The Tears are Different

Not only are the emotions in my soul different, the tears actually feel different. 9 and 3 years later I grieve for my babies in different ways. When Ava first died and a large percentage of the time since that day, my grief for her eclipses my grief for Eric. Not out of lack of sadness for him, but I had 6 years of getting used to him being gone before she passed.

But it's not only that. When Eric was born we were full of joy. We had our first child. My dreams of becoming a Mom came true. Everything was a first. His birth story is filled with excitement and joy. Filled with anticipation of the future.

For Ava the sweet memories are not as abundant and flowing. I was worried my whole pregnancy. I don't know if instinctively knew that there was something wrong. I don't know if I was freaked out at the prospect of having a 4th c-section and being the mom of 4 children under 5. Whatever the situation I found myself in the hospital the night before Ava's delivery on IV fluids trying to hold off for a day to get me to 35 weeks gestation. That night in the hospital was horrible. I came home, undelivered, looking and feeling like I was beaten up. After being home for a few more hours the contractions, while unproductive, kept coming one minute apart. At 2 I went in for my c-section. I will never forget how excited the Bugs were and how I felt the need to temper their excitement. I remember thinking "Am I ready for this...." with an air of imminence. There was not much room for sweet memories. I had a rough recovery and the hospitalization was not too great. The day we discharged is the day we learned Ava could not hear. It was on what would have been on Eric's 6th birthday.  I remember the witnessing the unabashed joy the Bugs had for Ava. The plans they would make for "When Ava is 1...5...etc". I remember trying to temper their exuberance without trying to squash their spirit in hopes to prepare them for what I feared what was around the corner.

These differences are playing out as we are faced with another birthday week. I feel freer to remember the sweet things about Eric. The sweet things about Ava are muddled with a sick pit of the stomach feeling. Busting through that to HER sweetness is not an easy road. It makes all that we were given and subsequently lost so much more poignant.

Then there is the birthday observances. We try to meet the Bugs' needs. This means that Allan and I have to do things that we don't necessarily want to do.  They are kids and they need the tangible, free expression of love. I suppose that is a good thing as sometimes it's easier to bury your head. So this year, on Ava's birthday we went to the grave and laid flowers for Eric and Ava. The store didn't have yellow roses, so we settled on pink and added some yellow baby's breath.

When I first saw this, I wanted to run away. It's too much to bear. But I've learned to bear the enormity of our grief. I am trying to focus on how each of these sweet babies were God's gift to us. Because, really that is exactly what they were. No matter how differently their stories and lives are etched in my memory.

I Miss Her

Well, I realize that it may seem I've fallen off the face of the planet. As life takes over time seems to get shorter and shorter. In my months of blogging silence I find that I've been worked and reworked and God is molding and forming me in ways that I am just now begining to uncover. The tricky part in the discovery is the unraveling of the knots inside your soul. It is just plain hard to take a good hard loook at yourself, and see what needs to be untied.

I have a massage therapist who has physcially helped me achieve what I train for. I would run and beat myself up. Then she would find the knots and methodically and compassionately work them through. The process can be painful, but the release from the tension and the renewed ability for my body to respond and function to the best of it's ability is such a relief. Sometimes the muscles tighten quickly and the feeling is gone in a flash. Sometimes it hangs on a little longer and I can breathe easier.

This is how God reworks your soul. You are numb and you can't tell the source of the pain and anguish. He lovingly, expertly massages the knot. As that area in your life bubbles to the surface it is a tough pill to swallow. Then you live with it for a bit. It becomes familiar and you see it from a different angle. Only then can you work on changing the behavior, the thought pattern or the activity. Then SNAP the old grabs hold of the new, the knot is tied again. You find yourself needing to dig deep again and find courage to face the ugliness that has been laid at your feet.

Your breath becomes shallow and you want to flee, throw it aside and never look back. The realization is ugly. The process is hard. Fire has to burn hot to make metal malleable. Walking through the fires in life need to be hotter than the basic nature of our stubborn, habitual natures.

