Torn

I've been ruminating on this post for a while, but now is the first chance I've had to actually write it. Not to mention that God just reaffirmed the idea in my mind more today, prompting me to put thought to "paper". I am thankful for those good conversations with friends that remind me that one, I'm not totally crazy, and two, God is truly working on something. So here's my hopefully not totally crazy, God is truly working thought process.

Lately the best way I've been able to describe my emotions is torn. I feel torn between two emotions, two states of mind, two desires. In general it makes me feel slightly insane because the two conflicting emotions are so drastically at odds. They don't work together, they don't quite make sense, but they are both so very real. Here are some of my dueling realities:

I feel so incredibly torn between sorrow and peace. My heart is so tremendously broken over the loss of Hope; those moments of sadness are so intense and so hard to cope with. My heart aches and I wonder how my life will ever be the same again. But then I look at God and I experience peace, peace in knowing He's at work, peace in seeing His hand time and again, peace in trusting that His glory will win out. I don't truly understand how these emotions can co-exist, how I can feel anguished and broken, yet rest in knowing God is at work. How can I be striving so desperately in my heart to soothe the ache and still have a quiet in my soul knowing that God is with me?

I feel torn between emptiness and fulfillment. I can't explain how many times a day my heart feels hollow, empty. It's not just my heart either; I look at my stomach and I experience fully my empty womb. What was once full of life is now devoid of it. And yet I spend an afternoon with my husband, holding his hand, hearing his wise words, and my heart is brimming with love. I watch my family laugh and cry together and realize how satiated I am with affection and warmth. But the strange thing is that I can often feel both, simultaneously. My empty heart can throb but my eyes can also brim at the intimacy I share with others. How can I be full yet empty? How can I be filled up and still ache for more?

I also feel intensely torn between my own sorrow and others' joy. I wish I could explain the overwhelming despair I feel when I see another pregnant woman or watch other moms with their children. The deep grief I experience in realizing my lost opportunity, my lost moments, my lost journey is raw and unfettered. And I hate that feeling. I hate that I have a hard time even looking at a pregnant friend or family member. I hate that I have to avert my eyes or distance myself because the tears will start and not be able to stop. I hate that I find it hard to rejoice in others excitement, that hearing their new memories pains me so. But I am able to step back and recognize how joyous these events must be for them. I am able to hope for a beautiful, healthy baby and a rich life for their children. I could never wish my sorrow on any of these mothers. I am so very sad for myself and so bittersweetly happy for them at the same time. I live torn between my own grief and their rejoicing. I live in the in-between, pulled on by two desires, two very real truths. How can I weep and smile all at the same time?

I feel torn about grieving Hope and hoping for another child. I feel like my sadness is and should be very real for my little girl. I feel as if no other child will fill the place of beauty and wonder Hope brought to our lives. My heart believes that no experience could ever live up to the joyous and miraculous journey of being pregnant with my first, my little girl. And still, I feel that we must hope for another child; I feel like that would be the best way to honor Hope's name and what she offered to our world. I desperately want the experience again of discovering we're pregnant and dreaming of the life we might share with our child. Herb so wisely said that just because we're joyous about a new child, doesn't mean we will stop being sad about our Hope. But how is it that we can Hope and grieve in the same breath, in the same moments? How is it that we can love what we have and miss what was lost instantaneously?

Our thoughts and emotions are often at odds with one another. We can cry and laugh at the same time. We can love and hate someone in a given situation. We can be content and still dream of more. We have the God-given capacity to be both. I can only imagine how very torn God felt the day His son hung on the cross; what joy He must have known in reconciling His children to Himself, but what tears of sorrow He must have shed at the price that that reconciliation cost, His only son.

Maybe we are supposed to be torn, maybe it is part of living in this fallen world. We are able to know greatly the beauty of God's creation, His plan and His character, but we are also plagued with the knowledge of brokenness that sin brings to the world. We know both, we must live with both, and thus we should be torn.

I've come to terms with being torn, it is my reality for now, or maybe for always. Yet it is my hope that while I may be torn it will not be in a way that tears me from the arms of my loving Father.

Hope-full

One of my amazing former students wrote me this note. I am so incredibly moved by her words and the beauty in them that I asked her if I could share it. I am so blessed by Ellie and by her gift with words and by her uncanny ability to speak to my heart. I hope you also can appreciate her beauty. Thank you Ellie for touching my heart and allowing me to share your precious heart with others.

