A week ago I started obsessing. Tired of my grief, I began to fixate on searching Craigslist for a new vehicle. Why? While my giant van is a huge blessing, it is giant. Much of my driving is when I am alone, or with one or two kids. The van is awesome when I fill it with kids (which I do), but the rest of the time, I feel like I'm driving an empty bus. I miss my mini-van for this reason.
More than that, I missed my Jeep Wrangler. I had the great fortune (thanks, Dad!) to drive an awesome 1997 Jeep Wrangler the year after I graduated high school. He taught me how to drive a manual... seared into my memory the stop light that I got stuck at on a slight hill. In traffic. Oh, my word, the light turn green, I stalled. I stalled. I stalled again. I lost count how many times, but it seemed like an eternity. But Dad remain cool calm and collected. He didn't care that people were lining up behind us thinking, "Who is this dumb blonde who keeps stalling her car? Get out and let your dad drive." I finally got through the intersection, and eventually mastered the stick shift.
Fast forward 15 years. HOLY COW. How did I turn into a 30-something? I had that Jeep 15 years ago?? Sheesh. Well, as I was saying, fast forward 15 long years. We are camping, and I am mentioning my Craigslist obsession of looking for old Jeep Wranglers (and Mini Coopers as a practical alternative), and some wonderful person mentions a possible Jeep available to borrow. Her equally awesome daughter is off to flight attendant training for 3 weeks, and I am using her Jeep Wrangler while she's gone! And get this... it's a 1997. It's purple. So much fun. I admit, I am hoping that this awesome young lady gets to work out of New York, or Chicago because those are both great cities... and because I would get to drive the Jeep all summer.
Ah, my 1/3 life crisis, temporarily fulfilled. I didn't stall at all on my way home from picking it up. :-)
After growing and delivering 3 healthy babies, my body is no longer what it once was. My cervix has been deemed incompetent by my trusted doctor.
Today was difficult. The appointment was simply a consultation to discuss why Joel was born so early. A new flood of anger washed over me as I heard confirmation of my body betraying me... my own body killed my son. Maybe that seems like a overly dramatic statement, as I had no reason to know my body would do this, or have any symptoms of a problem. Maybe my anger should be directed at the One who ultimately had control over my body and Joel's life.
I am disappointed that God allowed this. I am sad and filled with grief. But when I begin to get angry, I think about what a peon I am to be angry at the Almighty. As if I know better than Him. While my situation is small in comparison, I am reminded of Job. After having all of his worldly possessions and children taken from him, and being stricken with painful sores over his whole body, Job's wife tells him, "Are you still holding on to your integrity? Curse God and die!" Job replied, "You are talking like a foolish woman. Shall we accept good from God, and not trouble?" (Job 2:9-10)
In my own terms this means: shall I accept the 4 beautiful blessings that are alive and well, yet shake my fist at the great I AM for taking Joel? Does not God himself see death as an enemy? Does He not promise to destroy death? (1 Cor. 15:26) If my eyes are set on things eternal, if I believe that God will fulfill that which he has promised, my anger towards God seems like a lot of energy wasted... or at least misplaced.
There is so much processing going on in my feeble head that I can't really say where I go from here, both emotionally and for future planning. As much as I desperately want more children, I would need a surgical procedure with each pregnancy to help keep the baby safe... it is at best 90% effective... some websites say 80-90%. Flip that around, and realize there is a 10-20% chance I would lose another baby... I don't like those odds.
Please pray for Noah and I as we seek God's will in all of this mess.
These past two weeks have flown by. And they have lasted an eternity. Time for me right now is so bizarre.
We spent this Memorial Day weekend on a pre-planned camping trip. Some moments were so very hard. Thinking about our last camping trip... Joel was with me. Still dealing with the physical after effects of giving birth. A longing to just be home, so I could look at his tree. But, much of the time I was distracted. Normalcy crept in: normal conversation, normal lectures to overtired children, normal camping meals, and now normal 5 loads of laundry upon our return.
