Thank you to Ron Dormer for videotaping this. You were so encouraging and patient with me and I stumbled through and started over many times. Thank you to Pastor Larry Hasmatali for giving me this opportunity to share Everlasting Love with the hearts of the people in our church. Thank you to Holy Sews for the use of their layette design and Teeny Tears for the diaper design.

3 years...could it really have been that long ago? So many memories come flooding back as, in my mind, I make my way through August 2, 2010. Tears are hiding within the memories and spring out when I least expect them.

Again this year we wondered how we would honour Zoe on her birthday. I wasn't really sure what my heart felt like doing this year. This week at VBS our kids have been learning about missions and about kids in other countries need our help. Through Compassion Canada our children's ministry sponsors a little boy.

Today our family chose a little girl. In honour of our little girl, we will give so that another little girl can dream with abandon and run & play without worry of where her next meal will come from.
Here name is Dilmi and she is from Sri Lanka. We chose Dilmi because her birthday was the closest to Zoe's of all the children there.

Our pastor contacted me last week as I sat trying to think of what we could do. He said that his sermon this sunday was going to be on suffering and how beauty can be found even in it's midst. He asked me to speak about how Everlasting Love began and what it is about. My heart started to pound...speak in public!?!?!?! Yikes!!! "Relax, it will be on video for our powerpoint," he says...okay, that's a little easier. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that this was a perfect way to pay tribute to our baby girl and the things her life has taught us.

After I retrieved my heart from my throat, I said that I would do it, after all, it would only serve to help others...right? Eeeek! Well now I had to come up with something to say. "Just speak from your heart." he said. If only that was possible without me crying the ugly cry.

I knew I had to plan out what I was going to talk about. After much prayer, I wrote out what I felt I should talk about and the video was recorded.
I pray that through it, women who have never been able to grieve yet, will realize that grief over the loss of their babies IS normal. When our babies are gone too soon, we still want to be able to mother them. We have to try to fit a lifetime of mothering into a few hours, sometimes into only a few moments. If the layettes that are donated allow mothers to feel even one ounce of comfort as they dress or hold their babies, I have accomplished what God laid on my heart.

In the next few weeks I intend on pulling out the sewing machine and I will let my heart, love, grief and joy pour out as I sew blankets, gowns & diapers. I will take pictures as I go so you all can see my progress :)

Happy Birthday angel baby. I love you with all my heart...

Reflecting on her birth day, 2 years later

***Warning, some graphic descriptions and emotions***

"There's a peace I've come to know
Though my heart and flesh may fail
There's an anchor for my soul
I can say it is well...
Jesus has overcome and the grave is overwhelmed
The victory is won, He is risen from the dead...
I will rise on eagle's wings, no more sorrow no more pain"
Chris Tomlin

This song is so close to my heart. My heart sings it loud...

This post has taken awhile to write, but for a few days now Zoe's song has been playing through my head over and over. Her second birthday in Heaven has just passed. We celebrated her birthday on August 2 by going down to the river where we held her memorial service and putting many different colours of rose petals in the water. Daddy bought his baby girl the best he could find. We thought there were only two colours in the bag, but as we dug deeper, we came out with more colours. The water has never looked so beautiful to me as it did that night.

We stood by the water's edge and sang Happy Birthday to our girl. The kid's voices ringing out loud and clear over the ripples as they sang their hearts out with love for their little sister. I didn't care who heard us. We were loving her the only way we knew how in this moment. Kyler blew his kiss at the end of the song.

I miss my babies in Heaven with every fibre of my being. I know I will be with them one day, but until then, there are empty spaces in my heart that they have left behind. Those spaces ache so deeply, there are not words to describe it. Tears filled my eyes so many times that day as I replayed in my mind all of the moments of that day two years ago. The rose petals floated away and as they did, some of them formed a perfect heart on the water. A quick reminder of His love that holds us through this. It was gone before I could get a picture of it though.

It was such a peaceful night. You would never know that just hours before, the sky had let loose a downpour unlike any we had seen since the night that a tornado touched down just outside Moose Jaw. On any day that has held significance to Zoe, it has rained...the day of the ultrasound where we found out her little heart was no longer beating, the day she entered this world, the day we went to the funeral home to make the arrangements for her little body to be cremated (It still turns my stomach to say that, a pen has never been so heavy to lift as it was the day I had to write her name on that paper and sign my name giving permission. It literally took all my strength), and the day of her memorial service.

As the day went on, I saw scene after scene in my mind. You can read the events of her birth that I wrote out a short while after she was born here:

Zoe's Birth Part 1 and Zoe's Birth Part 2

Right now, I write the scenes in my memories...
Waking up in the morning, heading to the bathroom. There was blood and my womb hurt...my heart sank and hot tears poured down my face. I knew she would be born that day. I wanted to hold her in my arms, but not yet, not in this way. I wanted to see her sweet face, but not this soon. The phone call was made to our doula. She would meet us at the hospital. My mom comes in, tears running down her cheeks as she walks through the front door. We stop to pray together before leaving. It is still not too late God. Never too late for a miracle. The breathe of life breathed into a tiny body restoring what is missing. She gives me a tight squeeze and tells me how much she loves me and this little one. Driving up to the hospital, my stomach was in knots. What would our baby look like? How would the birth feel? I knew that now, not only was there physical pain coming, but there was a raw, searing pain that was present. I could not get away from it. I didn't want them to take my baby from my body. She deserved to be born just the way she was supposed to have been in only a few more months. I was so angry with death. I was so angry for the life of my baby being stolen. I didn't want to think about them taking her away after she was born. Each footstep into the hospital was agonizing. I did it only because I felt I had no choice. I didn't get to have a say in this one. I wanted to turn and run. Talking to the lady at the admitting desk, I hear myself saying that I am there to deliver my baby who passed away a few weeks ago. What? Are those words really coming from my mouth...this can't be real.
We make our way up to Women's Health, the unit where babies are born every day. I cringe inside hoping desperately that there are none in the nursery we have to walk by. We are greeted by coldness.  I keep my eyes averted from the window that proudly showcases live babies. I know that without a miracle, my baby will never be joining them there. The nurse seems so cold and so uncaring about what we are there for. I don't know why. The bleeding is getting heavier, there has been no miracle. We are sent to another room to wait. T.V. making useless noise, I have no idea what is on or what it is talking about. The room feels small, too small. It is getting harder to even breathe. I want to leave. My Doula sits beside me, I ask her questions like does she know what the baby will look like when it comes out. She is not sure, but says another doula friend of hers said that the baby's are well preserved in their momma's tummy. As many times before in the last two weeks, I feel again that I am a walking tomb. I feel it now more than any other day, but yet I desperately don't want my time with her to end. At least if she is in my womb she is warm and safe. I am praying, God I can't do this on my own.
The time has come, the Dr is here. We see the him. More questions, do I even know the answer to these? I have to bare myself for him to check me, I am laid open to my very soul as I lay there on the bed. Vulnerable, heart broken, desperate, angry, lost, empty and scared and trusting that my God has me safe in His arms. I don't understand, not at all, but I trust.
When we are done with the Dr. we are told to come back when the bleeding gets worse or once the baby is born. He has been kind. He leaves and there is only more coldness from the one that I thought was supposed to be trained to support me as a patient. A patient about to deliver her dead baby any time. We are told we can go home. The time of birth is unknown. The rest of the day blurs with tears, many more tears than I ever thought I could cry, falling from my red and swollen eyes.
My heart is in agony. How does one "get through" this. What are the "proper ways to grieve"? How do I accept birthing a baby I will never bring home?  I don't have a clue! There are no guidelines or instructions for grief. It is what it is, it comes when it wants, it drowns you at times.
The late afternoon approaches, the contractions that have been sporadic all day start to become more regular, they intensify. As I prepare our meal, I stop many times to lean on the counter, rocking through contractions, knowing she is closer to leaving me until I meet her in our Heavenly home. My tears fall soaking sleeves as I pointlessly try to wipe them away. How will I bear this? God, How can I do this? I can't...I just can't. And yet I know I will, because I have to. Because He gives me strength, hope and love. We have finished eating, I could hardly eat a thing. I don't want to eat. I don't want to do anything but change events to keep my little girl growing healthy inside me.
The contractions are stronger and regular, though not as strong as with my other kids...I wonder how close I am to meeting my baby. I have to go to the bathroom. At least I think I do. My kids are laying on my bed watching a show. Oblivious to what was going on as I walk past them and into the bathroom. We had told them in the morning before we left for the hospital that probably today would be our baby's birthday. I didn't want them to worry.
With the urge to push, I can feel my baby's head ready to be delivered. I am scared. Really scared. With bleeding troubles after birth in my previous pregnancies, I didn't know what to expect. We called our doula again. Together we decided that probably by the time she got in to town, the baby would be born so there was no point in her coming. In my heart, I wanted her to come, but didn't want to inconvenience her. It was the wrong choice. I should have had her come in. She wishes she would have just come in. I did too.
We call the hospital. The unkind nurse answers the phone on women's health. She says some of the ugliest words my heart heard that day..."When you come to the hospital, bring the products of conception with you." WHAT??? These "products of conception" as you call them, is MY BABY!!! A BABY! Not just some leftover science experiment. My head is screaming. Tears pouring out. We reached out for help and support and found none from this woman. I am scared. the scenarios play out in my mind. Of course fear brings the worst images to mind.
If we deliver at home and I bleed too much, I could die. If I bleed too much, the ambulance has to come get me. How scary will it be for my kids to see mommy being loaded onto a stretcher to go in an ambulance if it comes to that...I don't want to die with my kids watching T.V. just outside the bathroom door. God please help me to not fear. Help me through this. Hemorrhaging is not something I have any interest in doing again much less having my kids see me in all that blood so we opt for the hospital just in case.