Then one day, even though the sting is still there you see it and you can learn to handle it. For me it's been the disaray in our home and how I've been parenting the Bugs in the aftermath of the last 9 years of our lives. How does God bring it to the surface? For me it's with His Holy highlighter and a glimmer of the "Amy" that has so long been suppressed. Sometimes because life has burried her, sometimes because it's too painful to remember the "before".

I miss that "Amy". I am so grateful that there are components still there. Of course they will be as that is who God created. But being made is stagnant. We are meant for change. He did not just make me. He FORMS me, He MOLDS me. He BENDS me. As I walk through this life He pulls me closer to who He NEEDS me to be; to become the one He planned for me to become. So I know that the knots will come back, the massage will be painful, but not unbearable. I have to train my mind to not fight it and to relax through it. I need to allow myself to let Him work through me as I continue on my journey. I know that it will never be easy, but it will never be more than I can work through and handle.  Through my tears and my feeings of guilt I can press on.

It can be the same for you as you miss the "you" of your happy time. The process is actually pretty stinky while in the throes of it. But the result is beyond your hearts desire. Follow His plan that is made for you. Join me on the hard unpaved path. Work out the kinks and let go of the pain. The reward is glorious. the journey is courageous.

"My God will meet all your needs according to his glorious riches in Christ Jesus." Phillipians 4:19 (And who says VBS is for the kids?)

www.joyhopefoundation.com

Peaks and Valleys

Emily came up to me yesterday, tucked herself in the crook of my arm and told me that she misses Ava. I asked her if she had anything she regretted. Of course, I then had to describe what "regret" is to my 7 year old. She told me that she wished she could reach into her "Ava Book" and wrap her arms around her sister.

She's been really going through the fire lately. There is a new level of understanding and concept of loss that she is processing and trying to organize. With it comes a new level of pain and sorrow. Professionally, I know that as a child's ability to think on different levels expands, that child will have to grieve on a different level and in a new way all over again. As the mom of a child walking the walk it catches me off guard each time.

I realized that my sweet child is not afraid to miss her sister. She's not afraid to let her arms ache to hold her, to smell her, to remember how she was really here. Guess what? Through December and most of January I hit a wall. Early in December I got a stress fracture in my leg. I have yet to run since 12/2/12. I was in a great deal of pain until a couple weeks ago. I was trying to muddle through the "festivities" of the season. I was spent. I didn't want to do anything, my body hurt and my soul was broken and sad. For some reason the complexities of all that Allan and I personally LOST was all I could ruminate upon.

My daughters are amazing. They are allowing themselves to feel the loss. I have been afraid to allow that. I prefer to focus on what we've gained through the loss. It's easier that way. But we have to focus on the actual hole that Ava left in our lives. I think it's the only way to keep it from burrowing deeper into my soul.

After Eric died, I did FEEL the achy, empty arms, the loss of a future, the pain of dreams doused. With Ava...sometimes...I can't. It's just so hard to allow that feeling to develop and manifest itself. So there was the wall at Christmas. The black, painful pit. The one with the mud walls so there is nowhere to grasp. There was nowhere to hide. I couldn't pound out the thoughts in my mind through running. Instead, I had to sit still and let the pain in my leg become the precipitous to that which was trapped in my heart.

Sometimes, I think God allows you to feel that way so that you remember to cling to Him more. In throes of the bleak days I wonder where He really is. I know He is there, but I feel like I'm slipping. Really I think that He is helping me along. He allows me to feel the pain and ache so that I can reach a higher peak.

I get frustrated having to be "on" and guiding my children through this emotional maze they are trapped in. I am glad I can do it. But it gets old. Really really old. Then there is a sweet child, wriggling herself into the crook of my arm, seeking comfort. I then notice that she in fact helps me. I wish I could be as brave as she.

Fa la la la la?

If the truth be told, I am having a rotten time of it. I often said that the second year, in some ways, is harder than the first after a loved one dies. I don't think that it's as intense, so that part is past. During the first year you are numb, depressed, surviving from one moment to the next clutching your way through the day, the night and the drudgery that comes along with the long minutes of agony.

