Adelle's Tree

Jason and I received a great gift from our precious Sunday School class after Adelle died. They bought her a tree, and came and planted it in our backyard.

And since then I have been waiting and waiting for it to bloom. It is called a Saucer Magnolia Tree and we were told it would have big beautiful pink blooms come spring.

Let me tell you, we were not disappointed! Just about a week ago the big giant pods that developed at the end of the branches months ago began to open up. And it is so beautiful!

I am relieved and over joyed at this site. I have spent way too much time worrying and wondering if I could keep this plant alive long enough to see it bloom. I don't have much of a green thumb, so I was really hoping I wouldn't kill it. That would be way too real and poignant a reminder of my failings to protect and grow my sweet little girl.

But it is alive, blooming, and so incredibly gorgeous! Thank you so much my friends for thinking of our family in this way. It is such a special reminder! I hope to spruce up the area around it this Spring/Summer, maybe add a bench or flowers around the base.

For now, even before it bloomed, everyone in our house loves to go outside and look at "Adelle's Tree." Even Charlie and Max have been excited to see if it would bloom. There is something so sweet to hear them talk about her tree and watch them play and run amidst its shade, leaves, and pink, girly flowers.

Planting the tree

They even put pink ribbons in the tree for me until the blooms came so it would still be girly and pink throughout the winter.

This is one of my favorite shots of Adelle's tree, with her brothers play house in the background. A beautiful representation of all three of my precious children...

And in the last week, here is the beautiful site we behold looking out the back window. I love that the outside of every bloom is bright fuchsia pink and the inside is pure white. That will be such a great picture of Adelle for me for years to come, perfectly pure and white on the inside, and fiercely strong and girly on the outside!

I don't think I will ever be able to express what a special gift this will be to us for years to come. We have something that will out live us, grow year after year, remain far after we are gone to forever help us think of Adelle and remember her precious gift to our family . And every year, in Spring, in the weeks surrounding Easter, we will remember her precious earthly life, and her even more lasting and sweet eternal life.

The Veil has Lifted

I went to Babies 'R Us yesterday...and I didn't belong. I walked in and immediately felt out of place.

Women all around me were expecting. They weren't just pregnant, they were expecting. They were planning. They were expecting to have a perfect baby, they were hoping, assuming to have a wonderful life, complete with the perfect baby.

And I didn't belong. I was the black cloud in a store brimming with hope and expectation. I was the reality that no one wants to see. I was the possibility of what can happen. What no one expects, what no one hopes for.

And the store felt so shallow, so fake. It's job not only to sell you a bunch of baby goods, but to vainly promise you that you will need everything in this store. That nothing can happen to you. That the idea of being pregnant is nothing but bliss and wonderful promise. The whole freakin' store is brimming with promises it can't make. Buy this crib that turns into a toddler bed, because your child will live that long. Purchase extra diapers at a cheaper price, because your baby will live long enough to use them. Buy more than one baby blanket and one outfit, because you won't be the one that has a baby live only 59 hours.

And I didn't fit in. All I wanted to do was follow these women around, as they loving stroke their own bellies and say, "Be careful. You are not immune. No one is immune. You can't guarantee that you will need that. Your plans could be futile. Then you will have a beautiful nursery to come home to, and nothing to put in the crib."

I feel like the veil has lifted for me. This world that people live in, where they think "It won't happen to me," it isn't my world. The average person can't think about all the things that might happen to their loved ones. They can't contemplate what it would be like if the unthinkable were to befall them. So they walk around blindly. Hoping. Expecting.

But I now know...I am not immune. The unthinkable happens everyday, to people all over the world. None of us are immune. And quite frankly, it is hard to not think about it. I think about it all the time, I see the brokenness everywhere.

I can't go back to being blind. I can't ignore the reality. I don't know if I ever will be able to. In a store like Babies 'R Us, where their job is to convince you of hope, planning, perfection, blind expectation, and guaranteed futures, I feel that I will never belong.

I am the reality no one wants to face. None of us are immune...ever.

59 Hours

I have only lived "in the moment" once in my life. I don't know if I will ever do it again.

For 59 hours, I watched every single hour pass by. I took note every time the clock passed the 48 minute mark. One more hour. We made it one more hour.

I never showered, and to this day, I am not sure I ever peed. I never once changed my clothes.

Meals magically appeared on plates in front of me, and were just as miraculously taken away and cleaned. I was bugged by everyone to eat more and never felt up to it. I must have had something to drink at some point, but I have no memory of it.

The boys would be magically taken care of, their diapers changed and meals provided. Other than holding them, loving them, and helping them hold Adelle, I really don't remember them around much. Other people got them up and dressed. Friends picked them up to play so we could have special time with Adelle. In fact, many times I would look up and realize that they were gone, and wonder if they had eaten or napped, and everyone assured me that they were taken care of. I didn't care about their schedules or what they ate. I didn't discipline them or care when they went to bed. Things that are very concerning most days to me I didn't care about at all. They would be fine, they had a lifetime to worry about those things.