We get to the hospital, we are sent to women's health...would she still be working. I prayed not. As the elevator doors open, my hands holding the pink paper are trembling. I want to throw up. I want to close my eyes and scream. I want to scream until this all goes away and I wake up from this nightmare. I am trying not to move much, breathing carefully so as not to push the baby out while I sit in the wheelchair. The same nurse with coldness is working. She sends us away. "Go to Emerg. You don't belong here." There must be some mistake. Maybe all the rooms are full. A glance down the hall tells me no, they are not. We don't understand why we are being sent away so coldly but we turn around and head back to the elevator. I don't belong here...here is where they deliver  babies who will live, who will open their eyes. Babies who will go home with their parents dressed in a cute little outfit and snuggled into a carseat covered with a warm, soft, fuzzy blanket.
We get to Emerg. The doors open and we have to explain yet again why we are there. Inside my head it all sounds like a recording. Words without meaning. We are taken to a room. I climb onto the bed and our baby girl makes her entrance into the world "En Caul" which means her amniotic sac didn't break during birth. This is supposed to be good luck and mean that the baby will live a long happy life. Not this time. Good thing I don't believe in luck. They are having trouble controlling the bleeding again. The placenta will not deliver. Her umbilical cord breaks under the pressure they are putting on it, slight as it was. Fearful looks being shared by the nurses now. The atmosphere in the room changes. Staff are rushing, they keep pulling out chux pads and replacing them underneath me. I feel the warmth as the blood and clots still come. I am scared. Thoughts rushing through my head. What if I die here tonight? I would get to be with my babies in Heaven, but I would leave behind my babies on earth. I can't leave them, not yet. My Zoe is safe, she is loved, she is happy, she is dancing before her Heavenly Father.
If I don't make it, what is Greg going to tell the kids? How will they bear this on top of losing their sister? Will they remember how much I love them? Will they remember my hugs and kisses, my laugh, my mothering? Or will they only remember the sadness of the last few weeks...I don't feel like I said a proper goodbye to them before we came to the hospital because I didn't want them to worry.
So many thoughts. I pray for peace. I pray for comfort. I pray to push all of the worry and scared thoughts away. I pray that I will make it so I can hug them again and tell them just how special they are to me. So much blood again. The smell fills my nostrils and makes me nauseous. Hospital smell...the blood...the smells of that night are forever in my memory. I know He will never leave me nor forsake me. I know I am safe in His arms no matter what the outcome.
I am to be sent for a D&C to stop the bleeding. A stretcher at the door. A transfer to women's health. Then a message again, I am not to go there. She says again that I don't need to be there.
Another jab at an already bleeding and broken heart. Why is she so against me being there? Maybe it is not that, but it sure felt like that in the moments of dealing with so much more.
The placenta delivers and the bleeding slows...D&C averted. Thankfulness, peace, comfort, longing to hold my baby and see her face. It is time. What will she look like? Will she look like her brothers or sisters? Will she just be an individual all unto herself.
I feel a bit of the excitement of a new mom about to gaze on the beauty of and marvel at her newborn child like I have three times before. This mixed with the sorrow of knowing she will not move. She will not cry, she will not open her eyes.
The nurse opens the amniotic sac. "Oh, she is beautiful" the nurse says. "She is so tiny and perfect. Look at her ten little fingers and ten little toes!" I am watching Greg's face to see his reaction to her. I watch his heart melt as he sees this tiny creature, so perfect. I have seen that look 3 other times and my heart knew it well. The look of pride, love, awe and joy all mixed into one on the face of a man becoming a new father. I am glad that he loves her so much too.
The nurse hands her to us. We gaze upon the beauty of our child. She IS perfect. She is beautiful. She is ours. Part me, part her daddy. Hands, fingers, feet and toes so tiny and yet perfectly formed. The hot tears are mixed with smiles, as we are awestruck with the intricacy that God creates in human life. She is warm still. I snuggle her up to my shoulder, close my eyes and just breathe. I don't want this moment to end. I smell her scent, a mama knows this by heart within moments. My heart is torn between wanting to gaze at her memorizing every single detail of her face and being so that I don't forget her and wanting to hold her close to me and not lose a moment. To see a baby not move and be so flaccid is unnerving. It is foreign and seems so wrong, but this moment with her on my shoulder is so very right. She is close to my heart where her memory will forever stay.
I take her away from my shoulder and hand her to her Daddy. He holds her with such tenderness and gentleness, it brings fresh tears to my eyes. He doesn't keep her long, knowing how little time we have with her, I think he wanted me to have as much time as possible. I hold her tiny fingers on mine, and her tiny feet. Never have I seen something so small, yet so perfectly formed. We tell her we love her over and over. I tell her how much her brothers and sisters would have loved to have met her and held her. We sang to her. I want to sing the song that I had sang to her all those weeks in my womb

Psalm 23 (sung by Temple and her husband in this video)

I can't get the words out though. Every time I would try, I fresh tears would come again. I am not supposed to be singing this to her while she lays dead in my arms. This song was supposed to be a blessing of sorts to sing over her while I was in labor and when she was born. The words are still true, the promise remains the same, I just didn't think that the valley of the shadow of death would be so real and relevant.
Our nurse comes in to say she is done her shift and will be leaving. She says again that she is so sorry for our loss. A new nurse is taking over now. The new nurse comes in to introduce herself and see how we are doing. We nod, words won't come. My sweet girl, my little angel...oh how I wish this could be different. The time hands keep moving on the clock, but my world is standing still and spinning around making me dizzy all at the same time. Another half hour passes and the nurse comes in to see if we are ready yet. Ready for what? Oh yes, ready to give you my baby's lifeless body so you can take it to the lab. Ugh...my stomach is turning again. We have discussed autopsy and genetic testing with the Dr. and agreed to it. It seems so wrong to allow it, but she is not in this body anymore and we felt if it could give us some answers for next time, then it was what needed to be done. That didn't make it easy.
We say no, we are not ready. Not yet. A bit more time. Not that it changes anything, but I needed one more moment to try to etch the details into my memory forever. I don't want to forget. How do these tears keep falling? So many, I thought my body would have run out long ago. Another half hour, the nurse is at the door again. Are we ready yet? It is starting to seem like they are trying to hurry us along. Maybe the room is needed. Are we ready? What does ready mean, what does it feel like? I don't have a clue.
We each took turns and held her close to our hearts one last time, whispering I love you's and saying our goodbyes. The nurse is here waiting to take her away. So incredibly hard to hold her little body out to be taken away. It is done.
It is late and now I am sent upstairs to Women's Health for the night. I am utterly and completely exhausted, yet I can't sleep. I lay in bed watching the clock hands move. I hear babies cry and mommies try to comfort. I hear nurses moving about, I hear deafening silence in my room. No baby cries, only my own sobs. A big room, by myself, but it feels like the walls close in. It is again hard to breathe. They ask if I want something to help me sleep. No, I don't, but I take it anyway, just to escape from this night if even just for a little while. I look down at my gown, traces of amniotic fluid still on the shoulder. All I have left of her. No blanket she was in, nothing else to hold, so I hug the pillow tight. Oh God, please hold me. Please make this hurting stop. He tells me He loves me and will carry me through. Then I realize, for Him to make the hurting stop, I have to not love her still. I have to erase all of being her mommy from my memory. I don't want that, so I accept that this hurt and this emptiness in my heart is forever a part of me. Because I love so deeply, I welcome it to be part of my life from now on. In the emptiness and hurt, He is there and His tears fall with mine. His tears are tears of sorrow for me, but tears of joy as He watches her dance in His presence. He watches her twirl and sing and worship. What a beautiful sight. So with that vision in my head, I sleep.
In the morning I wake early, after only a couple of hours of sleep. I get chills up my spine as I hear the cold nurse's voice at my door. She tells the Dr she has no idea about where I delivered.
I just want this to be over so I can go home and be with my family. I am released to go home. She tosses my hospital card onto the bed carelessly. I get dressed and wait for my husband and kids to come get me. I desperately want to pack the gown into my bag and take it home. It may be silly, but it took everything in me to turn and walk out of that room leaving it behind on the bed. All traces of her existence will soon be washed out. I leave empty handed and broken hearted to go home and begin a new "normal" of learning to live with loss all over again. Each time has been individual to itself.
Now it is time to face the phone calls, the people and life. We are not ready, but by His grace we can and we do.

