away from my other children, I have so much waiting for me in heaven that it doesn't seem as terrible as it used to. I never imagined I'd be 30 and no longer scared of dying. I feel like I have aged 50 years in 6 months.

Do you ever hear songs you've loved for years and never really understood the meaning? Or have you ever found a new meaning in a familiar song? That happens to me constantly now. Especially with Counting Crows, who have always been a favorite of mine. In the car the other day, this part of "Round Here" was playing and I burst into tears. The meaning never was something I could relate to until now. Now it makes perfect sense:

She says It's only in my head
She says Shhh I know it's only in my head
But the girl in car in the parking lot
says "Man you should try to take a shot
can't you see my walls are crumbling?"
Then she looks up at the building
and says she's thinking of jumping
She says she's tired of life
she must be tired of something
Round here she's always on my mind
Round here hey man got lots of time
Round here we're never sent to bed early
And nobody makes us wait
Round here we stay up very, very, very, very late

Struggling....

2009-07-08T10:49:00.002-04:00

I wonder if 6 months sounds like a long time to people. I wonder if people think: "Oh, Webb died 6 months ago - Zac and Ashley must be getting better, or over it..." I can assure you it's not the case. First of all, "better" is relative. Better than what? December 26? Well, I was in total shock then and had held my baby alive that day and seen him laughing and smiling 3 days before. Six months later, the shock is gone, and I have not seen him, heard him, smelled or felt him in what seems like an eternity. So "better" isn't the right word. "Over it?" Never.

In some ways, it is worse today than it was 3, 4, 5, even 6 months ago. The pain is more contained, the panic has subsided, and we can actually function through a day - but the reality that he is gone seems more....real. He is not just away for a while. He is not coming back. After 6 months, that truth sets in a little deeper. We knew in our minds he was never coming back, even when we were in shock. But after 6 months, we are actually starting to realize the impact of that. And it hurts. It is the dull, constant, horrific kind of hurt that will not go away. I imagine it is a bit like losing an arm or a leg. At first, you cannot do anything, and the physical pain is unbearable. After time, you start learning how to compensate and "live around" the missing appendage, but it is always there, always a reminder, never far from your thoughts. Just like a person who has to live without an appendage, we will never be the same. We will keep walking around this giant hole for the rest of our lives.

I have always been the kind of person who can put a "game face" on. It was partly how I was raised and partly what I have learned to do over the years. I am not necessarily a private person, but I can hide my strong emotions very carefully. I have gotten good at smiling on the outside, sheilding the world and my closest friends and family from how I am really feeling. It is not as much a protection for them as it is protection for me. I am not ready to lose it. Not today. I am not prepared for the aftermath of such an emotional outburst. Luckily, I have my God to pour it all out to. In the times of my deepest despair, I hit my knees and pray out every drop of pain, of fear, of frustration. It works. It centers me, balances me and helps me through my day. We are still so desperate for His guidance. He is the only way to get through a tragedy as great as this one, and I do not understand how anyone thinks their problems can be solved without God. What a miserable existence that must be. Even in the darkest days I face, I still have hope and the promise.

This past week, we spent some time in Vail. Vail is a special place as it is where Zac and I met and the spot our children have visited many times. Webb only got to go once. Yet as I sat in that familiar place that holds so many memories for me, he was all I thought about. Being in the mountains and seeing God's most beautiful creations has always impacted me, but this time, it hit me hard. I felt closer to Webb there. Maybe it was because I did not have the million distractions that I do in Atlanta. Maybe it was because we were 8,000 feet higher than we usually are. Maybe it was because I think my heaven must look a lot like Vail. Maybe it was all of that. And I don't think I was the only one feeling that way. When we got on the gondola to ride to the top of the mountain, Bo said, "We are going to see Webbie!!" He has never said that before, and he has ridden an airplane several times. I like to think his presence was there, as it always is. As we were flying over those mountains last night, back to our lives, I felt a strange sense of leaving something behind.

Grief

2009-06-23T10:07:00.002-04:00

Let me tell you something about grief. It finds you. It tracks you down. It sneaks up on you when you least expect it. I will be going about my day, wading through the motions, and it will hit me like a ton of bricks. Reminding me I am still a mother who lost her child. Reminding me it will never be the same. Reminding me he's not coming back. I have times where I feel like I'm going to be ok. Moments when I look at Bo and Whit and see all I have instead of all I have lost. And then it pulls me under like a strong current: one child is missing.

Bo is still asking questions about Webb, which makes me happy because it means he has not forgotten. Last night, I was laying next to him before he went to sleep, and he said, "Mommy, do you ever get sad?" I said, "Sure I do." He replied, "When you think about Webbie?" and I told him, "Yes, that makes Mommy very sad." He thought for a second and then told me, "Mommy, people get sick. When Webbie is up in the sky with Jesus, he's happy and not sick. When he is down here, he is very sick." I agreed with him, interested in his perspective on things. And then he said, "Mommy, we are so sad Webbie is not here. But Webbie is happy!" You know, out of all the things I have read, all the things people have told me, Bo's words were some of the most reassuring words I have heard. Maybe because it's so obvious. Maybe because the simplicity of a three year old makes it seem like it's ok for babies to be in heaven and not with us. I don't know why. But he was right, Webb is happy even though we are sad. And last night, that didn't seem as strange as it sometimes does.

Survival = Peace, Friends, Grace

2009-06-14T14:45:00.003-04:00

(1) We made it through the twins' birthday.

And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Philippians 4:7

It was not without tears. It was not without pain. It was one of the worst days of my life. And yet, it was also one of the best. Whit is two. He is all boy, all joy, all love, all ours. And he is here.

(2) We have some amazing people in our lives.

Jesus said, "Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends." John 15:13

You, our friends, are truly a gift from God. I have told several of you before, when you wonder how in the world we have made it this far and make it through impossible days like June 5, look no farther than yourselves. We have some angels walking with us, among us, for us - holding us up when we feel like we can't go on. God gives us to our families, but the friends we have made are one of our most magnificent rewards. I know I would do the same for my friends that they have done for me during this awful trial, but to have that unconditional love poured out from people who are not family, well, it is an amazing feeling. We are not alone.

(3) God is still the One carrying us.

My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness. 2 Corinthians 12:9

We are still alive. We are still married. We smile every day. We thank God for our blessings. We feel blessed. This is not some courageous act. This is not some coincidence. Some of you are under the concept that we are the strongest people on Earth. We are not. We are filled with the love of God, and He is carrying us through this, as He promises He will. We have had the worst thing that can happen to a parent happen to us - and yet, we are still here. This is what it means to be held by the Lord. When all else fails, we can fall down at the foot of the cross and be comforted. We are still in that place, and it is safe. His grace is sufficient. It is a miracle, and we have experienced it.

We are surviving. We are grieving. We are going to be okay. We have peace, friends and grace - the most wonderful gifts from the Lord. We have fallen, but He will help us up, again and again.

Those who know your name will trust in you, for you, Lord, have never forsaken those who seek you. Psalm 9:10

Traditions

2009-06-04T21:07:00.003-04:00

Zac and I have a tradition for our children's birthday. On that morning, we wait until we hear him stirring and then walk in, video camera in hand, singing Happy Birthday. We have some priceless footage of these precious moments. They smile, clap, laugh. It is awesome. Tomorrow we will do the same for Whit, but our hearts will not be completely filled with joy as they should be. Tomorrow, we will have to walk past an empty crib while singing to our perfectly healthy two year old that we are still blessed to have with us. His other half is not with us, and as we approach his birthday, that fact seems as unbelievable as ever. We will not see his sweet two year old grin and hear him babble the words to "Happy Birthday." Instead, we will sing to him and visit him in a place no parent should ever have to go to see their child - especially on his birthday. We have our strong and weak moments like every grieving person does. There are times when we are able to put on a happy face and go about our day, either for each other or for the boys. Tomorrow will no doubt be faced with moments where we do not feel like doing this, but we will, because we have a birthday to celebrate. And as much as it hurts, we have to move forward and rejoice with our sweet Whit. Thanks to all of you who have emailed, called, sent flowers, cards, or just said a prayer for us this week. It has been one of the most dreaded days since Webb died. We will get through it, like we have each challenging moment. We will get through by His grace, and by all the prayers of those who love us. June 5, 2009 will not be the day we thought it would be, but we are still a family, we are still standing, and we are going to make it. God told me so.

All that I Feel is the Realness I'm Faking

2009-05-26T19:15:00.003-04:00

December 26. Worst. Day. Ever. May 26. Not the worst day ever. Progress? Today has been 5 months. 5 looooooong, sad, unbearable months. December to March alone took about 10 years. We've come so far yet not far enough. Everything has changed. We are different. Next Friday we should be celebrating the twins' second birthday. I should be planning a party and buying two little "I'm 2!" birthday hats and shaking my head in disbelief that time has gone by so fast. Instead, we are visiting one child in the cemetery taking the other 2 to the beach where we will try to "get through" what should be a joyous occasion. I'll only buy one hat and one cake this year. That's the part that is hard about losing a twin. A day that means sadness that Webb is not there also means happiness that Whit is. It will no doubt be a hard and wonderful day the rest of our lives. I am looking forward to it and dreading it all at once.

Last week, I took the boys to San Antonio to visit my parents. We went to my dad's baseball games and Sea World and had a wonderful time. However, I could not help but see the one missing. No matter how full the days were, the absence of Webb was at the forefront of my mind. He should be running the bases and hitting off the tee. He would have LOVED that. He would have clapped when the dolphins swam by or Shamu jumped out of the water. There was so much he never got to do. On the plane ride home, a flight attendant looked at me by myself with the boys and said, "You've got your hands full!" I smiled a bittersweet smile and agreed. If she only knew how empty my hands felt. I am still constantly looking around for the missing child. I am still automatically trying to take inventory of 3 children, not 2. These are the things that are ingrained in my brain, the things no amount of reality can change. The things that make me the most sad. The things I don't consciously think about.

When I get very upset, I try to remember that Webb only knew love his entire 18 and a half months on Earth. He went on trips, was cuddled, kissed and hugged every day of his life. He got to play with great toys and great friends and lived the best life a toddler could live. Not all children can say the same. He lived his life knowing nothing about lying, deceit or evil or the other horrible things in this world. He went from a perfect life here to an even more perfect life in the arms of Jesus. I know God is in control. I know when I see Webb again, I will probably think he lived the most charmed life of all my children. It will all be clear one day, when we see His glory. So until then, we wait. We love each other. And we know while life will never be the way it was before Webb, we can still make the most of our time together. For him. Because of him.

