To Healing.

With 2014, we turned a rather large, new leaf. Two days before the turn of the year we headed down to Salt Lake City, a pit stop on our way to Central Arizona, where Kyle will have a clinical internship for ten weeks.

New Years was spent in Utah, just the three of us, in the home of some family friends who were away. We alternated between watching the clean, Mormon version of SNL, Studio C (yes,such a thing exists), and Chopped. Then at midnight, the whole valley sparkled with fireworks. I could look out the window and watch the night sky lit up in a panoramic view of small and large fireworks. I felt in that moment, that although this year had been ever so hard that it was also an incredibly special year.

This year I learned that grief and joy can occupy the same space. I learned that the world is full of love and generosity and willing hearts and hands. I learned that the intent behind words and actions speaks louder than the words and actions themselves. I learned that I am incredibly blessed and that trials do not define how Heavenly Father feels about me. I learned to trust and hope in Heavenly Father more than I could ever imagine.

I learned that healing comes in a multitude of moments.

In the midst of the fireworks being let of, one of the neighbors decided to release a paper lantern. I watched as it floated up, higher and higher and I imagined James watching it float closer and closer to him. It was a small moment of peace, of healing.

Heal.

That is my word for the year. Heal through adventure, through joy, through discovery, through personal and family growth. Healing does not mean that I am "moving on" or "forgetting" James, it means I am deciding to stop picking at the scab.

So far, 2014 has delivered with SO many healing moments.

Max watched the movie My Neighbor Totoro (as often as we let him) on the LONG drive down (24 hrs total).

After about 6 hours in the car on the second leg of our trip (from SLC to Phoenix), we saw the coolest rock structure on the side of the road that were BEGGING to be explored. We all needed to stretch our legs a bit, so out we got!

His "Mario" run (imagine him leaping up to a mushroom).

Most of the rocks had small erosion holes (made from water), but some were eroded so much that they were used as shelters, very claustrophobic shelters.

A truly HAPPY New Years! I hope that all may find the healing they deserve and rediscover the joy that is all around them.

The Spirit of Christmas

Christmas was surprising this year. I entered into it a bit confused but left with all those warm memories you hope for and cherish. Of course, I missed James the entire time but that is to be expected and I have grown quite used to that longing in my heart. It is familiar and achy but also allows me to take note of what is going on around me in great detail. When the feeling comes I think to myself not in a sad way but inquisitively, why do I wish he was here now? What about this moment do I wish to share with him?

At one moment I looked around and saw my family gathered, smiling, enjoying treats and gifts by the glow of the Christmas tree. It was Christmas Eve and this year we had a fancy Christmas Eve meal followed by opening of one present (more for those who wouldn't be there the next day) and then talking, playing games, and reading Luke chapter two (I read). I felt so much love and peace in that moment and I imagined for a moment he was nestled in my lap, sleeping heavy in my arms as I balanced the scriptures on my knees. Perhaps he was there, as I have said before I like to imagine he is.

Beyond missing James, Christmas was just joyful and spirited because of a very funny two-year old. We hadn't visited Santa at the mall or anything but because of a generous gift of twelve Christmas books for the twelve days of Christmas, we were able to really introduce Santa this year (we also watched the Polar Express about 5 times for our train aficionado). He was pretty delighted with his stocking and when I told him that Santa would bring him a candy cane for Christmas, he seemed pretty excited. Then a friend from Kyle's parent's ward (like a congregation) stopped by dressed as Santa, gave Max a candy cane and joyfully repeated, "Merry Christmas!" The deal was sealed. Max would repeat, "Santa Merry Christmas BIG candy cane!"

So Christmas Eve we set out carrots and oatmeal for the reindeer and treats and eggnog for Santa and we dressed Max in some cute pajamas and for once I just let myself enjoy what a treat Christmas can be.

Also, I received this beautiful bracelet which I had thought of back in August and was so grateful to receive as my Christmas Eve gift. It made my Christmas (Thank you Mom!)

Outside says "James" and the inside says, "i carry your heart with me, (i carry it in my heart)"

How grateful I am for the love and generosity that surrounds me. So many people contributed to make this a wonderful Christmas and it will never cease to amaze me that I am encircled by true, lifelong friends and family that loves and cares for me. 

Silent Night

Each time I hear the song Silent Night (which is often around the holidays) my heart gets heavy in my chest and it gets harder to breath.

Silent night, Holy night
All is calm, all is bright

I always used to think it was kind of funny that Mary experienced a silent night after the birth of Jesus, I mean we must assume that Jesus was probably a very easy baby and he probably didn't cry much that night, but it feels excruciating to think about because after the birth of James, I too had a silent night. The night he was born and I had to return home and around me everyone moved in hushed tones, everything was frozen, calm. At first things did appear bright, I felt enveloped in the prayers and supplications of my friends and family and I could feel the light that comes with hope for a happy future, for something good coming from something bad.