Zoe's Song

This song was written by my husband when our little girl Zoe was born. Daddy wanted to write a song for his girl. He sang it at her memorial.

She should have joined us in mid December
Maybe played Jesus in the christmas play
She left us too soon, but we'll love her forever
'Cause she left her little footprints on our hearts

Chorus:
She left her little footprints, her tiny little footprints
She left her little footprints on our hearts
She left her little footprints, her tiny little footprints
She left her little footprints on our hearts

We wanted to hold you an tell you about Jesus
Now He can hold you and tell you about us.
Your mama's heart is breaking, so badly wanting you to hold
"Cause you left your little footprints on our hearts

Chorus:

Bridge:
Oh we'll see you soon I know
As soon as we get to Heaven
But you left your little footprints, your tiny little footprints
You left your little footprints on our hearts
Left your little footprints on our hearts.

The Hurt & The Healer on Judah's day

MercyMe - The Hurt & The Healer

This group reads my heart again and again with their music...
I'll be honest, my heart hurts today. A lot. I am smiling yes, but that smile is hiding and trying to push away my tears. Many times today I had to stop, breathe and try to refocus on something else and dry my tears, hoping that no one would notice. As badly as I wanted people to know, I knew I could not talk about without tears and tears make people uncomfortable. Today was my due date with our last baby Judah.

Right about now we should be kissing a downy, soft head. Holding a warm wriggling bundle that fits ever so perfectly in our arms, hearts and family. Smelling that sweet newborn smell as we marvel at the wonderful miracle of tiny, new life. I should be feeling my breasts filling with milk for my baby and smiling as he or she slurps and nuzzles. Instead here we sit. Celebrating the moments we did have, and trying not to concentrate on the ones we don't. It is hard to be ONLY joyful, when this empty feeling, this feeling of so much that is missing from our lives, is there.

Today I held a three day old baby that is in foster care. He fit so perfectly in my arms, his soft little cheek resting against my chest. His eyes opened and he just looked at me. I smiled at him and told him what a beautiful boy he was. I told him how sweet he was and I hoped that he felt some of the love from my heart that wells up inside. I was so sad for his mama, who maybe never even got to hold him.

I let my day fill up with lots of activity so that I wouldn't have to "go there" even though my heart was there all along. Then I came home and my sweet husband had bought a rose for our baby. He put it on our baby's grave with a little note and a spray of baby's breath.
I sat out there tonight, praying and asking God for comfort and peace...And He brings it again.

I am tired now, my eyes don't want to be open anymore. They burn from the tears that have fallen.

This is not my home...

When we have a heart's desire, and it is so close to becoming a reality that we can almost tangibly feel it, it cuts deeply when it fades away and the answer is "No."
We all have a choice in that moment. we can choose to live in bitterness and anger, full of doubts and resentment; or we can feel all those things and still find something to be thankful for. My choice? To be thankful for the moments I did have with my babies. I am their mommy forever now, and though their time was short here on earth, I am honoured to have been given that time with them. Did I feel this way right away? Did I want to make this choice? No, it took me some time to be able to do it, even though I knew it was what I needed to do. The hurt was too deep and raw...
Am I glad I chose that? Yes. Without a doubt, yes. I don't think I would be where I am today without looking for something to be thankful for. I have found joy again in little things. I find that when I specifically look for things to be thankful for, I can see sunshine again. I feel more at ease, and the weight I carry in my heart is not quite so unbearable. 



I read this blog today.
Hormonal Imbalances - When God says No...

It brought back many emotions and memories of how I felt after the miscarriages we have had. After reading it, I felt God confirming in my heart that when I chose to be thankful even when it hurts, I am making the right choice. No matter what the difficult circumstances are that you are facing, no matter what your heart's desire is that has not become reality yet, there is One you can turn to when you feel hopeless. He will give you strength when you have none, hope when you are hopeless, glue when you feel like life is coming undone.


Here is a beautiful song...I love the line, "What if your blessings come through raindrops, what if your healing comes through tears."


The pain reminds me that this is not my home...

Blessings - Laura Story


We pray for blessings
We pray for peace
Comfort for family, protection while we sleep
We pray for healing, for prosperity
We pray for Your mighty hand to ease our suffering
All the while, You hear each spoken need
Yet love us way too much to give us lesser things

'Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops
What if Your healing comes through tears
What if a thousand sleepless nights
Are what it takes to know You’re near
What if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise

We pray for wisdom
Your voice to hear
And we cry in anger when we cannot feel You near
We doubt Your goodness, we doubt Your love
As if every promise from Your Word is not enough
All the while, You hear each desperate plea
And long that we'd have faith to believe


'Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops
What if Your healing comes through tears
What if a thousand sleepless nights
Are what it takes to know You’re near
And what if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise

When friends betray us
When darkness seems to win
We know that pain reminds this heart
That this is not, this is not our home
It's not our home

'Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops
What if Your healing comes through tears
And what if a thousand sleepless nights
Are what it takes to know You’re near
What if my greatest disappointments
Or the aching of this life
Is the revealing of a greater thirst this world can’t satisfy
And what if trials of this life
The rain, the storms, the hardest nights Are Your mercies in disguise

Mother's day with a new view

Can anyone really expect to recover from such tragedy, considering the value of what was lost and the consequences of that loss? Recovery is a misleading and empty expectation. We recover from broken limbs, not amputations. Catastrophic loss by definition precludes recovery. It will transform us or destroy us, but it will never leave us the same. There is no going back to the past, which is gone forever, only going ahead to the future, which has yet to be discovered. Whatever that future is, it will, and must, include the pain of the past with it. Sorrow never entirely leaves the soul of those who have suffered a severe loss. If anything, it may keep going deeper..."

~ Jerry Sittser


I Look To You - Selah
Tears fall as I hear this song tonight. When all my strength is gone...


What is my future? I have pondered this thought a lot lately. So many new adventures that excite my heart are ahead of me. For those who don't know, I took my Postpartum Doula training in fall of 2011. I just finished a Babywearing Educator course last weekend and at both of these events, I met so many amazing women! In summer I will be taking my Labour Doula training and then in fall of this year I plan to take my Baby Loss Doula training.
All three of these doula trainings will work together very nicely. I have found quite a deep passion for and am really looking forward to being a Labor doula; however my heart's cry is supporting women through baby loss. I don't know what that is going to look like in my neck of the woods, but time will tell.
In the quote above, Jerry Sittser says, "Catastrophic loss by definition precludes recovery. It will transform us or destroy us, but it will never leave us the same." So, what will I do with my "beautiful mess?" (as I have heard this life after baby loss called)


