Living in the "After"

It's been a year since the last time I blogged. Honestly it doesn't even seem like it was that long ago, yet here we are. So much has changed since then.... Where do we even begin?

There is now a moment in my life - a day that separates the before and the after. Once you're in the after you can't go back to the before. And really...you don't want to. No matter how much the after hurts and you wish it would change, there IS no going back. 

That day was September 22, 2015. The day our third daughter, Eleanor Rosalie, was born still. 

I have relived the events of the day in my mind so often that there is no need for me to recount them here. It was a busy, horrible, shocking, terrifying, and fast day. There was no preparation, no time to process. It just happened. Suddenly. 

One moment I was a normal pregnant mama excited about her new baby (while also being thoroughly exhausted). And the next.....I simply was not.

Nothing was normal.

Nothing will ever be "normal" again.

Life in the "after," quite frankly, sucks. 

Nearly 7 months later, the pain isn't quite as raw. It's still there...lurking, hiding, waiting to be awoken by any number of triggers, but it's not as fresh. Dare I say it's manageable some days?

Many have commented "I don't know how you do it" or "How do you get out of bed?" Honestly? I don't even know. You just do. When you have two other healthy, living, breathing children vying for your attention, you just do. You do the next thing. You make and/or have breakfast. You wash clothes, because you still have to wear something. You eat, because people have brought you dinner. Inexplicably, against all your feelings, you continue to live. Without your baby.

You look at pictures from before and wonder who you were. How were you that happy? Will you ever be that happy again?

You live moment to moment. You panic over normal things. You hover over your living children, terrified something will take them from you, too. You even do irrational things like buy new a carseat, because you're convinced the one you have isn't good enough. You dread even getting in the car. You have a panic attack at your next doctor's appointment. You were there before.

Yet somehow....you laugh again. You play with your kids again. Little by little you do things you did in the before. But it's different. It will always be different. 

Life in the after is hard. It's full of anxiety and spur of the moment grief. It's full of happy moments, too, because now you appreciate them even more. You look for ways to make a difference, to give back, while struggling through the pain...just to give some sort of meaning - some sort of legacy - to your child's short life. 

In some ways, I'm still the same as I was before. I still enjoy many of the things I once did. But in many, many other ways, the after has changed me. My heart is different; it needs protection and care. My thoughts are different. My actions are different. 

I can't be the same. 

That was before.

This is after.

I am forever changed by the short life of a little girl I never really got to meet, Eleanor Rosalie. 

Due Date

Today is going to be a hard day - one that I've been dreading since February.

Today was my due date for our second baby (who we named Sam, because we - I - needed the baby to have a name), who we lost to miscarriage on Valentine's Day. In some ways, I feel like I have already done my grieving for this day.

When we found out I was pregnant in January, we found out that friends of ours were also expecting. Her due date was 3 days after mine. Her oldest is 3 weeks younger than Charlotte. We were kind of excited to have someone to chat with about having 2 under 2, and going through it together [even though we were moving in March]. My miscarriage obviously changed things. Once we moved to Georgia, I had kind of a tough time seeing all her bump pictures and pregnancy-related posts on FB. It was gut-wrenching. Eventually I hid her on FB, but forgot that I still followed her on Instagram. 2 weeks ago, she posted that she was in labor.

That day was a very hard day for me. Very. Maybe it will be worse than today, and maybe not. I don't know yet. I do know that I was in tears for most of the day. It's so heartbreaking to know that I would be going through labor (or maybe even have a newborn) right now if I hadn't miscarried. The nursery would be set up, bags would be packed, visitors/helpers would be planned. It just....hurts.

But at the same time, if I hadn't lost Sam I wouldn't have Millie. And I can't wish her away, no matter how much the pain of losing one baby causes me. I am so, so thankful to have her kicking away in my belly as I type this. I'm thankful that she's healthy, and I'm so looking forward to meeting and holding her. Her presence, however, doesn't diminish the pain of loss. It doesn't replace the baby I loved and lost.

I truly don't have the words to explain how I feel about this - about today. I wish I did. Or I wish someone else did, so that I could say, "Yes! THIS is how I feel!" These feelings are so...complex and intermingled that I'm not sure how anyone could ever explain it perfectly. 

Today, I remember. I grieve. I hurt. I cherish the babies I have here with me right now. I remind myself that my baby - the baby I lost - is happy and healthy in heaven with Jesus, and a Father who loves him/her far more than I ever could. Our pastor shared a story this weekend about a 10 year old girl who told her mother what heaven looked like as she was dying [from cancer]. She told her mother that it was beautiful, that she saw Jesus and so many children who were playing on swings. She told her mother that she wanted to go and play... So today, I'm going to picture my baby playing on those swings in the presence of Jesus.

Bad Things, Good People, and God

My heart is breaking for some people right now.

As I was messing around on FB Saturday night, I found out that an acquaintance gave birth to a little girl...who was stillborn. I barely know her, and yet my heart hurts for her. I don't quite know the pain she is experiencing, yet I do to a certain degree.