'Round yon virgin , mother and child
Holy infant so, tender and mild
Sleep in heavenly peace,
Sleep in heavenly peace.

Having a stillborn child has taught me so much about myself. I think I always thought that the line, "mother and child" referred to her and the Savior, but with new perspective I see that Mary was both a mother and still just a child. She still had so much to learn about her role as the mother of the Savior, a special and difficult calling. Her child's life had great purpose from the beginning and through scripture we see that often she lost sight of His calling (when she finds Him in the temple and rebukes Him).



When you become a mother, you realize there is SO much learning to do, you return to a childlike state. You needed people to take care of you, to minister, to guide you through the difficult journey of raising your child. Each of our children has an earthly mission and we, as mothers and parents, are to help our children discover and understand what their role in this world is, and we are discovering what it is along with them (often at a slower pace). As a mother of a stillborn child, I do not fully understand what James' mission was, but I do know that his presence in my life was necessary for me to become who Heavenly Father wants me to be.

Silent night, Holy night
Shepherds quake, at the sight
Glory streams from heaven afar
Heavenly, hosts sings Hallelujah.
Christ the Savior is born,
Christ the Savior is born.

Stillbirth is not a subject people like to talk about. It is scary and many "quake, at the sight," but the reality that 1 in 160 births is a stillbirth in the US is something to ponder. It pains my heart when I am connected with another mother who has recently experienced this loss. It truly is unique and heartbreaking and utterly indescribable. But through it, I have found strength within myself to focus upon the good, to be able to still sing "Hallelujah." For though my precious child was unable to live, the Savior was born and through His redeeming sacrifice I know that I will be able to be reunited with my child. That is something to sing and shout hallelujah to.

Silent night, Holy night
Son of God, love's pure light
Radiant beams from thy holy face
With the dawn of redeeming grace,
Jesus, Lord at thy birth,
Jesus, Lord at thy birth.

I have always loved the line, "love's pure light." It so beautifully and precisely describes the Savior. It was discovered long ago that December 25th is not the actual day the Savior was born but was more likely in April. So why do we celebrate in December still? Christmas comes during the darkest time of the year, literally. The Winter Solstice is tomorrow which marks the darkest day of the year, the day with shortest amount of time the sun shines before we start moving towards greater light. The Savior is the "light of the world" and in times of darkness, His life shines as a beacon of hope and "redeeming grace." The reminder of His birth is needed during this time of year.

This trial has taken me on paths where there has been deep darkness and where hope seemed futile. However, as dark as it seemed, at the end of each day I would remember the grace I received in days, weeks, years prior and know that light existed. I might not always be able to see it, but it exists.

So with renewed perspective, I see this time of the year differently. I have always had the choice to only see the darkness or to see the sparkling lights contrasted against that darkness, glittering, standing out along each street as a small, simple reminder of hope. I pray that I can continue to focus upon the light and to grow in that process.

Gratitude for Trials

Last Sunday I was asked to share some thoughts in a class about gratitude for trials. I immediately accepted this request because over the past few months I have learned that as I am prompted to think about particular issues surrounding the loss of James, I learn and grow. It seem obvious that I would want to grow from all of this, but it is ever so easy to slow to a stop and ignore and keep at bay how physically and emotionally painful it is to grow from hard things.

So as we drove early Sunday morning from spending Thanksgiving with our family I had a discussion with my husband about having gratitude for trials. This is what we came up with and what I shared with others later that day.

When I was 15 years-old, my grandmother died and I was so extremely heartbroken over it. I adored my grandmother. She is what every good and kind grandmother is made of, but she was also strict and taught me manners and social graces. I remember laying in my bed feeling like my life was awful and then I remember coming to the realization that my life wasn't really all that bad. I had a roof over my head, food to eat, I could go buy new clothes from the store and I was able to develop hobbies that cost my parents money. I wondered why I had been given such an easy life compared to those I knew who suffered in broken homes, those who had little to eat or were faced with abuse on a daily basis. Then I realized that everyone at some point had something bad happen in their lives; my grandmother passed away after her second round of having a brain tumor and I knew in that moment that someday I would face a trial that would be so indescribably hard.



When I had a miscarriage before Max was born I fell into a depression and I thought, this must be it. This is awful. Then my parents got divorced and it was messy and ugly and everything everyone dreads. Those happened at the same time and surely, I thought in my naivete, that this must be my trail.

Then James' heart stopped beating while inside of me. Where I thought he was safe. I knew then that this would become a defining trial in my life. Perhaps I may have more, but for now this is one that breaks my heart on a daily basis.