My heart is forever changed, inside and out by my children. I will never look at pregnancy and birth the same way as I did before my losses. I will never look at a newborn baby the same. I have learned not to take those moments for granted because when you have to try to fit a lifetime of love into a moment, an hour, a day, a month, a year or even 3 years, it is an impossible task. There is so much that feels as if it is left unfinished, and can never be fulfilled here on earth.
Oh what I would give for one more hug, one more kiss on her little head, one more moment of time...
I laid in bed with my four year old while tucking him in tonight and watched him fall asleep. He had been kind of wild all evening because he was so tired. It took only moments for him to go to sleep and I laid there feeling his sweet breath against my cheek, watching the fluttering of his eyelids as he drifted off.
There is almost nothing on earth like watching a sleeping child. A child who, only minutes before had been driving you crazy with his silliness, now lays before you almost angelic. His cheeks flushed and his hair tousled from a day of playing, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. I put my hand on his chest and felt the flutter of his little heart, a heart that once beat in my womb, and I am convinced still beats with mine sometimes. How peaceful he looked. I leaned in and whispered into his ear, sweet murmurings of a mother's love. I thanked him for being here. For making it. How did he do it? Why couldn't the others? Hot tears splash the pillow. How very thankful I am that my life has been made so rich by my three children with me on earth.
Now Mother's day is almost upon us again. My heart breaks for so many mommy's I know that will not be holding their baby's on that special day. I know that pain and that longing...I also know a peace and a hope that never fail.
The end of this month, May 31st, marks my due date with Judah. My heart yearns for those moments of my body straining to bring forth new life, and then when that is over, nourishing a tiny, perfect being.  I literally dream of what those moments feel like. These tears are brought back afresh sometimes as ones close to me are due around that same day, and I am happy for them. To see the joy and wonder on their faces as they gaze at their newborn who smells so sweet, there is nothing else like it. 
Sometimes I get angry that loss taints so many areas of life. Sometimes I wish I could say I was spiritual enough, or strong enough or even oblivious enough to not feel the pain, but it is there. I feel it and learn from it daily. This pain has value in my life, only through choice. I have chosen not to let it destroy me. I have so much to learn about this life still, but in the meantime, I will use what I know and what I have experienced to help others. I will sit and get muddy in their puddle with them and show them that there is hope. Even when we don't feel it yet, there is hope.  Our babies stories have been heard and read by many and I will keep sharing about them. It is the only way that I have of being their mommy right now. I will honour them by keeping their memory alive.
So my angels, while I celebrate Mother's Day here on earth with your brothers and sister, know that my heart eagerly awaits the day when we will all be together again. I love you more than words can express Asa, April, Kane, Zoe, Ellie and Judah.

Everlasting Love

Well here we are, almost the beginning of October. Wow, how have that many months passed already in this year. Today, I read with my children. I know that sounds basic, but we had such a great time. I sat on the couch and I had one child on either side of me and one at my feet. When I told my oldest son to choose his favorite comfy place to sit, he said, "I will curl up right here beside you. That is my favorite place to be mommy." MELT! What an opportunity to speak positively into their lives. We talked about harmony in our home and in relationships. We read scriptures (taking turns), we talked out scenarios that we have dealt with or might deal with, we made a craft that required cooperation and being a peacemaker. It was wonderful. Then we sat back again to read a story from Ten Girls Who Used Their Talents, and Ten Boys Who Changed The World. Then on to a DVD about the Galapagos Islands and more discussion on creation and evolution. It was a full fall day.
Tonight I was laying on my bed reading my dear-to-my-heart friend Denie Heppner's blog Sunshine Daze.
She had a picture on her blog entry of the ocean. It made me think of how my life feels right now. I know that sometimes, out where I cannot see it, the ocean roars and is furious with storm, but right now on my own little beach, it is peaceful. The water is shimmering close to the shore as the sun's rays dance across the water. There is a peaceful hope reigning over me, it sneaks up onto the shore and covers my toes as I curl them in the blessed coolness. I take a deep breath in, the air smells so clean and crisp. There is newness washing up with every wave.
My path is taking a new direction. I am beginning a new ministry here that I am confident will be a blessing to many, simply because I know how much it would have meant to me. It is going to be called Everlasting Love.
I will be a chapter of an organization called Holy Sews based in Arkansas. It was started by a mama named Regina whose baby Ryan is also in Heaven. I hope this link works, HERE is the story of the first time Regina hit the road to hand out layettes. So amazing how God looks ahead in time and works things together for good.
I am going to be making layettes for babies are born in the second trimester. I had nothing to dress Zoe in after she was born and what a blessing it would have been to have these little layettes available. Regina is such a huge blessing in my life. She has been so encouraging and patient as we develop this new road together (she actually is doing most of the developing). I am so excited about this and I welcome any volunteers to help. I am starting my list! The layettes consist of a fleece blanket, a flannel hooded blanket that ties around the baby with a ribbon, a teeny tiny hat perfect for their little heads, a small little fluffy bear that can be placed in their arms and a little tiny gown. Sigh.....to give dignity and honor to even the smallest, shortest life.

I will have my own section of space on the web linked from the Holy Sews website and I will have an email address directly associated with the organization. The tags on the layettes from my chapter, and the cards included with the layettes will have Everlasting Love on them in honor of Zoe. Since Zoe was born, I have searched high and low for a gown or gown pattern to make that would have fit her. I want parents to have something to hold, that was in contact with their baby, after they say goodbye to their precious little one and hand him or her over. I believe that these things will bring comfort and be treasured.
I have come up empty handed in my search until recently. I believe God led me to this ministry so that we can reach out to even more people in honor of our babies we didn't get to keep here on earth with us.
This is all totally God, how everything is falling into place so quickly. Within a few weeks, Regina now has 3 new chapters of her organization well on the way to being up and running.
As soon as things are closer to being ready, I will post again about it. Eeeek! I am so excited. Thank you God for the opportunity to show Your love to grieving families. I am humbled and honored to be a part of this.

Bold enough

This is a post I began awhile ago. I just re-read my last post and realized that this one is on the same topic. I guess it is on my heart often so please be patient with me :o)

I have thought a lot about the tears I have cried since Zoe's death. Now a year later, she is still very much part of my identity. Sadly, an invisible part. To many of you, I am just Kiara, Jinaea, Jaron, and Kyler's mom, but you are missing a name. I am Zoe's mom too. I cannot always say that to people and when I don't, I feel guilty for not mentioning her. Like I am not giving her the honor she deserves as my child. How do I make my heart move to the place where I don't feel that anymore? I don't know if I ever will find it.

A few months ago a girl I hadn't seen in a long time came to me a church and after a short time of  catching upon detail of her life, she asked about my kids. She asked about Jinaea and Jaron and said, "This can't possibly be Kyler!! He has gotten so big. Wow, and where is your baby? I can't wait to meet him or her! Did you have a boy or a girl?" I froze. What do I say? How do I tell her? Tears filled my eyes and the smile left her face. I told her that I had a baby girl. I told her a short version of what had transpired. Tears filling her eyes now too, she reached out and hugged me, "I am so very sorry!"

This weekend I ran into a friend I hadn't seen in many months. We were talking about babies and kids and she said, "You have four kids right?" Again, my brain raced, "How do I answer this? Here goes again..." I replied, "Our baby girl was born last summer but she was still born at twenty-two weeks."
A quiet, "Oh," from her, and then awkward silence. 

I will admit I have often had tears spring to my eyes  just from a simple "How are you?" This usually brings about an apology from the person who then feels bad for even asking and "obviously bringing up something that is painful" which then makes me feel bad for making them feel bad. There are times that my tears seem to make others just downright uncomfortable and I wish it was different. Grief is not easy or comfortable for us or for you. No one knows what to say or do. There we stand in that moment, you fidgeting and unsure of what to say now. The tears fall from our eyes and we try to hide them by wiping them away. You have done nothing wrong, your question has just punctures my "I am fine" mask and touched a soft spot in my heart. "How are you?" is an innocent question, in itself very commonplace. Really there are days where almost no matter what a person says, it can bring a flood of tears. Those are the days, I just need a hug, an understanding smile or a prayer. Maybe even all three.  I am not crazy, just hurting in that moment.

Partly the awkwardness is my fault because I too, am uncomfortable and don't know what to say. There have been and are days that I don't even know how to say what I feel. I know, for the most part, people mean well with the things they say.

I know I have some supportive, be-there-through-anything friends and the following things are not true of everyone. Please forgive me if any of this post sounds too presumptuous. I mean no insult. I found some of this list in a pamphlet on helping others through grief. It says what I have not been bold or courageous enough to say in those moments....