Sunday morning, I woke and checked my phone to kill time before Charlotte woke up. There I found that Diana's little boy was doing worse. This woman... A strong Christian, and contributor to a blog/women's bible study group online, is losing her third little boy in the span of about a year. Last year, her twin boys were born at 19 weeks. One lived minutes, the other a few hours. I haven't been keeping up with her blog very much since then, so I don't know the details of this pregnancy. I only recently found out she'd had a little boy. A boy who was supposed to be her rainbow baby.

To a point, I can relate. After going through a miscarriage, I know the fear that sets in early on in a subsequent pregnancy. The fear of losing again. The fear of not being excited about being pregnant. (Oh, yeah. How's that for guilt?!) Then there's the realization that God is in control. So you let go of the fear, embrace the pregnancy and allow yourself to feel excited. You allow yourself to plan, to hope, to dream.

After all that, I can't imagine what she's feeling right now. I just can't. Truthfully, it makes me scared, too. It's selfish, but it makes me scared for me - for my family. Because if this can happen to her - someone with whom I share similarities - it could happen me, too.

I know there are many people out there thinking, questioning how God can allow these things to happen to good people - His people. The answer is... There isn't an answer that will satisfy us. Not really. Our world is broken, and full of sin. It's why we die. It's why people kill other people. Sin is why bad things happen to good people. Yes, God is ultimately in control, but we sinful people broke the world He built for us in the beginning. Good people - even Christians - aren't exempt from the consequences of our sin. God didn't promise us an easy life just because we're believers.

{From KLOVE's FB page}

Even if God could answer our "why" questions, would they be enough for us? If God told me he allowed me to miscarry our second baby because it would teach me something about Him, myself, and others like me, would that satisfy my heart? Would it make me grateful? I honestly doubt it. If God told the thousands of women struggling with infertility, that He wanted them to wait until He said it was time, would that satisfy them? Would it make their struggle easier to accept? My guess is that it probably wouldn't.

God is in control. Even in the bad things in our lives, He is good. He is faithful. He cares for us. He wants to hold us through the tough things, and even the not-so-tough things.

{From Proverbs 31 Ministries' FB page.}

{Edited to add:} This morning, through a post on SheReadsTruth, I learned that Diana's little boy passed away. I can't begin to say how much my heart hurts for them. Please pray for her family. And also, please read the post written on SheReadsTruth. It perfectly depicts the heart of a believer in times like these.

Consider it Joy

Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, 

whenever you face trials of many kinds, 

because you know that the testing of your 

faith produces perseverance.

~ James 1:2-3

I've tried to write a post similar to this for at least 3 weeks. Each time I start writing and then lose steam on it. Gosh, it's hard for me to talk about. It's hard to put into words how I'm feeling and what I'm thinking, unless I'm talking to someone who's been there. It's so hard to explain, these feelings surrounding miscarriage.

It's sad; it's painful; it makes you jealous; it makes you ache; it makes you long for what you lost. It makes you angry - at yourself, your body, women who get - and stay - pregnant so easily, and God. That last one is the hardest to admit, at least for me. Even though it's normal, it still feels wrong to say you're angry at God. 

I wouldn't necessarily say I'm no longer angry about losing our baby, because something could set me off tomorrow and I'd feel it again. That's the thing about grief - it sneaks up on you sometimes. Even the smallest thing could make me feel the pain of loss so much stronger than usual. Then I end up crying out of nowhere... Retreating to the bed or the shower for a short while. Or I distract myself with Charlotte or busywork or reading.

Over the last few weeks, we've had the extreme pleasure of going back to the church we found when we were here a few years ago. The worship and the teaching have been amazing, and I'm beginning to feel a change. Even since the first week we visited, I've felt like a switch has been flipped. I don't even really know how to explain it, which is how I know that it's all God's doing.

I'm slowly starting to give it all over to God. Honestly, it sounds kind of silly to me considering it was all in His hands in the first place, but.... This is really a big step. I'm on my way to acceptance. Accepting that God has a bigger plan, a bigger purpose. Accepting that God is bigger than death - and that Jesus overcame it. Accepting that God gives and takes. Accepting that, while my baby is gone from this earth,  I will be okay. 

In the sermon this Sunday, I took these notes and then sent it to my bestie. Because, dang. If it isn't convicting I don't know what is.

Genuine faith is strengthened by pain. We're not just supposed to endure it. We're to "consider it joy" - to celebrate it, because God will bring purpose from it. It's to bring you closer to Him. You get tools from it {pain} you wouldn't otherwise. 

Romans 8:28 - And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.

That verse right there? From Romans? That's the hope I'm choosing to hang on to today. Because without it, what do I have? I have a broken mess of a heart, aching over the loss of my sweet second little baby, who was here for just a moment. I will {and do} still feel pain, but one day this loss will have purpose and something good will come from it.

I believe.

I trust.

But it's still hard.