In the initial moments of realizing the life inside me had become permanently still, I realized I had two choices. One was to blame God, to wonder where He was, why didn't He protect my baby, my family, myself from this pain. The other choice was to turn to Him immediately, to seek out His hand a midst the pain and know that through Him is the only way that I could feel as if I could be happy again. Turning from God looked a dark, bleak, and hopeless path. Turning towards Him, I felt peace, I felt His love, I felt blessed. Truly.



I haven't always wanted to happy after James died. At times I thought, What is the point? I will forever be miserable so why even TRY being happy? But then I would see Him trying to reach out to me, through the actions of others, through small seemingly trivial coincidences, through reading the scriptures and reading words that were so needed in the exact moment I needed them, through prayer and feeling such a sense of peace and love, and through the example of my husband and child who chose joy, especially when it was hard.

So I can stand each day and truly say that I have gratitude for this trial. Through it I have come to know my Heavenly Father and my Savior more personally. Through this trial I have felt the power of the Atonement. I have felt grace through the desire to not wallow in my misery but use it as fuel to become a better person, to become who Heavenly Father sees in me. The Atonement is not just to cleanse and heal, but ultimately the Atonement of our Savior, His great and magnificent and infinite sacrifice was so that we could be transformed through the pain of this world. That we would be given grace, divine help, to be lifted up when we needed it, when we felt like it wasn't possible to ever be happy again.

Today a favorite hymn of mine was sung, "Come Thou Fount," and in it is a line that I grasped recognizing Heavenly Father's hand leading and teaching me each day:

       Come, thou Fount of every blessing, 
 tune my heart to sing thy grace; 
 streams of mercy, never ceasing, 
 call for songs of loudest praise. 
 Teach me some melodious sonnet, 
 sung by flaming tongues above. 
 Praise the mount! I'm fixed upon it, 
 mount of thy redeeming love.

I am fixed, focused, upon the doctrine of a loving, kind Heavenly Father. That is where my focus is. Bad and terrible things happen in this world. That does not mean He isn't there and that He is distant or unloving. It means that He honors the ability for us to learn and grow through the trials and tribulations that this world has to offer. I know that He loves me, I do not understand this trial in my life completely, but I know that we are all given hard things to experience to lift us up to Him, to transform us and to prepare us for Heaven and all its glory.

Gentle Nudges

After losing James, I felt a more complete love for Max. It was indescribably really, and all my weaknesses and shortcomings I wanted to improve upon. Mainly, I wanted to be more fully and wholly present.  Although I still often struggle with the urge to zone out and lose myself online, while watching a movie, or in a book, since James' passing I have often felt an unmistakable gentle urging to choose the better part, to choose to connect instead.

Let me rewind a bit. One of the most difficult aspects of this journey for me has been that I felt that I could never know what James' was like in this lifetime. Nine months of pregnancy didn't feel like enough to grasp a personality and I was bitter at my seemingly lost chance. In my faith (The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints), we believe that families can be together forever and that in fact our families who are waiting to come to earth and who have passed  before us act as sort of guardian angels, helping to guide us back home to our Heavenly Father and to them. With this knowledge, I decided one evening to fervently and sincerely pray to truly know my son. From all of the experiences I have heard and read, I knew that it was possible to receive the knowledge that I so desired. I feel blessed to have been given the knowledge that James was/is an incredibly gentle spirit. I have taken this truth and it has been added upon and for that I am eternally grateful. So with this increased love for Max and a desire to be a better mother for BOTH of my children, I have felt gentle nudges towards better choices for me and for my family.

To play, read, dance, sing, go on walks, learn new talents, etc. I believe that James is on the other side, blessing, protecting, and guiding our family. Every gently inclination towards a better choice feels unmistakably his.

It feels this way because I recognize this gentleness. It feels familiar. It feels as if it is a part of me.

I suppose anyone could claim that all of this is the imaginations of my mind coping with loss and perhaps they are correct. But, nevertheless, my heart is comforted imagining it is James pushing me forward to become a better mother, because at the heart of every gentle nudge is the thought of him and all those moments I crave to have with him.

So I will do my best to have those moments and he can be there, watching over and guiding our family and experiencing it along with us.

I Can Do It

For Halloween, I dressed as Rosie the Riveter. I have long admired the women who stepped up during WWII to ensure that factories kept running, that soldiers would have ammunition, planes, etc. to continue to fight the battle. In 7th grade I did a report on these women and their example has led me for much of my life. These were women who stepped up, to moved forward when much of life as they knew it crumbled around them.  Rosie the Riveter has been their poster-girl, with the words "We Can Do It!" emblazoned behind her. They knew that they were strong enough, smart enough, capable enough to perform the jobs that only men had been able to perform at that time. Those words follow me each and every day. While I am not building planes or bombs, I am fighting a battle. Grief is a war of the mind and it can be incredibly destructive if you do not believe that you can take measures to minimize destruction and yes, sometimes you can even fight back.

