A baby named Nathan

    The last few days I haven't been feeling very joyful.  This is usually my favorite time of year, and I'm finding it difficult to come around this year.  Christmas is approaching like a bullet train, and I feel like I might just step out onto the tracks and see if it takes me to some place far less depressing.  I thought I was trucking along just fine.  I managed to get  my tree up and throw a few decorations around the house, mostly for my children.  I didn't do a Christmas card this year, just didn't know what to write really.  "Merry christmas from our family to yours,  hope you had a better year than us." Not exactly joyous.  I find myself stuck in longer lines at the checkout anywhere I go, which is usually behind a mom with a newborn.  As much as I want to look over and drool all over their baby, I fear I may turn into a sobbing mess and ramble on about how unfair it is that my baby isn't here and all I have is a box that sits in the back of my closet.

    Every time I have been asked what I want for Christmas I draw a blank.  Everything I was going to ask for this year was going to be for the baby.  The only thing I want for Christmas is him.  I know that is one gift santa can't deliver.  Christmas morning will be hard as I watch my children open their presents, I will likely be thinking about the one that isn't here.  I feel awful about that.  I am so thankful for the blessings that I have in my children.  I just can't help but feel like a part of them, of me is missing.

    I have been avoiding my mailbox like the plague, I knew it would be inundated with Christmas cards, some from families with new babies, everyone looking so happy.  I wasn't ready for that.  I decided that I may want to check my mail incase there are any checks in there.  Although more likely that there would be bills I needed to pay.  So grudgingly I opened it, and as I anticipated, packed to the brim were beautiful gold foil laced envelopes adorned with holiday address labels.  Each one made out with such love.  I grabbed a circular flyer and shoved the cards in between two of the pages and threw them in my purse.  Then I grabbed a large yellow package out that was addressed to me.  Not quite sure what was inside I hesitated to open it.  I placed it on the counter, put away a few things and then came back to it.  I began to open the package and about two seconds later realized what it was.  My heart smiled.  I had forgotten all about it.  Tucked inside the package was a beautiful ornament that Kelly from sufficient grace had sent.  It was perfect, and beautiful and lifted my spirits.  I wish I was placing a gift under the tree for my baby boy, rather than an ornament on the tree to remember him by.  I can't help but feel like this is the first of many years that Christmas will be different for me.  I will need to find new ways to be joyful during this season.  Remembering the real meaning of Christmas, and that my son is spending his first Christmas with Him.

As for the ornament, It found it's home on my tree.............

I can still remember the expression on her face. I could see the reflection of the screen in her eyes as she went from concerned to scared.  I could hear her voice crack as she told me the words that would change me for the rest of my life.  I remember the feeling of complete helplessness.  And then....

He's gone.

I looked over my shoulder to see.  He wasn't moving.  No heartbeat.  My body started to shake uncontrollably and the tears fell with no effort at all.  It was all I could do to keep myself from screaming hysterically. I walked through the office in a daze, waiting, waiting for a different answer.  Waiting for the same answer.  He confirms.  This time I don't look.  A quiet moan escapes with my breath.  I could hear my tears hitting the paper as I lay on the table...

He's gone.

I can still smell the bleach from the linens on the hospital bed, and the faint sound of a baby's heartbeat in another room through the thin walls.  I looked at him and his face was sullen.  An expression I had never seen him make.  I ached.  He held my hand and I wanted to give him something in return.  I can't.

He's gone.


I can hear them whispering outside my door.  One by one they came, calloused by a loss they have seen many times before. And then there was one, she pulled her glasses down from her eyes and looked into mine. " I lost one too, he was four."  She understood.  The hurt doesn't leave.  "Can I pray for you?"  I nodded, she prayed.  Peace came, but for a moment.

He's gone.


"Can I go home?" More tests, more blood, more paperwork.  "Now?" They agreed, we left.  I wanted so much for this to be a dream.  I wanted to wake up and everything still be as it was before the diagnoses. I could still feel him moving, but it was just my body.  My body already trying to reject him, my baby.  I kept rubbing my belly to comfort him, then stopped.

He's gone.


No sleep.  I felt weak and scared.  I felt hopeless and responsible.  I didn't protect him, I couldn't protect him.  If I had known I would have reached into my womb and untangled him.  That kick I felt just days before, was that a struggle.  Did he suffer?  Did he?  I collapsed to the floor overcome with grief.  "It's time to go" he calls for me.  I don't want to go. I don't want to let go.  God, why? GOD? Nothing.  Nothing but my own thoughts.  Where are you? God, please.  PLEASE....