Prayers

2009-05-20T20:43:00.001-04:00

Some old family friends are going through a nightmare that is all too close to my heart. Their 18 year old son, who is an identical twin, was just diagnosed with lymphoblastic lymphoma, an aggressive form on non Hodgkins lymphoma. I have no idea about prognosis, but I know they are treating it and have a very strong faith. Please pray for him. His name is Logan Brantley, and his parents are John and Dianne. They are precious, and I know the shock all of them must be feeling right now (I know some of you do, too), and it is a feeling I would not wish on anyone, especially a parent. Please pray that Logan can fight this and for his parents' strength and for his siblings, especially his twin, Hunter. Obviously, this was a huge blow to their whole family. I would also ask you forward this to anyone you know who will pray for them. The power of prayer is so great, and we are so lucky we have a tool like the internet to spread the word quickly. We know it is in His hands, and God will get them thorugh this. I will update you if I know more, and thanks in advance for the prayers for this sweet family. Love, Ashley

Fear

2009-05-17T20:10:00.002-04:00

I am scared. So scared. Scared of losing someone else. Scared of feeling this way my whole life. Afraid to believe something good is going to happen. Afraid I will forget all the details of Webb's 18 months. Scared the memories of the hospital will haunt me forever. Sometimes, I still get that elephant on my chest feeling, and I'm afraid I might be having panic attacks again. I am so tired of being scared. I know it is out of my hands. I trust that God is taking care of us and this will make sense one day. But that does not ease the fear. That does not stop the waves of panic when I think about all we have been through and all we have yet to go through. Bo and Whit are only 3 and 2. I have the rest of my life to worry about something happening to them. And so much could happen. I know I can't live my life like that. I know it will do me no good to imagine all the horrible things that could happen. But something about having your worst nightmare come true will do that to you. I have so much love, so much pain, and so much fear. It is an unnatural, terrifying mix of strong emotions. How much more strength can I have? How much more heartache could I bear? I don't want to know the answer to that. If God only gives us as much as we can handle, I have to believe we are full. But I am still scared.

One Year Ago...

2009-05-12T15:27:00.003-04:00

How things have changed...

Mother's Day

2009-05-10T18:05:00.002-04:00

I would be lying if I told you today didn't hurt. It did. To the core. It started this morning when Bo brought me a mother's day card that Zac had signed, "We love you, Bo, Whit and Webb." It continued at church when I saw so many precious people, new and old, in my life who hugged me a little tighter. It brought me to my knees at the cemetery when I went to visit Webb and was greeted by lady who gave me a carnation and told me, "Happy Mother's Day," before I got out of my car and bawled at the foot of my son's grave. Why I am experiencing this? Mother's Day last year was so carefree. I had my three boys and an entire bright future to look forward to. I would have looked at someone in disbelief if they told me one of those boys wouldn't live to see the next mother's day. But then again, I am still in disbelief and he has been gone for 4 and a half months. Will it ever seem believable? On this day, the day that celebrates mothers, I am struck by what a different meaning it has for those of us who have lost our children. For me, it is not about presents, or brunch, or getting a pedicure anymore. It isn't about flowers or a big dinner or a night away from the kids, even though all of those things are much appreciated. For me, it is about praising God for the blessings He has bestowed upon me - my husband, my parents, my children, my friends, my health. I am so thankful I still have Bo and Whit. I am humbled to have been the mother of my perfect Webb for 18 months. I will never take one minute of the rest of my life for granted.

Webb has taught us so much about life and love in his short 18 months on Earth. He has strengthened our faith and made us appreciate the things that are really important. I was thinking this afternoon about what being a mom means to me and how seriously I take having my children's future in my hands. I want to be the kind of mother they can look at and say, "She loved God, she loved my dad, and she loved us no matter what we did. She faced adversity and life's biggest challenges with poise and grace." I know that might be a tall order. I know I have a long way to go before those words can be spoken. But what I do know is this: I am privileged to be cradled in the arms of God right now. Without Him, I would be lost. Knowing that Jesus is with Webb today brings comfort to my soul. Because if Webb cannot be with me on this Mother's Day, there is no one else I would want him with than Jesus and His mother, Mary.

Songs often speak to me in a way nothing else can. Something about hearing what you are thinking set to a tune is such a magical experience sometimes. I want to leave the lyrics to the chorus of a song that has done that for me the past couple weeks. A very special friend sent it to me, and it's called "Legacy" by Nichole Nordeman. I hope it speaks to you as it did to me and reinforces for you the best gift we can ever leave our children: a relationship with our heavenly father.

I want to leave a legacy
How will they remember me?
Did I choose to love?
Did I point to You enough
To make a mark on things
I want to leave an offering
A child of mercy and grace
Who blessed Your name unapologetically
And leave that kind of legacy

Lately....

2009-05-05T18:54:00.004-04:00

I have been dealing with dilemmas lately I never thought I would have to deal with. Dilemmas no mother should ever face. Because I have been back to work, assimilated back into the real world, I am faced with the real world situations I have been dreading. Last week was particularly hard. I had three people ask me how many children I have. Because these were people I have never met and am not particularly planning on dealing with much, I answered, "Two." Of course, this came with guilt, but right now, it's the easiest answer. What should I say? Three? Then I would face the dreaded follow up questions...boys or girls? Oh, twins!! How old are they? Then I would inevitably have to explain Webb, and can you imagine doing that to a complete stranger? The awkwardness that would follow? And what if I burst into tears? So for now, I say two. It's the easy way out. I am not strong enough to say something like, "Three, two are living." I cannot fathom how that answer from a stranger would have affected me five months ago.

I am still haunted with memories of the hospital. I am still paralyzed with fear and disbelief when I think about all that happened at the end of last December. I am still trying to find a way to make it different, to change the outcome. But of course I can't. I am still trying to blame myself for Webb's tumor....that sounds ridiculous, but I am his mother. I can't help but think I did something, or didn't do something, to cause it. I always come back to the same conclusion, it wasn't my fault...I look at his identical twin who had the exact same environment in the womb and out and is perfectly healthy. It was just a fluke. Bad luck. We had the same chance of a child getting a brain tumor as we did winning the lottery. Why the hell couldn't we win the lottery???

I am still incredibly thankful for Zac, Bo and Whit. Their mere presence is the medicine I need. I vaguely remember a nurse telling me they would be what kept us going. She was right. Last night I was sitting on the couch, looking at the backs of my two boys' heads, trying to picture Webb sitting there too. It was such a clear void. I was remembering the nights when all three of my precious sons were together, laughing and playing. All of a sudden, as I was picturing these nights and feeling very sad, sweet Whit jumped up and ran over to the couch to sit on my lap. He didn't say anything, he just sucked his thumb and lay on me until it was time for him to go to bed. It was something Webb would have done. And at that moment, I was overcome with the feeling Webb was right there, whispering in his brother's ear to come comfort me.

Webb

2009-04-25T10:59:00.000-04:00

As I approach the fourth month without Webb, I am still bewildered, scared, unsure and confused. I think about the last four months and seems like at least 4 years. I cannot fathom this is our new reality, but I guess it is. And when it is, there is nothing left to do but (I shudder to say the words)....accept it. Accept that one child is gone. Accept that I have a baby I will never see grow up, never see get married, never hold his firstborn. I wanted to worry about him making the baseball team, taking out his first car, drinking in college. And I wanted to tell everyone about how, when he was a baby, he would roll instead of crawl, laugh as loud and crackly as an old man. I wanted to look back on those memories and smile, barely able to remember. Instead, those memories are all I have of sweet Webb and I keep playing them over and over and over and over....so of course I will never forget. Webb was almost 19 months when he died. Old enough to have his own personality. Of course he had a twin and and a brother 18 months his senior, so we had lots of developing personalities in the house. And as I sit here, I have no idea what his favorite color was (actually, I don't know that about my other 2 boys either). But I know he loved orange juice (a little too much, it is all he would drink), Elmo, any kind of "ball" he could find (including Christmas ornaments, apples, etc)...I know he would sit and hide behind the brown chair when he finally wrangled a toy away from his brothers and just quietly, peacefully play there. He loved playing on the couch, jumping from side to side and making me a nervous wreck. He was my cuddle baby and would lay on my chest for hours. Bo and Whit would never do that...maybe Webb knew I would need that memory later. He was serious like my father, silly like me, looked like Zac. He was all boy and all of us combined into one perfect, precious child. How can you even measure the void he has left in our hearts and souls? I can accept reality. I am an analytical, accepting kind of person. But I just can't accept that a soul that precious, that alive, isn't right here beside me as I type this. I had a dream about Webb last night. He and Whit both walked into the room. I kept looking back and forth, back and forth and touching both of their heads, trying to make myself understand there were two there. Zac had brought them in and I said, "It's Webb." He said," Yes, they managed to keep him alive, but he only has tonight. What should we do?" In my dream I did not respond. I just scooped him up and rocked him, kissing his sweet face over and over. The dream eventually ended, and I was still doing just that. I believe in my heart that dream was no coincidence. He knew I needed him last night. I went to his cemetery yesterday and told him how much I missed him, and if I could just hold him one more time, I'd give anything.... call it what you will, my mind giving my heart what it wants, or whatever non believers say. All I know is I felt his skin and smelled his hair, and for me, it felt a lot like heaven.

Ups and Downs

2009-04-17T20:19:00.000-04:00

This week has had its ups and downs. I started out feeling optimistic after Easter. Literally for the first time since Webb died, I started to have some fleeting moments where I felt like things were going to be ok. I even started thinking about the future (which is usually too scary). However, that feeling did not stick around for long. Some close family members have been faced with a tremendous challenge, and I have been thinking again about why bad things happen to good people and God's completely unpredictable plan for us all. Webb, as usual, has been at the forefront of my mind, and he has become the focus of all of these thoughts. I have been spending a lot of time just staring at his pictures. I look into those beautiful blue eyes and try to take myself back to that moment captured in the picture...it seems so far away. I cannot always conjure up a clear memory of Webb, and that scares the hell out of me. What if I can't remember?? What if I start to lose the only thing I left - the pictures in my mind?? I already feel so disconnected to the person I was December 23. I feel like she was a little girl I was friends with in my past. The way I thought about things then seems so immature, so unrealistic. How did we get so far from that place where everything was safe and warm? How did we go from our biggest problems now being 100th on the list? How have we gone from imagining the future with our three healthy, smart, growing boys, to this nightmare where one is in a cemetery? I want to know why, yet I am not strong enough to understand. I am so tired. I feel like I am putting on a front all day long just so I don't crumble. Is that what you do to survive? I suppose it must be. After all, if we were allowed to feel how we wanted, we would probably die from the pain and exhaustion. I have no trouble talking about my situation. I can set my jaw and speak about the hospital, the funeral and the aftermath - often without shedding a tear. Sometimes my ability to do that scares me, but it is a part of who I am and how I have always handled things. It is not denial. I do not know exactly how I do that, but it is so contrary to how I feel on the inside, that it almost feels like I am playing a role in a movie. A horror movie. Where do we go from here?

Easter

2009-04-12T20:25:00.000-04:00

We made it through our first holiday without Webb. It was not without tears, but we did a good job of "protecting our hearts" for the occasion. We decided a while ago that we would spend this holiday alone, as a family of four. Even the most well-intended comments have a way of sending us over the edge, so we decided it best not to be around a lot of people today and chance it. After all, only we understand the true depth of this pain, and nothing except each other comforts us when we are sad. No one really knows how to act around us...no one knows whether they should bring up Webb, or stay silent on the subject, or pretend like everything is ok. Of course, that is understandable because it is a horrible thing that has happened, and really, what do you say?? However, it is extremely frustrating for us as well, because we never know how we are going to feel at any given moment, so often we feel like no one is saying or doing the "right" thing. Unfair, I know, but when you're grieving, there is a whole different set of rules and standards. We are trying to be patient, but for this first holiday, we knew doing "nothing" was our only shot at getting through the day. Last night, I cried as I assembled only 2 Easter baskets. When the morning started, and I was only dressing two little boys in their Easter best for church, I got choked up again. After we got to church, and I sat and listened to the sermon, I started feeling differently. I started to truly feel Easter is the most special holiday for the bereaved. We have a living Lord!! Jesus is alive. And not only that, but He is with Webb at this very moment, and they are waiting for us in Heaven. What an amazing gift this is, the gift of eternal life. The fact that Jesus died to save all of us is something I have believed in my heart for a very long time. But now, it has a more important meaning because it is the truth I cling to every minute of every day. Now, it is just not a belief, it is a reality for one of my children. I have an angel with Jesus this very minute. He lives! He lives! Christ Jesus lives today! He walks with me, and talks with me along life's narrow way.... Never has life felt more narrow than it does for us at this moment, and never have we felt the presence of the Lord more. It is such a overwhelming, humbling mix of feelings and emotions. We are grieving, scared, miserable, aching and tired, yet we are also blessed, thankful, hopeful, loved and satisfied. He lives! He lives! Salvation to impart. You ask me how I know He lives? He lives within my heart.

