Grateful.

I know I should be more.

I know I have a ton for which I am.

It's just so hard to remember that when there's such a hole in your heart.

This weekend, we would have had a big birthday party for daddy and 4-month old Matthew.

Daddy won't be here.

Neither will Matthew.

In any event, I am very thankful for so many things. I am thankful that we have been surrounded by nothing but the most wonderful, kindhearted and well-meaning people and intentions. Yes, some insensitive things have been said, but never, ever purposeful...that I know. Honestly, those things said are perhaps less than 1% of the amazing support we've been given. Heck, less than half a percent. Sometimes people just don't even realize what hurts my feelings. *I* don't even know what hurts my feelings until it happens. I know, though, without a doubt--not one person has ever said anything to me with the intent of belittling my feelings or my pain. I am so grateful for that.

I have never had anything but the best doctors...caring, compassionate, kind and brokenhearted for us. I do not think a better Labor and Delivery exists than the one at St. Mary's Hospital. We were truly wrapped up in so much love and concern. I cannot imagine how much different it could have been.

I do not have any family members who literally break my heart more with their words and their feelings. In meeting others, I know that I should not take that for granted. It is not always a given that your family supports you, and I am grateful that ours does.

I have had so many friends surround me with support and love. Emails, phone calls, comments on Facebook or the blog....you have no idea how much they mean. I may not respond to them all...may not even answer the phone sometimes because it is just too hard, yet...people STILL KEEP TRYING. I know I am hard to support sometimes, I do not like burdening people and I often just end up curling up and wallowing on my own. That said, every call, email, comment, card and letter honestly keeps me going and I am so grateful for not giving up on me.

Most importantly, I am grateful that God has not given up on me. As I said, I know I am hard to support--I want my son. I want to hold him. I want to love him and know him. I want him right here, right now. And because I have none of that, well...I guess I'm pretty inconsolable.
And yet...He still tries. He sends comfort through others, even when I simply refuse to budge on what will console me. I've drawn my line in the sand.

But He keeps trying. I tell people about the strangest things that happen...things that can seriously ONLY be from God. Honestly--the things that the world may call coincidental but are really *too* coincidental to be coincidences. They have to be God.

I am just so stubborn.

And broken.

But He keeps trying.

And I'm grateful.

Dear Infantino,

Do not worry. I will not be sending my recalled sling back. I will not be part of any class-action suits. I did not even get to take it out of the box.

My baby died before I even got to hold him. I don't know what that feels like and my arms ache.

Can you imagine if someone at Infantino got that letter?
I wouldn't send it, of course.

My heart hurts so much.
So much.

I wonder if people know that it is possible to smile and look "great" when you feel dead inside?
I wonder if people know that I bite my lip constantly to hold back tears?
I wonder if people know that this is literally unbearable sometimes, and all I can do is curl up under my blanket and hope that I get back to normal breathing again?

A dear friend told me I was such a trooper.
I told her that I used to be.
Now, I just survive. I try to make it from the start of the day to the finish...and can't even think about tomorrow because the thought of another today is just too depressing.

How am I supposed to spend the rest of my life without my little boy? How is that possible? How? I am barely making it from one day to the next.

I just don't know how.

This is what aggressive looks like...

Well, my medicines came in today. I have to give a very, very big shout out to the FABULOUS lady at this pharmacy (good prices on meds AND a return policy!) and to Blue Cross/ Blue Shield. I am not questioning how it happened, but am glad it did: They covered the medicines! Not too long ago, I ranted about how they weren't going to cover the medicines because we were part of the Shared Risk program and if they don't pay for procedures they don't pay for medicines. Well, apparently Sally ran the medicines through and VOILA! $5000 worth of medicine for my co payment of $FORTY-FIVE DOLLARS! Thank God! We had planned on paying for those out of pocket anyway, so now the MAC is a done deal!!

I was sort of shocked at how much is here. 30 vials of Menopur. 30 vials of Bravelle. 6 boxes of Ganirelix. A box of Novarel. Some zithromax. Tons of needles.

Last year, we joked about how I could imagine what a drug addict felt like because I was putting tons of money into my body every day.

This is even more.

The plan is to be more aggressive since I am older. Do the perks of age ever stop? Dr. K said that based on my last cycle, we would definitely transfer 2 (provided we have 2 to transfer) and would consider 3. That worries me a bit.

On one hand, I tell myself that I was GOOD at being pregnant. A friend and I today just laughed at how I held such a loooong little boy in my tiiiiny little body for a loooooong time. How my doctor called me Ft. Knox and how Hotel Mommy was a super place to be. In that vein, I feel like if it were to happen, I *might* have some chance to safely maintain a multiples pregnancy.

On the other...in 16 weeks, I have seen so much heartache from so many multiples situations. I don't know that I could handle that. I hurt just thinking about it, knowing the hearts of so many other mothers.

The plus is that Dr. K is VERY conservative, so I know he will not lead me into anything he worries about for me. I also know that if something like that should happen, I have a crew of people ready and waiting to hover. So....I'll not worry today about something that *may* happen.

In 2 weeks and 3 days, I start the shots. Let the fun begin.

Moving forward.

Well...things move forward, don't they? Whether I want them to or not, they do. Not on, just forward. Which means that either I do also, or I wallow.

Lately, I admit wallowing has been my preference of choice. I sort of half joke when I say that it's pretty bad that I'm more worried about someone breaking into my house because I'd be embarrassed at what state the police would find it in rather than the stuff that is missing. Usually when John is gone, the house is SO in order because it's just me.

Not this time...which is my secret agenda way of telling anyone who knows me in real life that I'd prefer them not to just drop by for fear of them being overtaken by the dog hair furiously piling up in my foyer.

But since things move forward and I am *trying* not to wallow, we are going to do another fresh IVF cycle. My nurse called me today with my new protocol. Long story short, we will be starting the medicines April 9, a probably egg retrieval on April 21, a transfer between the 24-26th and the results in the first 10 or so days of May. I cannot say enough how grateful I am to be able to try to do this again, while at the same time, so heartbroken that I have to do this again.

Heartbroken that my Matthew will never know his brother or sister on this earth. Heartbroken that *I* will never know my Matthew more on this earth.

The weekend we start the medicines is the weekend we will be going to a retreat for couples who have lost a child and is held by Nancy Guthrie and her husband. I think it's pretty considerate of my nurse to be so concerned that this cycle would not interrupt that retreat because she thinks it will be important for us. Luckily, it worked out perfectly. I am looking forward to it, but would be lying if I said I didn't have some trepidation about it. It's one thing for me to read blogs and emails of people who have lost a child--I hurt for them, I cry for them. My heart breaks for them. But I can close the computer any time I want.

It's another to actually sit there with them...hear the crack in their voices and see the years added to their eyes. Watch them shake softly as they sob about their children. See them stare off as they imagine all the should-have-beens...