HE's gone.


Gown, I.V, more paperwork.  No monitor.  No pink and blue strapped monitor.  Nothing to monitor.


He's gone


Labor, thirty-one hours.  Not long enough.  I'm not ready.  I can't let go yet.  He's out, and there is no cry but my own.  I look at him and his face looks sullen.  He won't look at anything but me.  Tears escape his eyes as he tries to be strong for me.  They return and hand him the baby.  He brings him to me.  I look and I am overcome with love.  My son, I am in love.  I never got to say hello, and now I say goodbye. Too small, too soon, too late, now complete.  He's complete and I'm broken.  I wanted to go with him, for a brief moment.  A part of me did.


He's gone


Empty arms returning home.  Emptiness is all i felt.  God . I need You more now then ever before.   Are You there? I was filled with despair and rage.  I wanted to throw something and hear it shatter.  I wanted to hear the sound of my heartbreaking.  Then exhaustion.  I finally hit a wall and slept. Days of sleeping, I could dream of him, he was safe with me.  Then I wake..

He's gone

Weeks pass and the pain weakens and then intensifies.  I feel like I'm going out of my mind, no control, none.  Numb, sadness, despair, anger, rage,  hopeless, depressed and repeat.  Long pauses between prayers, not sure what to say.  What I asked for He didn't give me, so what do I ask for now?  Peace.


He's gone


Then one by one they come into my life.  One by one He sends me what I need.  I haven't let go of him yet.  I need to let go of him and let God do the rest.  I keep holding onto the thought of him coming back to me.  I keep thinking I will wake up and it will all have been a dream.  The longest most intense, painful dream of my life.  But alas, I'm awake and it's not a dream.  I'm letting go now, but not of his memory.  I'm letting go now.  I love you my dear sweet Nathan.  You grew within my womb and I felt you there.  You don't live outside my womb for I met you there.  You went home with Jesus and you live there.  Forever in my heart, you'll be there.



He's Home

In this new world I walk alone while I walk alongside you.  I speak and you hear me, but you don't understand.  It is a language spoken by those who have traveled to this world where your life is never the same.  Friends  have become strangers, and strangers have become my friends.  In this world you don't tell stories, you have one.  You live your story, and we read the chapters.  Words are not words, they are someone's soul written out loud.  There are too many of us in this world.  I pray you never have to come here.  It is a place where tragedies unfold, where hearts are broken, where hope is fleeting, where faith is fading.   In this world the seasons are long, and full of grief.  There are no patterns to the seasons, they come and go with no warning.   Winter is harsh,  it is the season in which you are numb, unable to move through the thick plows of emotion.  Fall is not beautiful, but painful.  It is the shedding of emotions, leaving you bare, fragile, weakened.  Spring is short but brings with it the birth of new hope, and for some new life.

There are many that have been here for a long time, some that have just arrived, and sadly many more that will be coming.  You never leave this place once you've arrived.  You adapt to it, or so I'm learning.  We are a group that no one wants to join, but once you have,  you can't imagine going on without them.   There is compassion here, an unspoken acceptance.

While you count birthdays, we count anniversaries.  While you are teaching your children all about life, we are teaching ours about death. While you are visiting gardens, we are visiting graves.  Holidays are especially hard here.  There are presents under the tree for yours, and we hang an ornament to remember ours.  You light a candle for each year they've grown, we light a candle every year they have been gone.

This world is not where I wanted to live, but it's where I belong now.  I will grow here, I will learn here, and I will heal here.  In this place my faith can be restored, with hope for a better tomorrow.  In this world I am a mother to an angel.

        Every year it comes and every year I eat.  I am always thankful for turkey, green beans, rolls made from scratch, pie and of course sweet potatoes!  What Thanksgiving dinner is complete without sweet potatoes.  We have always enjoyed spending the holidays with our family and this year was no exception.  I have never really thought too much about what I'm thankful for I guess because I've always just been, well, thankful.

           I remember one particular Thanksgiving when I was younger, as we were all forming a line to get our food, the familiar aroma of burnt marsh mellows filled the air.  Every year my aunt would make sweet potatoes and every year she would burn the marsh mellows. This was my favorite food on Thanksgiving and I didn't like burnt marsh mellows.  After a while I thought maybe it was intentional because it was always without fail.   Everyone would joke and laugh about how she never misses a year.  I thought maybe someone else should make them and maybe they wouldn't burn.

