Grace for Grace

Daughter #2 has always had a flair for drama.  Because of that, I find myself sometimes ignoring her theatrics, chalking it up to her role as "Drama Queen" at our house.  She had a role, however, that she cherished, one she looked forward to with months of anticipation, one she took very seriously, one that was ripped away from her just over a year ago...her role as a big sister.

I was a mother before Kristen; I still have two living daughters.
Will was a father before Kristen; he still has two living daughters.
Emily was a big sister before Kristen; she still has a living sister.
Grace was not a big sister before Kristen; what does she have now?

We all miss Kristen so very much, and the fact that I have two living daughters certainly doesn't take away the pain of losing my baby.  Our roles in the family, however, were not defined, as Grace's was, by the birth of Kristen.

I've written before that surely no one was ever more excited about becoming the middle child than my sweet Grace.  She talked incessantly in the months before Kristen arrived about all she would teach her, all she would do with her baby sister...her baby sister.  That same baby sister elevated Grace to a new role in life, that of a big sister!  She now had something new in common with Emily and with me.

With Kristen gone, Grace no longer has a physical confirmation of her role.  Of course, Kristen is still her baby sister, but it's awfully hard to be the big sister you always wanted to be to a baby that isn't here anymore.  It's exactly that hard reality that leads to her emotional meltdowns.

Bless her heart, she had a big one just last week, the day before my niece was born.  She certainly doesn't understand why other people can have babies, but we can't, especially since all she ever wanted was to be a big sister.  I'm right there with her in not understanding, but I continue to pray that she learns to trust that God knows what He's doing.

Now that little Sonny girl is actually here, Grace seems better.  My dear sister-in-law brought to my attention something I hadn't considered.  Everything about her pregnancy must have seemed very deja vue to Grace.  (My sil lives just 30 minutes from us, and we see her a couple of times each week.)  The anticipation of it all was hard on all of us, but perhaps more so for Grace.  Once Sonny was born, however, Grace could see that this baby was an individual, her own person.  She looks very different than Kristen.  Sonny has a head full of black hair.  Kristen had a head not-so-full of very light fuzz. :)  Kristen is Kristen.  Sonny is Sonny.  And Grace is Grace, with her tender heart that's still trying so hard to love the God that didn't answer her prayers as she had hoped...the Grace who is still the reigning drama queen of the house...the Grace who, by the grace of God, now has a renewed role...older cousin.

May He grant you the grace you need, dear Daughter, to come through this very dark place a stronger person, one with even more compassion, one who understands that the trials of this life can lead to an intimacy with your Heavenly Father that you never imagined possible.

Grace for Grace is my prayer tonight.

A Time for Everything

I've tried to stand in the same spot at the corner of our driveway every so often to get a picture of Kristen's tree from roughly the same vantage point.  Each season of the past year has brought drastic changes to that little oak.  When it was planted early last September, it was green and beautiful.  With the gift card in hand (given by some dear friends), the four of us drove to our local nursery and walked up and down each row of Shumard Oak trees.  We carefully inspected each one, making sure that we found the "right" one for us...for Kristen.  A couple of weeks later, the nursery called and said they would be by to plant it.  We had marked out just the right spot in the front yard, easily visible from both the sidelight next to the front door and from our bedroom window (the only windows on the front of the house).

Will was at work the morning the nursery workers showed up to plant the tree.  Not wanting him to miss it, I recorded the planting on our video camera.  I had to laugh a little as I played it back later.  One of the workers just couldn't keep from looking directly at the camera...time and time and time again!  He had no idea why I was capturing the planting of a tree on video.  Who knows what he thought!  I didn't feel the need to share that day, so I recorded and the girls watched with anticipation as the tree settled into its new home on Meadowlark Lane.

Emily wanted Kristen's tree to have just the right marker.  She and I searched on the internet and found a company that makes stainless steel tree markers.  We were able to add a laser etched photo to the small marker that reads, "In Memory of Kristen."  That little marker has weathered well.  It gleams in the sunlight and makes me think of Emily as much as it reminds me of Kristen.

Last fall, we watched all the other trees in the neighborhood change to lovely fall colors.  Kristen's tree, however, complete with lots of tiny little acorns, stayed green clear through most of October.  At the end of that month, its leaves had changed to the most beautiful deep red color.  I loved how it looked and decided that it had been worth the wait.

As Thanksgiving approached, the sweet little tree in our front yard lost all of its leaves.  Even bare (except for the little acorns that continued to hang on), it was beautiful to me.  Each leafless branch held the promise of new life.

