Heaven

There are also heavenly bodies and there are earthly bodies; but the splendor of the heavenly bodies is one kind, and the splendor of the earthly bodies is another. 1 Corinthians 15:40


I had no idea that the day we lost our third child would have been just the beginning of a long, hard journey our family would travel.  And, looking back on the road we've walked, I weep with ache, yet am filled with joy.  And, I look ahead to the future with hope.  Hope for tomorrow, and hope for eternity; for the day I will hold my daughters once again.


Ah heaven, I can only imagine.

Promises, Promises

I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength. Philippians 4:13


Have you ever heard this phrase before: "God never gives you more than you can handle."?  I'm sure you have, it's a pretty common phrase.  But, have you ever tried to find it in the bible?  You won't, because it's not there.  It's not a promise from God.


I can tell you there WILL be times that things will happen in your life, that you CANNOT handle.  Things that no friend or family member can deliver you from.  Things that you cannot make sense of, or muster up enough power, to overcome.  Things that will shatter you in every way imaginable.  Roads that you will be, seemingly, asked to walk alone.  But you are NEVER alone.  That's a promise (Joshua 1:9, Hebrews 13:5).


God never promised that if we love Him and live for Him that our lives will be easy.  He never promised that we will never have to deal with fear, or heartache, or pain, or loss...


He did however, promise us some pretty amazing things:


For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Jeremiah 29:11


So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. Isaiah 41:10


Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go. Joshua 1:9


You will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in you.
Isaiah 26:3


See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland. Isaiah 43:19


being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus. Philippians 1:6


I won't pretend to know what our lives will look like from here on out.  I do know that as I go before the Lord with our hopes, our prayers, and our petitions, I will do my best to rest on the promises He has given me; promises He has given us all.  I will do my best to keep my feet on His solid ground (Psalm 40:2).

Chains

The LORD your God is with you, he is mighty to save.  He will take great delight in you; he will quiet you with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing. Zephaniah 3:17


So, I don't want to have church all up in here, but this morning as I sat to write, it became obvious that today was not the day for the post I had planned.  And through these whole, now 21 days, I've worked hard to stay in the spirit with the words I share, because really, apart from me you can do nothing (John 15:5b).


Yesterday, after I posted, I began to clean my house while listening to some worship music (as opposed to talk radio which is what I usually do), and I kept seeing an image that I feel like I'm supposed to share with you all.  The image was of hands, wrapped in chains; like chains, wound around wrists, palms up, grasping onto the chains.  And I kept thinking, "just let go".  Just let go of the chains, they are not locked, YOU are holding onto them; from last week, from last year, for half your life.


It sounds so cheesy!!  And, I have to be honest, I feel super creepy and a tad crazy in sharing this.  But I KNOW this message isn't just for me, although I also know that I need to take this holy advice myself, almost daily, because I know I choose to hang onto some things that are keeping me from being who I am called to be.  Choosing chains.  What's that about?  But, if this image and these words resonate in your heart, then I'd look crazy again and again because I want freedom for you, as much as I want it for me.  Just let go.




https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6UXn_OuJkvE

Pure Joy?

Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, James 1:2


Disclaimer:  what I'm about to share with you, has taken me at least five years to feel and know, and six years to say out loud.  Please read it with an open mind and heart, and if you're feeling stuck yourself, I pray that these words will be a blessing to you and not a source of self-condemnation.  If that's you, if you're feeling stuck, please read with a gentle-to-yourself spirit.  We are all a work in progress, and I thank God He's not even close to done with me yet.  Amen?


Did you know that James, the author of the verse above, was Jesus' half brother?  That means that he witnessed, first hand, the torment and persecution his own brother went through.  And in the end, James loses Jesus to the crucifixion, a horrible, torturous death, to say the least.  I'd say, based on that alone, James knows what he's talking about.


I, for one, however, would not have agreed.  Trials equal joy?  Pure joy?  No thank you!  I choose door number two.  I'll keep my "lacking of pure joy" life, thank you very much.  I'm good riiiight here.


BUT today, I have to say, I do agree with James.


I felt like I was supposed to go through this process, writing this blog, last year at this time, but I couldn't do it.  I was too afraid.  Now I see that one of the sources of fear was exposing the shame, that I realized just a few days ago, that I carry in regards to Eadie Joy's life (thank you all for helping me process that).  I had thought what I carried, in regards to Eadie, was simply regret.  But it turns out, it was more toxic. 


The other source of fear though comes from the fear of sounding heartless, and even a little insane.  See today, I can see a new me.  Today, I can see a better me, regardless.


I miss my girls every day.  I wish their little lives would still be a part of ours, that our family would be getting to watch them grow and change, with us, but that just isn't an option.  I hate that A and G don't get the siblings they've longed for since the beginning of this whole mess, I hate that.  BUT!


I cannot speak for each member of my family, so I will only speak for me; I am changed, for the better, because of this.  I am changed for the better, regardless of the loss that I, as a mother, have endured.  I am better.  I'm a better mom:  I SEE my kids.  I adore them.  I do not worship them.  I know I am entrusted to them, by God.  They are a gift.  I once saw them as a task....


I am a better wife:  I (try to) LISTEN to my husband, to his words.  I take his feelings into account.  I allow him to lead us (I GET OUT OF THE WAY) because I hate the alternative, and when I feel he cannot, or will not, I shut my mouth and I pray; for him, for me (and my runnin' mouth), for our family unit...


I am a better human:  I've always had the gift of empathy; the ability to take my shoes off, and put on yours, but so many times I've chosen not to used that gift.  I use it now.  I choose to be Jesus with skin on as much as I am called, for HIM, because of what He's done for me, because of what He's done in me.