On bad days, when my sadness is overwhelming, guilt settles in and my heart aches for what I am missing. I want to hold my baby for just one minute more, I want to sing to him, and kiss him and it hurts to think that my time with him was so short. On those bad days, my brain stews and sometimes bitterness takes over. I become angry and bitter at those who are pregnant, those with babies, those who have said things and done things that hurt, and those who I feel have "failed" me for not doing. I hate those days.  On those days, it feels as if their is a weight on my heart. It feels hard to breath, hard to love.

But my constant is this reminder:

To appoint unto them that mourn in Zion, to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that he might be glorified. (Isaiah 61: 3)

While laboring with James, Kyle and I attempted to distract ourselves by watching a movie. It was some silly, heartwarming family movie and though our intentions were good, no media device would work. We tried the hospital tv (no dvd player), a portable tv/dvd combo (stuck in Spanish with no remote to change it), my mom brought a portable dvd player from our home (broken). It took a good couple of hours after we realized that maybe Heavenly Father wanted us to use our time a little more wisely. There was no escape from the sadness of this situation and trying to forget it through a family comedy wasn't going to happen. So we turned on some Mormon Tabernacle Choir and opened our scriptures. But where was I going to read? The scriptures seemed too huge in that moment so I just started flipped and stopping when there was a marker of some sort, I had a piece of paper with the words of a family friend and spiritual mentor that led me to Isaiah 61. This scripture has turned into a favorite as I think of the promise that is given. From the ashes of mourning we can become mighty trees of righteousness. The promise of the Savior is that He can turn our sorrow into something good, He can transform our lives.

I believe in that promise wholeheartedly. 

I have seen myself change from the moment I accepted the offer to be baptized. I have changed and I am stronger and more full of faith and personally I believe I have grown into a better person. I know that if I actively try, I can continue to grow.

So I try to choose forgiveness when there has been no apology, I try to choose patience when time goes against my wishes, I try to choose kindness, love, service, diligence, and obedience. I try. I am not perfect but I move forward trying to choose that which is good. 

The war of grief continues on and as I fight I remind myself that I can do it. I do not have to let my grief turn me bitter towards the world and in fact, I can let it teach me to see the hearts of those around me. It can teach me to love them, uplift them, serve them more fully. So I am trying to choose to let the Savior work through me, through my mourning. As I have done this, I have felt that weight on my heart lift and my heart can expand, to be filled with more love. It beats with more strength, changed for the better from the weight it has endured and will still endure. I feel peace and joy as I allow the strength I have gained to help me move forward, no on, but forward.

Tornadoes

I was talking to Kyle the other night about how it probably looks like I am doing well to everyone on the outside. If you look at me, I can laugh and smile and crack jokes of my own. I can sing hymns and I can search the scriptures for truth. I can do pretty much everything I could before, even with reminders of James everywhere I go. 

I am able to stand firm and breath and then continue walking forward. 

Except my brain is swirling debris of what once was. My brain is moving fast, fast, and faster. It is a continuous loop of the events surrounding this pivotal moment in my life. When I speak, it is in before James' and after James.' I am moving clumsily, zigzagging forward.

Within this tornado of my mind there are spiritual truths. I catch glimpses of them as Dorothy catches glimpses of a cow or a fence. They are discernible but exist in an entirely new perspective.

This new perspective if the aftermath of loss. Of sudden, shocking loss. The one you didn't see coming and the events  play over and over in your mind, looking for moments where it could have been different. Obviously I cannot change anything, but I have found this is a natural product of sudden loss. You try and try and try to understand WHY it happened. You read books, pamphlets, blogs, watch videos, grappling for something solid and firm to cling to so that this tornado will stop. 

People often reiterate the Plan of Salvation to me, which in short terms is that before we came to earth we lived as pre-mortal spirits with Heavenly Father and earth is a testing period, a period where we experience mortality and all it has to offer and through this experience we learn and grow and because of the restored gospel, we have the opportunity to be sealed to our families forever. We sing the song, "Families Can Be Together Forever" reminding us of this precious truth. This doctrine has unmistakably brought a great deal of comfort but it has also brought questions. Because technically James never lived. He never breathed air. His heart never beat on its own. The doctrine is much more gray and muddled in this area and so it swirls about me, adding to the questions. 

I know that Heavenly Father is good and that all will be worked out within His goodness, love and mercy. So I find something to hold onto in that. I hold onto his goodness, his love, his mercy. Every day I wake up mourning James and in my mourning and in the twisting, confusing chaos of my mind, there is stillness and there is beauty and that is where God resides. He is making my chaos into something stronger, more beautiful than I could ever imagine. So I look back on my life and all the times He has led me to happiness and I trust. I trust that He is guiding me now, even THROUGH this chaos of my mind. I trust because I have felt his immense love and that love moves me forward everyday.