Or at least that's how I imagine it would be because I know that is exactly what people get when they are with me.

And I hate that for them. Don't get me wrong, I REALLY hate it for me. But I hate it for them because I feel like it's my life and my pain. It's not fair that others have to deal with it too.

I'm excited, though. I think John is looking forward to it too. There is no Internet access for TWO WHOLE DAYS! Do you know how many Facebook updates that is???

I know, I know...

Run. Just run. Run fast. Run now. Run.

Just this morning I said I thought it was important to not be a stumbling block, so I am not going to write all that I have been thinking.

I can say that though the Lord is my Shepard, I'd be lying if I said I did not want.

I want, Lord. I want.

RUN! GET OUT OF HERE! NOW! That's what I kept thinking in my head as I sat in church. I literally would have run out of there if I wasn't sitting where I was, which was not my usual spot.
So, instead, I just cried. I stood there, tried to sing and cried.

The music was overwhelming. So many of the songs were songs I had on my pregnancy playlist and sang to Matthew throughout my pregnancy. I had such a hard time. These songs were so significant to me. I wrote about them--and in trying to find this post, I cried some more.

"I sing for joy at the work of your hands." I couldn't swallow after that line--the work of His hands was SO magnificent. So amazing. So precious. Matthew was simply amazing.

Oh Lord, I want.

How can my soul ever be restored?

I sometimes get a little perturbed when people tell me that Job was rewarded so greatly for his faithfulness....all he had was restored and MORE!

Really? His 7 children came back? Because let me tell you, they SURE as heck are not replaceable.

I digress...anyway, as I said, I pulled up that post from September 20, and started to cry and cry. Sob. A lot. The type that *almost* made me pick up the phone and think of someone to cry to. (Almost.)

And then the phone rang. I answered it.
And I wasn't alone in my crying. I was being asked to take limits off:

"I'm not a man, I cannot lie. I know the plans for your life.
I'm asking you to dream again, to believe again and take the limits off of Me.

I'm not a man, I cannot lie.I know the plans. They're My design. I'm asking you to hope again,and trust again and take the limits off of Me.

All I'm asking is take the limits off. Take the limits off. Release Me to accomplish what I promised to do. "

I was told my name wasn't forgotten:

"I am not forgotten. God knows my name. He knows my name.
Light over darkness, strength over weakness. Joy over sadness, He knows my name. "

I was told God knows the plans He has for me and they are good.

I was told He knows and counts every tear. (This being told to me as I am and was bawling.)

I was told He would restore my soul. Those very words. No prompting from me, we don't go to the same church and she has no knowledge of what was going through my head.

I thought, "HOW? Matthew is not coming back. I may be the mother of 18 one day and that won't make it better or me miss him less. How can it be restored without restoring Matthew?

And I was told restoration doesn't mean like I was. Restoration means renewed...meaning there will always be scars, but new hope.

Friends, there are no coincidences. I'm glad I was stuck in that pew because so much of what was going through my head was worked out in an amazing way from a 'random' phone call God placed on her heart to make to me.

Like I said, God, I'm listening. I may not be great at it, but I'm trying.
Church stung. A lot.
Thank you for continuing to reach out to me.

In 35 minutes, it will be exactly 16 weeks since Matthew died in his father's arms.

Every time I think my heart couldn't be more broken...I'm proven wrong.

I saw a little boy today...about Matthew's age...in an outfit that I have hanging in Matthew's closet...along with about 9 million and 6 other things of Matthew's...and I realized that the pain can and DOES go deeper.

Even when you think that you've hit rock bottom and the pieces of your heart simply can't get any smaller.

They do.

What's going to be left?

And do I even care?

Nothing there...nothing to hurt.

Lord, last night I asked you to hold on to me.

Today, in the car, on the radio, You told me this is what it's like to be held.

I'm listening. It's hard. It hurts. I didn't get two minutes, much less 2 months. But I'm listening to you.

Please keep talking.

Dear Lord,

You must know how hard I am trying.
You must know how much my heart hurts.

Please, Lord, I beg of you...please wrap your arms just a teeny bit tighter? I feel like I'm falling off the edge, just out of reach. Please, Lord, I am trying to hold on for dear life.

I know you talk to me through certain songs.
I know you talk to me through dear, dear people--I know those have to be your words.
I know you talk to me when I am quiet, and staring...looking out the window as I think about how desperately I wanted to be rocking Matthew in that chair.
I know you tell me that you have good things planned for me.
I know you tell me your plans are for me to prosper and not to afflict me.
I know you tell me that your heart hurts for mine and everything is working for my good.

But Lord...I can't breathe! The blanket is so heavy and dark and I can't seem to get out from under it.
I'm afraid....you tell me those things, but you also tell me that it's hard.
You tell me that I'll be tested and tried.
You tell me that to die is to gain! I can't wrap my head around that.
You know death stings and I am trying to live through it.
You know I had NO doubt that my baby would be fine...and in that faith in you, I didn't savor that touch of skin. I didn't hold onto it longer. I didn't know that was all I would get. I believed you promised him to me. I believed you told me about him and promised him to me. Lord, I believed you. I believed there would be more...and there wasn't. If only I knew...

I did believe you. You know with every fiber, I did. I told every single person in that hospital you ordained him and he was going to be fine.

Lord, how could I have been so wrong? I am afraid because I believed with every inch of my being that you had come to me, promised him to me, and assured me he would be fine--I'm afraid I don't even know how to hear you or feel you if I was THAT wrong...Friends tell me I walked around like I was invincible and I felt like I was because I had YOU on my side! You tell me that if you are with me, who can stand against me???? You tell me that there is a strong man, but you are stronger....you tell me you knew the days of Matthew's life before they were written but I don't understand!!!!!

You didn't plan what happened to Job. You tell me you didn't. You tell me that you were propositioned, you offered an answer to that proposition, and you allowed it to be tested. And you were proven victorious because you are righteous.
But you planned for the strong man to question you and ask you to test your servant?
I do not understand, Lord.
I do not.

I am weary.
But Lord, I am here. I am at your feet, begging you to bring the peace you promise...the peace that surpasses understanding.
I'm begging you grab me tighter. There's too much slack in the rope, Lord...please, pull tighter.

And know my heart, Lord...please know my heart. Know I will promise to praise you every day. Understand if the praise is something I may have already praised you for because I may struggle remembering all there is to praise.

Lord, thank you for Matthew.

Thank you for letting John meet him, look into his eyes and hold his hand...to have his hand held back.

Thank you for making me a mother. The world may find it easy to not acknowledge that fact...and they may not understand when they in good faith and pure heart ask you to make me a mother and give me a child, they forget that I AM a mother and I HAD a child. They love me, and hurt for me, and it's so, so easy to forget those things when all I have are some pictures, a lock of hair and a pendant close to my heart but no child in my arms.