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. Romans 8:28


People!  He's talking about us!  Now, that's good news.    

The Healing House

The Spirit of the Sovereign LORD is on me, because the LORD has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners, to proclaim the year of the LORD's favor and the day of vengeance of our God, to comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve in Zion-- to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the LORD for the display of his splendor. Isaiah 61:1-3


Oh how I adore these words.  Such hope.  Such promise.


I remember reading this passage shortly after losing Eadie and being full of such doubt.  We had been, what I like to describe as: hit square in the face with a baseball bat, twice.  These hope-filled words surely cannot be meant for us.  God's got it out for this family, and I don't know why. 


What happened to us, caused the holy triune to fracture in my traumatized mind.  I hated God.  He was supposed to be my Heavenly Father.  He, after all, had the ability to heal our girls, to deliver us from the path we were asked to walk.  He could have taken the cup we were asked to drink.  He did not.  Yet, I clung to Jesus; white knuckles on His sturdy, loving shoulders, but also the desire to push Him away; trapped in a push-pull space with him for years.  The Holy Spirit; quiet to my deaf ears, to my aching soul.  It was a very dark and unsure place.  Knocked so low that I could almost feel the enemy's foot on my throat as he wreaked havoc on our lives, in our marriage.  Trapped in this new reality and deathly afraid it's were we would stay, where I would stay.  We were unrecognizable.  I was unrecognizable.


We ended up moving to a new house, one closer to town and selling our old house to my mother in law.  Turns out, it was a great move for our family.  I find it hard to believe that simply getting out of that environment helped  lead us toward healing, but I do believe it was part of God's plan.  We brought quite a bit of "baggage" with us, of course, but it's where we began to have some pretty amazing breakthroughs (on your own they're called breakthroughs, but as a couple, they are also sometimes called fights, ha, ha) which started with making the choice to trust God again.  How could we not.  We had A and G running around in their little, sweet worlds and without God, it'd be like asking them to walk a tight rope without a net.  No way.  Could not do it.  Would not do it without Him.  The alternative is NOT better.  It wasn't easy. Just being physically touched, by anyone, was hard enough, not to mention being spiritually touched, but slowly and surely, we allowed Him to go to work on the recessed, hidden places of pain that we had carried for well over four years.


God also had some serious work to do in ME, specifically in the baby department.  I had my mind so set and twisted over why I had lost two babies and how I wanted redemption so badly in the form of a "third" child that I, at times, felt crazy, desperate.  The day that twisted mind heap was lifted from me was amazing.  It had been so heavy and so distracting.  I was finally free to be present again.  Free to see some beauty as the ashes began to blow away.


 

Sackcloth, And Ashes

Then Jacob tore his clothes, put on sackcloth and mourned for his son many days. Genesis 37:34


I feel like, as a society, we don't mourn well.  The days of wearing sackcloth, signifying the "wearer" is in deep mourning, are long gone, at least in America.  Maybe it's because we, for some reason, don't want to "stick out".  Sticking out means that maybe we'd have to talk about it, the loss.  But, is that so bad?  I think that's where the healing comes.  Sharing the load.  Talking of the loss.  I look back now and think it was like I was wearing sackcloth in that I had been pregnant, walking all around town, big as a house, and then, not.  Sackcloth.  No baby in a cart with me.  No baby to be found.  I felt like I wanted to hide, everywhere I went, as if carrying the loss was un-presentable.  Yet on the very rare occasion someone would ask me where my baby was, hadn't I been pregnant, I was...relieved, almost.  Grateful to utter my child's name.  Grateful to acknowledge she had really been here. 


Anyway, I digress.


The day Josie died, my midwife, Cynthia, came over.  She brought with her a tiny wood box that her husband had made for our baby to be cremated in.  I remember our whole family gathering around my midwife and the box, on the living room floor.  Cynthia spoke to A and G, about the "box", careful not to go into too much detail: what it was for, what we would do with it.  After placing Josie's body inside, A and G placed flowers in with her, notes, pictures they'd drawn for her about her life, and favorite comfort items they thought she would really want to have.  They were saying goodbye to their sister, and doing it well, and I remember, after closing the lid, G asked if she was still in there; like it was a magic box that would make her disappear.  Such sweet moments, if there were to be any.  Cynthia had given us such a gift; so much more than a box. 


Just like so many things of Eadie's life, the removal of her body was nothing like that. 


Eadie died very late at night, so Brett and I waited until dawn so that A and G could say goodbye to her.  And, because my pregnancy had been deemed "high risk", my midwife hadn't been involved, at least from a medical standpoint.  She had made a home visit, which was of much comfort to me, to check on how Eadie had been doing earlier that month, but for this moment, she wasn't involved.


I remember that it was still dark outside, and stormy as the funeral director came to take Eadie's body.  She was to be transported to Children's for an autopsy; something we agreed to, for more genetic testing.  This put a rush on our letting go process because the autopsy had to be completed within eight to ten hours after her death, yet would provide possible answers to questions that may help A or G later down the road, or other families...I wish we'd had more time. 


Eadie's body was clothed, and wrapped in a blanket.  And that was it.  Where would her body lay as the car moved down the road?  The thought unnerved me.  I also remember thinking she'd be cold.  Strange.  It was one of the worst experiences I've ever had to be a part of, to say the least.


Later that day, we got a call from our doctor at Children's telling us her body had arrived.  There was so much comfort in that phone call.  Strange.  And, he called again when her body was on its way to the funeral home in our town.  Knowing WHERE her body was meant something to me.  Strange.