I do feel a constant tug on my heart, a longing for things to be different. Sadness can overtake me on any given moment. Anger and impatience creep in. I drove to a store for a quick grocery run, but kept on driving as I saw a pregnant friend from church going in the store. On my second attempt later that day, the ER nursing assistant who was with us when Joel was born was loading her groceries into trunk. I stared at her until she left. Stupid small town.
How do I tell the acquaintance at Kristin's dance class I lost my son... she assumed last week I was still pregnant. I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing. How do I face the many, "How are you?s" and sympathy hugs that will face me as I see more people who know. No more are the "Congratulations!s"
The sympathy cards have continued. I have saved them all. I have never had a reason to receive such cards, and at first I wasn't sure if I wanted them. However, so many are filled with the kindest words that bring tears to my eyes. Those that mention Joel by name are my favorite. For some reason it validates his life was real. He was not a dream or figment of my imagination.
Yet, life continues as if he never existed. The pool is now open. Summer break will be here soon. Meetings with teachers and advisers must happen. Photo shoots and editing can't totally be avoided, it is my business. Birthday celebrations, and VBS, and beach trips, and dentist appointments, all keep happening because my life didn't end when Joel's life did. Even though it feels like time should have simply stopped.
Things will go back to our old normal for the most part. The children will rarely ponder their brother whom they didn't have the chance to meet (aside from the moments they see Mama's cheeks wet and eyes red). I will continue to be their mom, and Noah, their dad. However, we are forever changed by this. Even if on the outside I'm still me; on the inside, I am not.
Nine years ago today, I held my first born, in awe of the fact that I was suddenly a mother. It was my 24th birthday, a day forever sweetened by the birth of Isaac.
This morning I awoke to him and Daniel, big hugs, and a playful argument as to which boy is cuter. I told Isaac that Daniel was giving him a run for his money. We talked about what we might do on our annual birthday date after he gets home from school.
On this day, I see my son as more of a blessing than ever before. These 9 years have flown by... my word, he's half way to adulthood. I pray that God blesses Isaac these next 9 years. May he grow into a mature young man of integrity, full of compassion for others.
Lord, be near me for I am broken hearted... save me for my spirit is crushed.
One week ago I watched as Noah buried our son. Prayers were said, our pastor read scripture, and committed Joel's body back to the ground. From dust we were made, to dust we shall return.
Had Joel been gestationally 3 weeks older, we would have likely been treated differently at the hospital. It possibly would have been expected that a proper funeral be performed. He may have had been buried in a graveyard. I don't know why, but in the medical community, 20 weeks is the magical marker that makes a baby a baby. Before that, their human value is remarkably decreased. Never mind the fact that Joel was perfectly formed, or that our desire for him would not have increased suddenly at week 20.
That horrible day a week ago happened so swiftly. There was no time to think or process the hell we were living. God gave us the ability to know our son needed to come home with us. I was shocked the ER doctor saw this as odd. To him, our son was medical waste. Such callousness sickens me.
When we got home, I went to rest, staring at the white blanket that held Joel. Just hours before, he was safe in my womb.
Noah and Isaac got to work breaking apart the old weeping willow stump that had been in the corner of our yard for years. Noah dug our son's grave. Such a horror to watch. He went and bought a tree. I prayed, "Lord, please help him to pick the perfect tree." And he did.
The Redbud is one of my favorite trees. Beautiful pinkish purple buds in early spring, followed by lush green heart shaped leaves.
Pastor Chris came on his own accord, perfectly timed to help us have a small memorial service. Forever etched in my mind will be the image of my husband lowering the blankets that held Joel's body. Noah gently placing the dirt on top, carefully, tenderly. The tree was planted. The children did their best to circle the tree with rocks, and pick flowers the place around. Daniel had a red balloon which he insisted on hanging on the tree... that red balloon has been replace several times this week, and is a beautiful site to me.
During the memorial, I was astounded that Daniel, not yet 4, sat quietly with tears streaming down his cheeks. He felt the gravity of the situation. He felt the pain his parents were enduring.
Much of my time this week has been spent on my back deck that overlooks the yard. That is a sweet place for me to cry, or think, or just be quiet. As I gaze on Joel's tree, I imagine what joy he must be experiencing in the presence of his maker. And I cling to the promises of God.