During the second year, a little of that black cloud lifts. There are longer periods of time between "normal" and bad days. It's not every minute. However, you are not as much on guard of your emotions. When the bad days come, they hit you like a ton of bricks. You feel more and with your guard down, you remember more.

I'm not saying that this is bad. It's just hard. It's a pain. And I don't want to go through it, AGAIN! I'm trying not to have a pity party over here. But I want to scream "IT'S NOT FAIR!!!!!"

I get so annoyed with myself when I feel this way. I don't know what to do with myself, so I berate my thoughts. I hear of all of these wonderful things happening in the lives of my friends, co workers, family. I hear of struggles and trials through the same circles. Yet I find myself feeling, 'what about me?' 'Why can't I have that?' 'Why did they get to take their kid home?' 'Why couldn't my babies have something that medicine could heal?' There are miracles happening right around me as people I know and love struggle, suffer. I KNOW it's a miracle. I SEE it happening. I KNOW that there are friends out there whose children could have died, but didn't because we live in a place where medicine is easily accessible and curative. Don't get me wrong. I am grateful for all of these things. I am grateful for the blessings for these people. I'm just a little jealous that it didn't happen for us, twice.

There's been flash backs, memories. Feelings of guilt that we didn't do for them more than we did. It's nothing to solve. It just is. I always feel sad when I look at our surviving children and see their heartbreak. Emily is having memories of the night we told her her sister died. Alexa broke down when we donated her tricycle (at her original request) because she had a vision of having Ava ride it someday. Elaina hugs Ava's picture and simply states that she wishes that Ava could come down to us again. They want to hang a stocking for Ava and Eric. It kills me to do so. They play baby all day long. They are playing out their need to love a little one. They wish they could have a little sibling. We can't do that anymore. Little things that pierce my soul, some days more than others.

I look at our Christmas Decorations, I think about why we celebrate. I think about smiles on little faces. I feel removed from it x6. I was thinking about about how I am seeing a lot of social media about remembering those who have a hard time during the "holiday season". On my drive into work last night I realized that of course there are so many who have a tough time this time of year. As we age our lives move from the child like innocence and wonder to reality. Reality is that we live in a sinful world. We are sinners in the world. Sin is a bundle of bad choices, ugly thoughts and feelings, negative actions, even death. Part of our humanity wants to sweep it under the rug and 'be happy'. That's not how it works. We are all touched by a form of grief in our lives. So of course there are those who have a tough time around the significant markers on the calendar. The longer you live, the more people you love have endured suffering.

So what do you do? As a grown up you enter a quagmire of sadness. Living is hard. Do you try to keep on keeping on and show your children the joys of the season? Do you squelch the twinkle in their eyes as they gaze are the decorations, as they plan surprises for those they love? Do you try to ignore the festivities because your heart is heavy? I want to. But I can't. The Bugs have unbridled joy. I don't want to be the Mom who makes this season harder on them, because my heart is broken and I am suffering from my sinful thoughts.

There is a little thing called Grace. It comes from God. He gives you what you need, when you need it and you don't deserve it. It's how I keep moving on. I know that even though I feel a layer of film exists between me and the festivities, I can enjoy something. Sometimes it feels like the cloud will never go away. Then I see grey skies, and sometimes there's blue trying to peep through. I try to take delight in those little twinkly eyes. I try not to squelch that. They have a whole life to live and plenty of time to deal with whatever comes their way.

God gave us Jesus. I know that some of you don't understand that, or don't believe it, or don't get it. I struggle with that often. I struggle with how to get someone to understand the depth of joy and hope you can have, even in the dark and more sinful times, when you really really allow God to be the captain of your ship. I know that each person will have their own relationship with God, just as we relate to our family members in a different way. The operative word in that sentence is relationship. It's not a static thing. It's something that you work on every day. It changes and sometimes it's good and you are on a high. Sometimes its low and frustrating. But it's always there and always based on love.