1. I wish you would not be afraid to speak to me about what is going on in my life, and to ask what you can do to help. Even if it means I may shed a few tears.
2. If I cry or get emotional when we talk about them (the person who has died), I wish you knew that it isn’t because you have hurt me.  The fact that I have suffered a loss is what is causing my tears.  You have allowed me to cry, and I thank you.  Crying is healing.
3. I wish you wouldn’t pretend that nothing is happening to me, because this is a large part of my life.  I need my friends and family by my side.
4. I will have emotional highs and lows, I wish you wouldn’t think that if I have a good day, my grief is over, or that if I have a bad day, I need psychiatric counseling.
5. Grieving and what I’m going through is not contagious, so please don't shy away from me.
6. I wish you knew that all of the “crazy” grief reactions I am having are in fact very normal.  Depression, anger, frustration, hopelessness, and questioning are to be expected during and following what is happening to me.
7. I wish you wouldn’t expect my grief to be over if and when I appear to be smiling or happy.
8. I wish you would understand the physical reactions to grief.  I may gain weight or lose weight…sleep all the time or not at all…want to surround myself with business or be all alone, all of which may be related to my grief.
9. Birthdays, anniversaries of  big days, holidays, and the day I found out, are all terrible times for me.  If I get quiet or withdrawn, just know I am doing my best to cope. 
10. It is normal and good that tough times make us re-examine our faith, values, and beliefs throughout this journey.  We will question things we have been taught all our lives, and hopefully come to some new understandings, deeper, strengthened faith and a closer relationship with God. 
11. I wish you knew the only way I can get through grief is to experience it, and sometimes immerse myself in it.  I have to hurt before I can heal.
12. I hope you understand that grief and difficult situations change people.  I am not the same person I was before I experienced this nor will I ever be that person again.  If you keep waiting for me to “get back to my old self,” you will be frustrated.  I am a new creature with new thoughts, dreams, aspirations, values, beliefs and goals. Please try and get to know the “new me”…maybe you will still like me.

   And particularly in the situation where a baby has died or a person is having difficulty conceiving:

13.  I wish for those friends and family that are pregnant to understand that we are happy for them. Our sadness / perhaps odd or distant behavior during this time is not personal but just a part of what we are grieving.

14. I hope that you will not avoid or stop calling because you don’t know what to say. Show me that you care and I can lean on you.

15. I wish that you would not judge the times that I am sad or find it hard to deal with things. (like finding out a friend is pregnant and baby showers)

16. I hope that you will try to put yourself in my shoes. Stop for a moment to think about what you would do and how you would feel if you were in my shoes and use that as your guide to support me.

17. Above all (and I know I have asked for this lots!!) Please pray for me to have strength, peace and healing, especially on the days you can see I am having a hard time. I appreciate your prayers so much.

I know that without God's love and His presence through this, I would not be able to make it through and still smile. I believe that something beautiful can be made from even the worst of circumstances and situations. We have seen God's hand in both small and in big ways all through our lives and I thank Him for that everyday.
If you are going through something difficult I encourage you to reach out. Reach out to God, a good friend, or possibly even a support group. Do not try to handle it all on your own. I encourage you to write like I am. It feels great to air out your thoughts and feelings. It does not have to be on a public domain like this, but even just in a journal. I have had many comments and emails from people who have been blessed or encouraged by me sharing my heart. Yes, there have been some negative too, but now I quickly move those in the folder they belong ;o)  You never know whose life you might make a difference in!

Ultrasound report....

 I will bless the Lord forever, I will trust Him at all times
This is the song that played through the night in all my dreams on Monday night. I hold tight to these scriptures. I will trust Him at all times, He has made me glad. He is my strength, my shield, my portion.....

There is a silence that hangs in the room during an ultrasound when the technician knows it is not going to be the news you hoped for. It has become all too familiar to me. Body language is a giveaway as well.
They avoid eye contact, most of the technicians I have had, seem very uncomfortable with the tears that they think they will see. At least that is what it seems. There was no screen turned on at the end of the bed for us to watch the miracle of life unfold as the ultrasound wand moved across my tummy. I could slightly see the screen in front of the technician and was watching intently, hoping to see the little form of this baby we loved already. There was only black emptiness. I fought back tears as I laid on the table praying and telling myself I just didn't know what to look for exactly.....maybe the baby was just really small, please God, just let it be that.
I looked at the picture hanging above the bed. A showcase of Toronto Maple Leaf jerseys throughout time.
The picture is a familiar sight as well. It is the same one I stared at while I tried to quiet the screaming in my head when they told me Zoe had no heartbeat.
The technician speaks the same words we have heard with four other babies that have died in utero...."I need to go speak with the Dr and make sure we have all the pictures we need."
And again, when he comes back, the Dr accompanies him with sympathy in his eyes. "I understand you may have some questions about your ultrasound."
He then tells us that his previous diagnosis of a miscarriage was correct, the baby has already "passed" already and what had developed of the placenta is still hanging on. My queasy feelings and tiredness is most likely caused by the placenta still producing pregnancy hormones. "I am sorry we are here again."
I can hold back the tears no longer. We gather our things and head out to the car.
Now home to tell the kids. We pull into the driveway and shut off the car and sit in the silence. Greg tells me he has no words, he doesn't know how to tell them. I don't either. I have had people ask me why we tell the kids about the pregnancy early on before we know that it is a for sure thing.....well, do we ever know it is a for sure thing? In my world we don't, so we tell our kids early on so that we can all enjoy the happiness that comes with the announcement of a new brother or sister joining our family. We do things as a family, even when it is grieving. Imagine my kids confusion and questions if mommy was just all of a sudden in tears often. They would be wondering if it was something they did. In fact, even with knowing what has happened, one of my kids asked me if it was something they did to make me sad. No, I do not regret telling them. We are family and we share in joy, sorrow, thankfulness, blessings, love, celebration and yes, even grief.
So many things have not gone according to our plans for our lives that I have learned to not waste one moment of that which brings joy. Even if the joy is brief, it is still joy and I am glad we share it together. How else do we teach our children that grief is not something to be ashamed of and hidden. Our children learn by example and I want my example to them to be one of honesty and openness not one of shame and hidden truth.
We go into the house and Jaron meets us at the door. "How is our baby?" Tears fall again and we tell him what the Dr told us. Before my friend leaves, she gives me the tightest, longest hug she has ever given me.
I am thankful for her hug. Tears in her eyes too, she says goodbye and we are alone again, just us and our children here on earth. Jinaea comes up and says, "So, how did it go?" I just shake my head. Sadness fills her eyes too. She makes me a card that says I love you mommy. I am sorry about the baby.
Yes, here we are again saying goodbye to a life so briefly shared with us and looking forward to the time we will meet in Heaven. It is very hard to choose a name for a child that is already in Heaven. What meaning should we choose? Do I even want to choose a name again for a baby I will not hold.......I will, but it may take some time.

Christmas 2010

Well here we are, two days into the new year and I am excited for the things God has in store for us and our family.
Some significant dates and events have passed and emotions have run up and down.....I am thankful for the hope I feel and the contentment that God has given me.  Though this Christmas was filled with love, a missing part was felt as well.  There have even been moments I have longed for the missing sleep of those special middle of the night nursing times. I used to love those times with my other kids, in the peaceful silence of night, just me and my baby sharing an experience only ours. Memories of life with a newborn flood my mind.
Hot, happy tears run down my cheeks as I read the status on Dec 19th of a wonderful friend of mine (my doula) who was due the same day as I was:  

cannot find words to describe my yesterday. Last night I had the most amazing blessing of catching my son in my own hands - in my own room - exactly how I envisioned.

Wow, what a blessing and life changing event that must have been.....