The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. Psalm 34:18
His hands were so small, but perfect, beautiful. His finger nails, tiny, but precisely placed.
I held his hand one last time. Memorized how it felt as I rubbed my thumb over each finger. Noah took the only picture I have of him. Just his precious hand on my finger tip.
Perfectly beautiful.
For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, when I was woven together in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be. Psalm 139:13-16
Out of the depths I cry to you, Lord; Lord, hear my voice. Let your ears be attentive to my cry for mercy. Psalm 130:1-2
Yesterday, I was numb. I got through the day with just a handful of tears. I couldn't feel much. I was exhausted. I grabbed a hold of the notion that Joel was better off than I, that he is happy, even though I am not. I tried to search for the good. Today, all I can think is, "My son. My son is dead." How is this possible? And there are the nagging reminders that because he never took a breath, many will not see him as a child. My child. My son.
My stomach started hurting in the afternoon. The pain continued through the night, my gut felt like it was wrenching, the pain intense. "Why?" I thought. Is something wrong with me? I remembered my insides always hurt after having a baby. Going from being filled with a baby, to empty always seemed to make things shift out of place. As my insides settled back to their original positions, it was painful.
I think this time has been no different than before. Aside from the painful reality that my arms are empty, and the overwhelming sadness hurts every muscle and joint in my body. I am sick with grief.
My emotions are all over the place. I refuse food from friends, because it is a painful reminder that the meals are not because I am tired from nursing all night, but because I buried my child. Yet at the same time, I am hurt our church did not send flowers... making me feel Joel was neither recognized as being born, or having died. Logically (and in reality), I know our church sees him as a precious life. Our kind pastor helped us bury him, and committed his body back to the ground. But my heart hearts over the little things.
I am furious with my body. How could it betray me in this way? Three babies born full term, why was it confused this time? What caused contractions to start so early? Can I trust my body to keep a baby safe if we ever get another chance? Can something be done?
Moments come of just wanting to be pregnant, no matter the cost. Followed by the knowledge that Joel cannot be replaced. I just want him to be safe, still growing, still kicking.
A good name is better than fine perfume, and the day of death better than the day of birth. It is better to go to a house of mourning than to go to a house of feasting, for death is the destiny of everyone; the living should take this to heart. Frustration is better than laughter, because a sad face is good for the heart.
I am searching for peace. Longing for peace.
But death and unexpected loss is a messy business. Heartbreak and grief cannot be put in a neat box and set aside.
However, life keeps moving forward, the kids still need their mama.
I am thankful for God's mercies. I can see them clearly even in these darkest of days.
This MercyMe song keeps playing in my mind. The lyrics have become my constant prayer.
Joel Washington Haut was born May 13, 2012, Mother's Day morning. He had 10 beautiful tiny fingers. He had 10 beautiful tiny toes. And I couldn't help but wish so much I could see those feet run to me and have him wrap those fingers around mine.
The nurse asked me my pain level. They have a chart on the wall to help with this, giving numbers with happy or sad face renderings. The chart doesn't have a sketch of my heart shattered. There is no number for that. Physical pain seems so unimportant and small when my son is lifeless next to me.
I'm not sure how to do this. How to face a closet filled with maternity clothes. How to go back to church and worship a God who gives, then takes away. How to look at babies without feeling sick with grief.
I am shaken by the loss of hope. How am I to get through this year with any joy intact? How do I understand the purpose of Joel's short life? Will the tears ever stop?
Joel means "Yahweh is God." He knows that completely now. Born knowing no pain, and going directly to our Savior. I must cling to the truth that a day is coming when we will be together. I will hold my son's hand in mine. Noah will hug him and see the color of his eyes. Isaac and Daniel will embrace their brother, the girls will laugh with joy as they gaze on his face for the first time. And there will be no more tears.
These are my last few weeks with my two pre-schoolers at home. Soon, school will be out, and our busy summer schedule of swimming, camping, and more swimming, will begin. August will hit before I blink and I'll be sending children back to school... including my Kristin, who begins kindergarten. I think this will be great for her, and I am blessed to be able to pick the teacher I feel best suited for her personality and needs. And we are blessed to have a local kindergarten that has many great teachers to choose from!