We get mad if a loved one hurts us. We turn our backs and wonder how could that person love us if they did THAT to us. We push the person away. We want nothing to do with them anymore. But the problem is that when the anger subsides, a thought sneaks in. We still love the person on some level. So we make ourselves angry and fuel that feeling so that we don't have to actually FEEL the true feelings of the infraction. Walls walls walls go up and suddenly you look at your fortress and you are trapped. We do this with God too. But with Him you can't build an impenetrable fortress. He's the one who made you, me, my broken children, my healthy children. He created everyone on this earth. We are here for His purpose, whether we are born to what someone thinks is a "deserving" family or not. Each person born has a purpose and the capacity to love, themselves, each other, God.

You see, even though we are down right now. We know there will be an up point. We know that God loves us. We know that God loves us. We know it, but we need some Grace to feel it, to roll with it and to move to the next step. We need His strength to climb out of the pit we find ourselves in so that we can see the Blessings right in front of us. Those pits are deep sometimes. 'But His grace is sufficient for me, His strength is made perfect in weakness.'

I hate death. I love a death with hope.
I want 5 kids in my house. I am glad two are healed and no longer suffering.
I want "that big thing" that will make me feel better. I know that there may not be a 'big thing' that is tangible. But God loves me and hasn't forgotten about me. He will make me get to the next day, and the next, and the next.

For Christmas this year, won't you try to see how God loves you and Blesses you when you are down and don't feel in tune with Him? It's hard. I know. It's really hard. But I bet you will be surprised.

Happy 7th Emily and Alexa!

On Emily and Alexa's 5th Birthday Ava went to the hospital. It was the last time they held her. On their 6th Birthday, the cried during the Birthday song, and walked around with long faces all day. I asked what was wrong and Alexa replied, "This is hard for us Mommy." It truly was one of the worst days of my life. (I suppose that is saying something!)

For 2 years I've been trying to put as positive a spin on their 5th birthday. I've been very frank with them, I've cried with them, I've expressed my anger about it as well. From the time Ava went to the hospital I've grappled with the 'why did she have to go on THEIR birthday' as much as the Bugs.

It's exhausting. It's frustrating. It's just H.A.R.D. They needed another memory. Something to be thrilled about.

Last week we packed up and headed to The City. We stayed over night. We took the Bugs to the top of the Empire State Building. We had a birthday dinner at the American Girl Store. We agreed to frivolous spending on things that are normally not even worth asking about (doll hairstyles and ear piercing ~Really?!). We had AMAZING cupcakes at Magnolia's Bakery. We saw Times Square, Rockefeller Plaza, Central Park, St. Patrick's Cathedral, the New York Public Library. Of course we rode the subway. We spent the morning with my childhood best friend who lives in Manhattan and I haven't seen for 11 years! We ate hot dogs and pretzels from street vendors. I soaked in the rhythm of NY speech patterns and was seriously contemplating moving back. WE HAD REAL PIZZA!!!!!!!!!!! We were TOURISTS and I was not ashamed!

On the way home, we stopped in Jersey and stared at the back of Lady Liberty from Liberty State Park. We stared at the NY skyline. We showed the Bugs the Empire State building and talked about perspective and size. We talked about September 11th and the Twin Towers. I am ALWAYS humbled by how sad I feel when I look at that skyline now. It grips me in a way I don't think I understand.

For those of you who don't know. I grew up in the Hudson Valley, north of the City. I drink cawfee and when I'm tired, I still say tawlk. I can do a pretty good Cawfee Tawlk impression. Just ask my college friends. I never "knew New York" like some of my friends. But I have always loved the City. I love it's pace, the things to see. I love the architecture. I love that if you turn right there is going to be something cool to see. Oh and, I love the Yankees.

What was the best part? The love of the City that our Bugs- who are rapidly getting BIG- developed. I loved being able to show them things that I have seen numerous times. I loved seeing the City through their wide and brimming eyes. Mostly, Allan and I both loved the joy excitement and twinkle in their eyes leading up to our trip, during our trip and since we've been home.

We can't ever ever take away the fact that Ava went to the hospital on their birthday. Nor do I want to. It's a part of their story, her story, our family's story. And let's be honest, if I were to start taking stuff away from our family story, I would be a (more) crazed Mom with an 8 year old, 7 year old twins, a 4 1/2 year old and a 2 year old! But we can teach them that it's OK to have a hard memory on a special date and know that it's OK to have a good and fun memory on that date another year. We can help them break out of the tomb of grief and know it's OK to move on. You know what, Allan and I learn that in the process too.