As Zoe's due date has passed now, I no longer feel like I am still looking forward in anticipation to something that was supposed to happen.  Instead it is more the feeling of something being missing.  As we opened presents christmas day, Greg and I both found ourselves wondering who would have been holding her......it probably would have been Nana because she can be a bit of a baby hog when it comes to new grandbabies ;o) and how would our morning have looked with her here as well.
Before christmas, I had been on a long search for some type of ornament to represent Zoe that would hang on our big tree this year. We also wanted something special that we could do with the kids to commemorate Zoe's due date.  We had a little white christmas tree that we decided we would decorate with the kids, using little pink and silver ornaments.
Just how does one pick an ornament that accurately symbolizes the love for and sacredness of a baby who has died?  I am not sure there is such a thing......we searched and searched, finding many options of memorial ornaments but none of them quite fit.
I started to try and think outside the "ornament only" box.....what could we use?  We went to the baby section of a few stores with mixed emotions and ended up looking at little socks and shoes hoping to find something.  I was starting to think we were going to have to settle for something that was not "perfect."  We chose to settle on a set of little tiny newborn socks that I thought we could maybe write her name on.  As we turned to walk away I looked over and saw some little shoes that had been hung in the wrong spot.  I showed them to Greg and they were cute but not what I had imagined.  Then as I hung them back with the others of their kind, I saw at the back of the hook a little white, soft pink and purple pair of shoes with a little butterfly on them.  Instantly tears sprang to our eyes and I felt they were as close as I was going to get to what I had been looking for.  The butterfly is used symbolically to represent the short lives of miscarried and stillborn babies and how they will always be a beautiful part of the fabric of our lives.
Our search continued for tiny pink ornaments for our little tree.  We went to 6 different stores that day.  Finally I found some that were the perfect size and color of pink.  We headed home to Moose Jaw and mom (who had kept the kids for us while we had some alone time on her due date) met us there with the kids. (Thanks mom!)
After supper we called the kids and Nana to the living room and gathered around the little tree. I had also found little silver cherub ornaments that were on little tiny clothespins.We took turns pinning them to the tree and then we asked the kids what their thoughts and feelings were. They talked about things like how happy Zoe must be in Heaven and how they missed her and how much they had been looking forward to having her here at christmas.  We talked about how she was probably worshiping God right then.  Then we each took turns praying and thanked God for her.  It was another beautiful celebration of her life.
We kept the tree lit everyday throughout the holidays.
My mom wrote a beautiful letter to Zoe and I shut myself in my room, desiring privacy to read it Christmas day.  It brings comfort to me to know my mom's heart, to know how much Zoe meant to her, and how much she looked forward to meeting her. I stayed in my room for about an hour while the tears fell....my first breakdown since just before her due date. Zoe was very much a part of our christmas even though she was not physically here.  I am grateful that she is in my Heavenly Father's care and is hearing the praises of Angels as they sing. Merry Christmas baby girl, we love you forever and always.

I got this beautiful saying from another website but it had no author listed:

Precious Little One, We had you in our lives such a very short time, but we’ll hold you in our hearts forever.  It seemed like only a fleeting moment, but it was long enough to see you, touch you, hold you, love you.  It was long enough to know that your life was indeed a gift- no matter how brief, no matter how fragile, Your life was indeed a gift, and we’ll hold you in our hearts forever.

1 Peter 5:7
Cast all your cares on Him for He cares for you......
God, today I cast all my cares on you.   Not just the little, "I can't find my left shoe" cares but the really deep heart-heavy, unbearable-on-my-own kind of cares.
I am reminded that I need Your strength in every part of me.
My mind is consumed daily with thoughts of her, God.  My most recent hopes and dreams sit across the room from me in a tiny, angel urn.  What would you have been if you had lived Zoe?
What would you have looked like laying in my arms? What color would your hair have been? What would your giggle have sounded like as your daddy chased you through the house?  Would you have been quiet and a little shy like me or more outgoing and boisterous like your daddy?
I see a picture in my mind of a dark, curly haired baby with bright blue eyes that sparkle and whose smile can capture a roomful of hearts in a moment.
If I close my eyes, I can almost feel her in my arms.  What does she feel like in yours God?
Does she capture your heart with a glance?
Do You tell her about us?
Does she love to dance like her sister?  I know she must love to worship You like we do.
God please forgive me in my humanity when I search for answers instead of just trusting in Your infinite wisdom.  Help me to wholly trust in You always.
How is it possible to fall so in love with a little person we never met alive?
But fall I did......we did.....the moment that second line showed up on the pregnancy test.
We talked to her, sang to her, loved her.
God, did she hurt or was the warmth of my womb and our love the only thing she felt? I pray that she did not feel pain when her life ended.
  The questions play over and over again in my mind.
I remember back to the day we found out she was with You and the two weeks following that until she was born.
God I know you heard our prayers asking You for life in her little body.  Days later we stepped out in faith asking our Dr. to check for a heartbeat again.  He said he didn't want to make this any worse for us than it already was.  I told him we wanted him to anyway.  I waited eagerly for a miracle with hope and faith in You, knowing that no matter what the outcome, You would see us through. The Dr. could only find my heartbeat and I said, "That's okay.  It's still not too late."
God, thank you for strength in that moment.
We knew what we, in our human hearts, wanted.  To have her back here on earth with us.
It felt somewhat selfish at times to want her back here with us when she is healed, whole and complete with You God, but it hurts so much to not have her here.
My "mommy heart" is having a hard time letting go.  God help me to leave this in Your hands, give me the courage to do it.
Another scene flashes to my mind.  I'm standing in our camper out at the farm two days after the ultrasound.  We wanted to get away, out of the city. I am getting beds ready and my mom comes out to see if I am alright and if I need help with anything.
She sees my tears and pulls me into her arms.  I collapse into her, sobs shaking my body and in her arms I feel like a little girl again, desperately wishing she could make things better.  I say "I just want this to not be real, I want to be able to fix it, I want to make it better."
She cries along with me and says "I know, I wish I could take all the hurt away."
In that moment I realize she feels as powerless holding me, as I feel holding Zoe.
God you have done miracles in our lives before, is one more too much to ask?  I know it is not.  I know You can do it, there is not a doubt in my being.
Many friends are rising up around us, praying with us for a miracle. Some who would not have prayed that way otherwise.
God, I know Zoe is first of all Yours.  She is held by You as I am. I will trust Your plan and not expect my own. I will follow Your leading and not panic or let doubt and fear overshadow the opportunity before me to stand firm in my faith and conviction.
The reality is I am still carrying her and I will not give up on her before she is delivered in Your timing.
God You are still the same, You have not changed. You are our healer however that may look in this situation.
God I thank you for friends who came around us.  I ask you to bless them greatly for the meals, tears, love, hugs and prayers that were the greatest gift they could have given us.
God I thank you for Your open arms that wait for me each time I feel broken, empty and alone.
Just when people think I should be "getting better," "getting over losing her" it feels like it is getting worse again. It feels just as devastating as the moment we found out.  It feels like so much time has passed since and yet no time at all.
So, though I did not get the miracle that I was praying for in exactly the way that I was asking, even still, it happened somewhere else. She is healed, she is happy, she is loved where she is. If I were ever in the same situation again (God forbid), I would pray the same way, who wouldn't.  If there is a chance to see a miracle happen before your eyes, if it was your child the Dr. was talking about, I'm sure many of you would hope the way I did as well.
God, You bring me hope for a new day, a rainbow after the storm, and a promise that it won't always be this hard. Healing for me will come. Zoe you are forever and always my little angel and I am so glad I will get to spend eternity with you.

Held in His arms

While the tears fall, I am held again tonight.  I have His promise that I will be held when everything falls apart. When my world comes crashing down around me and my life no longer looks like I had planned, I am held.  I love that.  To know that I can curl up in His arms and lay my head on His chest and hear His heart beat.  What a comfort that is to me.  There is no place safer than that.  He can handle my anger, my sorrow, my hurt, my tears, my joy (yes there are still moments of joy). He can take the sting of death.  And sting it does!  When people around us shy away from talking about Zoe, the death of a child, He can take it.  He does not shy away.  He hears my heart. There is so much more to life and death than just what we see with our eyes.  I have questioned what was God's will in losing Zoe.....or any of our other babies for that matter.  I know there are parents all over the world whose heart have that resounding cry....WHY God, what was your will in this?  Some hearts cry, where were you God?  Where were you when I needed you the most?  Why did this happen?  Why me, why us, why our family?
Well, I am sorry to say you will find no answers here for those questions other than I would encourage you to let yourself be held by Him, it is the only place I have found peace.
What was His plan for Zoe's life?  It says in the Bible that knows the number of our days before we are a spirit here on earth.......I have asked Him, "Was that really all You had for her?"
I know in my plans for her, there was so much more to her life.  I was so looking forward to having a little baby girl again.  I wanted to rock her, kiss her soft cheeks, nurse her, hear her baby giggle, see her being spoiled and loved by her brothers and sisters, dry her tears when she cried, play tea party with her, kiss her boo-boos, put piggy tails in her hair, see her graduate and walk down the aisle in a beautiful gown, and so many other things.
She may not have been much or meant much to you who are reading this, but she changed my life and heart forever.  She caused us and many others with us to dig in deeper to our faith. She made me want to be a better mommy and show more love and kindness to those around me.  Her short life made an impact here on earth for eternity, so I ask you, did she accomplish what God had for her to do here on earth? I believe that because of her, many lives will be changed.  I believe that because of her, strength will be found in places we didn't know it even existed.  Hope will be found and shared, love will pour out and friendships and heart connections will be formed.  Even though she was seen by very few people, she brought something special here that no one else could have done in quite the way she did.
Another part of my heart is waiting for me in a place I can't reach just yet, but until I can, we are both held in His arms.  When I am there, I am comforted knowing she is as well.
As what would have been Zoe's due date is quickly approaching, I find myself needing to be held by Him more often again.  He is faithful.....He is there everytime.