Ice crystals decorated the tree in the winter, accentuating every bend, every tiny twig.  One cold, sunny winter morning I looked out the sidelight window to see tiny ice crystals that seemed to completely fill the air.  I told Emily that it looked like it was "glittering" outside!  She commented that maybe God sent those few seconds to me to bring a smile to my face.  It was breathtaking.

Just as we waited so long to see the beautiful red leaves in the fall, our little tree seemed to be one of the very last in the neighborhood to leaf out in the spring.  By mid-April, we finally saw tiny new leaves beginning to pop out all over the tree.  They were velvety red in the center.  The sight of them lightened our hearts.

By early May, the beautiful green leaves had filled in, and the tree was as lovely as ever.  A ring of pink geraniums decorated the base of the tree just in time for Kristen's birthday.  Even through the heat of the summer, the tree (and the geraniums) have thrived.

I expect in another month or so the leaves will begin their colorful change.

Looking back at the photos of Kristen's tree over the seasons of last year brought to mind the words of Ecclesiastes 3:

There is a time for everything,
       and a season for every activity under heaven:
a time to be born and a time to die,
       a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
       a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
       a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
       a time to embrace and a time to refrain,
a time to search and a time to give up,
       a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
       a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
       a time for war and a time for peace.

Even when we don't understand, even when we don't like it, God has everything timed perfectly. There truly is a time for everything.

The dark before the morning

You know that feeling when your foot goes to sleep?  It tingles and doesn't work quite right until you get the blood circulating to it again.

That's a little like I feel right now, really like I've felt for a while.  Maybe my heart is just a little numb.  The days now are not so full of tears and sorrow.  Of course I still miss Kristen and my mom so very much, but I don't feel overcome with the sadness that I once did.  I think of them both every day, but I don't always feel those emotions in such a physical way.

I guess I'm still waiting to feel the joy.  God promised me that I would have it again, and I believe Him.

Psalm 30:5
...his favor lasts a lifetime;
       weeping may remain for a night,
       but rejoicing comes in the morning.

I've joined an online Bible study for moms who have experienced the loss of a baby.  I know how important it is to stay in God's Word.  I also know how hard it can be to do that when you feel such a numbness in your heart.  We "meet" each Sunday evening online using a web conferencing tool.  It's really pretty cool.  With either a phone or a headset (or speakers and a mic), we can come together and actually have real conversations.  I pray for these moms whose hearts are hurting.  After hearing each one of them introduce themselves and share about their loss(es) at our first meeting last Sunday, I was overcome again with such sadness.  But together, I know we'll find healing through this study of God's Word.

Will and I also received confirmation for a spot at the next Respite Retreat near Nashville in February.  I've written before about how my husband and I are grieving so very differently.  I believe that this retreat will help us to further understand those differences and to be encouraged as we learn ways to strengthen our marriage and our family.  I pray that it truly is a respite for us, and I am thankful for the ministry of David and Nancy Guthrie.

The Josh Wilson song, "Before the Morning" puts to music the words that describe so well where I am right now.  If you haven't heard it before (or even if you have), please listen closely.  It just might encourage you, too.

Josh Wilson - Before the Morning

It's sure been a long "night," but I have hope for that "morning."

It took my breath away

My oldest daughter turned 12 just two weeks ago.  She opted for a day of family activities this year, which was nice (though I discovered that I'm much worse at miniature golf than I remembered!).  Daughter #2 turned 10 last Thursday, and as I was looking through some baby pictures of hers the night before, I caught sight of a couple of photos...

While I've always thought that Kristen resembled Grace, I had to admit that seeing these two photos together took my breath away for just a moment.

I've had plenty of moments over the past year when I've felt like I couldn't breathe.  The first morning home without our littlest one, our middle daughter, Grace, woke up and ran to the living room nearly shrieking, "Where's Kristen?  I can't find Kristen!"  She had received a Build-a-Bear bunny from the hospital before we left that awful day.  Emily had received a bear.  I remember as we pulled out of the hospital parking lot, the girls were discussing names for their stuffed animals.  Emily quickly picked "Elaine," which was the middle name we had chosen for Kristen...it had been Will's Grandma Blondie's middle name as well.  Grace decided on "Kristen" for her bunny.  She was searching for her bunny that next morning at home, but it took me a few minutes to realize that.  That was definitely a wind-knocked-out-of-me moment.