Quack, quack...

2009-04-08T20:16:00.000-04:00

In the past few weeks I have been struck by how many people telling me how great I look. Literally, I hear it every day. I am not sure what they mean...I have not had my hair done in almost 5 months, I rarely wear makeup, I don't care what clothes I wear, I have dark circles under my eyes and sunken in cheeks. I feel like crap. So if I look great to people, it must be one of two things: 1.) I look better than anyone thinks they would after losing or child, or 2.) I am being the best "duck" I have ever been. This is not an original analogy. Many people will compare a bereaved person to a duck...smooth, quiet, calm and unruffled on the outside, but paddling like hell below the surface. It is a fair analogy. Grief is hard work. I have never worked so hard in my life. It is taxing and exhausting and a day to day grind. I feel like I am running a marathon in my head....wake up, think of Webb, play with kids, think of Webb, eat a little without enjoying it, think of Webb, work, think of Webb, work, work, play with kids, think of Webb....and that's just an overview. I think of Webb 100 times that amount. I think of him alive. I think of him laying in the hospital. I replay the funeral. I try to imagine the future. I don't know how to keep the stamina up for the grieving I have yet to do. Yet there is a part of me, an inexplicable part of who I am, that is still trying to comfort others and trying my best to make sure my presence doesn't make anyone uncomfortable. I smile a little bigger, make some jokes, pat people on the arm when they bring up Webb....all because I am desperately trying to avoid "running" people off. No one wants to be around the mom who lost her baby. So I feel like if I act just like the old Ashley, people won't leave. People won't feel uncomfortable around me. The truth is, most people would not be able to handle the real me. Some days I can't even handle the real me. Have I mentioned I am a pretty good actress? Sometimes playing the role of the old Ashley is a welcome break from battling the snakes in my head. Sometimes, pretending to be that person brings me as much comfort as I am hoping it brings others. After all, I can't go around sobbing all day, even if I want to. And I miss the old Ashley. I miss her so much. I miss her carefree, "perfect" life. I may be pleased with the woman I end up being when I make it through to the other side if this, but I will always miss the woman I once was, before I knew this pain and heartache.

And compounding it all, it seems like twins are everywhere. Every B-list celebrity is having twins. They are everywhere I look around town. Everytime I see a pair, I feel like a knife is twisting in my heart. I loved having identical twins. I loved how people would look at us and laugh and say how "full" our hands were. I loved people asking how we could tell them apart. I loved their relationship and their twin talk. I loved dressing them alike and dressing them different. It seems so strange that Whit will continue his life without his other half. How will we explain that to him? Who would he have been if Webb had lived? Will he feel his spirit? Will Webb be his guardian angel? I truly believe he will. If Webb is "with" any of us, I have a feeling it will be Whit.

I am so sad for us. I am so sad for all the moms and dads I have met on this journey who have lost children. It is a close knit club no one wants to be a member of, yet we all need each other. We need to make sense of this horror. We need to know you can live through this and laugh again. We need to make sure we are not going crazy with our feelings. And most of all, we just need to be comforted in the fact we are not alone. "Misery loves company" has a new meaning when it comes to losing a child. Just knowing there are people out there who have been through what I have is a powerful source of comfort. Thanks to all of you moms who have reached out to me. I am praying for you and your angels.

I will close with a bit of Scripture. I have always loved reading the Bible but will be the first to admit I have much to learn when it comes to the Lord's word. I will continue to study it and seek it and let those ancient words work through me and in me all of my remaining days. It is so amazing to me we have a book that answers every question of our heart. Any self help book you can find pales in comparison to the help you can find if you simply open your Bible and seek God's wisdom. It's pretty incredible. Anyway, I do not have a favorite book of the Bible. I never read in order, I always skip around and pick out certain excerpts. My one exception is the book of James. I love it. It is simple and powerful. Anytime I read it, it's from start to finish (admittedly, it's pretty short. :) ) This is one of my favorite verses in James. I hope it speaks to you, too. I repeat it over and over and remember it throughout my day. It is such a simple truth. Enjoy, and Happy Easter.

"Come near to God, and He will come near to you." James 4:8.

A prayer

2009-04-05T17:09:00.000-04:00

Lord, please help us. Please look down upon us and shine Your light in our hearts. We are in so much pain, Lord. Pain only you can fix. Please help to warm our souls and see a glimpse of Your plan. We are hurting so much, God. We are inconsolably sad without our sweet Webb. We do not know how life will ever get better, or how our family will ever be put back together. We trust You and believe in Your purpose, but we are so confused and broken. Our "strong" moments are starting to slip away. Please come quickly, Lord, and give us the strength only You can give. We come to You in humble prayer. We have little to offer, other than whimpers and cries, but we come to You knowing You are the Great Physician and can heal any ailment, especially those of the heart. We ask You to hold Webb close until we are together again. We ask You to continue to work in our hearts and in our lives and the lives of our precious sons. As we reflect on Easter and the purpose You had for Your Son, please remind us that Your plan may not always make sense to us, but You love us so unconditionally you sent Jesus to die so we may live forever. We cannot even comprehend the greatness of You. We believe in You and love You with all our hearts. Please give us the peace only You can give, the peace that transcends ALL understanding. In Your precious, Heavenly Son's name we pray, Amen.

A Mother's Love

2009-04-01T19:04:00.001-04:00

Yesterday was my birthday. It was rainy and dreary in Atlanta, and that matched my mood perfectly. I only celebrated one birthday with Webb, but his presence yesterday was missed to an unbearable degree. I sobbed most of the morning, aching for him and wanting him near. I feel so lost without that little peanut. Most days I am still sad. I am functioning, of course, but the sadness and heartache are very near. Lately, some things have been reminding me of the hospital, and I truly hate reliving that horrible time. It is gut-wrenching and full of agony. My mother gave me a framed picture of Webb and me for my birthday present that has the following quote written on it:

"A mother's love is something that no one can explain; it is made of deep devotion and of sacrifice and pain. It is endless and unselfish and enduring come what may for nothing can destroy it or take that love away..." Helen Steiner Rice

I read that quote over and over last night, thinking of the new meaning those words have since Webb died. Surely, most mothers never feel this level of pain or sacrifice, thank goodness. Most mothers do not know what it is like to lose one of the precious extensions of their souls. My endless love for my children extends out of this world and into the next, in a way most mothers will never understand. That is not to say I love my children more than other mothers do, it is just that I have had a different journey of motherhood that makes me a different kind of mother to my children. I still get frustrated when Bo whines or disobeys. I still feel annoyed when I cannot get them to go to sleep or listen. But I do not take one single second with them for granted. I thank God every morning for their mere presence in my life. I do not worry about what school they will go to, or whether they will be good at sports, or whether they will graduate at the top of their class. Those things are simply unimportant to me now. Perhaps that is the gift Webb's short life gave me - to love my children no matter what they do or what they become. To know that the only important thing is that they are healthy and happy. There is no sacrifice I would not make to ensure that happens.

Contradictions

2009-03-30T18:36:00.000-04:00

When I am lost and the tears don't stop,

I find myself waiting, watching, listening, hoping...for what?

I am broken. Mind, heart and spirit.

One minute, one sentence, one hidden truth changed everything.

I am consumed by this giant hole I keep walking around.

Silence brings thoughts, sometimes thoughts I am not ready for.

Distractions bring momentary shields from the pain.

It is not over.

It will never be over.

I don't want it to be over, I just wish it had never begun.

I surround myself with love,

Yet I feel so deprived.

I am constantly smiling, but it is only so I do not break.

There is no stopping the tears once they start,

And the world is not my therapy session.

"How are you today?" What else is there to say besides, "Fine."?

We are so not fine.

We will never be fine.

We will move forward, we will continue to love and be loved,

But it will never be fine.

No matter how many days I live,

No matter how many children I have,

Losing Webb will never be right.

I am not the same person,

But I am not a different person.

I am changed,

But I can't change anything.

I have three children,

But I can only hold two.

I keep moving forward,

But I feel like I'm spinning backwards.

How can I see so much loss and so much gain at once?

How can I be sobbing at a cemetery one minute and laughing at a playground the next?

I am broken, but I am whole.

I am quiet, but I am screaming.

I am thinking clearly, but going crazy.

What a strange place to be....

Questions.....

2009-03-27T15:07:00.000-04:00

Three months. Is that even possible? I sit and try to think about how much has happened in these three months and my mind cannot even comprehend it. My baby is gone. That is a reality that has not yet registered in my mind. Although I am walking, talking, functioning....I am still so confused, so lost without him. What happened? Did I really have a child die of a brain tumor? How am I still living? Did I really spend three days in the PICU? Did I really hold my child as he slipped out of this world into the next? Who was that woman? Who am I? My birthday is next week. I will be 31. I feel 101. I have learned more, seen more, endured more than any mother, any 31 year old ever should. My worst nightmare came true - I lost a child. What other nightmares are in store? I think about my relationships with everyone in my life and how each have changed. Some for better, some for worse....you really cannot go on this journey without seeing people in a different way. So strange how life's challenges either bring out the best or bring out the worst in others. Do I expect too much out of others? I am not the same....but I do not want to be treated differently. That is a tough standard. Of course very few understand what has happened. I am sure few people don't even want to try and understand it. Being close to me makes it too real...knowing someone who lost a child means it can happen to them too. And then there are those people who have embraced this journey I am on and accepted it with open arms. These are the people who have carried me through the last three months without question, without hesitation. My own personal angels on Earth.

I look at pictures of Webb, and I have the irresistible urge to just hold him. To reach through the picture and grab his chubby legs. To scoop him up and smother him with kisses. Where is he? Can we really go on without him? Wasn't he just laughing? Wasn't he just sitting under the Christmas tree with a ball? Didn't he just learn how to say "Mama"? How can this be happening?

Making New Memories....