We were talking after we put our new 7 year olds and our 4 1/2 year old to bed in our awesome hotel room (and the least expensive thanks to discount sites). We were worried that we over did it. (Which we did). You know what? Sometimes it's worth it. It's worth to see the gleam in their eyes, the joy and excitement . It's worth it to feel a happy in a way that cracks the hollowness inside.

Of course, we now have a problem as a certain 4 year old would like to go to NYC for HER birthday and he wants "to stay for one, two, three (holds up four fingers) nights. No let's stay for four". She also wants to go to American Girl. So we are going to have to explain to her that she will need to get a job.

Mud, mud, mud

All of a sudden it's November 15th! Last I knew the days were rolling into September. The Joy-Hope Foundation just had it's "Music for Memories" concert and I was getting ready to run my second half marathon.

I ran Rock and Roll Philly Half marathon. It was an amazing event. It was fun, the weather was perfect and I had a great time running with some dear dear friends. After the race, 20,000 participants strong, I was roaming to our meeting place. Got stopped by a group of happy finishers and was asked to take a picture of the crew. I handed the camera back and heard someone shouting my last name. Turned around and there was my college friend, whom I haven't seen for about that long! What a special moment. It was her first half since she's had children. She kicked my butt by the way. In our brief meeting, she told me that she thought about Eric and Ava during her race. Then she said something that I will never forget- She told me that I now have run a "Half for Each". I didn't even think of that!

I am routinely surprised by the impact my sweet babies had on those around. Another dear friend of mine had a PR (personal record) and she told me that it was because she was thinking about my babes. What an honor.

The week after the Half Marathon I ran a "5K". The Delaware Mud Run. You do it as a team. You get really dirty. It is physically demanding and it makes you complete all these obstacles that I was not prepared for. I did it to "help out a friend". She needed another team mate or they couldn't do the race. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I thought I'd get dirty (which I hate BTW). I thought the obstacles were the mud pits at the end (which I was having anxiety about as I don't like to get dirty, sticky or put my face in the water). So there we were getting a nice rhythm and bam. We had to wait in line - for what we had no idea.

It was a 40 foot slippery incline that we had to navigate up using a rope. I got started, and slipped down, into mud. Then I couldn't get my footing. My sprightly team mate was shouting from the top for me to try the side of the hill. You could get better footing. She was right!

When I think about all the obstacles on the course that day. I realized that it was such a metaphor for life. You are just running along and wham!- there is something smack dab in your face that you never thought you would have to do or face. You stop, regroup, dig deep and ascend. Sometimes there are obstacles that are demanding, others are downright frightening. But before you know it, you are attacking them. You are hanging on for dear life. You cry out for help and you realize that God is guiding your every step. Sometimes you fall, and the recovery takes a little longer. You complete your obstacle and just when you think you are recovering, something new is lurking, waiting, challenging you. By then end you wonder if you have enough to dig deep and keep fighting. Part of you wants to roll over, hide and walk off the course. Another part of you will be so disappointed if you don't give it your all, stay the course and cross that finish line. You have a choice. You see what you are made of. You cry out because you can't do it alone. You think about what others have to endure and it propels you to the finish line. When you cross you have such a sense of accomplishment. You just did things you never did, you stayed the course and God was there with you every step of the way.

The trouble is that the obstacle course that we live is different than that of a race. On facebook you see so many statuses with the sentiments of "I wish I had a blueprint, how long can this go on, when is it over." HOwever you never know where the finish line is. In a race you wonder the same thing. "Where is the finish line? Why does this mile seem like five? When is it over?" You know that the distance will end. There will be a finish line. If you dig deep enough you will cross it, hopefully with a smile, a sense of accomplishment and with an air of gratefulness.

In life being thrown obstacles what seems like left and right makes it hard to dig deep and persevere. I struggle with it every day. I wonder when it will be "over". I spend Aug-Dec trying to live a full life but feeling mostly hollow inside. (who am I kidding, I feel like that most of the year.) I know that there are obstacles year round, some bigger than others. But for me those are intense months. There are flashbacks, smells that facilitate memory, the angle of the sun through the windows of my living room.