At the beginning of the work week, I had to go into the funeral home to sign some papers.  Things we hadn't had to do with Josie because her death was imminent, but because Eadie's life had so many questions marks, a lot of the logistics were left for the moment.  I remember sitting in the office, or lobby, or whatever, forcing my body to stay put.  Knowing her body was in that building...I had such an intense desire to hold her tiny body one more time.  Strange.  I knew she was gone, but my very being wasn't willing to accept this fact.


Then Jacob tore his clothes, put on sackcloth and mourned for his son many days. Genesis 37:34  I get it Jacob.  I totally get it.
 

Devastatingly Blue

The Spirit of God has made me; the breath of the Almighty gives me life. Job 33:4


On a sunny Wednesday morning in January, a couple of my friends had come over to visit; there were a few close friends, more like sisters really, that I let into my painful stupor and they had always been so good about not leaving me alone for too long.  And although Christmas had passed, that morning, we had been making ornaments with Eadie's hand prints on them.  Another keepsake I'm so grateful we have, a connection to her. 


I wasn't completely sure that Eadie Joy had begun to slip away from this life, but I had my suspicions.  I guess a mother just knows, even in my numb existence.  But it had become completely evident that day, when while I was nursing my baby girl, she turned blue.  I obviously had not been expecting it, yet I immediately grabbed the bulb syringe and began suctioning the coagulated breast milk form her throat, stimulating her sternum; rescue techniques that had long since been seared into my mind from years of trainings, for various reasons, various professions.  I was crying, and begging...her?  God?  It was the very rawest moment of my life, to date.  My child was dying.  Now.  No warning.  Now.  I remember thinking about Brett and A and G, that they wouldn't get to say goodbye to his daughter, their sister.  We had had so much more time when Josie passed.  How could this be happening, right here, right now? I was completely distraught, to say the least.


After working on my child for a few moments, minutes maybe, I have no idea; Eadie gasped a breath and began to pink up.  Life. 


But, from that moment on, every time I tried to nurse my baby, we'd go through the whole ordeal again.  She was slipping away.  There was no rescuing her from that.  Her systems were shutting down, preparing for her last breath.


And even after resigning myself to the fact that her body was unable to take nourishment any longer, she continued to turn blue, to struggle, as she had that first horrifying moment, over and over and over.  Two days later, on January 15, 2010, Eadie Joy was gone.

Fine Tooth Comb

But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me. 2 Corinthians 12:9


Wow.  Yesterday's post was a hard one for sure.  I cried (wept) a lot while writing it, allowing tears to fall, which I rarely do.  I'm not sure why I hold them in like I do.  It's silly really.  But, as I moved through the rest of my day, I found my mood to be foul.  I'd poked the bear, so to speak, and I'm not a fan of that.  Who is?


This morning as I woke and went to my "meet with Jesus chair", I began to pray;  what's this all about Lord, what's the feeling, that as I explore it, sends me to....well anything that might possible mask the pain it causes me.  I believe the word to describe that painful feeling, is shame. 


No one had a clue what to tell us to expect of our baby.  Would she live?:  Possibly.  Maybe even for years.  Would she die?:  Possibly; much the way her sister had.  There were no answers, so we just tried to settle in to this vague new reality. 


It was really difficult for both Brett and I to connect to Eadie Joy. The previous and prospective loss proved just too much.  Our "vessels" had severe cracks and we were leaking like sieves; faltering under the pressure of heavy sorrow and fear.  Thankfully, I was nursing Eadie which I'm convinced was the only thing that kept me as close as I dared be to her.  Unlike Josie's little life where we really embraced every moment, Eadie's life resembled a process we had to get through.  Looking back now I am so mad at myself for not forcing my mind and my body to stay in the moment with her, to be present for her, but I just couldn't.  And THAT my friends is where my shame comes from.


Shame is not life giving, I think we can all agree.  Shame is ugly, and messy, and in this case, it leaves me...embarrassed.  How sick is THAT?  I want it out of me.  I want to go through all the emotion and "ick" with a fine tooth comb; name it and claim it; because it's keeping me from being the me I am called to be.  Somehow I just don't think it's that simple.


As I chose the verse for today, I went back and read all of 2 Corinthians 12, and then proceeded to move over to Acts to remind myself of just who Paul (still called Saul at this time until his conversion in Acts 9) had been.  Saul was a REALLY bad guy.  A tyrant, back when the word tyrant didn't get thrown around save for those who really were.  He was very scary and very efficient at what he saw was his "calling"; to kill every disciple of Jesus.  Yet, you see no glimpse of this once tyrant when you look into that intimate moment in 2 Corinthians where Paul talks to the people of Corinth about his faults, his lacking, and the awesome "covering of all THAT" power of Christ .  Thank God for Jesus, right?  I desire to get this.  I mean, really get it.  I understand the words, but I desire to apply this amazing grace, to the space where Eadie Joy lives in me.


I remember so very little of those first few weeks with Eadie at home, and I cannot find ANY pictures to remind me besides the ones taken at a studio in town.  Thank you God for those precious images, those precious moments as a family. 


{images can be found on facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/mcleod.fit/}

Birth Day

To the woman he said, "I will make your pains in childbearing very severe; with painful labor you will give birth to children." Genesis 3:16a


With both Josie and Eadie, I was willing stay pregnant with them forever.  I didn't know exactly what their little lives had in store for them,  but I knew I didn't want to find out.  I felt they were safest and closest to me right where they were.  So much better than the alternative.  But in such things, we have no say.