2009-03-22T19:06:00.000-04:00

On Wednesday night, we had to out our sweet cat Zoey to sleep. She was 12 years old, but it was very sudden and sad. Luckily, we had a BIG trip planned for Thursday to put us in better moods. After all the sadness of the past three months, it was time for a little magic. Zac's 31st birthday was March 19, and we celebrated in style.....Disneyworld, a trip to Ponte Vedra, and a new puppy...a bichon frise/poodle mix named Bella. :)

Tired

2009-03-15T19:55:00.000-04:00

In the weeks since I lost Webb, I have experienced nearly every possible human emotion. The kind of emotions no one ever thinks they could live through. The kind of feelings every mother fears. Most of those have been expressed on this blog: sadness, pain, emptiness, fear, despair, dread, hope, anxiousness, insomnia, just to name a few. Lately, I am tired. I guess it should come as no surprise considering the roller coaster my mind, body and soul have been constantly riding. I have laid awake for 12 weeks, replaying every doctor's appointment, every move we made in the hospital and every "last moment" I spent with all three of my boys. My days are still comprised mostly with these thoughts, so this tiredness stage is really the first one I am welcoming with open arms. I so badly want to sleep, sleep and sleep. I desperately want to fall into a peaceful slumber and wake up one day, recharged and reconstructed and clear headed. I know that will not happen for a while, but sleeping at 3am sure beats agonizing at 3 am. I feel the strange need and urge to reach out to every mother who is going through this nightmare. I want to look at them and see if they have the same unbelieving expression in their eyes. I want to ask them, "How did our children get cancer?" and share every horrific thought I am feeling. I feel like we are members of a secret, special club that no one wants to belong to. No one else truly understands what we feel. I still look in the mirror every morning and say, "Did this really just happen to us? Did we actually have a child that died from a brain tumor?" How in the world did this happen?? What do we do next? I am a planner. I like having every step mapped out, and now my future has been rocked in a way I never thought possible. I was supposed to be adding to our family this year...we were supposed to be going from three to four children, not three to two. How is it even possible Webb is gone? I see his hair, his face, his laugh and his eyes every time I look at Whit. But it is not the same. He was his own little person with his own unique personality. Thoughtful and serious and silly all at the same time. Oh how I miss that little laugh of his. What I wouldn't give to see him peering at me out of the corner of his eyes and the look of pure joy that came over his face when I would come in his room in the morning to get him out of bed. I can still see it in my mind, but it's not enough. It will never be enough. My mother and I were saying the other day how Webb was the perfect child. He really was. I don't think I ever told him "no" once in his 18 months. He cried like every other child, but he never whined, he didn't complain, he never hit us or bit us or any of the other things toddlers do. He may have been just about to start the terrible twos, we'll never know. But when Webb's life ended, he was still perfect. And now that's how he will always be to us. Our perfect little red haired baby. Our "Bear." We miss you sweetheart.

This Woman's Work

2009-03-12T20:54:00.000-04:00

The song that kept running through my mind while Webb was in the hospital:

This Woman's Work

Kate Bush

Pray to God you can cope

I stand outside this woman's work,

This woman's world,

Oh, it's hard on the man,

Now his part is over,

Now starts the craft of the father....

I know you have a little life in you left.

I know you have a lot of strength yet.

I know you have a little life in you yet.

I know you have a lot of strength left.

I should be crying but I just can't let it show.

I should be hoping but I can't stop thinking.

Of all the things I should have said that I never said,

All the things we should've done that we never did.

All the things I should've given but I didn't.

Oh, darling, make it go away.

Give me these moments back.

Give them back to me.

Give me that little kiss.

Give me your hand.

Growing Up

2009-03-10T20:16:00.000-04:00

My life has been scarily "normal" lately. I traveled to New Orleans this past weekend for my best friend's wedding, I have been going to work a little bit and spending as much time as possible outside with the boys. From the outside, I think I look like I'm doing good. Maybe at those times, in those moments, I am. However, my pain on the inside is still so very raw and real. I think at the beginning, I was so shocked and traumatized I could not even function. Then, I started the "trance" mode where I could not concentrate or tear my mind away from Webb and the horrific end result for even one minute. But the past week or so, I have felt a slight shift. A small part of my mind is coming to terms with the fact that life really does go on. As much as I've said it on this blog, I think a minuscule part of me finally started to believe it. I still want time to rewind to December when I had Webb in my arms. I would give ANYTHING for that. But time does not rewind, no matter how bad we wish it would. It is March. Soon it will be summer, then fall, then Christmas again. And we still will not have our precious Webb. So what is my option? Stop living? Stay in bed? That would be too easy. Instead, I have to keep one foot in front of the other. I have to live each day as though there will not be another, because we have been hit in the face with that reality a little too soon and a little too harshly. I have to go on, for Zac, for Bo, for Whit...even for Webb as hard as that seems. I have to push forward and tell you all about this journey so you know that life does go on in the midst of unthinkable despair. God has not left my side. There were times I almost wanted Him to so I could be as angry as I wanted to be. And I still get so angry, but He does not leave. I picture Him seeing me as a spoiled child, stomping my feet because He didn't give me what I wanted, much the same way as Bo and Whit do when I tell them they can't have cookies for breakfast. Why?? I keep asking Him. "You'll understand when you grow up," He answers, just as I do when Bo and Whit ask me the same questions. Of course, "growing up" is not easy, and I may never be fully "grown," at least not in this lifetime. I have to hope when God's plan is revealed, it will make perfect sense why Webb is not with us. It will not happen in this lifetime, but I have faith it will happen. Right now, I have to focus on my perfect angel up in heaven, waiting for us, but not impatiently. I have to live this life with no regrets. This life of losing a child is painful and real and scary, but it is my life. I will make the best of it, no matter how hard that is to do. So when you see me laughing, smiling and enjoying the real world, it is not because I am in denial. (Oh, how I almost wish for denial.) It is because at that time, at that moment, I am enjoying life. Fortunately, there are about a million moments in my days no one except God will ever see....and it is in those moments and those times I feel His love the most. He wills me to go on when I cannot fathom it. Every morning, He helps me out of bed and into the world. Most of you will never see the struggle I go through just to leave the house. But somehow, some way, I do it and I sometimes even enjoy it. Then, there are times I do not enjoy it and the simplest things become too much. Today at work, a situation that usually I would let roll off my back sent me into hysterics. The pain of losing Webb is still always at the front of my mind, and that is a hard thing to function around. There is not a moment that goes by that I do not think of him. But I keep living because of him, for him. And by the grace of God, I keep pushing on.

To My Boys...

2009-03-08T18:59:00.000-04:00

I loved every one of you the minute I found out about you. I can honestly say I did not understand what unconditional love was until I saw Bo for the first time. I did not think it was possible to love anything that much....until I saw Webb and Whit. I would sit in the rocking chair in your nurseries and hold you for hours. Sometimes just one of you at a time, smelling your sweet baby skin, sometimes all three of you at once. I remember the feeling of overwhelming joy the first time each of you smiled at me. I remember looking at you, thinking, who was I before these boys were born? I always heard you would die for your children, and I thought it too, but I never wanted so desperately to be able to die for one of you until I found out Webb had a brain tumor. If it were possible to trade places with him, I would have done it without hesitation. Bo and Whit, you are the reason I still get out of bed in the morning even though my heart is broken. Webb, you are the reason I want to be a better mother and the thing I am most looking forward to about heaven. Without the three of you, I would be empty and shallow. Because of you, I believe there is a purpose to this life which has left me a changed person. I would suffer a million heartbreaks to keep you safe. If God had told me he would give me three children and take one at 18 months, I would have all three of you and endured the pain all over again just to have known Webb and taken care of him for that short time. Was it long enough? No. Is life ever long enough to be with the people you love this much? I don't think so. I thank God for the privilege of being your mother. It is my most important job and the one I love the most. There are simply not enough words to explain the depth of my feelings for all of you. Giving you life has saved my life.

Some wisdom

2009-03-03T09:35:00.000-05:00

I had never looked at a blog until after Webb died, and I see what a huge world I was oblivious to. One thing I am grateful for is the way this blog has been able for me to communicate with friends, family and acquaintances who knew of our tragedy as it was unfolding. The newest thing I am grateful for are the people I never knew and never would have known that are also suffering through a great loss. Thanks to all of you who have passed on websites of those who are going through similar situations. Thanks to all of you who have shared your own similar situation. I pray for all of you daily. If I am able to help just one person relate to this horrible pain, this blog has been worth it. For those of you who know someone going through a similar situation and are looking for wisdom, I have some thoughts to share. Although I am still very early in my grieving, I know the things that have, and have not, helped as we have stumbled along this nightmare. I know you do not know what to say to a person who has had their life ripped out from underneath them. Many have told me they are afraid of saying the "wrong" thing. Do not avoid them because you are afraid of this...especially if you were very close to this person before the tragedy. That will make the grieving person feel very alone. A simple, "I love you, I am so sorry," will suffice. "I am thinking of you and praying for you," works too. If you are a very close friend or family member, just be there. Call, even if you know the person will not answer. Send an email, share a story, send a text...just do not pull away. No one is offended by prayers, love or support, however you present it. We have been blessed to receive all of that tenfold since Webb died. Others are not so lucky. As far as "wrong" things to say go, there are a few. :) Don't say, "Because of you, I now know how blessed I am." That does not bring comfort. Don't say, "Because of you, I now hold my kids just a little tighter every day." That is wonderful but does not bring a person who can't hold their loved one any comfort. And don't say, "If I were you, I wouldn't be able to ______(get out of bed, go to work, laugh, smile, carry on, go out to eat, go on vacation, live life, etc)" You have no clue what you would do or how you would react, so don't pretend you would. Also, it implies that person did not love their child as much as you do because they are going on with life. Which, believe it or not, is what you have to do. It is the hardest thing that person has ever done, rest assured. Smiling is rare, and they do not want to feel guilty for doing so. Getting out of bed is a big enough struggle and the griever is just doing everything and anything they can to get through the day. For all of you I have been "introduced" to through blogging, I pray for you daily. If you are a supporter of someone who is going through this unimaginable pain, just be there to listen, hug and offer support. Don't ask what you can do, just do it. That is the greatest gift you can give.

Some Favorite Pictures...

2009-03-02T18:32:00.000-05:00

Snow Day

2009-03-01T14:15:00.000-05:00

It is pouring snow in Atlanta. For a city that sees snow maybe once a year, this is a big deal. It is the first day of March, and the snow is fitting for my mood on this Sunday. Bo and Whit are PUMPED. Of course, my mind is thinking how much Webb would have loved this special treat. It doesn't take away from my joy in watching my other 2 sons enjoy the day, but the son that is missing is, of course, what is on my mind. When I was a little girl, snow days were a big deal. The anticipation of getting to miss a day of school, to forget about driving anywhere or doing anything, to just hunker down by a fire and play outside until my cheeks got numb...that was such a wonderful, different kind of "break." I wish my grieving could take a snow day. I wish there was one day I could escape every care, every worry and embrace the present. It was never as easy as it was when I was a child, but now, it is impossible. I have heard about the stages of grief, which I have said before cannot be neatly defined since you experience all the stages at once and at random every day. But I have thought about grieving (my experience at least) as the most physically, emotionally exhaustive thing I have ever done. It is constant. It is taxing. It is excruciating. It is painful. And there are no "snow days." I cannot remember things that happened just minutes before, but I cannot forget the things that happened from 4:30 pm on December 23 until 4:30 pm on December 26. The physical pain inside my chest and deep within my body is, at times, unbearable. My dreams confuse the past and present, and one minute I am holding Webb again, and the next I am sitting at his funeral in a different location, surrounded by people I have never seen. My senses are on high alert - I can hear and smell things from miles away. I feel like a little egg that at any moment could break. But I also have a strange sense of wanting to continue, of wanting to move forward. I have a feeling of having to muddle through this dark, senseless time to reach the other side. I do not feel desperate (right now anyway), but I desperately want to get through this with my memories and my sanity intact. I never wanted to be in this situation, in fact, it was my worst nightmare. But it is the situation I am in, it is the card I have been dealt. How we go forward from here is the most important decision we'll ever make. I pray for the strength to move forward in a way that makes all 3 of my children proud and maybe, just maybe, come out of this blizzard in my soul as a stronger, better person for having loved and lost. We will see.