Thank you for women who let me cry and laugh in the same two hours.

Thank you for letting me remember I love to laugh.

Lord, I beg you to continue to convict my heart. It's my reminder you are who you say you are.
I'd prefer peace, but conviction works too.

Thank you for letting me cry to you.

Thank you for not letting me have a nervous breakdown today.

Thank you for so many people who lift me and love me.

With much love Lord,
Lori

No yellow either...

It was negative.

I had a feeling.

It's not easy (seeing) green...

What. A. Hard. Day.

I would imagine that if you are reading this, you'd imagine that *I* would be consumed with anxiety about tomorrow. Especially if you know me in real life. And I know many of you do and are laughing this second and saying, "Yep."

You'd be wrong.

I *am* terrified about tomorrow, because I desperately would love for my little Yellow Fish to be happily growing and living within me but the anxiety is more in the KNOWING than the not. I know that sounds weird, as I keep saying that knowing will at least allow me to plan, and that's true. Knowing can also bring more heartache...no, WILL bring more heartache, and frankly, I'm sort of ok NOT knowing and still hoping. Hence my resolve of steel in not taking a test early.

I'm consumed, though...I'm consumed with heartache. It's torturous. It's wretched. I'm tormented.

I miss my son. I miss my child. I miss the little boy I carried and gave birth to. I miss John Matthew Ennis. Beyond belief.

I went to the cemetery after Bible study (Which, by the way, was absolutely humbling. If you have never had a group of women surround you with love and prayers, literally, I highly recommend it.). I took some new flowers (called a Garden of Hope bouquet) and the sun was glorious. It is such a beautiful day. And as I sat there at his site, sobbing more than I have sobbed in a while, I just couldn't get past the growth of the new grass, which I think was thrown down at the funeral. Soft and bright, kelly green grass. Beautiful and new little blades of baby grass.

And I thought, "This is the green I get for my son on St. Patrick's Day? This is all I get? The grass gets to grow but my son doesn't?"

And I wept more.

I'm consumed alright. I am so conflicted because I of course have been on my knees begging for a positive pregnancy test tomorrow, but that's been overshadowed by the fact that I miss Matthew. I sat at that grave, where I had to leave his little body 15 weeks ago and could not believe that this is my life. That that was HIS life.

And yet, I heard a term this morning that made my heart feel a little lighter. Beth Moore (LOVE HER!) was speaking about praise and talked about the kind of praise you give when your heart is broken. She called it the 'sacrifice of praise' and I knew exactly what she meant. Praise God even though your heart is broken. That we choose to praise Him even when we feel so crushed.

And I do. I praise Him every day for the miracle of Matthew. That He made me a mother. That He allowed me to love and learn about that precious little boy. I can, if nothing else, never have enough gratitude to God for the most amazing thing that has ever happened to John and me.

Little Yellow Fish, I praise God for you too. For the sheer hope in you that I have. I know that if tomorrow is negative, I will survive because I've already had the worst thing imaginable happen to me and I still breathe. But oh how I will rejoice if it is positive. Please know that though my heart just weeps because I miss Matthew, there is so, so, SO much room in it still for the miracle you would be.

Not feeling positive...

I know that I was not feeling very positive last year with Matthew--in fact, the day before my beta, I KNEW I wasn't pregnant, so I just had popcorn for lunch because that's all I felt like eating. I did notice some changes in my body, but attributed that to the drugs.

I feel the same way now. It's hard to note any changes to my body, seeing as my stomach shape is FOREVER changed with the c-section, and I just kept tossing and turning last night and feeling like the test on Thursday is going to be negative.

I love Shady Grove, goodness knows I do, but waiting for 14 days for a FET beta is excruciating! I'm on boards with women who did their FETs 2 days before me and have already tested positive! Most clinics say 9-11 days for a blast FET. Shady Grove still wants 14. I guess in a way, that's good, since John still isn't here, and the longer I can HOPE it could be positive without him being here, the better. The worst part will be KNOWING it's negative and him still not being here, so I'm sort of ok with it being pushed out. I'd just like to know so I can make plans...plans for school, plans for what to do for our next cycle, heck--plans for a new Mac because I am FED up with my laptop. My ancient 7 year-old desktop is working better than my laptop and we are both just DONE with PC, I think.

Not to mention, it would be nice to have some definitive hope. Rather, some tangible, definitive hope.

I pray every night for God to renew my hope in Him. I'm trying to be faithful to that. It's just so, so hard when I look at a closed nursery door day in, day out. A room never to be used for my Matthew. I really feel these days a lot like I did when he first died--just desolate and destroyed.

Destroyed. I'm trying very hard to fight that...

Warning: Do not hold me responsible for John's 'quirky' humor...

Well, I'll be honest and say that as I was in acupuncture this morning (to relax and ease anxiety, right? Ha ha...), tears just rolling down the sides of my face, I had QUITE the blog post roaming around.

It of course rambled, but the highlights were:

Progesterone REALLY intensifies the HECK out of my emotions these days. In ways I never DREAMED possible.

I feel like I have hit some sort of brick wall and the heartbreak I'm dealing with right now is just as strong as a week after Matthew died.

I'm terrified about Thursday.

I'm lonely, but don't want company.

I don't want to be alone, but am mostly glad I am.

And a ton of other things I can't even remember right now. However, I just can't bring myself to do it. To write it all out. I'm TIRED of crying. Just tired of it.

So, thankfully, my funny boy thought he'd tickle my funny bone in sending me another birthday card. In light of the fertility treatments that we have gone through and are currently going through, I must admit that I laughed and laughed and laughed some more. Thank goodness I remember how to do that without having to MAKE myself do it.

I think the funniest part about it is that on the doctor's labcoat, John wrote Dr. K's name....

15 weeks, 33 minutes.

My heart stings like it was 10 minutes ago.

"I am worn out from groaning; all night long, I flood my bed with weeping and drench my couch with tears." Psalms 6:6 (NIV)

Tough Week...

Man, seems like I say that all the time.

Wait, I do.

I'm having a rough day. I'm trying, trying, trying to be hopeful about next Thursday (and the 2ww is excruciating) and yet, torturing myself at the same time by looking up everything known to man about FETs, including images of blastocysts and comparing poor little Yellow Fish to good looking ones and not so good looking ones. I stopped doing that, actually, because he/she seems to fall in company more with the not so good looking ones and THAT'S not helping.
I can see mom rolling her eyes right this second about me being on the computer and telling me, "Get off the Internet!"

(Don't fret...I know she reads it...she's probably laughing because I bet I'm right!)