Hope-full

I must tell you that I think about her every day. I think of all the wonderful times we would have had when she was older and I could tell her all of the crazy stories I know about you, and joke that her mother is one big English nerd, and made me who I am today. I would tell her of all the love we all felt for her the minute we knew she was coming. I would tell her of all the love and pain we felt when she went straight to God instead.

You are a wonderful mother. I know she feels unbelievably loved and will never be forgotten, not even when we have others of your children to recollect stories to and to play with. I miss the times I would have come over and stared at her, because I know she would have been unbelievably beautiful inside and out like her mother.

I love you, and I know I'll see her one day and so will you.

Your daughter,
Ellie

Christmas without you

Journal 3:

Christmas will be different this year without you.

I can't even begin to explain how heartbroken I am to spend this Christmas without you. Christmas is my favorite time of year, and I had big dreams about sharing it this year and every year with you. But that is not to be. So let me tell you what I wanted to share with you and what I will miss.

First of all, I've always dreamed of being pregnant at Christmas. I wanted to know first hand the anticipation Mary felt in waiting for Jesus to come. I love the Amy Grant song Breath of Heaven and I just dreamed about how God would reveal to me how He had especially chosen me to carry you. He has shown me that but far differently than I had imagined.

By this time everyone would've known that you were my precious little girl, so I was looking forward to all things pink and girly under the tree. There would've been ornaments to hang about your arrival, documenting that you were to come soon. There would be things for the nursery and laughter and joy as we imagined designing your room just for you. Grandma being Grandma would've wrapped gifts for you and placed them under the tree. Of course you couldn't open them but that wouldn't stop her from beginning your love of Christmas early.

The whole build up to Christmas would be entirely different as well. This is our frist Christmas in this house but it also would be our first Chrismtas as a family. We had already purchased a cute Broncos snowman family to display--a husband, wife and little one. We aren't displaying that this year, it will remain in the closet because you aren't coming.

We did decorate but it wasn't the same without you. I was able to move furniture and lift the Christmas tree because I didn't need to protect you. Your dad got frustrated as usual putting the tree in the stand; if you were here I would've laughed and explained to you that this will be an every year occurence. We decorated the tree but I know that if you'd been here we wouldn't have waited a moment to take pictures--pictures of you inside me "helping" decorate for the first time; pictures of us as a faimly in front of the tree. These pictures would've been our Christmas card, a note to our friends celebrating the anticipation of your arrival. This year there won't be a Christmas card.

The White Christmas party will be different too. I was so looking forward to having you with me for the baking process. You would've known Grandma's voice and all of our favorite Christmas songs by the time the day was over. And we would've had another yummy food experience--I know you would've loved artichoke dip and People Chow. They're my favorites. And then we would've watched my favorite Christmas movie and you'd know those songs too. Aunt Kevyn and I would've made sure you heard the song Sisters--it's one of our favorites. All of my dearest friends would be there and I have no doubt they'd rub my belly. I was looking forward to that too.

I was so anticipating mornings with you and Jesus while we drank peppermint mocha and did our quiet time in front of the twinkling Christmas tree. Those moments are so precious to me and I wanted to share them with you.

I am also grieving advent without you. I know Grandma would've had fun little baby things for us to open each morning. And my advent shirt was to be different, it was designed to celebrate your arrival. But I changed it after you left and now wearing the new shirt brings me a bit of sadness. And I so wanted to fill your dad's advent with future father things. Instead I have nothing for Dad for advent. It makes me sad but I have no ideas.

This Christmas without you is absent of ideas. I have no ideas about what to get others. I know your Grandma Shelley wanted a portrait of your dad and I before you joined our little family. That's not quite the same now. I also don't doubt we would've purchased Grandma-to-be, Aunt-to-be and Grandpa-to-be items, not so anymore.

My lack of ideas especially extends to me. I have no idea of what I want for Christmas. All of my gift ideas involved you and now they're gone. I don't really want gifts under the Christmas tree; all I want for Christmas is you and I can't have that. So I believe Christmas morning will be bittersweet.

I'm trying so hard to still enjoy Christmas. I'm trying to allow my favorite Christmas carols to still warm my heart and try to push all of the baby references out of my mind. I am trying to enjoy decorating our house for the first time, accepting the emptiness that I feel in our house right now. I am going to try to enjoy presents Christmas morning but I know my heart will be heavy without you. I will try to enjoy as Grandma reads Twas the Night Before Christmas, even though you will be missing from the family gathered on the bed.