Promises

2009-02-26T16:14:00.001-05:00

February 26. Has it really been two months? The warm day today in Atlanta gave me mixed emotions. Part of me wanted to embrace the change of year, and part of me ached for it to be as cold as it was two months ago, when I still had Webb. Part of me wants to rewind to December and put my Christmas tree back up and have the feet of my 3 little boys pitter pattering underneath me while Zac and I hung ornaments. I want to hear Webb and Whit and their "twin talk" and watch them wrestle on the floor. I can still remember it, but I am terrified the memories are not as clear as they used to be. I wouldn't change on minute of the way we lived Webb's 18 months with him, I just wish I could do it all again, then maybe the memories would be more permanent. The last two months, this horrific journey of grief that had just begun, will hopefully be the worst chapter in a very long, fulfilled book of our lives, but I would do it all over again to have him for another day, another month, another year.

This morning, I could not get out of bed. That has not happened to me since the first couple weeks after Webb died, so I embraced it and allowed myself to stay in bed. Most mornings I leap out of bed and start my routine with the boys, which has helped my anxiety. But this morning, I did not feel anxious, I just felt....tired. Something about it being the 26th affected me in a way I didn't think it would. After I got up, I went out to the cemetery. It was lunchtime, and there were several people coming out to see loved ones. I sat there and picked pieces of pine straw off his grave and I wondered if he was looking down. I told him how much I loved and missed him and how I needed him to watch over his brothers. I cried until my eyes and chest ached. I was again reminded of how unnatural it seemed to be visiting my child at a cemetery. And then, I came home and played outside with Bo and Whit. Their happiness, innocence and smiles brought me back to a more peaceful place in my soul. Bo told us today (out of the clear blue) that Webb was not going to live with Jesus forever and ever; he was going to come home soon. I was at a loss for words. I just looked at him and hugged him tight. Some days I do not have the heart to tell this little boy he will never see his brother again. I cannot fathom it, so why should he?

I have been thinking rather philosophically in the 2 months since I lost Webb. Many of those thoughts are on this blog. Most of those wonderings have come from the depth of my heartache and soul searching. I have pondered God's works and His mercy. I have read pages and pages of Scripture, seeking answers to my questions about heaven and God's plan for all of us. And I can tell you what I have found: comfort. Not despair, not anger. My God is loving and good. He loves us and grieves with us. He is sad that I am sad. He could have given me a "miracle" and saved Webb this Christmas, but the miracle would only be temporary since Webb's life would have ended one day. The only true miracle God promises us is eternal life, not happiness on Earth. The miracle is that when I leave this Earth, I will go straight into the arms of Jesus, and Webb will come straight into the arms of me. Does that make this pain go away? Absolutely not. Will I continue to ache for Webb and be angry he is not with me? Every day of my life. But I still have hope. I still have God's promise. And that is worth living a good life.

Update

2009-02-24T17:05:00.000-05:00

Jamelle is back, thank God!! She is feeling much better, and we are all so glad she is going to be ok. Thank you all for your prayers. The boys were so excited to see her and spend time with her today. I also took two big steps...Sunday was my first day back to church service, and Monday I went into work for the first time since December 23. I only stayed a couple hours, and it was an odd experience, but it is done. I would be lying if I said I am 100% ready to be back at work. I am not sure I'll ever be ready, and the truth is, I am a different person than the one who walked out the door December 23. But going back, starting over and trying to do something besides grieving is important to me. It has been 9 weeks, and it was time to try. I am taking very small steps, but I do feel like I have accomplished something huge. Today, I also went to the cemetery for the first time in several weeks. I have not felt compelled to go there much, as I know it is only Webb's body that is there, and his spirit is everywhere. But today, I felt the urge to go, so I went. I knelt down by his grave and sobbed for several minutes. I talked to him and prayed for him and for us. It was such a peaceful moment, but very surreal. "Am I really visiting one of my children at a cemetery?" I kept thinking to myself. I looked at his name and the dates of his birth and death on the temporary plaque, and it still seemed as unbelievable as it always does. Webb is gone. The little name I picked out, my namesake, the name I wrote on pieces of paper when I was pregnant with the twins: "Webber Bennett Broach," is now etched in stone. Is this really still happening? I was telling a friend of mine today that I feel like I am clinging to a tree in the middle of a tornado. I can only focus on the present, because anything farther away than an hour seems too overwhelming. My mind is still processing the shock we went through this Christmas, and the shock is too huge to be gone yet.

Thoughts...

2009-02-22T18:07:00.000-05:00

"And the Holy Spirit helps us in our distress. For we don't even know what we should pray for, nor how we should pray. But the Holy Spirit prays for us with groanings that cannot be expressed in words. And the Father who knows all hearts knows what the Spirit is saying, for the Spirit pleads for us believers in harmony with God's own will." - Romans 8: 26-27

As I sit down to write this entry, I hear the sweet sounds of my boys singing as they play. One voice is missing, and that is still so hard to wrap my mind around. As I continue to struggle with my grief and trying to live on in spite of my pain, I am reminded constantly that I am not the only person in the world who is grieving or in great distress. In fact, I am just one of millions who are at this very moment trying to get through a horrible event. Someone else has lost a child, or a spouse, or their job, or their dreams. It is comforting to know that as Christians, we do not have to walk this walk alone. It is comforting to know that I still have two precious children to live for, along with an amazing husband, unconditionally supportive parents and friends that do not walk away when the going gets tough. I know all of this in my broken heart and soul, but I am still in an unbelievable amount of pain. How do people do this alone?? How do people get through the hard times without God? I have always felt blessed about my life and the people in it. I always knew I would lose one of those people one day. I never dreamed it would be my child. "That is my worst nightmare:" about a hundred people have said that to me in the past 2 months. Well guess what? It was my worst nightmare, too. And it came true. "I wouldn't be able to get out of bed:" that's what others say. Well, you know what? That's what I would have said 2 months ago if you told me I would lose one of my children. But I have to get out of bed. I have 2 other children and a husband to live for. I have an entire blessed life to continue. I am Webb's mother and always will be, but I am Bo and Whit's mother, too. They need me. And they need all of me, not a shell of what I used to be. I have to pray for the strength to live on, to be a good mother and person even though my world shattered before my eyes. I have to believe that's what Webb would have wanted for his parents, for his brothers. So as I take the small steps to starting a new life and reconciling it with my old life, I oftentimes cannot muster up enough strength to pray. How lucky that I have Jesus to say my prayers for me. How lucky am I that He is whispering my deepest needs in God's ear, even those needs that I cannot formulate. Tomorrow marks the second month since the day we found out Webb had a brain tumor. Time has moved by so very slow in that amount of time. Bo and Whit have outgrown almost all the clothes they were wearing in December. The seasons are changing; it is staying light outside later, soon it will be warm again. Time marches on, and so must we. How very, very difficult that is to do.

Hope

2009-02-17T18:56:00.000-05:00

"I am losing all hope; I am paralyzed with fear. I remember the days of old. I ponder all your great works. I think about what you have done. I reach out for you. I thirst for you as parched land thirsts for rain. Come quickly, Lord, and answer me, for my depression deepens. Don't turn away from me, or I will die. Let me hear of your unfailing love for me in the morning, for I am trusting you. Show me where to walk, for I have come to you in prayer." - Psalm 143: 4-8

For reasons I will not delve into, I have had a rough week. Suffice it to say it has been one of my toughest. I have found myself on my knees in prayer, begging God to help me through. I opened my Bible Sunday night, and this verse was the one I turned to. Like a chant, I repeated it over and over. The Lord did not fail me, and I have awakened from this dark time with renewed hope. Sadness remains, but there is not despair, and that it something I am thankful for. I miss Webb as much as I did the night we left the hospital without him, maybe even more. I still ache to hold him and watch him grow. That will never go away. However, I am thinking more clearly and more rationally than I have in a long time. We are missing an irreplaceable part of our hearts and soul, but we are still a family; we are still whole. In fact, I have never felt more love for or from my husband and children as I do right now. We have gone to the depths of our souls and seen the darkest part of life , and we are still alive, we are still together and we still have our faith. Praise God. He is good. He will not turn away during our time of need. As horrible as this time has been, and as awful as I will forever feel about losing my baby, knowing God will not leave during our worst times has brought an indescribable peace. Step by tiny step, He is getting us through this pain. We will laugh again. We will not always feel such a heavy pain in our hearts. It may take a long time, but knowing there is something on the other side is a comfort.

Thanks for the continued prayers. Many people have asked me how Jamelle is doing - she is still sick. Pray for her healing and for the doctors' wisdom. We miss her very much, and the boys ask about her every day. Pray that we all continue to heal and grow as a family during this horribly difficult time. We are so blessed to have such wonderful friends praying for us and helping us along. We could not do it without you.

Heartache

2009-02-15T14:25:00.001-05:00

There has been a darkness in this heartache I have been muddling through that I have not yet spoken of. In the first few days and weeks, I was so in shock that my heart and mind would only let a tiny bit in at a time. Then, since the shock has worn off, there are moments when the pain hits full force. At these times, I cannot sleep, I cannot pray. I don't think much about the hospital or Webb during these times, but I feel hopeless, helpless, overwhelmed and alone. That is the feeling I have been living with for the past 2 weeks. Today is the first day I have even felt close to being ok. However, that dark, deep place is not far away and I fear it will resurface at any moment. Mornings are the worst. I arise from whatever slumber I finally forced myself into, and I am seized with fear, panic and overwhelming sadness. I know I have not been repressing my feelings about Webb, so it is not as though I am finally dealing with things. I finally realized this loss produced a hurt that is too much, too significant to get better yet. It is much like an amputation of limb, I would imagine. The pain eventually subsides, but you have to get used to living in a completely different manner. God, who is still speaking in His still, small voice, is not far from me during this despair. I have had little else to say to him, other than, "Please, help me," but His presence is there, which is a great comfort. Grief, I have learned, is a complex process with hills and valleys that are indescribable. As I have said before, the closeness to God is amazing. The reaffirmation of His existence is life-changing. Then, on the other side, the pain is indescribable. Actual heartache. I never knew such a pain existed. I recently thought about where we would be in a year from now. Will we still be in despair? Will be be smiling more than crying? I hope so.

Worn Out

2009-02-11T20:15:00.000-05:00

For the past week or so, it appears I have been out of words. I am having a hard time expressing my latest surge of emotions. I have suffered from sleepless nights and anxious days and the visions of the hospital have been clearer than ever. Like a bad nightmare, I replay the events leading to Webb's death over and over until I cannot think about it anymore. It has created a vicious cycle of anxiety and insomnia, and I am exhausted. Physically and mentally, I am worn out. I do not know where I will find the energy to continue this grief. Somehow, I know we will go on. Somewhere, I see a light at the end of this deep, dark tunnel. However, the pain I am experiencing and the thought of this pain continuing is a little daunting.

About a hundred times a day, I am asked how I feel (which I don't mind). There is no way to accurately describe how I feel. As I have said, each minute I experience a different emotion. Sometimes it is pain, sometimes fear, sometimes sadness, and sometimes a little bit of all of those. I rarely feel good, but there are times I am ok. Bo and Whit have brought many smiles. They are at such precious ages, and we are trying to enjoy it and remember what we can from this time in their lives in spite of our broken hearts. Whit is talking and laughing more than ever, and I thank God he is too young to know the loss he has suffered. Our children are doing great, which is the most important thing to us. As for Zac and me, God is still carrying us along, and we are grateful for His presence. We are appreciative of prayers, and we still need them desperately.

Resurfacing?