My body started showing signs of going into labor mid December, so we needed to make a plan since we lived so far from the hospital.  I was told to start calling Labor and Delivery for a room on December 21st.  I guess babies love to be born around Christmas, the closer, the better, because L&D was very full and I didn't get a room until the 22nd and didn't actually get into that room until around dinner time that day.  I was exhausted.  I hadn't slept in over 24 hours.


For the birth of Josie, we had been at our home hospital, surrounded by so many people who love us and wanted so badly to meet our sweet baby girl who wasn't guaranteed that first breath.  Eadie's birth was vastly different.  Brett and I were so weary and so shell shocked, riddled with anxiety and sorrow, that we couldn't be around anyone, and as labor began to pick up, after five hours or so of Pitocin I was glad for the pain, the silence, the solace.  I was like an animal laboring in the woods.


At 37.5 weeks gestation, Eadie Joy McLeod came into this world on December 23, 2009 with a flurry of activity.  I honestly can't remember why.  She was breathing and even crying like a "normal" infant, so I have no real idea why so many people, doctors, nurses, rushed into our room when she emerged into the world.  She looks perfect.  She looks perfect.  What did that mean?


After that, I passed out, asleep, unable to stay present.  So tired, I didn't bathe my fourth child, for the first time, as I had my previous children.  A missed moment that even today, I regret, with so many moments to follow.  Unable to stay present. 


Later that day, many doctors came to get a look at our baby girl, another ultrasound is done, tests.  "She looks perfect...", let me fill in that blank for you; "if we didn't know better" doctors wanted to say.  The scans, the tests, say she was far from perfect.


A and G come to Seattle to meet their new baby sister.  What must have been going through their minds?  Oh, our kids!  They had already learned more about life and death than most adults.  We hoped that the decisions we made for them then would help, not hinder.  So far, so good.


We spend another night at the hospital, we wake up to Christmas Eve.  Eadie goes down for an MRI, just to get a better look.  More talks of surgery, of what to do, of what could be done.  For now, "nothing" they say, "Go home."


The ride home is brutal.  Eadie cries the whole way and I wonder now why I didn't just hold her.  She's gone, what would it have mattered had I held her in my arms as opposed to leaving her in a car seat?  It wouldn't have.  Mattered.  And now it does.


I guess we celebrated Christmas.  I assume we did.


Back to Seattle on the 30th, to Children's Hospital this time to meet with the neurosurgeon.  He was sweet.  Not.  He said he wouldn't operate.  "There's nothing there.  Go home." he said, right to me, as I gazed down at my nursing child.  So abrupt, so final, with very little empathy in his voice.  There's nothing there?  But she's nursing, she cries; the hopeful signs Eadie had that her sister didn't.  These had to be signs of life, right?  I guess not.  So, we went home.        

Sloppy Accounting

Have nothing to do with the fruitless deeds of darkness, but rather expose them. Ephesians 5:11

From here, until Eadie is born, it's pretty hazy for me.  But, I'd still like to try to piece the events together, so here goes...


We ended up getting our appointment moved up simply because we begged them, 8 weeks was just way too long to not know how Eadie was developing, I think we maybe waited 6?  Our appointment was scheduled at the University of Washington hospital this time so we were close to the MRI machine.  I had had an MRI while pregnant with Josie. It's such a strange thing for your child to have an MRI while still in your body.  It boggled my mind.


As scheduled, we had an ultrasound first, but I don't remember it at all.  I assume the scan showed that the "cyst" had grown, although at that moment, I didn't look at it.  I just remember somehow heading downstairs to change for the MRI. 


At the U, the MRI machine is in an old ambulance bay in the back of the building.  You practically walk out to the street to get to it.  As you walk through the doors of the main building you're instantly slapped with the sound of traffic and a swirl of gritty, dirty, hot air from the generator.  So weird.  It's like the walk to prison or something.  Again, I don't remember the MRI, I only remember the desperate feeling of wanting to grab the technician though the glass, by the collar, and demand that he make a full brain appear.  Of course we didn't get a peep out of the technician and had to wait many days before the MRI was to be read.


To top off that long, excruciating day, an amniocentesis.  Our doctors seemed determine to get answers.  They never did.  Again, on paper, our daughter was completely healthy. 


After this appointment, there were many more to follow.  Medical frenzy is the best way to describe what goes on for the next few weeks.  The reading of the MRI sparked a huge "meetings of the minds" where preinatologitsts, neurosurgeons, and geneticists all met to discuss our case and what could possibly be done for this poor, poor family.  Ugh!  The biggest question was, is there really a cyst, or is the brain dissipating and the space left behind simply filling with fluid?  The thought was that if it was a cyst, they could go in, while she was still in utero, and drain it.  Surgery on a fetus.  Brilliant!  But, in the end, they all agreed, that for some reason, her brain was dissipating and there was nothing that could be done to stop it.


I remember talks about termination, which I think I verbally agreed to but ultimately could not do.  I understood the push for this, it wasn't just ME that this was going to affect and I hated having to put A and G through this again, the possible (probable) loss of another sister, but still, I couldn't do it.  I couldn't play God that way with her life.  She HAD to have some purpose or I'd not have conceived her in the first place.  At least, this is how I saw it, and still do today.


From here on out, you could tell there was a resignation in most everyone.  We mostly had meetings with Dr. death; a doctor who's name I cannot remember, but who we called Dr. death because that's all he talked about.  Great.  He actually was a really nice guy, but as you can imagine, we were not fans of his.   We had other appointments too, even another ultrasound that showed that the dissipation had slowed.  I cheered, full of hope, with my "sister" during that appointment.  Brett was "unable to make it" that day, who could blame him?  But, in the end, there just wasn't enough brain tissue to sustain life, and the tissue she did have was lissensapholic, or smooth, where it needed to be bumpy and full of grooves.  I felt trapped.  I felt panicked.  We were going to have to do this whole thing all over.