Please know that I am trying to enjoy these things for you, not in spite of you. I know that you fully understand that Jesus came that we might have life abundantly, so I am desparately trying to find abundant life. I am trying to honor your name because this season is above all about Hope. The Hope of our Jesus.

I will ache this Christmas season without you here. You will be missed in so many places and at so many moments, but I know you are part of a bigger celebration. Enjoy the angel's jubilation as the world celebrates the most precious gift, a baby who came that we might truly know life. I have a slightly greater glimpse of the power of God's gift this year and that is because of you.

Baby girl, I wish you were here to share in my favorite traditions but thank you precious girl for being my most treasured gift this year.

Merry Christmas Love,
Mom

Favorite Things

This is journal number 2:

Our relationship was special. I want to describe things we did together, what we enjoyed and some of our favorite things.

In some ways this question is difficult because our memories aren't the same as memories I share with others. But when I think back on my pregnancy there are many things I'm so glad we shared together.

For one, I am so very glad you came with me on baseball adventures new and old. We shared several games at Chase Field watching the D-backs in one of their worst seasons ever. But we ate hot dogs and ice cream and sang "Take Me Out to the Ballgame". We also experienced an amazing encounter with God at the Mercy Me concert at Chase. I felt so close to God that night and so very close to you.

We also went to two new ballparks together--Coors Field and Citizens Bank Park. You got to experience baseball with your Grandpa Don and Grandma Nancy who don't love baseball, but loved both of us enough to go see the Rockies. Another D-back loss we witnessed together. Then Dawn went on a big adventure with us to see the Phillies. I was so happy you were there sharing that new place with me, especially because your dad couldn't be. We ate some pretty yummy ice cream there too.

Your presence prompted my spirit of adventure and so off I went to Philly to visit Dawn. I'm not too keen on doing things alone, but I didn't feel alone--you were there. We strolled through the most beautiful art museum I've ever seen and I told you all about my favorite paintings. We spent hours in Constitution Hall and you humored me as I perused every display there. You wandered the city of Philly with me as we found the Liberty Bell, Independence Hall and Christ Church. You were such a trooper because we were both exhausted at that point.

Dawn went with us on our New York adventure. I'm so glad you experienced a Broadway show; the music was amazing, wasn't it? And we certainly did our fair share of walking that day, but it was worth it for the food...

Oh baby girl did we share food! You really were your mother's daughter in this area. From the get-go you were hungry all the time. I felt like I was constantly eating--yogurt, pretzels, nuts, granola bars--but you did not like chicken. Rotisserie chicken and I may never be the same again after you. But boy did you love avacado and guacamole-yum!

Although we had some rocky food moments (did I mention you weren't a big fan of sugar?) we shared some good meals. You loved pizza and just like Mom and Dad, you loved your Old Chicago. There was also the Philly Cheese steak with Dawn as well as that delicious lemon and caper chicken in New York. And you sweetly let your Mom eat a huge peanut butter sundae at Serendipity--thank you for that.

Our experiences were so limited. I never even got to take you to my happy place--Disneyland. But I am so thankful for the time I had with you. I enjoyed showing you off to others; you gave me a cute little belly. I enjoyed talking to you, explaining who people were and telling you about how things would be when you arrived. I loved singing to you--I hope those songs echo in your heart forever. I enjoyed worshiping with you inside of me; your presence gave me a greater glimpse of our God. I loved talking to your dad about what you'd be like, who you'd be and what I was looking forward to doing with you.

Thank you for being my constant companion for 19 weeks. The moments we shared I will treasure always. I wish there were more, I wish I could fill this book with stories of our adventures, I wish that all of my heart. But God has different adventures in store for you. May you frolic and sing and talk and read and hug and dance with our Jesus. Practice for me because when I get to heaven I will need you to teach me. We will share all of those things together someday sweet girl. I can't wait!

I love you sweet girl,
Mom

Journaling

My counselor encouraged me to journal through my grief process, so I've started a hand-written journal. There is something therapeutic about hand-writing my thoughts, but I do love the authenticity of sharing my heart via blog. So I'm going to try and track my thoughts in both places. Below is my first journal entry. Thanks for sharing this journey with me.

I want to begin this journal describing who you were and what you meant to me.