After trying so hard to smile and celebrate Emily's 11th birthday with a small family party last year, my dad broke the news to me that my mom had died the day before.  I was standing in the entryway.  I remember reaching for the door knob and leaning back against the front door because I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me again.

Though the physical feeling of not being able to breathe for a moment is pretty much the same, experiencing something that takes your breath away and feeling like you've had the wind knocked out of you are really quite different.  It's not in the delivery...both situations are often unexpected.  It must be in the perspective.

I've written this before, and I only repeat it because I believe so strongly that it's true.  Distance from this situation will change my perspective.  Right now, if I let myself, I can be right back in those moments of August 2009, feeling the heart-wrenching pain of my losses.  It hurts.  It physically hurts to do that.  And it may not be next week or next month or even next year, but I know there will come a day when I will be able to remember Kristen and the miracle that she was and have to catch my breath, but not because I feel like I've been punched in the stomach.  Remembering the beautiful gift that God gave me will simply take my breath away for a moment, much like happened when I saw my husband on our wedding day, waiting for me at the end of the aisle...and when I laid eyes on each of my three daughters after they were born...and when I really stop to think about how much God loves me.

Knowing the awesomeness of Him, the very one who gave me life, takes my breath away, too.

Surviving

I've survived a year without Kristen.

There have been days that I have been emotionally knocked to the ground, unsure if I would make it through the next hour.  But, I have survived.  There have been days that I've been just too sad to do much of anything.  Even so, I have survived.  Too many nights, I have cried myself to sleep and awakened with swollen eyes and an aching heart.  Yet, I have survived.  There have also been days that I have smiled, even laughed.  Those days are special and remind me that it won't always be like this.

As I spoke recently with a friend who lost her husband a little over a year ago, she said, "They say it gets easier, but I think they lied."  When our hearts are so very tender, it certainly doesn't feel easier.  In fact, there are days that I feel like for every step I've taken forward, I'm moving two steps back.  Grief is definitely not a static experience.  It changes everything.

There's a reason that they call the family members of a deceased person "survivors."  We endure the circumstances that change our lives forever.  It's taken just about everything I've got to survive, but I have.  Actually, it's taken me giving everything to God to survive this past year.  He has been there, even when it felt like no one else was.

Thanks be to God, I have survived a year.

That ache...

is back.

That awful, terrible ache deep in my still-tender heart - the one that drops me to my knees - is back, yet again.

I am missing Kristen so very much right now.  A year ago she was here in my arms.  A year ago all three of my sweet girls were here together under one roof, the older two giggling as they lay on the living room floor with their baby sister, watching her respond to them.

As each day goes by, I seem to be swallowed up a little more by the great sadness that has taken up residence here.  The tears are very close to the surface, yet again.  The nights come with restless sleep, and the mornings are difficult to face.  I am just so very sad.

I anticipate that once I get past this anniversary, the pain will ease.  I certainly hope so, because right now I feel like I'm being crushed beneath the weight of it.

Still trusting that God is completely in control, but missing my baby so very much,

Max

Thanks to all of you who kept us in prayer last weekend.  The trip was very long, but my mom's service was nice and gave me the opportunity I needed to say goodbye to her.  It wasn't easy, but it was good.  I'm so grateful to my dad for going with us.  Since he and my mom divorced over 30 years ago, my dad felt a little awkward about going.  Understandable.  But, my mom's family really wanted to see him (and his oldest brother is married to one of my mom's sisters).  It worked out well, and it was nice to see family that I haven't seen in many, many years.  Through the CaringBridge book I made a few months ago, I was able to share Kristen with them.  And I was actually able to respond to the question, "How many children do you have?" with a smile, no tears, and a proud, "I have three beautiful daughters."

Something inside my dear husband snapped while we were in Iowa, and he gave the okay for a dog.  And not just a dog, but an INSIDE dog (I'm still in shock)!  The girls are beyond excited, and frankly, with the sadness that has blanketed our family this past year, it's a welcome change of pace.  We visited the puppy this week (a miniature schnauzer named "Max") and will bring him home in about a week and a half.

Maxwell the mini schnauzer

It's with a certain amount of dread that I've anticipated the month of August this year.  Kristen left us on August 17; my mom on August 21.  Perhaps it will be that the days leading up to those dates will be harder than the days themselves.  I feel like the emotional roller coaster has started again with the twists and turns that often leave a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.  Nothing will ever take away the memory of Kristen...no amount of activity, no puppy (no matter how cute), nothing.  But if this little creature can make the days ahead just a little easier for all of us, I will be thankful.