       The first Thanksgiving after she passed away we all got in line to get our food as we had done every year since I could remember.  I scanned the table to see what I was going to fill my plate with,  and there it was, a dish of sweet potatoes with perfectly browned marsh mellows.  For the first time I had wished there were burnt marsh mellows on the table.  I never had thought about how thankful I truly was for burnt marsh mellows until she was gone.

      It has now been four years since she has passed and every year at this time I look forward to sweet potatoes, hoping for just one burnt marsh mellow.  Not because my taste for them has changed, but to hold onto the memory when times were simple and being thankful came easily.  I didn't know what this holiday was really about until I became much older. For me it was always a time to get together with family and eat all of my favorite foods.  It was an excuse to be out of school, off of work, and no need to cook or do dishes.  It may still be all of those things, but it is so much more than that.

         This Thanksgiving I have had to learn how to be thankful for things in my life that I never thought I could be.  For the time I got to have with an aunt  I can't spend Thanksgiving with any longer.  For a son I'll never know while here on earth but got to know within my womb.  I am learning to be thankful for the days, for the moments that you may think wont matter.  When my little girl curls up in my lap and tells me I'm her best friend.  When my little boy does something that makes him laugh from his gut that I can't help but laugh with him.  When my husband comes home after a long day at work and kisses me on the forehead and tells me that he missed me.  When my mother calls me and we laugh about things I did when I was a little girl.  These are the moments that make up our lives.  These are the memories that we take with us through the years when being thankful is not so easy.  This year I am thankful for so much more than I ever thought I could be.  I am thankful for the memories no matter how simple they may be.

     This is something that I have always known, but only in recent weeks have come to find how much so.  It is the awkward pause before someone asks you how you're doing, as if they aren't sure they want to know the answer but feel obligated to ask.  To which the answer is always "hanging in there" it's safe and self explanatory. Or the avoidance of it all together and jumping right into something so off subject that to make a segue back to you would just be awkward and uncomfortable for everyone.  I wonder how many times I have done this to someone.  I think about it for a second and I digress, my baby is gone, then back to conversation on how it is still 90 degrees in the middle of November, as if I even know what month it is.  I haven't really left October 15th. I'm still waiting to wake up from this really long nightmare.  My life feels very much in limbo, some days are good and others not so much.  I think some people look at me as though I should have moved on by now, others don't know how I can have a good day, and some just get it.  You know because grieving comes with a manual and there is a set of guidelines on how long you should be in each stage.

     I will never forget walking into my doctors office two weeks after having Nathan and as the doctor is checking to make sure everything was still in place, he casually says, "I'm going to put you on an anti depressant."  

                While leaving the doctor I wondered if this was his way to deal with all the awkwardness of being the one who had to tell me my baby was gone.  I mean if this is what I'm supposed to be feeling then I guess he would know.  I am not against taking something I need, I would take an antibiotic for an infection. I suppose this is no different.

     So I thought about all of the possible outcomes of taking an anti depressant not to mention all of the side effects; anxiety, panic attacks, trouble sleeping , or if you feel impulsive, irritable, agitated, hostile, aggressive, restless, hyperactive (mentally or physically), more depressed, or have thoughts about suicide or hurting yourself. I may be better off without, thanks.

     I opted against, for reasons stated above, and for fear I may make myself crazy or become neurotic if I don't have any of these side effects, or worse, if I don't feel any better at all.  I didn't think I was having a chemical imbalance problem as much as I had felt like my son just died and I'm not sure what to do with that problem.  I have been on anti depressants before, but this time the depression is different.  The hopelessness ebbs and flow's.  Often times the peace I need comes from God and that's enough for me.

        Life can be so unforgiving

         Our first real night out was last week.  My husband and I went to a dinner for one of his work events and I knew this was going to be interesting for sure since I hadn't seen many of these people since this time last year, and of course most knew what happened.  Our friends were understanding, genuine, and considerate of how we were dealing with it all and didn't treat us any differently which I was certainly thankful for.  I expected to be looked at like the leper in the room, you know people whispering to the ones who didn't know me, that I was the one who lost my baby.  People smile politely, some hung there heads, and some looked sad.  I often don't know how to react so I smile in return and thank them for their concern.  I think I do this so I don't make people uncomfortable with how I really may be feeling.

      I was sitting next to my friend who had just had her baby and people were gathering around, which was fine I might add.  Ironically enough being around other babies is not as hard as I thought it would be, although that could change from time to time.  I held the baby while they went up to get their food and I felt people staring at me, I'm not sure if they expected me to drop the baby and run out of the room or go into a complete manic episode screaming at the waiter for why my glass of water was still empty and why is my baby gone. Which would have been really awkward for the waiter since I was holding a baby. crazy.