2009-02-06T20:23:00.000-05:00

It has been 6 weeks. That sounds like such a short amount of time, but it feels like an eternity since I last held Webb. Today Whit looked so much like him. For a minute, I pretended it was Webb, but that could not last long. There is still a giant hole that no amount of daydreaming can fill. My baby is gone, and nothing can bring him back. My feelings are such a mess. One minute I feel like I am going to be fine, and then next I am bawling my eyes out. I feel so vulnerable, so detached. The vivid memories of the hospital and the sequence of events leading to the final hour still haunt me. I can clearly remember every last second Webb was still with us...I can remember our last moments with him as though they just happened. After that, I remember very little. Other than the week we spent in Vail and the three days I spent in New Orleans, the past six weeks are a total blur - almost a black hole in my memory. One thing I can remember pretty clearly are my dreams. I have only dreamt about Webb twice - in one dream I was holding him, and in the other I replayed his last three days, but in a different way. Then I have this dream that repeats: I am on a dock, or a cliff, and I fall into water. I go down and down into darkness for what seems like forever until I touch the bottom, and then I shoot back up. Not too hard to analyze that one, huh?? I hope this means one day I will resurface, but I fear that means I have not yet hit the bottom.

I am still so confused about God's plan in all of this. What hurts me the most is that He could have healed Webb, He could have given us our Christmas, lifetime miracle, but He did not. Why? I know God is good, I believe it to the bottom of my soul, but I still cannot understand what good could possibly come from leaving us here without Webb. I know this story has touched so many people, and I honestly want this to change and effect people for the better, but why do we have to make that sacrifice? It is not fair. However, it seems when I become angry, it only strengthens my faith in God because I know He is the one who has kept me alive for 6 weeks. There have been days I have wanted Him to be angry or absent, but He has not failed me. When I cry out, He comforts me. When I am angry, I feel Him beside me, almost nodding as though He understands. Of course He understands. That has been the craziest part of this entire experience - the One who could have prevented this from happening is the same One I cannot live without, the same One I have bared my soul to and cling to for dear life. So I know that God is good and I still love Him. But I miss my baby. And that will never go away, no matter how many weeks, months or years go by. I may resurface with a greater amount of faith than I ever thought possible, but it will not take away the pain of simply missing Webb. Sometimes I do not know how I will live my entire life missing him so much.

A Break

2009-02-05T21:34:00.000-05:00

For those of you following my blog, you may have noticed I have not posted for a few days. I have not fallen off the deep end - thankfully - I was just taking a break. Zac, as I have said before, went on a hunting trip a couple weeks ago and found it helpful to get away. He encouraged me to do the same, and I said no. Then, one of the people we've been talking to told us how important it is to take a vacation from our grieving, which is so mentally and physically exhausting, ...so I thought about it...and I prayed about it, and the next thing I knew, I was on a plane to New Orleans to see Brigitte for three days. Brigitte is the closest thing I have to a sister. We don't have the same parents, but we definitely have the same soul. We have been finishing each others' sentences and reading each others' thoughts for the past 20 years, and I have missed her presence desperately for the past month. She did not leave my side the week after Webb died, and I don't know if I could have made it through that initial state of shock and grief without her. The past three days with her helped more than any medicine could. We laughed, we cried, we analyzed, we stared, and we talked about life, death and the randomness of it all. She kept saying she never thought we'd ever be going through something like this at our age...which, of course, are my thoughts exactly.

Taking a break from the day to day did not lessen the ache in my soul. My grief followed me like a dark cloud all the way from Atlanta. I thought about Webb as much as I always do, and I cried for him and for us as much as I do when I'm at home. However, it gave me a new perspective and also helped draw me closer to "living again." I had another glimpse of what my life with out Webb might look like. I prayed and poured my heart out to God on the plane ride there and home, which is the first time I have been completely alone in a long time. I thought about the future and what I wanted. I didn't make any drastic decisions, but it was nice to just think.

Now it's back to reality, back to the day to day, but it's also great to be back with my boys. I didn't fall apart leaving the comfort of my little world. Another hurdle accomplished.

This weekend

2009-02-01T16:25:00.000-05:00

This weekend was a major step in the healing process for us. Two of my very best friends are going through an exciting time in life: one is getting married and one is having her first child. Yesterday, January 31, was the day our group of friends picked to host 2 showers, a baby shower in the morning and a wedding shower at night. We picked the date in October. Since December 26, I have been fearing January 31. It was the first time I would have to make a decision about whether or not I was ready to leave the house, dress up and socialize. Of course I wanted to go because I love hosting showers, and I love these 2 girls more than life itself; I was just...scared. Scared I wouldn't be able to stop crying, scared of the awkward conversation, scared I wouldn't laugh and enjoy myself as much as I used to on occasions like these. For those of you who know me, you know my girlfriends are pretty amazing. For being an only child, God has certainly made up for my lack of siblings by bringing the strongest and most beautiful spirits to be my best friends. Many of those girls were part of the day yesterday, and I could feel them praying for me, watching after me, protecting me and willing me to make it through. And I did. Because of the prayers, I woke up in a great mood, dressed up and felt as though I was literally carried through the entire process. I had so much fun celebrating with the bride and mother to be. I laughed a lot, cried only a few times, and was reminded of the many blessings in my life and in the lives of the people I love. January 31 came and went, and I can mark it in the column as a good day. To me, that is a huge step. It reminded me that although my soul is aching, I can still have good days. And as incomprehensible as it is to think of life without Webb, it reminded me that life does go on, and we must go on with it.

For all of our prayer warriors who have been praying for us and are reading this, please take a minute and lift up a prayer for my boys' second mother, Jamelle. She has been with each of them since they were born and is such a special part of our family. She loves the boys like they are her own, and the past 5 weeks have been as hard on her as they have been on us. I ask especially for prayers today because she is has been ill with respiratory issues for the past week and is in the hospital right now getting tests, and hopefully, beginning the road to recovery. We miss her so very much and need her in our lives, and I think she needs us too. ;)

Thanks for praying for us and staying on this road to recovery. Lately, I have been asking God to show me a purpose for all this pain, to help me keep Webb's memory alive, and to ensure his life mattered, not just to us, but to so many people, including those who never even knew his sweet soul. Bo asked me yesterday if Webb was coming home soon, which he often does. I try to keep my answers very real for him, since I realize his 3 year old brain cannot yet process where Webb is and that we believe we will see him again. I never tell him that we will see him again because I don't think he's ready for that, and I don't want to confuse him and get his hopes up that Webb might any minute come home. I was planning on explaining how we all meet up in heaven when he could comprehend a little bit more. So I said, "No, sweetheart, Webbie isn't going to be able to come home. And that makes me very sad because I miss him so much. But we can talk about him and talk to Jesus and ask him to tell Webb we love him." And he said, "But we will see him again. We will see Webb." And I said, "We will?" And he nodded seriously and said, "Yes, when we meet Jesus, Webb will be there." Thank you, Lord for the words out of the mouth of that child. Only You could have told him that. Thank you, God for that "sign" I always ask for. When we meet Jesus, Webb will be there. The most precious words my sweet Bo has ever spoken.

heaven

2009-01-30T16:32:00.000-05:00

I have been thinking a lot about heaven. I have asked many of my friends their opinions on heaven...what does it look like? Do we instantly meet up with our loved ones? Are we walking around in our bodies? Is there an actual place we all live? I know there are glimpses into what heaven is like in the Bible, and I know there have been people who have died and come back and described it. Everyone talks about the light, the feeling of warmth... But now, more than ever, I find myself wondering exactly where Webb is. There is no one in heaven he has met. Zac and I have grandparents there, but none of them knew Webb. I know they have managed to find him if there is a way, but I often wonder....who is Webb with in heaven? Because Webb dying before us was such an unnatural progression, I never really thought about it before now. You always think about heaven as the place you'll go and see all those who have gone before you : grandparents, great grandparents, parents...you never really think about your child going before you. I know in my soul that Webb is ok, that there must be a special place for children in heaven because Jesus so loved the little children. But who is taking care of him? After all, I am his mother, and I'd like to know. I wonder if he can see us, or check in on us? I wonder if he'll "be there" when Bo graduates from high school or Whit gets married. I wonder if I'll feel him, really and truly feel him during all those moments when my heart is aching for him to be there. I hope so. It seems there is such a thin little veil separating us from the spiritual world. I always believed in heaven, but now I feel a strong sense of having to know what it is. I am his mother...it is not natural for your child to be somewhere away from you in a place you've never seen. I am his mother...I should know where he is at all times. I beg God every night to hold him close, to keep him safe. Yet I know there is no such thing as being scared in heaven. I understand he is in a place of no pain, a place where we would all like to be. That does bring me comfort, but it is not what my heart wants today. I want him here. With me, with his father, with his brothers. I want to be taking care of him still...he's just a baby! I am his mother!! I do not understand this plan. I never will. God is going to have to hear these questions out of me for the rest of my life on Earth (and probably for the first few days I am in heaven, if He'll listen). I hate being separated from my child. That is what is so hard about this entire thing. I am longing to be with Webb, but to do that I would to have to leave Bo and Whit. It is just not natural to separate a mother from her child. I used to hate to be away from them for more than a couple hours. It is unbearable to think about not being with one for 50 or more years. My faith gets me through the days and nights, and I think, what if we did not have this promise of heaven, of eternity? Well, then there would be nothing. God does promise us eternity and he does promise to never leave us. How would we survive if we didn't have those promises?

Today

2009-01-28T21:02:00.000-05:00

I am all poured out like water, and all of my bones are out of joint. My heart has turned to wax; it has melted away within me. My strength is dried up like a potsherd, and my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth; you lay me in the dust of death. - Psalm 22:14-15

I have found such comfort in the Psalms throughout this past month, and I read this verse almost every night. It reminds me how truly physical grieving is. I have experienced back ache, head ache, of course heart ache, and I have a hard time feeling anything some days. Most of the time, I feel like God ripped my heart right out of my chest when He took my baby. Why did He even give me such a precious gift if He was only going to take it away in 18 months? This pain - it is so unbelievable and unbearable, it is hard to imagine anything good will become of it.

Zac and I were ordered to go on a "date night" by Dr. Gil. We trouped off to our favorite restaurant and ate our favorite dishes. We tried to avoid talking about Webb at first, but then we started talking about how much fun we had on our beach trip with him in August and how much he loved his yellow football we got him in the gift shop. And we talked about how we loved the way he would put his arms in the air and say "Up," in such a clear, perfect voice when he wanted to be held. And we talked carefully about the hospital and our three awful days there. I find it hard to imagine there will be a time when we don't talk about Webb, and this brings me comfort because I know we'll never treat him as though he did not exist. However hard it is to talk about, no matter how much the ache in our hearts resounds at the mention of these memories, to forget him would be even more painful. So we will not.

We still have such a long, winding road ahead of us, but Bo and Whit are the glue that is keeping us together. Whit is growing up so much every day, and while he still looks just like his twin, he is starting to do things and say things and get to a stage Webb never got to. What would Webb be doing and saying today? It breaks my heart to think of this, but in the same moment I thank God we have Whit to give us a glimpse into what he would have been. I know our wounds will never fully heal, but we will get through this. We have to. And while Webb is waiting for us, I hope he inspires us to be better people and parents than we ever thought possible. That is the legacy his little soul can leave. So while I know our reward will be to spend eternity with him, I only hope when I get there he is proud of the person I became after he left us. That is what keeps me from going over the edge, that and the promise I will hold him in my arms again one day. I have a feeling when I get to heaven I won't let Webb out of my arms for a very, very long time.

Praying

2009-01-27T09:49:00.000-05:00

Yesterday marked one month since Webb' death. It was a day filled with tears and why asking and physical pain inside my body. The weight on my chest pushed harder than usual. I felt times of despair and panic. And then, last night, something sort of shifted in me and I was ok. Not great, but ok. Bo and Whit made us laugh, we all ate together and watched a movie, and for one second we could glimpse "normal." It wasn't much, and I am not sure I liked our new normal, but it was at least a sign that the pain and emptiness may one day subside.

