Happy Birthday, Baby...

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.....

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...

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....

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

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....

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....

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.....