Scattered thoughts from a broken heart....

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...

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....

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

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

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

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

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.