      Dinner was pretty uneventful and I was glad that we got out of there without having to relive the whole sad story.  Not that I mind telling people about Nathan, but sometimes I just want to have a "normal" evening.  I'm not sure I know what "normal" is anymore but I would like to have some.  The next morning while waiting for coffee I thought about the night before and how people perceive me.  Do they think I should look or act a certain way.  I feel like sometimes I don't meet the expectations of a grieving mother. I think for some people there is a mutual understanding of grief and for others they just don't understand.

     Going home is always of comfort to me, it is a place where I get to be with my family and if I feel the need to fall apart it won't be awkward for anyone.  Sometimes I feel like I need to hold it together for the sake of other people and sometimes I think other people hold it together for the sake of me. Life is funny that way.  We can be so inconsiderate of people when we are out in the world, and sometimes we are considerate without even thinking about it.  Sometimes we do it for the benefit of others and sometimes for ourselves.

       I often think about people when I'm out.  When I check out at the grocery store and I ask them how they are doing, do they want to break down and cry because something is really hurting them or do they just say "hanging in there" to avoid any probing that might make things awkward.  The woman walking down the street with a child in each hand, should there be one more in a stroller.  I sometimes look at people and wonder what their story is.  Everyone has one, some are tragic, others are miraculous, some have "ordinary" lives (not really sure what that would be like) and others have extraordinary lives.  Most of us have had that awkward moment where no one knows what to say.  You come across people everyday and don't know what their story is and yet they may know exactly what you're going through.  Life is funny and people are awkward.  I can't imagine it any other way.

         One month has passed since my precious Nathan was born into heaven. I at times still feel like I walk around shrouded in a veil of grief, longing so much to hold a tiny babe.

       Well,  that day has come as I have returned to work.  Being a photographer of mommies-to-be and their tiny miracles is probably one of the most rewarding jobs.  I watch as they grow from being nestled in the womb, to their birth (as I am often also in the delivery room with some of my clients) capturing that first breath. I love the freshness of a newborn baby, their skin, their smell, their tiny hands and feet, rosebud lips and button noses, and how they curl up so perfectly.

       As you can imagine, from the moment I knew I was expecting I began to dream up all the things I would capture of my tiny miracle.  As each month drew near I anticipated what my baby would look like, how soft their skin would feel against mine, and the smell of baby's breath as if taken straight from heaven.  Oh how I longed to hold my baby. But that day came too soon.


      It was one month to the day that I had my first session with a 7 pound, perfectly pink, sleepy, sweet baby girl.  I held her in my arms a moment, and thought about what this day would bring.  Mom was so sweet as she watched me hold her new breath of life with longing for the one I had lost and I could feel that she understood.  I began the session taking deep breaths in between each shot.

     It seemed to flow seamlessly and before I knew it, it was over.  Mom and baby packed up and were on their way.  I felt a strange calm wash over me the entire afternoon.  I had decided to jump on my post processing right away since I wasn't sure what the next day would bring (emotionally).  As I worked through each image I studied the curves of her face, the soft pink of her cheeks, and the lines of her lips.  I considered what each frame would mean to the parents since babies change so much in the first few weeks following birth.  I wanted each expression to be captured for the parents to look back at.  Babies have personalities from the moment they are born, and this little one was no exception.


     I thought that it would be months before I would be able to return to what I love.  I was certain that once I did return I wouldn't be the same and my work wouldn't either.  I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to capture life's most amazing gift.  I am changed.  My work has changed.  I can still capture these precious subjects.

          Not a day goes by that I don't think of my baby boy, I captured him in my heart and in my mind.  I studied the curve of his face, his perfect rosebud lips, his tiny hands and feet, and the only expression he had...... which was peaceful.


And for those who are curious about the little one from my session..........

           When I was a little,  I remember thinking that there was nothing in this world that could hurt me.    There were no cares, only smiles and the occasional scraped knee.  I went to my mom for comfort when I was sad or scared and she made it better.

           When I became a teenager I rebelled, as most teenagers do.  The world had become a much more hurtful place, and it wasn't as easy to go to my mom when I was sad or scared.   I wanted to fit in so badly that I tried on each social group until I found the one that fit.  Unfortunately for me it meant squeezing myself into groups that were not only the wrong fit but not who I was.  I felt like the "christians" were to big for me to try on for size.  The ones that met out front in the courtyard to pray every morning.  I was intrigued by there seemingly happy demeanors, and slight maturity they seemed to have over the rest of us. None the less, I didn't feel like I could ever fit in with them.