Then I think of that log over the water pit, the 2 inclines and the rope, the mud. I completed that course. I wasn't trained for it. I had some great girls to encourage me along the way. When I want curl up and stop trying in life, I can remember that I can do more than I think I can. God is right there guiding me on the path that He chose for me. And yes, He gives me great friends along the way to get from one step to the next. I have to decide how I want to get to the finish line- do I want to give up and wallow in my sad circumstances (yes, sometimes) or do I want to attack the course in front of me, not knowing what's around the corner: an obstacle or a reprieve? I choose to keep going. I know there are blessings in the muck. There is growth in the quagmire. So I pick up my hollow self and move.

Carpe Diem

The other day while we were having story time in our Home School, we had a moment. Alexa was full of questions about God and how Jesus rose from the dead. How was that possible? Come to find out that this question stemmed from her thoughts that if Jesus could rise from the dead, he could do anything. If he can do anything, then why didn't he let us keep Ava? We spent a long time reading some scripture about the accounts of the resurrection. We spent some time talking about how while God can do anything, He does not always CHOOSE to do what WE want Him to do.

It's a tough one to swallow. How can we worship someone that can do anything and everything, but not give us what we think we need? My little nearly 7 year old grapples with questions we all wrestle with.

God loves us. He created us. But He did not create us so that we can demand from Him so He will serve us. I love my children. I do serve them from time to time. Do I always give them what they want? No. It's not good for them. It's not good for me. It's the same with God. I tend to view death as a gift. Some think of it as a sacrifice. For the person who dies, if they are Christians, gets to finish their race. They complete their task her on earth and get to have their eternal reward. To want Ava to come back would be selfish. Don't get me wrong I want both of my kids back. I wish they were not gone. But would I want them to live in the condition they were in? OF course I wished that God chose to heal each of those babies so that they could have stayed with us. But life on earth is not forever.

Sure it feels like forever sometimes, but it's not. So I told Alexa some of these things. We talked a few days later and she told me that she is angry that Ava died. I told her that it's totally OK to be angry and to be mad with God. We talked about how sometimes we get mad with each other, but that never changes our love for one another. We talked about how Mommy and Daddy are mad too. She knows it will take some time, but we will talk it through and we will work it out together. I told her that it was OK to tell God how she feels about Ava's death, He won't be upset.

When we moved on to History, we talked about Egyptian tombs. All of a sudden I looked at Emily who was screwing up her face. I asked what was wrong and she burst into tears. I pulled her on my lap, rubbed her back and told her to let it all out. When I looked up at her, I could tell she was having a flashback about Ava's graveside service. We talked about it and I held her. We were able to talk about why we buried her sister and how we all feel about it. Then we finished our lesson.

By the time we had to leave to go get Miss Elaina Pants from preschool, I was pretty much wiped out.

I got to thinking. This is why we home school. So that we can take the time to talk about what we need to talk about. This doesn't necessarily have to be about Ava. It can just be about what's going on in their little expanding minds. Then I thought about things would be different if they went to school somewhere and had to carry those thoughts that burden them around all day. That they had to suppress them and have no one to talk to.

There are so many children in our schools hurting everyday. I remember when I first got on Facebook and started to connecting with friends from my school days. I began to learn and see what they were dealing with all those years. I would glibly float through the day. Never aware.

I am so grateful for the opportunity to teach our Bugs. I love nothing more than to watch them high five when they get it. To watch their eager little faces as we talk about things they love. I love that we are afforded the time to talk about the things that are important to them. Or to talk about the things that are locked up and begging to pop out. I am just so sad for those other children in our school systems that are so heavily burdened and so desperately need to unload.

I think of the children that are bullied. But I think about those that bully as well. What burdens do those children have locked up so tight that anger and violence is the only escape?

Our God can do anything, and He can heal and reach those hearts of those fore lorn kids. I think that we should pray for them and for their teachers as they are predominate influences in their lives.