Broke Down Faith

Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. Hebrews 11:1


I can remember, after Josie's diagnosis, the incredible amount of faith we had that God would heal our child.  We believed that God would fix in her what had broken.  We most certainly KNEW that He could, and we had faith that He would.  He did not.


It was time for our 20 week ultrasound for Eadie Joy and we'd been asked to have the scan in Everett so that we were closer to the University of Washington and working with specialists who had been consultants for Josie, "just in case" something was to go wrong with this baby as well.   If this scan came back normal, then we'd be released to go back to our home hospital which is where all our kids had been born, including Josie. But, as soon as the scan began, we knew something was up because the technician left the room and brought back our perinatologits to have a look right then and there.  Not good. 


Our doctor had found what she believed to be a sub arachnoid cyst (a bubble of fluid above the brain), which normally is not a big deal, they happen all the time.  But, because it was a sub arachnoid cyst on a fetus who's mother had just delivered an infant born with no brain, it was a big deal.  She literally crossed her fingers in hopes that it would be absorbed as most cysts of this kind do.  She also told us to come back in eight weeks.  Seriously?!


After that appointment I was so pessimistic, and I remember it being hard to even pray.  I could not breathe.  I was angry, Brett was angry, and I specifically remember saying to our brand new Pastor's wife, whom I had literally just met; "if this happens again, I'm done."  Meaning, I would not be able to serve a God, any longer, who asks us to walk through this again.  I meant it, but I guess I was wrong. 

The Original

The school year of 2010-2011, I took a writing class.  I wanted to see if writing would help me process and begin to heal from all we'd been through.  This was my first ever piece.  The writing prompt was to pick a number...

Shannon McLeod

September 29, 2010

Twenty-three

Twenty-three days old.  A mother sits with her new-born child.  She rocks her in a chair.  She is beginning to get the hang of this life that she has welcomed into hers.  This life that will grow to be twenty-four and twenty-five days old and on and on for years to come.  This life that she grew within herself and has known already for nine months.  Nine months…..and twenty-three days.

Twenty-three days old.  The only measure of life, of age, that can be used for my child, my children actually.  My third and fourth children, both daughters.  Death at the age of twenty-three days.  How strange.  Why twenty-three days?  Twenty-three days, two separate times, two separate years.  Way too young.  No twenty-four, no twenty-five days old and on and on for years to come.  Nothing and no one to get the hang of.  No life to learn.

Twenty-three days of life once was…..sweet.  A surprise from her powerful life that was to have none.  Each breath she took, each day she woke, was such a gift.  How lucky we were to be able to spend that time with an infant deemed “incompatible with life”. 

Twenty-three days twice was…….a cruel joke.  And where the first time we moved through this space alert and with grace that could only come from nothing human but once was, the second time felt like we were being punched in the face, in the gut, over and over.  Where has the grace gone?  Where is my focus?  “Incompatible with life”, again. 

My focus was on her, on her life but it wasn’t enough.  I wasn’t enough.  There was too little left and we knew even less of what to expect with her, less of what to expect from her life that would prove to be too short for any life, again.  Maybe we should have known.  Maybe we should have assumed the worst instead of hoping for the best.  Maybe we were foolish to believe that an infant born with more brain tissue than none would mean there would be some life.  Some.  More.  Life.  Certainly more than just twenty-three days of life.  Again. 

The human body, the human mind will try to protect itself subconsciously from such trauma.  The trauma of losing a child.  But by my mind and body doing this, I am now left with regrets.  I so wish I could have been to Eadie, our fourth, what I was able to be for Josie, our third.  But, it was just too painful.  Twice?  Yet, it was all there was.  Twenty-three days.  Too late.

We hoped for Josie’s life too.  We believed she could live, that they could be wrong.  That a brain would just….appear?  We believed Our Savior would heal her because He could have.  He didn’t.

To hope again was crazy, right?  How could a parent help it?  To believe the best for your child, full of life, or not.  To cling to hope is the only way to survive it.  Foolish.  Child like faith.  The only proper response.

I’m not exactly sure what it all looked like, this second twenty-three days.  There was no way to fight it.  This human protection mode made this space in time, in my life, like a fog.  Rolling in, rolling out.  Was it there?  I heard it (her).  Was it there?  I felt it (her). It was gone before I could grasp it.  Too late.

So, now I live with regret.  Two hundred and seventy-nine days, and counting, of regret.  Hope has become my enemy.  I can only hope it won’t always be.

 

Scavenger

Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. Psalm 139:23



So, at this point, my obnoxious tenacity went into overdrive and I just became down right obnoxious, anxious, a complete mess, yet determined and focused; on what?  As if I could WILL this pregnancy to go well,  WILL it to produce a healthy child.  I gave it my best shot, that's for sure, although not in the way you'd think, like how women can be uber "natural" during a pregnancy, or protective of their physical body; "the baby house".  I think back and I actually was the most reckless I'd ever been during any pregnancy.  Strange.  It was like I was on some kind of hap-hazard scavenger hunt where I just had to come out on top.  As if.  Fighting/competing/racing against who?  Fighting/competing/racing against what?  Yet, there I stayed, in this strange space, for twenty weeks.

My Way

"For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways," declares the LORD.
Isaiah 55:8


We had been trying for baby number four for about three months (which was not very long at all, but I had never had trouble getting pregnant, and with our loss...things were...loaded), and after our trip to Disneyland, I went into overdrive in the baby making department.  Sounds like fun, right?  Wrong.  If you've ever been desperate (try hell bent) for a baby, you know that the process is not fun for anyone involved.  It's stressful and full of control, and usually many tears and lots of arguing.  It robs both parents of the beauty of the life making process (there's that brokenness again and the enemy coming up on top by stealing joy; destroying beauty...he sucks).