Today would have been my dear, sweet Grandma Gosnell's 97th birthday. I miss her so much, still. A year ago, I wrote about her. As much as I love her, I can't bring myself to do it today because I'm already stock full on things to cry about, and can't add to the load. I am guaranteed of this: If in Heaven, we are aware of the relationships we have with each other on earth, then there is no doubt in my mind that she has been stuck to my little Matthew like glue. Glue.

I have come across so, so many women who are suffering through hard 'anniversaries' in March and I am just overwhelmed. My heart breaks for them because I just know how much my heart hurts and I just weep for theirs hurting.

I am very blessed to be part of an amazing (though heartbreaking) Bible Study and seriously, last night, my heart just sobbed. Literally. I'm sure that all the hormones and missing Matthew certainly doesn't make me very tough when listening to each woman, but honestly...I was overcome with SUCH SORROW.

There is just SUCH, SUCH SORROW in this world.

I miss John. He has been a Marine for over 13 years. In all that time, I *may* be able to count on both hands the times that I TRULY was panicked and thought something was going to or had happened to him. I ALWAYS worry about him (especially since he's such an aggressive driver, and YES, that is a purposeful statement aimed at shaming him into not being so...) but when we got married and I realized I was marrying a man whose job was to defend our country (in a metal vehicle that defies gravity, no less) I made my peace with God that whatever happened, I could NOT worry about it or I'd literally go insane.

And, truthfully, I was naive. I know it sounds awful, but really... OTHER people's husbands die in the military. You pray for and go to funerals for OTHER people's husbands. Though you know there is always a chance, it doesn't REALLY happen to you, does it?

Yeah...well, that's sort of the same thing, the same innocence (protective shield, defense mechanism, whatever you want to call it) a lot of women go through with pregnancy. You *HEAR* about terrible and sad stories, but that won't be you, right? At least that's what everyone TOLD me.

I, unfortunately, have always lived my life waiting for the other shoe to drop.

When it does, you almost feel (and I know this sounds weird if you luckily live life NOT as Worst-case Scenario Sue) vindicated. You want to scream, "SEE! SEE! I TOLD YOU. I TOLD YOU IT HAPPENS. I TOLD YOU. I'm not neurotic or crazy, I'm realistic. Horrible things DO happen."

So now, experiencing something so rare that even our medical professionals are still in shock over, I have lost that comfort of knowing that odds are, John will be just fine.

Odds were...EXCELLENT odds, mind you...odds were that I'd be cuddling my 3 and a half month-old this very minute.

So not only do I miss John, I regularly wonder, as he walks out the door each morning, if I will ever see him again. If I will be left not only as a mother without her child but as a wife without her husband.

I'm not sleeping well...I fall asleep ok (after midnight mostly, so maybe NOT that ok!) but for the last week or so I've been waking up around 5 am and tossing and turning for a couple more hours. Anxiety. As I wake up, I INSTANTLY chant to myself, "Be anxious for nothing..." but then I realize that I was very, very anxious over the summer about Matthew because I'd just heard a heartbreaking story of a couple losing their firstborn to a cord accident at birth, and I just panicked. The next week, in church, we went over Philippians 4, and on August 9, 2009, I dated my Bible in my re-recognition of not being anxious about Matthew. He was going to be fine and that study of that verse that day reaffirmed that to me.
I still try to cling to that verse, but now...it's really, really hard to cling with my whole heart. In fact, I just can't...my whole heart doesn't exist any more--it's missing such a big, big piece.

I guess I'm just feeling more broken today than normally.

Little Yellow, I'm so sorry if you have dug yourself in and can't wait for me to take the test next week so I know that. I'm sorry that I'm doubting that will be the case, and I'm praying every time I close my eyes for you to be with me. I was on my knees last night begging God to help make the dream of you the reality. I begged Him to let me be pregnant with you and carry you, deliver you and raise you. I'm begging Him this very second.

Seems like I do a lot of that these days too...

Please don't be offended...

...but I have to say this or my chest will simply explode.

I do not think that my baby son died to teach me a lesson.
My God loves me.

I do not think that He planned for him to be born, only to die tragically 8 hours later.
My God loves me.

I do not think Matthew is an angel. God created him as my beautiful son and he is with angels.
My God loves me.

God knew my heart would be broken but He knew I had support and He'd get me through.
My God loves my son and would not let Matthew suffer.

I do not think God afflicted Matthew or me for a greater good.
My God loves me and my son and can make good out of any evil.

I just don't think those things. I just don't. In my opinion, they go against any picture of God we are given through Jesus. I readily admit that I am no spiritual or theological guru, but there are a few things that don't need any analyzing or maturity to know--and some are that God is good, God detests and battles evil, and God is Love.

Love is pure and deep and love is strong...which is why my heart hurts so much right now as I miss my son.

Most importantly, love never fails.

Rambles...

I should start this by reminding one and all who read it that I am pumping myself up with hefty doses of estrogen and progesterone, so the melancholy is even more magnified. (Amber, I asked John. He said magniscope is not a word. I think it was completely fine. There goes the vocabulary neighborhood, huh?)

See, the hormones make me ramble as well.

I failed to mention a few things about my birthday. My amazing mother-in-law, who I couldn't love more if she was my flesh and blood, made me strawberry cupcakes with rainbow chip icing, per my request. She also has been cleaning my house, cooking for me, and making me feel horribly guilty as I've just been sitting on the sofa for several days now.

I got a lovely bouquet of flowers on my front porch when I got home from church. A very full bunch of pretty white daisies, but more special to my heart were the two very special roses also included. One was red, one was yellow. My heart melted.

Today, I got another beautiful flower arrangement...a beautiful yellow bouquet of daisies. The card read, "....I know you love red, but I am thinking of Yellow Fish too."

You know, some people just don't get it. They *think* they do and try to tell you things that DO NOT MAKE YOU FEEL BETTER. ("Hope Yellow Fish makes it and is a boy because then you'll be SET!") Seriously?

Some people don't get it, KNOW they don't get it and just don't say anything at all. I am so thankful for their silence in lieu of the wrong words.

Some people don't get it, KNOW they don't get it and tell you as much...while they tell you they love you and wish it was better. That love and wishing is priceless.

And then there are some people who may not get *it* but TOTALLY get YOU. I am so, so blessed I have so many of those people in my life. Both bouquets of flowers made my days.

John sort of forgot about my birthday. Well, I guess he remembered, and more sort of forgot to do anything for it, in light of the fact that he has been trying to get his aircraft out to Minnesota since January. (Good thing he makes pretty babies and cooks well, huh?)

Today, I got a FEDEX package. To save the driver the aggravation of my zealous hounds, I went outside and met him. As I signed for it, I told him that it was my birthday gift from my husband. He said, "Oh, happy birthday!" I told him it was yesterday. He said, "Oh. Oops. Funny, because it was supposed to be for Tuesday delivery...I just got it to you early."

Did I mention my husband makes pretty babies and cooks well? Oh, yeah, I did.