In the whole 59 hours I only remember sleeping twice. Once on the couch for an hour while my friend held Adelle, and one time for 3 hours in our bed, just me, Jason, and Adelle. I couldn't handle sleeping more than that. I was terrified I would close my eyes and she would die. And then I would miss being with her, talking to her, telling her goodbye. I didn't want her to die any place but in my arms.

I never paid a bill, ran an errand, or made a meal.

For 59 hours, I just sat. I held my daughter. I watched her breathe. I changed her clothes and diapers. I never once had a thought about the future. I wasn't concerned with work or schedules. I lived in every hour, every minute, every second. Rejoiced with the victory of time.

Those 59 hours were the longest and shortest of my life. It seemed like weeks. And yet, when I look back, it was merely a blink of an eye. A lifetime lived in 2 and a half days.

The only thing I was concerned with was her...and time. How much did we have? When would it all end? What experiences can we have in the time we are allowed?

And so I lived in the moment. I watched the hand move around the clock. I noticed the time tick by. Something that happens every day. But, in those 59 hours, it was anything but ordinary. It was precious time.

2.5 days
59 hours
3,540 minutes
212,400 seconds

1 lifetime

What do we really deserve?

Do you ever have one of those Sundays, when the pastor is speaking, and you get more and more uncomfortable in the pew? The more he speaks the more you find that something dark in your heart and soul is struggling under the light? Squirming because the truth is too powerful to ignore?

No? Me neither. This Sunday, as my pastor talked about whether or not we really believe that suffering is an essential part of the gospel, it didn't hit me square in the jaw. I wasn't crying openly as my pastor played a you tube video by John Piper that challenges every emotion that has been burning in my heart as of late.

What do I really believe? I might say that our path is one of carrying our cross like Jesus did, but what do my actions say? Why am I angry that life has been hard for me? Why am I tempted to demand why this is happening?

Deep down in my heart, I am more influenced by the American "entitlement" gospel than I realize. I think I have a right to a happy life. A blessed life. A life free of the death of my children. That God wants me to be happy. But does He really? Doesn't He want my growth before He wants my happiness?

What do you believe? Or maybe more acurately, what do your actions say you believe?

5 Months

How can it have been 5 months already? As time marches on and memories fade, (what a raw deal that they do that!) I have been remembering one detail today.

Her soft, velvet cheeks. I spent as many moments as I could touching them, caressing them. She would turn her face toward mine as I brushed them softly, and my heart hopes she knew that was the touch of her mother.

Sometimes I wonder if I spent enough time just staring at her, because I was constantly holding her cheek to mine, pressing her precious face to mine. The touch of our cheeks together, that soft, warm sensation...I can almost still feel it.

I can remember holding her body up, pressing her cheek to mine, and whispering in her tiny ear how much I loved her, how I had longed to hold her, to fight to stay with Mommy, and in the end, to let go, rest, and run to her precious Savior.

Ah, those tender, memorable cheeks...

It is amazing to me, Adelle, what I would be willing to give up to touch your face again. How I still must restrain myself at your grave, lest I dig you out myself and hold you again. Even now I can close my eyes and run my thumb across those tender cheeks and it is like you are here with me. I pray there is someone in Heaven who is holding you, and caressing that sweet face of yours. And maybe, for just a second, that a memory strikes in your heart, and you can hear your Mommy whisper in your ear, "I love you, sweet girl..."

The Question of the Month

At four and half months I started noticing a trend. A "question of the month" you might say.
Apparently, after only 4 months, the question on every one's mind is "When will you have another baby?"

What is it about 4 months that everything thinks enough time has passed to ask this question? What length of time ever makes that question OK? I know I ought not be bothered by it, because honestly, we have thought over it as well. But it feels so different coming from other people. It feels like I am hearing, "OK, you have grieved long enough, time to move on. Time to replace her. Time to just go on with your life and your family without your daughter." Seriously, people who barely know me and have never asked about my well-being before are asking me this question!

After 4 months, do widowers get asked when they will start dating again? 4 months after a divorce is it OK to ask the person if they think they will ever get married again? Is this some unwritten rule I have never been told of? A"grief timeline" I haven't read in all my dozens of grief books? Is there something magical about 4 months that makes missing a person you love "all better?"

Or is it because I am the only one that can just create another person to replace the one I lost? If I had a 4 and a half month old, no one would even consider asking me about having another. Trust me, I get enough "you are absolutely crazy" looks telling people we are pregnant with a 9 month old! So what is different this time? Is the world in such a hurry to move on that they won't rest until I am pregnant again?