Yesterday I read in one of my books that about a little boy who was very, very sick with cancer entered into remission. His parents made the comment that they knew he was alive because of all the prayers he had received. It was a "miracle." The prayers "worked." Well, we had people all across the United States and it seemed like everyone in Atlanta, praying for Webb when he was in the hospital. Why didn't ours work? Why didn't we didn't we get our miracle? It couldn't possibly be that the prayers for the other child were more powerful, more "compelling?" I do believe in the power of prayer, but why does God answer some and not others? That is a question I realize people have been asking for centuries. I know we still have to pray and keep praying, but at times like these it seems almost powerless to do so. God certainly could have given us our miracle if he had wanted to, but he didn't. If he couldn't have kept Webb alive, then that means He is powerless, which we know is not true. I have to believe there is a deeper reason for us not getting our miracle, possibly so Webb did not have to endure the months and pain of treatment (which I am so thankful he did not), but I am still perplexed about the power of prayer. I believe in it, but for the first time, I am confused about it. I am reminded as I read my Scripture that God allowed His own Son great suffering and death for a greater reason. He surely does not want us to suffer, especially His own Son, so there has to be more to it than him picking and choosing what prayers to answer. I pray that as I continue to read His Word, I will ask Him for understanding on that issue. That said, please continue to pray for our strength, peace and unity during what still is a devastating time for us. I have learned that although the thing we were praying most for (Webb's life) did not happen, the closeness we feel to God and each other must be due to all of the prayers.

Empty

2009-01-25T14:33:00.001-05:00

I have had a hard time thinking of what to write lately. It seems I have no words to describe this latest state I am in. Sometime during or after Webb's hospital stay, I started taking anti-anxiety pills before I went to sleep. Never during the day, just at night after the kids went to bed. I have no clue if they helped or not, I just took them because I was scared not to. Yesterday, I made up my mind not to take them anymore on a regular basis. So I have not taken one pill since Friday night. I slept about 3 hours last night and have been anxious all day, but I am going to hold out a little longer. I have no desire to become dependent on pills on top of everything else. However, I find myself feeling particularly on edge, weepy and fearful. Is it because I have anxiety that the pills no longer take away? Is it the latest in my grieving? Who knows.

Lately, I find myself aching for the future instead of the past. I wonder how I will describe Webb to Whit, who will certainly always be curious about how he would have turned out if he had known his twin brother. I am sad for all the things Webb will never do, like ride a bike, go to kindergarten or get married. And I am starting to fear losing someone else that I love. I find myself pleading with God to not let anything happen to Zac, Bo or Whit, begging Him not to put me through another heartbreak. I am still just as confused as I was a few weeks ago about why some people are spared this type of pain and others go through even more suffering than I.

I used to marvel at how blessed my life was. A wonderful husband, three precious children. I used to feel so full...and now I feel such emptiness. I try to tell myself, I still have the wonderful husband, and I still have Bo and Whit, and that does make me feel a little better, but I also know we are all forever changed. How long with this empty feeling stay in my heart? When will I be able to get through one minute without seeing all I have lost? I have often thought I will look back at this time in my life and feel something more than sadness. I hope one day I will fully appreciate the closeness I now feel to God and the intense feeling of unconditional love that has been showered on my family by everyone in our lives. But right now, I still feel emptiness more than anything else. And that is something only God can fix. I know I have to walk through this pain, but it is so hard to move with such a heavy weight on my heart.

The Same

2009-01-23T20:50:00.000-05:00

In "A Grief Observed," C.S. Lewis wrote: "No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear." He was right. It is not that I am always afraid (although I do have fears which are the subject of another day, another entry, ) I just have the sensation of fear at all times. I wake up with a nervousness in my stomach that does not go away, and my heart races until I calm myself down...my palms are sweaty and I have an extreme sense of thirst. Isn't that strange? How fear makes you thirsty? In the hospital I must have drunk a gallon of water a day. It is such a disconcerting feeling, having fear of your own feelings, which is, I guess, what that sensation I feel means. I know what it is like to be anxious, to be panicky, to be sick, all in one emotion...that is pretty scary. Maybe that's why it is such a fearful sensation that constantly resides in my soul.

Today, I am starting to come to the realization we will never be the "same." Obviously, you think to yourselves. But I don't mean that as literally as it seems. Clearly, we will always have a precious soul missing from our family, and for that reason alone, we will never be the same. I was aware of that the minute we left the hospital. No, what I am talking about is a different, deeper kind of "same." I will never be the same wife or mother after going what I've been through. I hope and pray I come out of this a better wife and mother for I know what it means to have loved and lost. I also know it is just as easy to go the other way and close myself off and resent my children and husband. But that path seems, even in my cloudy vision for the future, one I definitely want to stray from, so I am doing everything my strength will allow to make sure that does not happen. Although I feel like the same Ashley - I still love chicken burritos, a good bath and a great pair of shoes - I am not the same Ashley I was before having and losing Webb. Although I still love the same music, the same people, enjoy good company and have managed to maintain a scintilla of a sense of humor, inside, I realize I am a very changed person. I suspect I will just keep changing and evolving as God sees fit. Last night, after much prayer, which basically just said "Lord, please help me," over and over, God and I decided I would get through this tragedy and be myself, but a better person for it. I know I (we) will have to work at it, but that is what I want and that is what Zac and my children need.

I realized I have been avoiding the twins' room. Well, I go into it everyday, obviously, because it is still Whit's room, and I see the things in the room many, many times in a day. But I have been avoiding actually "seeing" the room. Today, while Zac bathed the boys and I went to get Whit's pajamas, I started absorbing just a small part of the big part that is missing from that room. I looked at Webb's monogrammed overalls he never got to wear and the ones he wore on Bo's birthday. I picked up his jacket and held it close to my face for just a second. And then, I stood over his empty crib, gripped the rails, and sobbed real "out loud" sobs for the first time in a long time. It's the crib he and Whit shared until they were 4 months old. He lay in it several hours a day for the past 18 months, and it was the place where I put him pretty much the last time I saw him conscious. That crib is hard for me. But I know it is just a physical thing, and I know when we are ready, it will be removed, but I cannot do it yet. Right now, I still need that crib next to Whit's for some reason. There are countless things I have not put up, partly because he and Whit were so intertwined, it doesn't make much sense to pack up Webb's things, because, really, they shared most of what they had. One day I will be strong enough and time will pass enough where putting up the crib and baby clothes will be a natural evolution. Whit will soon be out of this stage altogether, and all the clothes will have to be moved. I keep telling myself that is why I haven't put some things away, put the truth is, it is just too painful right now to do that. It seems too severe, too "final."

Thank you for praying for us and for letting me pour my soul out to you everyday. It may seem like such a public way to document a private journey, but it is helping. Bit by bit, word by word, it is helping.

The Last Night

2009-01-22T18:18:00.000-05:00

So the last two days have been hard. Two of the hardest yet. I think Zac being gone truly took some strength out of me, because all I have wanted to do is cry and sleep. He is back now, and I already feel a sense of balance returning. It still feels so unbelievable that Webb is gone, and it seems the further away I get from December 26, the worse it gets. I have felt God so much in the past month, in a very real way. I have always heard people talk about how the Lord speaks to them, and I always thought He spoke to me too, in the way that certain situations would pan out, or in the way I would become convinced of an outcome after I prayed about it and had an answer. But this is the first time I have actually heard God's voice in my ear, and it is truly magical. The night Webb had his surgery, which was 1 hour after we found out he had a fist-sized brain tumor, Zac and I lay in the chair together outside his room and clung to one another and I prayed, almost a constant chant, for God to give me strength and guidance. As clear as a bell in my head, He said, "Sleep." And I closed my eyes because He told me to. Granted, it was only an hour of sleep, but it was the only thing I could do at the time. And God knew what he outcome would be and had been preparing me for months, so really "sleep" was the only thing that possibly made sense at the time. I wonder why it takes such a tragedy for us to hear the Lord sometimes. Is he just more present when we are in despair, or do we not listen hard enough when things are going well? I think it might be a little of both.

One thing that has depressed me this week is how easy is seems to have 2 children. I never knew what it was like to only have 2, and I literally crave the chaos and the six feet and three little voices I heard daily. It seems so empty without Webb; it's amazing how much he filled the room. I keep remembering the night before we went to the hospital, our last night the 5 of us were together: we went to Roasters in Sandy Springs, and the boys were so good as they always are in restaurants, and a lady came up to Zac and me and told us how pleasant and well-behaved our children were and how we should be so proud of ourselves. We looked at each other in shock because we were always so busy trying to keep them quiet and occupied, we never really noticed how that was appreciated by strangers. We went home and Zac lay on the floor while all three climbed all over him - their favorite game. We had no clue Webb was as sick as the next day revealed he was. What a perfectly, ordinary night that now is etched in our brains for the rest of our lives as the "last night." All things considered, it was a pretty good last night.

I often think that God is sort of carrying us along right now, and every once in a while, He puts us down to see if we can walk alone. Sometimes we take a few steps, but most times it is just too much and He has to pick us back up again. Tomorrow it will be one month since we took Webb to the emergency room. The fact we are still alive after one month is more than I thought possible. Please continue to pray for us. We need the prayers so very, very much, maybe even more than before. We are so lucky to have so many people who are praying for us, the people we know and love the most and those of you we have never even met. I hope if our story teaches you anything, it is to live life like it's always your "last night." I know that seems cliche, but truly the small things, the money problems, the little annoyances you have with your spouse and your children, they mean nothing. If there is something you are doing or have done you want to stop or take back, now is the time. Nothing matters more than family. We are lucky that our last night with Webb was a good one where we were all together, doing something totally ordinary and spending time together. While you pray for us, I will pray for all of you that you are able to see your family and what they mean to you in the wake of our tragedy.

The Real World

2009-01-21T17:42:00.000-05:00

For the past two days, we have been dabbling in the "real world." Zac left on a short hunting trip with his family that had been planned for months. He debated going, but Zac is better when he's got something to do, so away he went. Yesterday, I met one of my favorite people for lunch at my favorite Mexican restaurant, which felt great, even though I barely tasted what used to be my favorite food. Last night, my best friends from college took me to dinner at an actual restaurant. At times, I felt completely tuned out, but they did a good job of supplying pleasant, hilarious and real company, as usual. I am so blessed to have these girls. This morning, I woke up and took Bo to his first day back at school. For the first time, I had on work out clothes like the other moms who drop their kids off, and I wasn't balancing my Blackberry in one hand and cell phone in the other. But I did have a knot in my stomach and tears in my eyes as my precious first born left my warm little nest and went into the cold world. He did great for those three hours. I did okay. After we got home from picking him up, I looked at Jamelle and said, "I'm tired," and went to sleep for the next 5 hours. Perhaps I am not ready for the real world. For the first time in my life, my mental strength is exhausted and I have a hard time remembering who I have talked to, what notes I have written and what I have done each day. I cannot sleep at night with Zac gone, so today I am particularly "out of it." My children are the only reason I got out of bed at all. While I enjoy hearing what everyone is doing, I am having a difficult time focusing on the outside world and even imagining being a part of it again. I know it is going to take small steps, and I know I will take all the steps I can until I am "living" again. I keep thinking, the first time I crave a meal or have a desire to go shopping, I will know I am getting back to myself. So far, neither food nor clothes appeal to me, so those of you who know me, know it must be bad. :) I want to be a part of the real world, but I can't yet figure out how there is a world without Webb. So, as today ends, I will take my bath, say my prayers, put my children to bed and, from the outside, appear to be normal. But inside, I am anything but, and it hurts. It's a very real, persistent pain and all those things I am doing are called "going through the motions." But I suppose going through the motions will one day turn into living again in the real world. And it makes me sad that I must develop a life that works without Webb, but I know I don't have to do it all today. Today I am still the mom that lost her child. But one day I pray I will not be known as that...one day I hope to be known simply as a woman who is a good mother that has gone through many struggles but come out on top. One day I hope the hospital and the funeral are painful memories I can barely conjure up instead of the movie that plays in the background of my mind all day long. My fear is that the farther away I get from the painful memories, the farther away I get from the pleasant memories I have of Webb. And then the words Dr. Gil has told me a million times since this happen ring in my ears "You choose what you remember, and you choose what you forget." I cannot wait until I can choose to push those painful memories aside. And for all of you in the real world, I cannot wait to be healthy enough to join you again.