I have signed Daniel up for the "More at Four" public pre-k program. The one hesitation I have with this decision is because the program is full time... he would be gone the same hours as Kristin. However, he would ride the same bus as Kristin, and be in the same building as well. I think being that he is on the younger end of his school grade, pre-school is going to help him have an easier transition into kindergarten. Also, being the social butterfly that he is, he would LOVE being in a social environment all day. Yes, he will be the kid that gets in trouble for talking too much!
If the public option does not pan out (he may not qualify depending on the funding they receive this year), we will try to do a late enrollment into the part-time k-4 Isaac attending 5 years ago. Another excellent program option, so long as they are not maxed out.
With these last few weeks of this chapter of life left, I am savoring our play-dates and outings to the park. I am cheering on their major accomplishments... both Daniel and Kristin have taken off the training wheels and can ride a big kid two wheeler now! (Only one major crash thus far. I am resisting the urge to wrap Kristin in bubble wrap.) Daniel proved his unusual strength this week as he crossed the monkey bars at the park multiple times. Kristin got to go on her special Texas trip with Daddy earlier this spring. And she started her first ballet and tap class yesterday!
Most of all, I am soaking up the "I wuv you, Mommy." And the, "Mommy, you're the best!" Sweet words I hear almost daily (even though I am far from the "best," sshhh, don't tell them). The random hugs, and the fact that both still love to clamor into my lap and snuggle. These are the days that are so special and few. No busy running to and fro. Just playing and loving one another.
Really, this post in my head is titled "2 Moments that prove to myself I am not a complete failure as a parent." Because, sometimes, when my kids are all showing their depravity... I sort of wonder. THANKFULLY, God gives me glimpses into the character slowly forming in my children, and guess what? We might just be raising compassionate, reasonable people after all. (To God be the glory.)
While these might be small victories, they are victories none the less, both pertaining to my eldest. So, lest I forget...
Last Sunday, our church's children's choir performed a mini-concert at a local nursing home. (Which Isaac kept confusing with "homeless shelter"). Anyhow, Isaac, who is not by nature an outgoing kid, went around and shook hands of some the residents after the performance.
One woman was quite taken with Isaac, asking him lots of questions, holding his hand, and even kissing his cheek. My heart was warmed as I watched him engage with this woman named Netty... who had no children, and therefore my guess, not many visitors. She talked about how her dogs were her babies, and invited Isaac to go on her boat on the lake.
After leaving, I explained to Isaac how kind it was to speak with Netty. I also explained dementia, and how some older people think they are living in a different time period, but that it is our responsibility to treat every person with respect and love... even if they aren't totally living in reality. I wonder if that facility has therapy dogs visit? I hope so, for Netty's sake.
The 2nd moment came yesterday, when Lauralyn informed Isaac that I had taken her out to lunch (a rare treat, considering I spring her out of school for an hour). His response was a genuine, "That's cool." Not, "That's NOT FAIR!!" which tends to be my kids' automatic response to any mention of a sibling receiving something they have not had equal access to.
Thank you, Isaac, for showing my seemingly continual lecturing has not been a total waste of time! May you continue to grow, mature, and love others with compassion.
In Christ alone my hope is found; He is my light, my strength, my song; This cornerstone, this solid ground, Firm through the fiercest drought and storm. What heights of love, what depths of peace, When fears are stilled, when strivings cease! My comforter, my all in all— Here in the love of Christ I stand.
In Christ alone, Who took on flesh, Fullness of God in helpless babe! This gift of love and righteousness, Scorned by the ones He came to save. Till on that cross as Jesus died, The wrath of God was satisfied; For ev'ry sin on Him was laid— Here in the death of Christ I live.
There in the ground His body lay, Light of the world by darkness slain; Then bursting forth in glorious day, Up from the grave He rose again! And as He stands in victory, Sin's curse has lost its grip on me; For I am His and He is mine— Bought with the precious blood of Christ.
No guilt in life, no fear in death— This is the power of Christ in me; From life's first cry to final breath, Jesus commands my destiny. No power of hell, no scheme of man, Can ever pluck me from His hand; Till He returns or calls me home— Here in the power of Christ I'll stand.