           Being a teenager was a very confusing time in my life.  I didn't know much about God and I wasn't quite sure I knew what to believe then either.  I had a friend who lived in my neighborhood that went to a youth group on Wednesday nights, and she had invited me along to join her.

         When I arrived I felt instantly accepted.  How is this possible?  I had to pretend to be something I wasn't to fit in anywhere else.  These people didn't know one thing about me and they welcomed me with open arms.  This day would shape my life in a way that I wouldn't come to realize till much later.

        I attended the youth group for a few months and slowly I stopped going.  That "new christian" feeling started to fade and the old familiar groups became a lot more interesting to me. It would take me another seven years before I would welcome that feeling again.

        Sitting in a hospital room waiting for the doctor to come back with news that would change my life forever.  "you're leaking water, your baby is just too young to survive, we can induce your labor today."
I stared at the ceiling my mother clenching my hand.  I looked to her but knew she couldn't make this better.  For the first time I felt the sharp stab of life pierce my heart.  Something in this world had hurt me and I would never be the same.  I was told that I had the option to go home but that my labor would surely start on it's own.  I decided that home was a better option for me, so home I went.

        Laying in the dark I thought about how long it would be.  How would I survive this horrible loss.  I began grieving my daughter while I felt her kicking me.  I thought about all the things I had planned for her life and started filing them away accepting her fate was out of my hands.  Her fate was out of my hands, but maybe not out of God's hands.

       I started my prayer with something along the lines of " I know it's been a while, but...." Then I stopped.  What's the point?   It's not like He is going to reach down and stop this from happening.  I tossed and turned until I was woken up with an overwhelming feeling that I needed to pray, and I needed to pray hard.  So I did.  I think I prayed until I feel asleep.

       A week had passed and nothing had happened.  Another week passed, and then another.  A momentous occasion, I had reached 24 weeks.  I thanked the lord for that but knew there were plenty more hurdles ahead.  It was a long stay on bed rest but the day I reached 39 weeks my labor was induced and I held my miracle baby.  The baby I thought I'd never hold was looking at me. I cried tears of joy.

       Fast forward five years sitting in a hospital room and the words that would surely change the course of my life again came, " I'm sorry there's no heartbeat, your baby is gone."  This time not even God himself could change the outcome.  But I still prayed.  I prayed all night until I fell asleep.  My labor was induced and this time I held my lifeless baby.  No tears of joy only tears of sorrow.  I was angry that God hadn't fixed it this time.

      I had spent much of my "christian" life trying to stay out of God's way.  If I kept on the straight and narrow He wouldn't notice me.  Surely there are too many people in this world for Him to think about what I'm doing.  I prayed when I needed something, or just to check in.  Instilled the values into my children but never treated it as a relationship.  God was more of an after thought. I know that sounds horrible, but I hadn't thought about putting Him first.  I hadn't thought about the relationship.

       The days and weeks following Nathans birth I found myself talking to God a lot more.  Sometimes yelling more than talking.  I wasn't asking for things this time, just talking.  I could feel Him comfort me, and see that He was listening to me. I could hear Him telling me it was okay.  It was okay to be sad.  It was okay to be angry.  Then I heard Him say, it is not your fault, you are not being punished.  A burden that I was quietly carrying He heard loud and clear.  It's not your fault.  The pressure I felt in my chest began to lift and I could breathe a little easier. 


       It's not my fault


         I repeated it over and over.  There was nothing I could have done to change what happened to Nathan.  I didn't cause it and I couldn't fix it.

        God was with me the whole time even when I wasn't with Him.  He never left my side even though I left His.  I was His priority even when He wasn't mine.  All He wants is a relationship with me.  When I am hurting He wants me to give it to Him.  When I am joyful He wants me to share that with Him.  When I am angry He wants me to tell Him.

       He just wants me to think of him first and not as an after thought.

          


            I could tell you that I don't think to much about why this happened to me.  I could tell you that my faith surpasses all understanding.  I could tell you that I looked up at the sky and thanked God for sparing my son the pain of this world.  I could tell you that I have full trust in the Lord that it was all for a reason.  I could tell you that I know I will see my son again someday.  I could tell you that I believe everything happens for a reason.  I could tell you that I believe all of these things to be true, but I don't. At least no quite so simply put, not as neat as that.  Not as simple as it sounds.