Loss

This is a post I never, ever in a million years wanted to write. I suppose I don't even have to, but I know it'll be healing for me and possibly help others. So here I am. Sharing another detail of my life that I never thought would happen - at least not to me. I would love to write this with eloquence and precision, but I'm not sure it's going to come out that way. When such emotion surrounds something like this, it's hard to put into words exactly how you feel.

Last week our family suffered a sudden loss. There was no real warning, no signs of anything being wrong...until it was wrong.

Much to everyone's surprise, we found out a few weeks ago that I was pregnant. I was incredibly shocked and also overwhelmed at the thought of having 2 babies under 2 years old. Obviously there are many women who do it (and have done it), but I just wasn't ready. I spent a few days feeling extremely overwhelmed and upset. But the longer I thought - and prayed - about it, the more confident and encouraged I became. I had my OB registration appointment and was really looking forward to hearing our second little one's heartbeat. 

I never got that chance.

The day before Valentine's Day was set to be a fairly busy one. Joe took Jasper to the vet at 8am and then had to go to work. I needed to get groceries at some point during the day, so I took him to work after he brought Jasper home. Once Joe was at work and Charlotte was down for a nap, I did a little blogging. I was excited to share our news with all of you. Once the post was written and saved as a draft, I headed for the shower. 

It was only then I knew something was wrong. 

I never bled even once when I was pregnant with Charlotte. I cramped something fierce the entire first trimester, but never bled. I had been cramping on and of for the last week with this one, but given my history I didn't worry about it. But this? This wasn't right. I knew it.

After my shower, I dressed, called Joe, ate, fed Charlotte and picked Joe up from worked. We headed to Tripler to find out what was going on. They did blood work and then we waited for over 2 hours. 2 very painful, scary hours. We waited again in a room, until finally a nurse came and asked if I'd been seen. Apparently they lost my chart. Anyhow, a doctor finally came in and did an ultrasound.

The baby was too small to be 8 weeks. It looked about 6 weeks, according to the doctor. I knew that this baby was much smaller than Charlotte had been at 8 weeks and she is a tiny baby. I knew something wasn't right. They couldn't find a heartbeat, but that's not uncommon for a 6 week baby. The doctor didn't see anything particularly concerning and my HcG levels weren't abnormal for 6 weeks either. We left with no real answers.

Valentine's Day was worse. Much worse. I bled. I cramped - more like contracted. I knew. It was too much, all of it. I knew there was nothing short of a miracle that would keep a baby alive with all that going on.

Joe had to work. His NCOs weren't sympathetic at all. He wasn't able to come home until around 6, so I spent the day with Charlotte trying not to let her see how much pain I was in. Although, having her here was also a good thing. Sometimes the only relief I felt was when I nursed her. {I had made the decision when we found out I was pregnant that I'd breastfeed her until she weaned herself, even through a pregnancy.}

Later that evening, our baby went to be with Jesus. 

Source: diseaseclick.com via Christine on Pinterest

It's still shocking to think about. It happened so quickly, and with no real warning. Maybe there were signs along the way that I missed, but I'll never know for sure. 

This pain...is indescribable. All I can really say is that I feel empty.

Source: tumblr.com via Lori on Pinterest

It's been very hard for the last week. I go between laughing at my sweet girl {and I'm thanking God every minute for that girl} and crying over our second baby. Or crying over pregnancy and ultrasound photos on FB and everywhere else on the internet. It's not that I don't want other people to be happy - I do. It's just a grieving for something precious I won't get this time around.

Ever since I found this on Pinterest, I've been clinging to it. It's comforting, somehow, to know that this pain will be for good someday. 

I also found a blog post somewhere that a woman wrote about her miscarriage. She said she found comfort knowing her baby never felt pain or sadness, or any of the terrible things in this world. I'm trying to do the same... And I'm trying to focus on the fact that she (I don't know what the baby was, but it's easier to have a pronoun to use :)) is in heaven running around, playing and laughing. My bestie and I like to believe our angel babies - just a few months apart - are up there playing together, talking about how silly their mommies are. It is tough to think about not having them here on earth, but we do have the hope that we'll see them in heaven one day. And I like to believe that she's watching us and knows how much we love her, even though we never met or held her.

Oddly enough, I just finished reading Harry Potter... One thing that's stuck with me is a line Dumbledore says to Harry near the end, "Do not pity the dead, Harry, pity the living."

So far, each day is different. Some days are easy, happy days where I remember my baby, but don't feel intense pain. Some days are hard, sad days. I refuse to be stuck in sadness all the time. That's not what God wants for me. My baby is in heaven, happy, loved, and pain-free. It may be sad to not have her here, but she is not sad.

Source: intentionalbygrace.com via Intentional Homeschool on Pinterest

I do ask, though, that you pray for us and our family. Specifically, for peace and comfort. I think it's safe to say that all our worlds have been rocked. Even though this little one wasn't with us for long she was loved, wanted, and anticipated.

With so much going on right now, I may not be posting much. Just bear with me and keep us in your prayers.