Anyway, he sent me a watch. (Which should make anyone in our family, or good friends of ours who read this, laugh seeing as JOHN is the one who has love affairs with watches, but I digress...) My current watch doesn't fit so well as my wrist has changed in size since my pregnancy (along with my hip size, my shoulder size, my shoe size and my rib size) and so he replaced it. Very thoughtful.

What I love, though, (and what redeems his lack of memory) is his card. It's a small, very colorful card with lots of little kids on the front. Inside it says, "The whole world is smiling." His words are what gets him out of hot water: "The more I look at greeting cards, the harder it is to find one that says the right thing. At least this card benefits children. (It benefits UNICEF, so we'll have to have a discussion on that later, but anyway....) Also, sometimes, when I feel very alone, especially now that I am away from home, but when I see how many people around the world care about you and me because of our story and your amazing ability to communicate, I feel like the whole world is crying, praying, hoping, feeling and yes, even smiling with us...." There's a bit more, but that's my favorite part.

So please, if you think of me or Matthew, lift John up as well. He misses his baby boy, he is away from home (without the pleasure of his lovely 3-ring dog circus) and it really, really means something to him (and me too) when we are lifted.

As for the disclaimer at the beginning? I cried throughout the entire writing of this. I miss that little boy of mine.

On My 37th Birthday...

...I visited the cemetery.

One year and one day after I got the best birthday present in the world, I went to his grave.

How, oh HOW do SO*MANY*WOMEN* do this? Some days, I seriously feel like I will collapse from the weight on my chest, or not ever be able to swallow again because of the sheer size the lump in my throat occupies.

After church this morning, mom and I picked up flowers...I thought a bright, hopeful yellow bouquet was in order.

The Real 1st Year....

One year ago today, at 11:39 am, Matthew became a part of my life and heart forever.

He was an 8-celled beautiful little embryo, affectionately known as Red Fish (little Blue Fish brother or sister didn't make it)... I don't know if there are any words that could adequately express the hopes and dreams I had that day.

14 weeks ago, at 4:56 pm, my hopes and dreams were actualized in the birth of my beautiful gift of God, my John Matthew. Eight and a half hours later, my world crashed. He was gone. In his daddy's arms...

We survived his first Christmas; partly because I had family and friends surrounding us but mainly because I was still just in shock. As I still sort of have been for the last 14 weeks.

I've read and been told that the first year was going to be the worst for me because I had to make it through all the 'firsts' without him.

Well, even though November 28 technically started that year, for me, today it starts. Today is the day that I can start saying my life was never the same after. Today is the day he became part of my heart and today is the day that will always be bittersweet to me.

Friends, if you pray for me, please pray for me for the next few days. Just inserting the two pictures for this post leaves me sobbing uncontrollably. I cannot tell you how hard it is to be so heartbroken at the same time you are *willing* yourself to be optimistic and hopeful. For John, I likened it to when my mom died and he came home from Japan for two weeks. On one hand, I had just lost my mother and was devastated. Truly, truly devastated. On the other, I was SO ecstatic to see John--I hadn't seen him in several months and had missed him so much. Trying to balance those emotions was seriously the hardest thing I had ever had to do...until now. This is sort of like that, times 5 million. It's one thing to be dealing with a baby boy shaped hole in your heart. It's one thing to be hopeful and prayerful and excited about a new little life growing inside of you.

It's really sort of hellish to be dealing with both at the same time.

The bigger picture...

...has been somewhat of a theme these last 14 weeks, hasn't it?

So, today, as my heart has been somewhat heavy missing Matthew, I did something I RARELY do on Facebook--I did the "On this day, God wants you to know..." application. I really do NOT believe in horoscope or anything like that, nor do I give much credence to any of the Facebook quizzes (which sadly, doesn't always stop me from doing the stupid things!) or applications.

But today, I clicked on it. This is what it said:

On this day of your life, Lori, we believe God wants you to know ... that all is well.
All is going according to plan. Trust that there is a bigger picture. Trust that life is unfolding as it should.

Now, I'm going to go ahead and ruffle feathers. I have a problem (or two) with this statement. I believe Matthew is whole and though it is hard to imagine most days, I believe I will see his sweet face again and hear him call me Mommy. I DON'T, however, think that God's plan was to bless us with the miracle of Matthew only to pluck him away from us, leaving me with only 40 weeks of living inside of me, the back of his sweet little head and a brush of his cheek and shoulder. I just don't. God's plans for me are for me to prosper and not to harm me. I believe with all my heart that Matthew dying was God loving Matthew so much that He REFUSED to let him suffer on this earth as he would have. In grief, we are so often referred to the book of Job and reminded of the fact that GOD was not killing Job's family or ruining his life. He ALLOWED it to happen because we live in a world of free will. He even told Job that Job had NO IDEA of what goes on in God's realm and what battles with evil God fights, and therefore, he had NO place railing at God for things of which he did not know or understand.

Therefore, I don't think my life is unfolding as it should. I SHOULD be raising Matthew.

Before anybody feels the need to preach to me about the sovereignty of God, I beg of you to not. I am desperately, desperately, desperately seeking God in all of this, and I am in no way, shape or form questioning His sovereignty. I have NO doubt that He is. He created a world in which we were given the choice to love and follow Him or not. It is because He is sovereign that this is possible. I don't really even feel like going on about this, so I won't. I will just say this: to me, the spiritual warfare that was the basis for Matthew's death revealed God's mercy and love for my son in His decision to save him from incomprehensible suffering.

The point to all of this, though, is that I DO believe there is a bigger picture and I DON'T know what it is. I know it is a good one because God loves me and wants that for me. I pray that little Yellow is part of that, but if not, I will not blame God because bad things happen to good people, even (and often especially) to those God loves and for whom He wants good things.

But here's one thing I DO think God wants me to know: All is well. My heart hurts; I still have questions and I still just thank God each day that I made it through another day. But, I do so because He's held me in His hands...and all is well.

Sweet Matthew, I can hardly take a breath deep enough to recover from the aching I have for you. I would give just about anything in this world to have you here with me right now.

Sweet little YF, you have no idea how much joy and happiness it would bring me to introduce you to the world in 35 weeks as my second bundle of joy. Please, please make yourself at home.

And now to debut...

Well.

(I start off that way a lot, don't I? Imagine me saying it with a sigh, feeling like I have 3,008 pounds of bricks on my chest, not necessarily knowing just what to make of things...it's that kind of 'Well.')

So, without going into all the various emotions (because that's just going to be too much, trust me), here are some details about the day:

I didn't have bad dreams last night. Thank you, Lord.
I didn't fret too much about the thaw.

It was a beautiful (finally) sunny day.

We got there right on time, in spite of traffic.

My before-acupuncture was very relaxing and the acupuncturist was very compassionate and encouraging.