              I woke to the sound of a baby crying.  I looked around trying to focus my eyes and wake myself enough to get out of bed.  I put one foot over the side of the bed and stopped.  My mind finally caught up with my body, it was a dream.  There was no baby crying, it was a dream.  My reality was more of a nightmare.

             I remember the first few months after bringing home my other children from the hospital.  I was sleep deprived as most mothers are, but there was something magical about being the only two awake bonding over mid-night feedings.  I would watch them until they fell asleep and move them to the bassinet just staring at my tiny miracles.  God had blessed me with two beautiful children.  And then a third, my precious Nathan.  He was an unexpected surprise, but we were excited none the less.  I called my husband at work and told him the news.  We progressed through the first few weeks thinking of things like bigger cars and a bigger house, college tuition for another child.  Then onto the more relevant things like cribs, car seats, strollers, and diapers.  We relished in the thoughts of what our baby would be like.  Would we have another boy or another girl?  Who would they look like?  What would their personality be like?  Would they love God the way we do?  Would they trust His plan for their life?

           This pregnancy was much different from the other ones.  I know all pregnancies are different but it was as though I knew something deep down in my soul that would take many months to discover. The first kick was the most cherished memory I had of him, that was until the last kick I would ever feel came.  The pregnancy seemed to fly by, I was half way through when I had a routine appointment and they told me everything was fine.  I heard his heartbeat, saw him on the ultrasound and my heart smiled.  My beautiful baby was growing so fast and soon he'll be in my arms.  What little did I know is that would be the last time I would see my baby boy alive.  The next couple days I felt his movements decrease, then on Monday I knew something was wrong.  I went to the doctor the following day and heard the words that still clutch my heart and steal my breath.  There were no words.  He was gone.  All of my dreams for him died in that moment.  I could feel the anger surge through my veins and my faith slowly escaping with each breath I exhaled.  I had felt alone and abandoned.  Did God turn His back on me?

             It was midnight and I was lying in bed by myself.  My husband had fallen asleep on the couch and I chose not to wake him.  I wanted to be alone.  Sometimes I hide in my angry place. A place were I get comfort from my sadness and anger.  A place that keeps God at a distance.  A place were hope can't get in.  I am angry in this place, but only for a while.  I yell at Him I tell Him that this is unfair, I tell Him that I  don't deserve this.  I ask Him why has He forsaken me?  I scream, louder and louder "Why have You forsaken me?"  Then He grabs me.  He lets me rest in Him.  He lets me weep.  He holds me tighter than I had ever felt Him hold me.  I yell and He holds me.  Why do I deserve such love?  I am broken by sin and glued together with His mercy.  I live in a fallen world, and He catches me before I hit the ground.  I have questioned His purpose and He paints me a rainbow.  I have yelled at him for what he has taken from me.  But He continues to give me more, so much more. Nathan is His, not mine.  He was a gift.  A gift I had to return to soon.

            It is easy to struggle with faith following something so tragic.  It is easy to be angry at God.  It is easy to feel alone and abandoned.  It is hard to know that it is out of your control.  I have to trust in Him. I have to lean on Him.  I have to get through this with Him.  I don't know any other way. So.....

            I can tell you that I have faith , I don't always understand how.  I can tell you that I know He has a plan. I don't know what it is yet.  I can tell you that I am thankful my son is in the arms of Jesus, I didn't want to let him go.  I can tell you that I still don't understand the reason, but I do understand His purpose.
I can tell you He loves Nathan and He loves me and I will see them face to face.  I can tell you that when I'm in my dark place, He finds me by faith.

So go forth with unwavering faith He will catch you when you stumble, and He will find you in the dark.  There is no place to dark that you can't be found by His light.  Trust, pray, love faithfully even when it hurts, even when your angry.  He will hold you. 

           The first time you step out into the world following something so tragic you expect that the world has somehow changed. I grabbed the keys, got in my car and put the keys in the ignition. I was waiting for some sign that it was okay to go. It had only been a week and I hadn't left the house yet. I'm not sure what exactly I was waiting for but I expected it would be different. I remember feeling like somehow the world needed to know I was mourning. I wanted every person I passed to see that I was grieving but I didn't want to wear a sign that said I was.

    I arrived at the pharmacy to pick up my prescription and buy some chocolate, (my comfort food) and at the checkout counter the lady asked me how I was.  I smiled slightly and replied with "I'm fine."  No, I'm not. Can't you tell? Don't you know that I'm hurting. Why doesn't she see what I'm going through?  I grabbed my stuff and she said , "have a good day." What!!?? There are no good days anymore.  On the drive home I could feel the anger coming back to me.  I lost my child a week ago and no one knows.  I am grieving and no one knows.  How will anyone ever know that all I need is a little compassion?