I definitely feel caught up in this whole pregnancy thing. On one hand, I don't think I am in any emotional state yet to be pregnant again. (my husband confirms this for me) I can imagine pregnancy after a loss will be very difficult. And I am still very conscious of the "not wanting Adelle to feel like we are replacing her" feelings. I feel like she deserves time, time devoted to just loving her and missing her with no other added distractions. It is like she deserves some grief time, before her mother goes straight to "joy."

But I do want to get pregnant. I miss having a baby in the house so much sometimes. Every day that goes by reminds me that my two children are no longer babies. They are grown, talking, independent people. I want a baby to cuddle on, hold, and need me.

And from a practicality stand point, I don't like the idea of this big age gap between our children. I always thought 18-22 months apart seemed perfect. I wanted the kids to grow up close. And now, I will have a gap of at least 3 years, maybe more.

I have also noticed in this trend, that people are just "assuming" I am OK. I am not saying I am not OK, but I feel like because I am back to life "as normal" that everyone assumes things must be normal in my heart. That I don't still think of Adelle every day, answer questions from my boys about where she is every day, listen to the music that reminds me of her everyday, and journal my intimate thoughts to her every night. Yes, I can laugh. I can have a good time. I can do my job, love my boys, serve other people who need it, go to church, sing the hymns, and praise God for the good things He is doing.

But just because I don't show it, doesn't mean I don't miss her all the time. It doesn't mean I don't still sleep with her blanket at night, even though it no longer smells like her. It doesn't mean that when I see others rejoicing over their newborns that I feel her absence all the more.

My last two shifts I have been given patients that are either delivering babies with life threatening issues or who are so preterm their odds for survival are slim. Both shifts completely exhausted me and drained my heart as I sat and listened to these moms sob uncontrollably about their fears for their babies. I emotionally invested in them and their precious children. I wept with them. It was so hard. How can I comfort someone who is about to go through the toughest battle of their life? What can I say to them after only four months of learning to walk this road myself? Most of the time I had little words. I just held their hands and wept real, heart wrenching tears with them. And I defended them from the ignorant who crowd around tossing around phrases like "It is going to be OK." "Everything will work out." "Don't cry, you have to be strong for your baby." Really? Are you sure everything will be OK? And let me tell you, the strongest people I know still weep when discussing the loss of their babies. These last two shifts have been my hardest yet. I leave feeling emotionally drained and "blue" that too many people in this world are forced to suffer. That no one has guarantees of happiness, only guarantees of painful trial.

But apparently, because it has been 4 months, I must be OK. I must be thinking of getting pregnant again and moving on. But in all reality, in many ways, part of me will never move on. I don't know if I will ever be the same again. I will always miss her, wishing I got to see her live, grow up, love, and be a little girl.

Kathy Lo Rocks Necklace

I have had the privilege to be connected to a great company recently. Kathy Lo Rocks, is a jewelry company that has some of the cutest photo jewelry I have ever seen.

When Adelle died, I really wanted a special piece of jewelry that had her name, photo, and footprints/hand prints on it. I couldn't find a single place that offered a necklace that had all three items on it.

After purchasing a gorgeous photo necklace for a dear friend and fellow BLM, I fell in love with Kathy's designs. But she didn't offer any footprints or hand prints, only photos and names (and birth dates.) So I decided to email their customer service department and ask if they had ever considered scanning and engraving footprints or hand prints on the backs of their jewelry.

They jumped at the idea and began creating a new line they call "Love Prints." So any Mom can scan in her children's footprints or hand prints, email them to Kathy, and they will engrave those specific prints onto a necklace for them! And because we were the first necklace to go out under this line, Kathy put Adelle's photo and footprints on her website!

Of course, I am thrilled!!! Most of you know from many of my other posts, that when you lose a child who was here such a short amount of time, it becomes so important to see their name and photo. It proves to the world that despite their short life, they were here, loved, and important. Plus I get the added benefit of watching Charlie and Max touch the necklace and talk about Adelle. Both of them love looking at her picture and feet. And I LOVE hearing them say her name!

I now have my necklace and have (literally) not taken it off since I got it. I absolutely love it. I love that I can see her face, read her name, and feel the engraving of her precious feet whenever I want. I am not sure I will ever take it off! =0)

Please visit Kathy and look at her web page, http://www.kathylo.com/, and look at all the precious jewelry she makes. I know she didn't necessarily create the "Love Prints" line to be bereavement jewelry, but I think it hits a special place in the hearts of those of us who have lost a loved one. Here is the specific link to the "Love Prints" line... Love Prints.

And lastly, here is the necklace that Kathy made for me. It is more special than she will ever know...

Adelle's footprints are on the back, and on my necklace, her name is written under them.

This is the front, with her precious picture in her bonnet.

Thank you so much Kathy!