I started to worry when they called me back 15 minutes later than my transfer time. (This is pretty exact science, so I thought there was a problem.)

The doctor was very nice and compassionate.

I told him about how one year ago yesterday the little embryo we were transferring was resting in Incubator 23.

I told him that two days from now was the one year anniversary of our transfer in the room next door.

He said, "Was it a boy or a girl?"
I told him, "Boy."

He said, "Super!"

I told him that Matthew died.

He looked horrified and heartbroken.

I told him it was vasa previa.

He looked mortified.

We got past that.

The embryologist came in and confirmed I was who I said I was. (I was.)

I asked for a picture.

The embryologist came back in with a teeny, tiny catheter and said, "One?"

The doctor said, "One."

He did the transfer.

The sono tech described it for us.

He gave some instructions and some best wishes.
I thanked them all profusely and told them I was ordering raises for them all.

They seemed to be pleased with that.

I asked a few questions.

They told me that it was a great thaw, all cells survived and were 100% living.

I was thrilled. Thank you, Lord.

I went back down for another acupuncture appointment.

We headed back home.

For the next two weeks, we will be on our knees praying to have a positive pregnancy test on March 18. Praying to learn that my second child will be part of our lives. Praying for peace as I remain heartbroken and hopeful at the same time. Praying indeed.

And now, to make his or her debut (hopefully the first of many, many, MANY pictures)....

Hello, Yellow!

This is (was) the day...

...one year ago--the day that our sweet little Matthew was touched by the hand of God and came to be. In incubator 23...along with 5 other little embryos. Today is the birthday of the sweet little Yellow Fish brother or sister we will transfer tomorrow and we pray in two weeks we will find out that YF will be hanging around for a long, long time.

A letter to me...

Today, over two months since it was written and over 3 months since Matthew was born and died, I found this letter. To me. And cried. Because I am so, so thankful I have people who touch my life...even when I don't realize it.

A positive challenge UPDATE

Isn't the way God works amazing? Just the day after I scoured my heart for positives (still doesn't sound exactly right saying that) in these last weeks, I got such a blessing today. You can read all about it (and still donate to such a worthy, worthy cause) at John's site. Be sure to congratulate him and Julie on the birth of their beautiful and precious grandson, Jonah!

Friends, if you honored our sweet baby boy's memory by making a donation for this, I just don't have the words to thank you. Please know how touched we are.

Click below to go to John's site:

Act of Kindness: Going for the Gold!

A Positive Challenge...

Well.

I had a rough day yesterday. What's new? Last night, as I went to sleep, I fervently and passionately prayed to God for the first time in a long time. I prayed for every mother I have *met* who has lost a baby. I prayed for every woman I *meet* who desperately, desperately wants to be a mom. I prayed with every fiber of my being for God to show Himself to me and continue to carry me through each day.

This morning, I made my FB status: Today is a new day that the Lord has made. I will be glad and rejoice in it.

And I was and I did.

My church morning was inspiring--literally with every note played or sung, my heart swelled. My Sunday School class focused on love. It was a lighthearted and fun morning dedicated to remind us that we were made to love--God and our neighbors. Oh, how I have been blessed with people to love and who love me!

Today, for the first time in a long time, 13 weeks and one day, to be exact, I was thankful to God for my life. I was thankful for my blessings. I remembered how it felt to smile when singing praise to God, and even though I teared up here and there, I smiled more than I cried.

So, when reading through my extensive Google Reader list, I came upon Katy's and Kristie's site and was asked this question:

What positive things have come from the loss of your baby?

SERIOUSLY? Positive things from losing my baby? That does not seem possible.
And yet--being reminded this morning that what matters most in the world is my relationship with God, I feel charged enough to admit (though shakily) that though I have seen the darkest days of my life since Matthew died, I have also seen wondrous, wondrous things.

For example:

*John and I have amazing families. For several, several days after Matthew was born and died, I don't even know how I got up in the morning. I don't even remember it. I just remember I always had someone getting me something to drink, taking my blood pressure, insisting I sit down, making my bed, feeding me, dressing me...literally and truly sustaining me. More than that, loving me--crying and laughing with me and helping me remember I am blessed.

*I have learned that there really is NOTHING that John and I can't weather. I know that people who lose children often end up losing one another. As I've said before, John is THE only other person on this planet who lost my son, and we realize more than ever that we would be lost without the other. There is nothing we can't deal with together.

*There are so, so, SO many wonderful people in this world. As if we were not overwhelmed with the generosity and kindness and envelopment from our church and the military and our community, complete and total strangers have sent us so many different little encouragements. Complete strangers. I have been reminded that the compassion people share is honestly the way God works on this earth and I have been specifically and dramatically touched by it.

Probably the most important...and positive....

*I have been and am seeking God more than any time I have ever in my life. I have literally been brought to my knees in desperation and have had nowhere to go but to Him. I have been questioning things I have always taken for granted and though I have never felt more vulnerable in my life, I also feel like I have never had more support and encouragement while being so. It's very strange--scary and hopeful at the same time. Though I toss and turn and question and wrestle...I feel like I'm right where I should be, considering Matthew is not with me.

I've often said that while this is a trial or test for me, I wonder why I had to be SO.KICKED.IN.THE.GUT for any points to be made. And yet...would I be at God's feet right now...literally begging for His mercy and His presence in my life? I'm hesitant to answer that...because the truth just hurts. I'm not ready to go there just yet.

But today I remembered what hope felt like and how precious to me it is. And that's pretty positive in my book.

13 Weeks...

I know I write this all the time, but there are so, so many things always going through my head. Most days, I have about 5 or 6 different blogposts that I just can't choke out because I cry too much. So, they just swirl around in my head like little snowballs down a hill--building and building until they are just too big for me to do anything with save purposely will myself to STOP THINKING...just black out my mind.

That's not, nor has it ever been, something easy for me to do.

So...I ramble.

I just don't know where 13 weeks has gone, but still...I still have the silverware we used for Christmas dinner on the dining room table. I still haven't taken the tablecloths off, or really gone into the dining room much at all. It's sort of frozen to me--really just the tangible proof that I lived through days I don't remember much of and don't have the energy to clean up. It seems that long ago, and yet that yesterday. I got around to the much-needed chore of going through my bedroom/closet to weed through clothes and just couldn't get far. I don't feel like trying everything on to see if it fits or not any more (and odds are it doesn't), hence making it harder to get rid of it. My closet and several drawers still have my maternity clothes--and though I have put much in a container, the container still sits in my room. I don't even know what to do with them--put them up so they don't taunt me or keep them out because I hope and pray to be using them again in the next few weeks and months. Be glad that if I get pregnant this month or next I wouldn't have to buy much in the way of maternity because I have all my stuff from this*very*same*time*of*year* last year, or dread the thought of wearing the same things because I'll remember the kicks and hiccups and wiggles my little monkey made as I wore them? People try to rationalize this for me by telling me that I would have used the maternity clothes again and would have given his hand-me-downs to his little brother (if we had another boy) had he lived. Emphasis on the HAD~HE~LIVED part. He didn't. And so yes, most moms I am sure would not blink an eye at reusing maternity clothes or even *hoping* for another little boy so those clothes could be used again, but for me--the sorrow of them not even being used in the first place puts a whole new spin on it. Seriously, I have had people tell me that they hope I get pregnant and have a boy because then that boy will be all set. Like I should be GLAD that I have an entire, fully stocked nursery just waiting for some baby boy, any baby boy, to use it.

