Perfection

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....

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....

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...

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...

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

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....

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.