My hands are small I know....

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....

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....

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.