      Filled with anger and confusion I returned home.  My husband still wasn't sure what to make of my abrupt exit.  He had intended on picking up my prescription because he knew I wasn't ready to leave the house.  He was on the phone when I decided that it was time for me to leave, and he called me several times to make sure I was okay, still unsure as to what came over me.  When I returned I told him I needed a break from these walls I felt like I couldn't breath.

         The first days home seemed to melt into one another, I wasn't sure what day of the week it was and quite often I couldn't tell morning from afternoon. It was Saturday when the children returned home and I felt the anxiety building as I knew they would soon be arriving. I remember seeing the car pull up and I felt myself begin to panic. What if they run up and kiss my belly; as they often did when they would see me. I could hear the words running through my head over and over. The baby was sick and the doctor couldn't make him better and Jesus took him from my belly to heaven. Now I just had to say it. They came inside and ran straight into my arms, both of them yelling my name. "Mommy, Mommy I missed you so much. Mommy guess what we did, Mommy what did you and daddy do while we were gone?" I felt my heart sink in my chest, this was the question I was fearing, the one I wasn't ready to answer. We quickly changed the subject and focused it back on them and what they had been up to for these last four days with their grandparents. They were so excited to tell us about all of the fun things they did and the presents they got. I could feel myself begin to regain my composure and I was finally able to breathe. They seemed so full of energy and I could barely keep up with all their excitement. I did my best to act as though nothing was different and it was helpful to have the grandparents there to make the transition a little smoother.

As some of the excitement dwindled we were finally able to say hello to his parents. Emotions were exchanged with hugs and few words as to not let onto anything for the kids sake.  After a brief visit they were on their way and we were left to face the kids.
     It wasn't more than five minutes after they left that the question came again, "what did you and daddy do while we were gone?" We looked at each other took a deep breath and called them to the couch. "Do you remember how we looked at the baby at the doctors?" "Yes." 
"Well the baby was very sick, and the doctor couldn't make him better. So Jesus could take better care of him than the doctor could, and the baby went straight to heaven from mommy's tummy." There I said it, now what? She looked up at me and said, "Will you get another baby in your tummy?" I could feel the tears coming but was able to fend them off for a few moments." If God wants mommy to have another baby he will put one in her tummy." I really didn't want to say anything else at this point. I could see her processing it but no more questions came.

          We had decided to open the windows to let in the fresh fall air and my son was standing at the window when a little girl walked by. "Hi, what's your name?"  The little girl told him her name then the words that came out of his mouth next would be the first of many times I would feel the sting of this reality. "My mommy has a baby in her tummy."  I shuttered, no I don't!   I pulled him away from the window and closed the blinds.  I knew he didn't understand and we tried to explain it again but knew it would take time for him to understand what it all meant.  I took a moment and went upstairs and cried. How am I going to do this? How am I going to get through this day?

      I paced the room a few times I could feel all of these emotions coming to me at once.  I felt so sick to my stomach, and I was trying so hard to put on a brave face.  I knew 9 am was coming and I needed to call the doctors office. We packed up our things and loaded the car.  I think I took two showers that morning, still not sure why.  I could feel myself on the verge of collapsing every minute it got closer to 9. I couldn't bring myself to call the doctor, he had to do it for me.  I tried to overhear the conversation, part of me still holding on to the hope that it was all a bad dream.

      We got in the car and made the drive to the hospital, it felt like it took forever to get there.  Once we got inside and walked to the admissions counter I stopped.  I couldn't do it, I couldn't stop the tears, I couldn't admit what I was here for.  My husband told them our name and that they should be expecting us.
        Once we got back to triage we thought it wouldn't be long before they took us up.  We ended up spending six hours in the little triage room.  Nothing to do but be alone with our thoughts while we wait for what's to come.  Every hour or so someone would enter our room and explain what the process was going to be, nurses, doctors, social workers, and chaplains each took their time explaining, praying, and consoling us the best way they could.

    We noticed that we would become comfortable after spending several hours in one place. The tiny traige room became a place of comfort for us. The minute hand seemed to glide around the clock as though time was fluid. I remember thinking is there still time to change the outcome, I was still clinging to hope that the diagnosis was wrong. Around 3pm they came for us. It was time to go to the ninth floor.