But, because my husband is who he is, he was very patient with me and sort of allowed me to get nuts, and be nuts with desire for another baby; like, now.  We had gotten clearance from our doctors pretty much right away after losing Josie, mainly because, as I mentioned before, there were no signs of "why" our baby had been born with no brain.  This is where they used that term "fluke".  It went something like this:  "What happened to your baby was just a fluke, a crossing of wires during the process of development that just happens some times, and although we cannot find where those wires crossed, you guys will be fine.  You have two healthy children and if you want to try for another baby, you have our blessing."  I'm not telling you this because I blame our doctors for what happens, but because I want to explain where we were mentally.  We wanted to raise a third child and they wanted that for us as well.


Emotionally, must I say it, we were not well.  Obviously, we were all pretty shell shocked and grieving.  Thankfully, I had enough wear withal to get some help with processing the loss of our baby girl, and that counseling help me a lot.  But, if you know anything about me, you know that I have an obnoxious tenacity, and when I sink my teeth in, things are gonna go my way.  Period.  And although I believe fully that God gave me this specific personality trait on purpose, I have a love/hate relationship with this part of me for sure.


By the end of April 2009, I was pregnant for the 4th time.

My Mountain Top

I will praise you, O LORD, with all my heart; I will tell of all your wonders. Psalm 9:1


Do you remember going to camp as a kid?  Maybe it was church camp, or just a summer camp like with the YMCA.  You were gone for about a week, and SO much happened in that time...you learned a bit more about who you are, or who you want to be, even a bit about who you do NOT want to be.  Maybe you faced a phobia like heights, that you never though you could face, or got a clear calling on who you're supposed to be in life.  Big things, to you, that mattered.


At the end of the week, your parents came to pick you up and wanted to hear all about your time away.  You could barely control the words coming out of your mouth as you began to attempt to paint a picture of all your week had in store.  The time away changed you.  You grew up a bit while you were away from them.  You gained an amazing sense of wisdom that is so hard to explain, so hard to put words to, yet you fumble and dig into your vocabulary to find just the right word, to capture that one amazing earth moving moment; your mountain top experience.  But in reality, it's next to impossible to explain any of it, next to impossible to reach that sense of satisfaction, using words, sharing that new-found part of you, yet it's so important to have at least tried.


This is exactly how I feel about telling the story of Eadie Joy, our fourth child.  There's fear behind the telling of this part of our story, fear that my words will fall flat like the weight of a stone while  my heart is for them to float and flit with life, like the life she was.  A life that mattered so very much, to our family.  But, every time I try, I freeze up.  The words get choked in my throat.  I'm not sure if it's just because it's SO painful, or because it's so loaded with emotion and hope and...ultimately loss, or what.  I just haven't seemed to be able to do it.  But, I really want to try; I think I am supposed to try.  So here goes..


Eadie Joy McLeod was born December 23, 2009.  She passed away 23 days later on January 15, 2010.  Over the next week, I will share this part of our story, for the first time.  Wish me luck.

Mommy Hearts

Therefore encourage one another and build each other up, just as in fact you are doing.
1 Thessalonians 5:11


It seems there is a "day" for everything!  Yesterday was national dessert, and be bald and free day.  Tomorrow is national boss' day.  Friday is wear something gaudy day.  What's this all about?


Obviously some of these days are just plain silly, but I also notice a lot of "days" that unite a group of people.  That's called community.  I hear it's a good thing.


I also think these "days" are a good thing because any time we have acknowledgement we have validation. And any time we have validation, we have healing.  I think we can all agree that healing is a REALLY good thing.


Today's verse is very fitting and sets us on a track to healing, together.  But I like the original Greek word used here that we see as "encourage" a bit better.  The Greek word is parakaleó.  The definition for this word is (a) I send for, summon, invite, (b) I beseech, entreat, beg, (c) I exhort, admonish, (d) I comfort, encourage, console.  This verse asks us to enter into one another's pain.  That's no easy feat, but it's so important.


Today is pregnancy and infant loss awareness day.  Let a mommy (or daddy) know that you remember.  Comfort one another.


I remember:  Pearl Huene, Kaden Rice, David Watson, Larson O'Brien, Savannah Burrell, Stella Nimmer, Reagan Baima, Whitney Wilson, Baby Schlect, Baby Chester, Baby Fisher, Baby Chism, Baby Fath, Babies Boushey, Babies Mahoney, Baby Turner, Babies Waller, Baby Marth, Baby Kindelberger, Josie Faith, and Eadie Joy McLeod

Slap A Little Of This On That

Be still, and know that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth! Psalm 46:10


Pause in the story here:  I want to talk a little bit more about what I finished with yesterday.  Yesterday, I talked about the lover of your soul (God, Jesus, Holy Spirit) and the hater of your soul (Satan).  I encouraged you to "Fight that, no matter what", meaning fight Satan's desire and sole purpose to steal from you (peace for example), kill you (there are many ways to do that, but I believe disease is one of his favorite), and destroy you (your character, your family, your life).  As I drifted off to sleep last night I was imagining us all warming up for a boxing match as our way to prepare for our fight of this lunatic, but that's not it at all.  Its not a fight at all, but more a state of being.  I think I'd like a physical fight better.  THAT I understand, even though I know I'd be all too easily overtaken.  Doing always seems easier to me than being.