You just can't understand unless you're here, and I get that. I just wish more people who haven't been here realized they've never been here and didn't feel the need to tell me how I should/could/would act. Losing your grandma, best friend, mom, dad, sister, brother, husband, wife....it's not the same. I realize it is mostly well-intentioned, but it really just isolates me even more and makes me question why I purposely even try to re-enter the 'normal' world in the first place.

I do go into his nursery now and then. I look, I cry, I leave. His diaper bag still sits at the door, packed with all the sweet little things I planned to hug and hold him in. Most days, the tears cloud anything I see in his room, much like they cloud the words I now type. My heart still just weeps. It seems like I may not have as many days where my heart sobs; now it just constantly weeps, softly but surely, even as I go out day to day and put on my happy face.

That's why I hate the term 'grieving process'. I think to put a name for a 'process' you are supposed to go through when your world crashes is just psycho-babble. Process means there's a beginning and an end...baby dies, you go through all the 'steps' and then you've worked through the process and you're back to yourself.

Seriously? There is NO back to yourself. How in the world do I go back to the time before my sweet boy was born and died? How do I go back to the woman I was when I was a mother waiting for her answered prayer to be born?

I don't. And so, the grieving process is simply what the rest of my life is. The 'process' is simply how I deal with missing Matthew each and every day. I can imagine there will be a day that I don't even think of Matthew for but a few minutes...and maybe not even those will happen until the end of the night, as I lay my head down and close my eyes...but that will be a day where my sorrow was just a little less. The very next day might bring an entire 24 hours of heartache.

THAT'S grieving. You may be able to categorize different days and times of your life as ones that fit a mold of anger or denial or bargaining or depression or what-have you, but honestly, I feel like I may live every day of my life in acceptance (I mean really, what choice is there? Matthew's dead. He's gone. Death is final on this earth.) while still mourning him in some way. Whether it takes 15 seconds of my day or the entire day, I can be 109 and I will still mourn him every single day. I think that one of the (many) nicest things Dr. Polko told me at my post-partum check-up was this: "You are strong. There's a difference between acting in sad and depressed ways and being depressed. You lost your son. You will be sad a long, long time." She gets it.

It is now 4:56. 13 weeks ago this very minute my precious little boy was born. My heart is heavy.

And yet...I have quite the week coming up. I went for my ultrasound and bloodwork for our transfer on Thursday and my nurse said all was 'perfect'. My uterine lining is 11.3 mm (they'd like 8 or higher) and my estrogen was 945. Tonight I add progesterone in oil to my menu of hormones added (as if I needed more!) to my system. All in preparation for our little Yellow Fish to make him or herself home for a while. Matthew and his little brother or sister embryo were Red Fish (I think Matthew was Red) and Blue Fish and Cindy said that the one little embryo we had left had to be Sam-I-Am.

Well, we have since added a new dog to the family--a 'foster' we took in for the rescue and with whom John fell in love. How do you tell a man who just lost his son, "No," when he says, "He makes me smile?" You don't. So, Sam Ennis entered the picture. His tag even says (at John's insistence) Sam-I-Am, so I can't likely have two of them. Amber aptly suggested Yellow Fish.

How very, very sad is it that I am hesitant to use the boy or girl name we will give to Matthew's brother or sister because I know that even when your pregnancy brings you to the point you are OVERDUE, that doesn't mean you are bringing your baby home?

I don't know when we'll feel comfortable using a name.

And again, I say...thank you!

Thank you, Bree, for thinking of my sweet baby boy. I am always so deeply, deeply touched when women with broken hearts reach out to others..and in the middle of their devastation are able to pour their hearts out in compassion and love.

Thank You!

Wow! I am always humbled by the stories of others and the beautiful words they use to tell them. I realize that mine are often inadequate. Katy, who honors her sweet little girl Hannah here at In Hannah's Honor, nominated me for a Beautiful Blogger Award. Thank you, Katy, for not just this, but for the encouraging things you do and say to more than you know! I obviously realize how much of your heart (and hurt) you share, and know how hard that often is. I am inspired by your courage.

The instructions that go along with this award are as follows:
:: Thank the person who nominated you for this award.
:: Copy the award and place it in your blog.
:: Link the person who nominated you for this award.
:: Tell us 7 interesting things about you.
:: Nominate 7 bloggers.
:: Post the links to the 7 bloggers you nominate.


So..7 interesting things about me? My guess is that in the two years I've been doing this blog, I've probably shared many, MANY things that I *may* not have, had I known that more than 4 people were reading (still can't believe that!) along!!! So, if I am redundant, forgive me...

*1. My wedding took place in the Baptist equivalent of a gym/auditorium/sanctuary. Known to many a Baptist the world over as the FLC (Family Life Center) or some similar acronym, I walked down the aisle (half-court line) a week later than originally planned (and printed, and reprinted on invitations) because our sanctuary was being remodeled and wasn't ready. Don't think I was not considering tossing the bouquet in either of the conveniently placed basketball hoops.

*2. I am a cleaning supply queen. If it has been advertised on tv and claims to do something miraculous in the way of cleaning your house, I probably own it. Maybe I own two of them.

*3. I love to laugh. Laughing has always, always, ALWAYS been one of my favorite things in life to do. I have missed that so much in these last 12 weeks and 2 days. Even as they were prepping me for the c-section, I was laughing because Dr. Finkleston guessed my weight at 160. I obviously was not aware of how emergent the situation was, but even if I was, I think that still would have made me laugh. I was 97 pounds when I got pregnant. I gained 47! I WAS big, but still, for me...160 made me giggle.

*4. I am a voracious reader and always have been. I was reading when I was 3. As a teacher, I have no doubt that *some* of my reading was probably memorized, but I also vaguely remember reading for purpose (the TV guide, for example!). At any given time, there are at least 25 books on my nightstand, and I read through them all eagerly and quickly.

*5. Yellow and orange do NOT look good on me. I look jaundiced. Really. They are NOT good colors for me.