Who you were started long before your conception. Your dad and I made a bet when we were first married that I wouldn't last six months without talking about my dreams of having children. Your dad underestimates my will and I won, but it was only because I didn't open my mouth when those dreams came to mind.

After that I did often talk about wanting children. I looked forward with great anticipation and longing to the day we would be Mom and Dad. There was much waiting attached to that dream--waiting on me to finish college, waiting on your dad to finish law school, waiting on a house, waiting on a job, waiting...

But the day we discovered we were pregnant our waiting had all been worthwhile. You were here, you were growing inside of me and you were on your way to meet us. I tried to contain my excitement, tried to hide how overjoyed that this moment had come. After all, we had no guarantee that you were a sure thing, at least not until we heard your precious heart beat.

So at first we told our most trusted family and friends. Grandma and Aunt Kevyn were just tickled pink to welcome you to our world, maybe I should say ticked blue because almost everyone was convinced you were a boy. Even your dad was certain you were a boy, but I knew differently. I knew you were a precious little girl, my little girl. I had always thought I wanted a boy but when I became pregnant with you the desires of my heart changed. I wanted my little girl, I wanted you. We were going to be a mother and daughter pair equal to my mom and me. I couldn't wait to watch you twirl and sing and hold my hand as you told me your stories, because I knew you'd be a great storyteller like your momma.

The more people we told, the more excited others grew in anticipation of you and the more my excitement grew. The day we heard your heart beat was a magical day. We went to see Dr. Riley with great anticipation in our hearts and we waited with baited breath as she searched for your tiny heart beat. And there it was! Confirmation that you were there and growing and ours! The look on your daddy's face was so tender--he was so excited that you were here! And that is when we decided to tell the world. We told everyone. It was impossible to contain excitement like that--the joy of you just overflowing from our hearts, our faces. You were to be our first born, our precious life-changing miracle. You were going to change everything, in the best way possible.

You meant fulfilling my life's dream, fulfilling my heart's desires. I was going to leave teaching to stay at home with you. Your arrival meant a new job description for me. Your arrival meant feeling less alone in so many ways. It meant I would finally know and understand the experience of carrying a child and being a mother--I would no longer be standing outside of the mother club looking in. Selfish I know, but it was one of the things you brought me.

Your arrival was and did rock my world. You meant a new walk in life. You meant a deeper understanding of God, of the sacrifice of His son. You meant new joys, new ways of looking at life. You meant new worries, new things to think about, new challenges. You meant HOPE, the anticipation of great things. You were your name long before we gave it to you. You embodied your name and lived up to it in so many ways.

I speak and write about you in the past tense but you are also present. Your presence bring Hope. I can see it as I talk about you, people are inspired, encouraged, enlightened, uplifted. You are a reminder of how beautiful life can be, how precious each life truly is. You are a reminder to be thankful for and love who we have. You are my Hope, you give me Hope and you remind me so often of the Hope found in my Jesus.

I think it's important to write about another precious aspect of who you were. You had Down's Syndrome and I hope you can see that this in no way defines you. It isn't what I think about or see when I imagine you, but it is a part of who you were. I'm not sure how it's possible because I loved you so very deeply in the first place but when I discovered this truth about you, I loved you all the more. Your Down's Syndrome would have been a challenge, yes, but it would've made you more beautiful with something so uniquely special to offer this world. I know that you had deep capacity for love and that would've been and was such a gift to my heart, and I can't even imagine the impact your love would've had on the world. I have no doubt that you are loving people to pieces up there in heaven. Almost every vision I have of you is of you running with open arms to hug someone, Jesus, me, Aunt Kelly and so I am certain of the love you are spreading around heaven.

My little one, I want you to know that you were my Hope and my dreams, you were what I longed for, you were my heart's desire. But my deepest desire when I think about it was that you know the Lord and now you have that so perfectly and immediately. So thank you for fulfilling my heart's desire. Thank you for bringing me joy, hope and anticipation, for being my first. And thank you for allowing us to meet you, hold you, cherish you, love you. It is a joy and an honor to be your mom. You gave me that title you know--Mom. Without you I wouldn't have that. But because of you I know the love of a mother for her child--it is a fierce love, one that I am grateful to know and grateful to have for you. And because of you, dear one, I more fiercely know and love my Savior. I more deeply understand His love, His grace, His mercy, His comfort. These are all gifts you've given me. You've abundantly blessed my life and for you I will be forever grateful. I will love you always, even as life passes on; you will be and are always in my heart.

I love you my Hope,
Mom