In one of Beth Moore's bible studies (I can't remember which one, but she's a great Bible teacher if you're looking for a good one, go check her out), she talks about allowing God's healing salve to be poured into you, into your wounded places that no one can see.  It's an awesome word picture because we've all had wounds, on the outside, that needed some salve in order to heal.  But what about the ones inside? 


As painful as it's been, this is what my "fight" has looked like over the past few years.  Me, coming before the Lord, allowing Him access to the very most painful places inside my heart and mind in order to have healing, in order to take back what has been taken from me.  Not every day, mind you.  Some days I'm not interested or "in the mood" because some days it hurts too much, as salve on a wound can.  But I tried the physical fight and it's just exhausting and not healing at all it turns out.


I think this is what all our "fights" with the enemy are supposed to look like, not a true fight at all, but a state of being.  Being before the lover of your soul, day in and day out.  He'll do the rest.

The Freakin Happiest Place On Earth?

For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.  Jeremiah 29:11


In the Spring of 2009, my mother in law took us to Disneyland.  The concept was awesome; have some fun.  I think we were able to do that, at least as far as I can remember...  But, I also remember being VERY distracted.


Warning to all those who've experienced pregnancy, or infant loss and plan to ever go to Disneyland: there are tons and tons of baby's there.  Who knew.  Not only are there tons and tons of baby's there, but there are millions of ways to make bringing baby's to Disneyland really easy; "stroller parking"??  I had honestly never even seen this when I would have needed it for A or G, but it was EVERYWHERE, along with any other form of infant convenience you could imagine.  It was smack in my face, and it sucked.


I was having fun, but what I really wanted was to have my baby in my arms, and since that wasn't an option, I wanted a baby in my arms.  I wanted to feel her weight that belonged there.  The lack of it has got to be one of the worst feelings ever felt.  Foreign even, like you're always forgetting something.  But, I was focused too because our doctors had given us the go ahead, stating that what happened with Josie Faith had been a "fluke".  We had been trying but it wasn't happening fast enough, as if this would heal all wounds.


This is the part where I began to indulge in anger at other moms who've gotten to have as many babies as their little hearts desire.  Can you still hear some distain in my voice?  Yah, we're workin' on that, and it's crazy that this started so early, because this story gets REALLY LONG, and that's just a whole lotta bitter.  But, I'm willing to bet there are many brokenhearted moms out there who know exactly what I'm talking about, not to mention hopeful moms who've, for whatever reason, been unable to conceive, or carry a baby to term.  I cannot imagine, and for your pain, I am so sorry.  I hate that you have to carry around that heart's desire and have, what you do not have, smack in your face, everywhere you go, forget Disneyland, just step out your front door.


I don't believe these feelings come from a place of ill-will, but rather from our humanity, or worse (worse is the wrong word....more importantly?  Something that carries more weight and heart...you get my drift I'm sure...) our innate desire to mother.  I don't think we do it on purpose, but hurting people hurt people.  Our only hope there, for this human-ness, is faith.  Faith in the Holy Spirit who lives in you if you've asked Him to.  He changes lives.  Not over night, but over time...and faith in the plan.  The real plan.  Don't mistake what I am saying here, the plan is not to lose children (and other horrible things that go down every. Single. Day.), but we live in a fallen world that is full of sin that begets sin that begets sin etc.  This brokenness breeds sorrow and more brokenness.  You have a lover of your soul, but you also have a hater of your soul and he has come to steal, kill and destroy (John 10:10).  Fight that, no matter what.

Run!

The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. Psalm 34:18


Emotional pain is like a foreign language.  It does not compute, does not translate.  It's empty, floating space.  I didn't like this one bit...who does, right??  But, there's no getting out of it.  It's a process that the body and mind must go through.  I don't pretend to understand why, but I trust that it's got to be part of the healing process.  I just don't believe that we'd be asked to go through emotional pain for no purpose.  Our God doesn't work like that.


The day after Josie died, I began to run.  Running was my way of translating the emotional pain of losing Josie, to physical pain.  Physical pain makes sense.  I can handle physical pain much better than emotional pain, if not just for this simple reason.  Running felt horrible since I was just 24 days postpartum, but it also felt glorious.


I ended up running my first half marathon that year (along with my running partner at the time; an advanced and experienced runner who gave me such an amazing gift by sticking by my side every step of the way, thank you JuLee!!), the Amica Seattle Half Marathon.  The race was held on November 30, 2008, just 4 weeks from our first training run.  And although I could barely walk when the race was done, I felt stronger, and like I was able to connect to Josie's life, through that physical pain, in a way I wouldn't have been able to had I not run that race.


Physical movement has become a tool for me; to process, to grow.  It's not everything, that's for sure.  But for me it's been such a gift.  It's helped me remember that I am still alive, that I am capable.  It's helped me find my "I can" in a world of "I can't".  A priceless gift in the midst of loss.  

Pink Sky At Night...

He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners, Isaiah 61:1b


After Josie's memorial, after all our guests had gone, the food had been eaten, and her balloons released, a group of us were milling around in the church parking lot.  Our church parking lot looks out to Mt. Baker.  It's so beautiful.  But this particular night, to accompany our view, was the most beautiful pink sky I had ever seen.  I'm not sure where B was, but my kids and I saw it and to this day, we call it a Josie sky.  My kids will come get me, still, to go take a look.  It's such a sweet reminder of her life in ours.


I was 30 weeks pregnant when we found out that during Josie's development there had been a problem.  It wasn't something my Dr. had seen before in her.  Prior to this point, her development was seemingly normal. But, after her birth, 6 weeks later, it was evident that something had gone wrong in her very makeup, her DNA.