I Hold, I Am Held

This is the title of a sermon my dad wrote about 3 years ago.  I stumbled upon it by accident one day while I was searching names on the internet.  I wondered what I would come up with if I typed in his name and little did I know that his story about me when I was a baby would so greatly impact my heart today.  Thank you dad, thank you so much for sharing your heart.
Here is the link for it if you want to read it.
 
I Hold, I am Held by Merv Tippe

I know I am held in arms stronger than any storm I face.  They are more comforting, more loving, and surround me with a peace I cannot describe. I am awestruck by His love for me.  That He would love me so much despite my shortcomings.  This has not been easy, but I know He has held me through it all. 
I would like to share with you a few of the precious moments we had with Zoe and some of the things I am thankful for in this....
They were beautiful moments that we didn't want to ever end.  I remember praying as I climbed onto the bed to deliver her and telling God, "It is still not too late for a miracle.  Even still I believe You can."

I am thankful for the nurse in Emerg was so kind and compassionate, her eyes filled with tears as she announced, "It's a girl," and handed us our precious baby.
I am thankful for our Dr. who took the time to just be silent in the room with us, not needing words or trying to explain things in a complicated way, but simply sharing in our sorrow.  
I am thankful that I got the opportunity to deliver Zoe instead of needing surgery.
I am thankful for the moment Zoe was born. Though it was filled with sadness knowing she was not alive, I still felt the anticipation of being a "new mommy" again while I waited to be introduced to this little angel.
One of the best moments in the room that day was the moment Greg laid eyes on her......I couldn't yet see her so I watched his face knowing he would see her first.  His eyes filled with tears, and he had such awe and tenderness on his face.  I remember that look from the births of our other children and I was thankful that his love this time was no different.
I am so very thankful that we got to hold her, those moments will live on in my memory forever.
I am thankful for the time we got to be a family.
She was still warm, we took turns holding her and spent as much time as we could checking out her perfectly formed hands and feet, fingers and toes. Right down to her tiny nails. We marveled at God's wonderfully intricate creation.
I was even thankful when my milk came in a few days later, because it was one more thing that said she was real.
Most of all I have been thankful for His peace and His arms.  No one understands like He does.  I am thankful that God uses others here on earth to bring comfort.  I pray that you will experience His love and faithfulness in your own lives as well.
All through this dance, He has been there for every step. 
Like my dad said,

  "I hold, until I am too weak to do so and then I am held by Him."

In those moments, and in many moments since, we are held by Him.

A grieving man

From the time they are little boys they hear things like, "Stop crying, be a man."  "Don't be a sissy." "Toughen up." "Real men don't wear their emotions on their sleeve."
Why does the world demand that they renounce the pain in their heart and God-given emotions to "be a man." Why must we separate manhood and emotion?
I love my husband's tender heart.  To me, it makes him more of a man.  I know that there are many times throughout this that he has felt he could not grieve because he has to be the strong one.  He has to be the one who is the anchor that keeps some sort of sanity here, but he is hurting too.

I love that he holds me without even needing to know the reason behind the tears.  I love that my children's hearts can move him to tears in a matter of seconds.
He is brave, brave enough to handle visitors and phone calls that came at a time when I could hardly speak.
He is strong, strong enough to make the calls needed to find out what had happened with our baby's body and make the arrangements with the funeral home.
He is a provider for our family, going back to work, even though inside he feels like hiding with me in a dark corner.
He is gentle, cradling our baby's tiny body in his hands during the moments we got to spend with her.
His heart was broken too.  His tears fell alongside mine as we said our hello's and our good-bye's to her.
He lays beside me in bed at night tears running down his face, praying for God's peace to calm the sobs wracking my body, because he knows that that is the only thing that can make a difference.
He misses his baby too. Her name is memorialized on his chest with a footprint tattoo. He put it close to his heart because that is where she will remain all the days of his life.
He is a protector, ready to defend against anything and anyone that would make this more difficult than it already is.
He is my companion, walking with me every step, on this path I thought we would never have to walk again.
He is my love, forever and always.

What love really means...

A friend of mine posted this JJ Heller video the other day.  I sat and watched it and cried.  What an amazingly written song.  It is so true of how God loves us just because He created us.  He knows us inside and out.  I am glad He loves me for me and not for what I feel like or am sometimes.  I can tell you that what I have felt or have been has not always been pretty.  I have learned that He can handle whatever my response is to situations.  He can take your anger, He can take your pain, your heartache, your disappointments, your questions.  Even when you can't.  Especially then.  If we let Him in to start healing us, His love will take care of all those things.  Only he can change anger, resentment or hatred towards someone into genuine love.  Only He can take a broken heart and really make it whole again.  
What about when God doesn't answer a prayer the way you were hoping He would?  I think we all have been there before, maybe many times.
What do we do then?  What about when our dreams or hearts lay in pieces at our feet, so many tiny pieces that it seems it can never be "fixed" again?  Honest answer?  His love is the only thing I have found that heals completely.  
What about when you put your faith out there on the limb, out for everyone to see, what if it doesn't work?  We have done that many times and I can tell you that we have not always gotten the answer we were praying for.  BUT, we have seen miracles.  
God hasn't always come through for us the way we thought He should have. So what then.
Did He not hear us?  Did He not care?  What questions run through your mind when your miracle does not show up the way you wanted it to or when you wanted it to?
My miracle did not come the way I wanted it to.  We prayed that Zoe would live.  
I did not have to try to hide my gamut of feelings from Him and believe me He has heard about them all!!  He just quieted the waves,  and held me.  Be still my soul, be still........
We had many others joining their faith with ours.  I am so thankful for friends that will stand out there on that limb with us!  
So where do we go from here in our walk of faith?
We keep right on walking.  One step at a time.  His love is always enough if we go to Him.
Nothing can change or heal hearts or lives like the love of my heavenly daddy.  
That miracle I have seen time and time again.
If you will reach out for Him, He will love you for you, just exactly how you are.  Change, if needed, will flow from that because when we have been loved by Him, it pours out of us.
Go to Him with your hurts, your brokenness, your dreams, your hopes.  He is there, let Him love you for you, it is amazing.  There is nothing else like it.

Zoe's Birth Part 2

The OB/GYN was very kind and sympathetic, apologizing for our loss more than once. He quietly talked to us a bit about what we were facing, asked me some questions and told me he would examine me to see if I was dilated. With many tears and my heart aching, I climbed onto the bed. After examining me, he determined that I was not yet dilated, but something was definitely happening as far as the bleeding was concerned. He said because there was no way for them to predict how long it would take for the baby to come, that I could wait at home until we were closer. My husband and I agreed that we would go home and wait. He again said he was sorry for our loss and that if we had any questions we could call. We went out into the hall after I got dressed. The same nurse who had escorted us in then asked me to follow her back into the room. She said she needed to take my blood pressure. She got out the blood pressure cuff and at that point she did say she was sorry about our loss and if we had any questions to call.

While she was doing my blood pressure, with what sounded like annoyance in her voice, she said "Now when you come back in to deliver, you need to go to Emerg. DO NOT (strong emphasis was put on these words) come back to Women's Health because you will get sent back down again and we wouldn't want you to have to be shifted between departments now would we." She put things away and then again, before I walked out the door, she repeated " Make sure you go to Emerg, you do not need to come up here when you return." Again, it was not so much the words that she used, but the tone with which she said them.