      When we arrived at our room I saw a butterfly taped to our door, the same butterfly that was on our triage room door. I remember looking across the hall and seeing a butterfly on another door. I now knew what it meant. They were meant for the babies who had passed already. Once in the room I got into my bed and sobbed realizing this was the final place, this was the final room I would be transfered to, this is where it would all happen.

       Tina, our nurse, came in the room her face was filled with sympathy for us.  She was gentle and calm as she asked all of the questions she needed to ask.  Some of the questions were so hard to answer. I filled out the paperwork and they began the process of inducing my labor.  It took a couple hours but the contractions began to come.  Every hour or so they would ask me if I wanted pain medication, and I would refuse because I wanted to be there for my husband I wanted to be present for him.  It was a long night as the contraction grew stronger and came closer together.  He curled up with me in my hospital bed and we tried to get what little sleep we could.

      Morning came to soon and I remember thinking today is the day.  This is also my Aunts birthday.  She passed away 4 years ago and this day was already hard for my family.   Labor continued to intensify and the nurses kept asking if they could check me, I told them no every time.  I said when I feel like I need to push I will know it's time.

     My parents arrived at the hospital that afternoon and it was a welcomed comfort to have them there with us.  At this point my labor was very painful and my family insisted I took something for relief.  I finally agreed since I knew he wouldn't be alone now with my family here.  I remember looking at my mom and she looked so sad.  She was trying so hard to put on a brave face for me but I know that face. It's the face of a mother who would give anything to put themselves in their childs place. The night seemed to drag on as the pain became worse. At some point my grandparents had come to see me and I could feel their pain for me. I wasn't very alert at the time but I knew they were there.  By 9pm my labor was so intense I was sure it wouldn't be much longer.

      At 10:27 pm with one push I delivered my son.  I  cried "He's out."  I knew they knew this but I had to say it just to affirm the reality that it was over.  They quickly left the room and returned about 15 minutes later with him. They had wrapped him in the blanket my mother had began to knit for him.  It was the perfect size to hold his tiny body. "It's a boy." he handed him to me and I couldn't believe how much he looked like both of my other children.  I took all of him in.  Perfect rosebud lips and tiny little features. I placed his tiny hand on my pinky finger and tried to hold back the tears that I could feel coming. I smelled his skin and kissed his forehead.  He is my son.  I  held him as I would have held any of my other children but I knew I had to give this one back. I didn't want to let go, and I didn't want to believe this was real. We kept him with us for a little over an hour and then asked the nurse to come get him.  I finally had succumb to exhaustion and fell asleep. I held him all night in my dreams. He is my angel and I knew he was complete and safe in heaven.

    
        It is panic that makes your heart beat faster, your breath become shallow, and your mind stops.  Time stands still, and then you realize what is happening.  You know it's completely out of your hands, and all of the questions are flooding your mind. Soon after denial sets in, then anger. I was so angry at God. I was angry that I had done everything right, and yet I still lost.

        This day came on Tuesday, I knew that morning that something wasn't right but I pretended as though everything was okay. I called the doctor for peace of mind and they asked me to come in. She placed the doppler on my abdomen and my heart sunk in my chest. She searched for what felt like a lifetime, and I lye there trying to be brave and not scare the children. She looked up at me and mumbled something about turning on the ultrasound, at this point I could feel the tears flowing beyond my control. The nurse kindly took the children and went to another room. I was walked into this dark cold room as though death was there to greet me. I laid on the table and she turned on the machine, in less than a second my worst fear had come true. No heartbeat, no movement. I felt so helpless.  "I'm sorry there is no heartbeat" In my head I began to rationalize this; What?  How is that possible?  You machine is wrong, he was fine on Friday.  I saw his heart beating on Friday.  This is someone else's baby, not mine.  She wiped the gel from my abdomen grabbed my hand and helped me to sit up.  I felt like I had left myself for that moment.  Like I was standing outside of myself watching this all happen.  How am I going to tell my husband, my children? How am I going to get through this minute, hour, day?

           I ran into the parking lot and screamed at the sky" WHY"!!??  this isn't real, it's a bad dream, wake up, just wake up.  I finally pulled myself together long enough to call my husband.  I don't remember much of our conversation, I just remember returning to the office and checking on the kids. The doctor escorted me to his office and closed the door. I sat in there by myself for again what felt like an eternity. At some point I had called my mom and asked her to come get the children, and then I waited. Numb, it's the only word I could use to describe the following hours while I sit and wait. This whole time I'm waiting I'm praying for God to fix this, He can make it right, He needs to make it right.