Although nothing was found to be wrong with our child "on paper", one of the biggest issues she had was that she didn't have a brain.  As she grew and developed in utero, she did have a brain at one point, but something happened (no one knew what), and it had disappeared.  She was born with only a brainstem, which is how she lived 23 days.  The brainstem is in charge of all our autonomic responses; heart beat, breathing, suck/swallow, and she was strong enough for those responses to take over and give her life, even for that short time.  We did not intervene in any way, except to care for her as we would any newborn infant.


After her birth, Josie "cried" for about the first 24 hours of her life.  I say "cried" because it wasn't a normal cry, but it was her cry, it was sweet.  After those first 24 hours, she never made another sound.  When we took her home (because there was nothing any Doctor or hospital could do for our child, they just let us go/sent us home), she hadn't eaten yet, and it wasn't evident that she would, although she did suck so that was promising, and in that second day of her life, her daddy got her to eat.  He bought us time.


The next 21 days were full of normal daily life; running A to school, groceries, play dates, along with many visitors wanting to meet this little one that would go to heaven soon.  I can understand that, what an amazing concept to touch one who will be in the presence of God very soon.  We definitely had an amazing support system in place and we felt very cared for and loved.  If you were a part of that, thank you very much.  We appreciate it still to this day.


I remember clearly when the end of her life was near for our Josie.   It was a Sunday evening, and we couldn't get her to swallow. If you know anything about hospice, or the shutting down of the body's systems, you know that this is one of the fist signs.  I didn't know this at the time.  I honestly had no idea what to expect.  I did call our Doctor and he told me that it was normal and that it would be soon now, that she could only survive that way for 24-48 hours.  It seems insane to me still today.  Your child is dying.  There's nothing you/we can do.  Period.  It was so very awful.


Josie died the following Friday.  October 31, 2008.  96 hours after she last had nourishment.


I know that moms everywhere do this, that they have to say goodbye to their children, that they have to let them go.  I cannot imagine (I know, right??!!) how excruciating this must be.  I only knew this child for 8 months and 23 days, and it ripped my heart out of my body.  I weep with you mothers, for your loss.  I weep with you mothers for that moment when there is nothing left for anyone to do.  I weep with you as you are asked to sit by and watch your child slip away, forever.  My heart carries the weight of that moment, with you, always. 

Pumpkins At The Patch

The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly. John 10:10 ESV









I love fall!  It reminds me of abundance. 




I worried that since the birth and death of Josie happened in the fall that was going to make me dread this time of year, but it doesn't.  I'm so grateful for that.






Josie's due date was October 31, 2008.  I wasn't thrilled with this, because it just seemed wrong to have an innocent baby on such an odd (creepy/spooky/scary) "holiday".  It'd be sort of like having a baby on April fool's day (which G was just one day shy from being born on...).  Who knows why I was so hung up on dates anyway...but as irony sets in, in actuality, Josie died on her due date.








I remember this trip to the pumpkin patch so vividly.  I was so excited to get to take our WHOLE family to pick pumpkins because we already knew that we would only have this one chance to do that.  It's so strange how present I was able to be while she was alive and in my arms.  I had the presence to soak and breathe her in because I knew my chances with her, my moments with her, were waning.  This was so unlike me.  God breathed.  Life abundantly. 




Seeing it for the first time in 2008, it has taken me years to get to the point of experiencing that God breathed, abundant space again.  True joy.  It's inexplicable.




Jerry Sittser, in his book "A Grief Disguised" talks about having to plunge through the darkness, all the way through it, in order to get back to the light.  It's so true.  You cannot turn back to get out.  You must go ALL THE WAY THROUGH it and come out the other side.  Trust me, it's worth the trip. 


 

Let's Just Eat Cake.

For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb.  Psalm 139:13


Recently, my husband and I were talking about what we were going to do for the evening.  I was excited about watching some show on TV that we had been watching...I can't remember which one off the top of my head, but I do remember also saying with a little bounce in my step "I love TV!".  He started to laugh and said "I don't think you can't say that, can you?".  Laughing we continued to talk about this topic, ridiculous as it is with all it's "lacking PC" and the social unacceptability of the statement itself.  These days it seems that if you're an intellect of any kind, you despise TV.  What's wrong with loving TV??  I do love TV, not ALL TV, but I do love it.  I also hate dogs.  Not ALL dogs, but most of them (sorry dog people, but it's true), and, I. Love. Cake!  So, what's wrong with that??


Another thing I really hate, are birthdays.  I wasn't always this way, although I've never loved them, but I think it's official, I hate birthdays.  Maybe it's not birthdays so much, but more the marked passing of time...included in this are new school years, for sure!  Although I love my kids (A and G), so very much, I hate to watch them grow up, hate to watch them get older.  They're going to be amazing grown-ups, but I hate that thought of one day they will not be within my grasp, that I cannot reach out and touch them whenever I want to, or need to.  Ug!  It makes me cry just thinking of that day.


I assume every mother feels this way, but I know mine stems from already knowing what this feels like.  Let me inform you that IT SUCKS!!  I know this because today, October 8th, 2014 marks the 6th birthday of our third child, Josie Faith.  We only got to have her within our grasp for 23 days.  She would have been a Kindergartner this year.  Oh how sweet, I can imagine, that would have been.


So, marked time, for this mommy, is an enemy.  The time that passes, each year, is one more year farther from that last bath, that last rocking her to sleep, that last sweet kiss on her super soft skin.  Or is it really one more year closer to eternity with our Josie Faith?  I suppose it's both.


Today, I love TV.  I hate dogs (not ALL dogs ; ).  And I love cake.  So today, let's just eat cake.