I felt very much like she did not want me on her ward, even though the situation I was dealing with seemed to belong there. That is where women go to deliver a baby after all. I left there feeling very small, unwelcome and like I was an inconvenience to her.
We headed home to await the event we were so wanting to not happen this way, praying for a miracle even still. My contractions strengthened and came more often as the afternoon went on. I swayed through them, remembering back to my previous labors, tears pouring down my face knowing what was coming. Shortly after supper, I went to the washroom and felt pressure. Zoe had moved into the birth canal and if I pushed, she was going to be born. I “held her in” with my hand and called my husband. We phoned Women's Health to see if we should come in or deliver her at home. They said to come in, and to bring the "products of conception" with us. My husband repeated that the baby was not born yet. I wanted to scream. I wanted to say our baby is not just the products of conception. She is my BABY. She is a person and she is a member of our family. At least give her that much dignity. My heart begged, please do not call her that again! My husband helped me into the van and we headed to the hospital.

We found a wheelchair as soon as we got in the front door and my husband wheeled me to admitting. We registered again at admitting after telling the lady at the desk what was happening. She handed me my papers and said to head up to Women's Health. I told her that I had been in that morning and was told that I was not to go up to Women's Health, but that I had to go to Emergency when I came back in. She made a phone call, I believe it was to Emerg and was told that yes I needed to go up to Women's Health. I said "Ok if you are sure."

My husband pushed me to the elevator and we went up to Women's Health. The elevator doors opened. Scared and agonizing over what we were about to go through, we made our way around the corner to the nurse's station. The nurse from that morning was standing there by the desk with the other nurses. When her eyes made contact with mine, there was no welcome in her eyes. I slowly held out my paper to her hoping that she would take them and that this would not have to be any more horrible than it already felt. Her response to me was, "I told you not to come up here when you came back. They have to see you in Emerg. You belong down in Emerg not here. I am sorry but you are going to have to go back down." Her sorry was very empty and cold. I said "We registered at admitting and the lady told us to come here." She said "No, I told you to go to Emerg." So there I am, trying not to push as the contractions still continued and praying that my baby won’t be born into my pants, sitting in a wheelchair. The world started swirling around me. I looked down the hall thinking, maybe the rooms are all full up here and they just don't have room for us right now. I was hoping to find a valid reason of some sort for her sending us away, because surely there has to be something other than this. The delivery rooms were all dark, doors open and did not appear to be in use at all. I could see that the hopes of a birth with dignity and honor for my baby, and memories, as good as they could be, were going down the drain. My husband turned the wheelchair around. We headed back to the elevator, tears poured down our faces, hearts breaking and hurting even more because we had just been treated like our baby was not worthy of being delivered in a labor and delivery room. I felt broken, humiliated, let down, embarrassed, hurt, angry and very disappointed. I wanted to tell her that she could at the very least have been more sensitive and kind in the way she spoke to us given the situation.
There was no "I realize this is difficult and I am really sorry about this, but we just can't deliver your baby up here," or even "let me make a phone call just to confirm why they think you need to be up here." She just sent us away.

We went down to Emerg. Let me just stop and say right now, thank God for the nurse that we had talked to in Emerg earlier in the day. She was still on shift that evening when we arrived. She was wonderful. She was so kind and sympathetic. I told her that Women's Health had sent us back down and she looked puzzled, but took my paper anyway. I told her that the baby was ready to come out at any moment if I pushed at all. She took me right away into a room and got me a gown. I told her I just wanted to be able to hold the baby and say goodbye once the delivery was done. She promised that she would make that happen and then, with tears filling her eyes, said how sorry she was for my loss. She assured me that she was going to be there to help me through this. Then she helped me onto the bed to deliver our baby. The baby came out almost immediately when I pushed, but then the bleeding started to get worse. The placenta was not delivering easily and the bleeding was getting heavier. She assured me that my baby was still there on the bed and I could hold the baby but they needed to get the bleeding under control before they could let me do that.

She talked to me the whole time and was very reassuring. The Dr and nurses started rushing around a little more quickly and my fear level was starting to climb a bit because I had hemorrhaged a few times before. I almost died the last time and did not want that to happen again. They did not have the pitocin in Emerg and so had to call up to Women's Health to have it sent down. Time was ticking, a nurse said "Did they say they were sending it down? They are not here yet." Someone responded "Yes they said they were sending them right away." If I had been up on Women's Health in the first place, that wouldn't have been a problem. The medication would have been easily accessible. The pitocin did come finally and they gave me the needle and put something into my IV which they had started while they were waiting. The Dr. working Emerg that night said that I would probably need a D&C as the placenta was still not delivering despite their efforts. I was told they were calling up to Women's Health and I would be transferred up there to go for the D&C. A stretcher was brought to my door, they moved the chair and table to make space for it to be brought into the room. Suddenly a nurse appears at the door saying Women’s Health had just phoned and said they don't want her transferred there, that she does not have to go from there for the D&C. They say she should be sent straight from here. My Emerg nurse said "The OB/GYN was going to see her upstairs" The nurse at the door said "Well let me call again." Again I was not sure why they seemed so set on not having me up on Women's Health and was left feeling like an inconvenience to them.

In the next few minutes the placenta did deliver on it's own, for which I was grateful. My angel nurse then did her best with what she had available to her in Emerg. She wrapped Zoe in a clean blue disposable hospital bed pad. I can't help but think that if the delivery had occurred in a delivery room, that a baby blanket would have been available to wrap her in. After a little while she brought a towel and laid Zoe in that instead. She said we could have whatever time we needed with Zoe and left the room to give us privacy. We marvelled at how tiny everything was and how perfect.  Right down to her little fingers, toes and nails. The rest of the time we had with her feels too private to share in this letter so I will leave it out. The OB/GYN came down to see me in Emerg and talked us through the next steps, the autopsy, the genetic testing options. He was very compassionate. With his words and actions he cared about us and our situation. It was very much appreciated.

I don’t know for sure, but I think that if Zoe had been delivered upstairs, they could have done her footprints and hand prints for us. Maybe she could have had a little hat on, maybe not. All the things that I know other mommy's got to take home with them from the hospital as mementos of the short time they did get to have with their baby, I was left without. I ended up having to stay overnight because of blood pressure issues and in the morning, my family Dr. came to see me. I heard him talking to the same nurse that was on the day before when we came in outside the door and hoped she was not coming in to my room with him. When my Dr. asked her if I delivered in Emerg, she said something like “I am not sure.“ I thought how could she say that when she was the one who sent me there to deliver. She did come in with him and stood at the end of the bed. My Dr. said he was sorry for our loss, asked how I was, and talked with me for a few moments. Then he told me I could go home, to make sure to get some rest and come see him in a few weeks to go over how things went. I got my things together and in came the nurse again. She did not have any softness in her tone even now. She said "Well, you were never officially admitted so all I have for you is your white hospital card. You can go" I took the card and tried to muster up the strength to leave behind the only thing that was left that had been in contact with my little Zoe. My hospital gown. I held it for as long as I could, tears pouring down my face, knowing I could not take it with me. It took all I had in me to leave it there on the bed and walk out of the room. I had to force myself to walk out.

We left  the hospital with nothing . No baby, no pictures of her, no footprints, no little hat, no blanket, no gown, no hand prints, not even any papers saying that she existed. It was the most empty I have ever felt in my life. I left my heart there that day, it felt like it had been torn out. It is bad enough to go through the pain and heartache of giving birth to a baby that you know is not going come home with you, that you are not going to experience life with him or her. Then to have none of the other things to remember them by only adds to the harshness. I understand that they are just things, but when it is all you have left of that precious life, those things become very important. The nurse in Emerg offered us compassion, kindness and understanding, the nurse on Women’s Health offered me only coldness in what was the single most difficult moment of our lives. Our baby should have been treated, dead or alive, with honor and dignity. The nurse on Women’s Health offered Zoe none of that.

That is most of the story......I would also like to share the moments of her birth with you that we treasure in a later post....

Addition to blog entry:
I did not realize that I had not included the resolution of this situation from the medical field's standpoint so I will post it now.
After my letter was delivered, I received phone calls that morning from the head of L&D, the Quality of Care Coordinator for the health region, and my Dr.'s office.
They all expressed their sincere apologies for the experience and I was assured the situation would be looked into further and the nurse dealt with.  The head of L&D and the QCC both assured me that this was not the norm whatsoever, in fact it was the complete opposite.  I was told that the situation was going to be addressed at upcoming meetings with the hospital board and the staff of L&D, and that policy changes would be made so that this would not happen to anyone else in future.  I was given a little arm bracelet that is normally given and also I was given a beautiful Willow Tree statue of a Dad, Mom and baby. The head of L&D said she knew that by no means did this make up for how things unfolded, but that she wanted to give something to show how sorry she was on behalf of her department.