Scanning

2009-01-19T17:21:00.000-05:00

I have always been fascinated with psychics, dreams and spirits. Not in a sacrilegious way, just in a curious way...especially because I have always felt like I have a "sixth sense." I can often sense when my loved ones are going through something, and sometimes my dreams are outright eerie the way they come true. So I do believe that certain people have the gift of reading psyches, which is why, in August I stumbled into a psychic's office while Zac and I were vacationing in Aspen. I gave her my watch to hold, and after a moment, she looked at me and told me, in a nutshell, I was very sad, inconsolably sad, and I would be taking a leave of absence from work. She also told me I loved my children passionately and said, "you have 2 children, right?" I told her, "No, I have 3," and she looked at me quizzically, almost unbelieving and replied, "Hmmmm." I left thinking she was crazy and extremely inaccurate. I wasn't sad at all. I had 3 children, not 2. I loved my job...why in the world would I take a leave of absence?? Four months later, everything she said is now true.

Zac and I saw Dr. M today, who is a very smart, religious psychologist and a person we have visited with before, and I told him about my experience with the psychic. He smiled a knowing smile and said I must be very in touch with my "Self," because that psychic was not just able to see my future, but she saw through to my inner psyche, which was preparing me for what was to come. To him, that also explains why I had a strange, obsessive fear of losing a child and became almost panicky the last few months before Webb's death when I was away from my children. I asked him who he thought prepared our inner selves for these fateful moments, and he said it is certainly God, but some people just have a better sense of His preparations. What a bizarre concept. I am not saying I entirely believe that theory, but it something to think about...needless to say, I won't be visiting any psychics again anytime soon just in case.

Today, after talking with Dr. M and spending the rest of the day with Bo and Whit, I am feeling rather exhausted. Grief is a taxing emotion. Like I told Dr. M, I feel like my mind is like the scanner on the radio, and I never know on which feeling it will stop. One hour, I am deeply sad, the next, angry as hell, the next calm and hopeful. Today has been a day of constant scanning.

I reread my devotional for December 28, the day of Webb's funeral, because, like my dreams, my devotional entries are eerily on point most of the time. That entry was no exception. It talked about the 23rd Psalm and David learning that no matter how dark the way is, the Lord is there to guide us. It is far better to walk through the valley with God than stand on the mountaintop alone. He doesn't always light the path ahead, but promises to be there in the darkness. It also had this line, which I find very poignant at this time: " You get to know the Lord by going through storms with Him." So maybe the purpose of all of this is to know God better. Maybe after hitting rock bottom and turning our souls inside out, we will know God better than we ever have before, better than we could have ever imagined. While that certainly does not make Webb's death any easier to swallow, it is a thought that brings me peace. I want to know everything about the Lord who will be watching over my red haired boy until I see him again. And I can't think of any relationship more important or worth strengthening than the one we have with God. So while my mind scans to that thought, I am again calm and hopeful.

Walking through the Valley....

2009-01-18T19:29:00.000-05:00

I have always believed in God. I remember being a small child, just as analytical as I am today, and never questioning that there was a God or Christ. In fact, I would become very confused when I found out about other religions because nothing else made sense. Today, I wonder why I question literally everything and analyze things to no end, yet I have never questioned something as major as my faith. Even in the dark days that have made up my weeks since my precious Webb died, I have been ANGRY with God, but I have not questioned that there is a heaven and that my baby is with Jesus Christ. Finally, after much thought, and talking with a dear friend who has also untimely lost a loved one, I came to a conclusion: I don't want to believe in God and Jesus and Heaven....I have to. I have to believe that angels came and took Webb to a better place, a place of no pain and no sorrow. I have to believe that God has him right this minute, because if I can't have him, there is no one else I would trust to have him. And I have to believe that we will see him again, because if I don't believe in that, I have very little reason to keep going.

Zac and I were talking today and we realized we have (if we're lucky), about 50 more years to live. I cannot imagine 50 more days without Webb, let alone 50 more years. I suspect the next 50 years will bring some great days, but there will always be a huge hole in our hearts. It frustrates me that we had to lose one of the most important things to us so young. It panics me to think of losing another child. While we have always talked about having 4 or 5 children, I cannot imagine taking our chances after knowing what it is like to lose something you love more than yourself. It is unimaginable to think we can actually lose one of these little gifts from God that we hold closer to our hearts than anything else....and yet we have. Here we sit, grieving and in total agony because our baby is not with us.

I remember sitting in church, probably at the age of about 10, and the preacher was talking about the 23rd Psalm. Something he said stuck for some reason, and it has resonated these past few days. He explained that while we must walk through the valley of the shadow of death, God never said we should dwell in it. I oftentimes think God had me in all these places and situations like that day in church 20 years ago just to prepare me for this horrible time, because those words from that preacher spoken 20 years ago bring me comfort today. So while I am walking through the valley, I want to thank all of those who are walking (literally and figuratively) right along with me. God also knew what he was doing when he gave me to my parents, to Zac and to Zac's family, and to all of my priceless, wonderful friends. You didn't know you'd being walking this walk with me, but thanks for jumping on the path. And thanks in advance for not letting me dwell in valley of the shadow of Webb's death. He would want more out of his mommy, and Bo and Whit deserve the best I can be.

Missing Webb

2009-01-17T14:38:00.000-05:00

I woke up today and my soul felt sick. I miss my baby. Although I have to remind myself of Webb's death every morning, I don't always wake with such a sense of dread. Today I did. I miss his dimple and the way the top of his hair curled in crazy directions. I miss the way he would curl up on my chest and stay there because he knew I loved to cuddle. I miss his laugh and the way he'd lift his arms in the air and say, "Up," when he wanted to sit with me. Today when I look at Bo and Whit I see the one that's missing. I think about all the days ahead, how they will never know Webb and may not even remember him, and I am very, very sad. I went through about 100 pictures today, starting from the twins' birth, up until a couple weeks before Webb died, just to remind myself of those happy days when I had all three of my sons. I have heard the expression, "Hanging by a thread," and often that is how I feel. I find myself obsessing and concentrating on something, anything, but the awful truth...Webb is not coming home. When I go get Whit up from his nap in a couple hours, Webb's crib will still be empty. It's almost harder to process now than it was at first...this harsh reality that is now my life. I watch as everyone else's lives go on and we remain stuck, and I wonder, will it always feel like this? "No," everyone says, "Time will ease your pain. You will feel better soon." I have to believe that is true, but I never thought I would literally need to heal my soul, the deepest part of my heart. Only God can do it, that much I know. I am clinging to Him right now, asking him to hold my baby close, asking Him to help ease this physical, resounding pain inside my body. I would give anything to see Webb's blue eyes again. In the hospital, I would open them and memorize the color, even though I probably didn't have to because they are identical to Whit's. But I did. Did he hear our last words to him? Can he see us now? I have so many questions that will never be answered. This is not fair, I keep thinking. No one loses their baby....except they do. Many people feel just as I am feeling, and somehow they are still going on, so there must be a way to do it. I am so thankful for the people in my life I am close to. I feel overwhelmed with love as each friend calls, send a card, texts or emails to check on me. Those people are keeping my head above water right now, and I don't know what I would do if they were not there. I think many people (including myself before I was in the situation) are afraid of saying the "Wrong" thing or think giving us our space is what we need. Thank goodness for those of you who have not done that, because I would be lost without you. I may not answer or respond, but I have felt your love in each of your sweet messages. Zac and I want to again thank everyone for prayers...we need them now just as much as we did 22 days ago. I can't believe it's almost been a month....

Home Again

2009-01-15T21:55:00.000-05:00

Well, we made it home, and I certainly felt all of your prayers as we did it. Bo walked in the door and immediately went to "work." This is what he does constantly. He grabs his tool box and usually his fire hat and sets off hammering things or "fixing" things. The child's work ethic rivals my daddy's. He does it for HOURS. Tonight he told me "I'm going to work. And Whittie can come with me and Webbie....." he paused and literally got the saddest look on his face..."Webbie can't come, can he?" "No sweetheart," I answered, tears running down my face. Why does this three year old have to deal with this? Why will Whit never know his twin brother? Why did this happen to us?? In the past three weeks, I've done a lot of "Why asking." I can't understand how there are people who abuse their children or don't want them and yet have them until they die. I don't know why there are people who are not nice, who lie, cheat and steal, and yet get the privilege of having healthy children who outlive them. Zac and I aren't perfect but we LOVE our kids, we love each other, we are GOOD people...why us?? I suppose we may never know the answers to those rhetorical sounding questions. But in one of the books I am reading about grief, I found three small nuggets of peace for all my why asking:

1. Jesus does not promise if we lead a good life only good things will happen

2. God does not pick favorites and allow life to "work out" for those people

3. God is not evil and did not take Webb to hurt us. He knows what it is like to lose a son; therefore, he knows EXACTLY how we feel and grieves WITH us.

Whoa. That's a lot to absorb in one night, but what wonderful, practical thoughts. That does not mean I will quit my why asking. It also doesn't mean I won't still question why Webb had to die and why this tragedy befell on MY family and be angry for it. But it's certainly a start in the right direction. And right now, that's all we can ask for.

Starting Over

2009-01-14T13:03:00.000-05:00

For the past week, we have been in Vail, Colorado starting the dreaded, necessary healing process. There have been good days and bad days since we've been here. On one hand, it is amazing to be able to stop our lives and come to such a beautiful place to reflect. On the other hand, without the daily distractions, my mind is filled with images of the past, the 3 endless days we spent in the hospital, the voices of the doctors and the horrific end result of walking out of Scottish Rite without our baby. I have shed tears and been almost physically ill from the pain of these memories. Whit , who is so full of life, will make an expression or laugh just like Webb, and we are in tears again. Bo keeps asking when Webb is coming home, and we endlessly try to explain to him that he is not, and we he says he doesn't understand, I have to admit I usually tell him I don't understand either. Tomorrow we are headed back to Atlanta, which will be hard to be surrounded by Webb's things again, the empty crib, his favorite toys, his shoes that I just cannot keep staring at. I am a big believer in "signs," and since Webb's death I have asked God for something, anything to assure me he has my baby and we will see him again. I was on the couch, bawling and asking God for this on Monday night, staring blankly at the TV, when all of the sudden the credits to some show started rolling and the first name was "Matthew Webb." Ok, God, not much, but it's a start! That night as I slept very soundly, I could almost feel his presence and woke with a smile for the first time in 19 days.