*6. I always, always knew Matthew's name was going to be Matthew. In fact, I always knew I was destined to be mom to Matthew. Even when we were trying to adopt from Kyrgyzstan, I wondered if I made the right choice in requesting a girl because I have had the same dream about 5 times in my life...I don't remember much, but all the times I dreamt the dream, I was feeding a little boy spaghetti. He was about 18 months-2 years, in a high chair, messy as all-get-out and his name was Matthew. Over the course of 11 years, I had the same dream. That's how I was SO sure I was having a boy. That's why I was SO sure God had ordained Matthew and NOTHING was happening to him. A few weeks before Matthew was born, I even worried to John because I never had any other dreams and never saw that little Matthew older than about 2. I worried something was going to happen around Matthew's 2nd birthday.

*7. I HATE being "That Woman"...I know this isn't interesting, but it's certainly something I didn't think I'd ever be. "That Woman" whose baby died. "That Woman" who has been through so much. "That Woman" others are glad is me and not them (I DON'T BLAME THEM!!!!). "That Woman" people pity. I am grateful for the full and compassionate hearts that reach out to me and love me and take care of me, but I hate, hate, hate being the object of it. It's hard, it hurts, and it's very, very humbling. One of the best things I heard in the hospital was from a dear nurse, and I will forever be grateful to her. I told her and a couple of other nurses with her that I was hoping I'd be remembered as "That Woman" who brought chocolates and goodies for the nurses, NOT "That Woman" whose baby died. That dear nurse responded: We don't think of you as "That Woman,"...we think of you as "Matthew's Mommy." That woman is an angel.

Whew. Tired of reading? Again, I don't blame you.

I have no, no, NO idea of how to pick 7 blogs for this because as I said, I am amazed at the stories I've come across and the hearts of people who have shared their lives--whether it was through the journey of adoption, or grief, or just life in general. I think that says a lot about the resiliency of the human spirit and how even when we feel alone, we obviously are not. I wrote today that it is OBVIOUS to me that I am not, because if I was alone, I'd never be able to breathe, much less survive. I thank God for that, because I know that it is through His grace alone that I do. The people with whom I share and identify for whatever reason are those placed in my life by Him specifically and I am grateful for them.

So, I'll make 7 *suggestions*, but hope that anyone who reads this and feels inclined takes the banner and basks in being a beautiful blogger as well. Opening your life and sharing it is really a risky thing, sometimes, and therefore I believe anyone who is willing to do so should be awarded!

My 7 *suggestions* are:
Jenny at Confessions of a Mother, Lawyer, Crazy
Heather at Prayer and Hope
Franchesca at Handprints From Heaven
Heather at In This Storm
Cindy at LaJoy Family
Lauren at Jonathan's Journey
Mala at Mixed Nuts (Thank you friend, for helping me remember laughter!--Jenny too!!!)

As I said...merely suggestions because you can look over at my blog list and see more special hearts shared...I am thankful for each one! Seven is just not enough.

In fact, since 7 is just NOT enough, and is causing me great stress in choosing, I am adding an addendum: If your blog is on my bloglist, you're a Beautiful Blogger too! Take the banner and run with it! (If you haven't already been nominated, which you probably have, because you rock!)

One gasp...

It has been a hard couple of days. For various reasons, too small to list, too numerous to be anything but difficult when bundled together...I have had a hard couple of days.

Part of it was that I started the delestrogen shots on Monday and really was bitter about that. I am trying to see the blessing of having the opportunity to be transferring our little embryo, but right now I am feeling bitter about doing it WITHOUT Matthew. I feel like I did my time, paid my dues. Over 10 years of trying, Kyrgyzstan closing, all the stuff with IVF the first time, a beautiful and perfect little boy...and still....back to shots almost a year later. Just really feeling the UNFAIR in my favorite mantra of 'Life is not fair.'

I picked up our medical records yesterday. There are so many things I just didn't know (and still don't because I am SO.NOT.A.DOCTOR) but as medical records are some of the few things I can have of Matthew, I wanted them.

They were heartbreaking.

Baby Boy Ennis is a 40 week and 4 day infant born to 36yo G1 P0 now 1 mom with blood type 0 pos....Conception via IVF...Pregnancy complicated by ultrasound concerning for right renal agenesis. Mom presented to L&D for induction.........Blah blah blah about stuff I don't understand and don't want to repeat....After IUPC was placed, fetal HR dropped to 50s and copious vaginal blood. Stat C/S performed. Infant had no HR, one gasp after delivery....

One gasp after delivery...my precious son came into this awful world with one gasp...

And I didn't even hear it. He tried to fight the second he was born.

There's obviously more to the records, but right now, that's all.

That's all.

Poster Person...

I am, if nothing, an overachiever.

I always have been.

I think my propensity to defy the most amazing odds (twice in one pregnancy, if I claim the odds of Matthew having one normal kidney and one pelvic kidney) helps substantiate this claim.

So, imagine my surprise (not) when one of my therapists (yes, one...John and I have one we see together and I have one who calls me once every three weeks for an hour) told me today that I was her poster child for grieving. She meant this, of course, in a kind, appreciative and complimentary way.

Even in grief, I overachieve.

She's highly impressed with the mountains of books and resource sites I've read and continue to read. She's pleased that I am aware of and have notified John of what to be aware of with regard to symptoms of depression that would warrant aggressive treatment. She can't believe that I am going out to dinner engagements or other things with crowds and do so without breaking down at each one. (At John's Test Pilot of the Year dinner, I got the dreaded, "So, Lori...do you have any kids?" Not once, but twice. I knew it would come sooner or later, and in a way, I am thankful it came at a dinner where some spotlight was on John and I just WAS NOT going to break down. PERIOD.)

She's tickled with the groups I've joined, the resources I access and utilize and the hurtful situations I expose myself to so that I can "feel" and "work through" my grief. She's FLOORED that we are going through the FET so soon. She's even happy that I seem to be effectively working through my grief in my dreams. She's just shocked and amazed that I am able to get up, get dressed, shower and function (me too) and gave me HUGE kudos for doing so. I was so glad to hear that...I don't think that people really realize what a MONUMENTAL chore it is--how much mental energy it takes--just to get up and function throughout the day.

She said the only thing she'd tell me to do that I am not already doing is to be kinder to myself.

In essence, she feels that I am doing such a good job of grieving, I may be cheating myself out of grieving.

That is to say, pushing myself to follow what society comes to sort of dictate grieving should be.

I thought about it, and I think she is exactly right. It has only been 11 weeks and 2 days since Matthew was born and here I was in a fertility clinic this morning getting ready to try and be pregnant again. While I want that pregnancy to happen, it *is* awfully soon. I refuse to do any disservice to Matthew by holding back one single tear I want to cry for him, ever. He was, and will always be, my treasured and precious first-born son; the answer to years of prayers and my hope.

When people tell me not to lose hope, or that they hope I don't lose hope, here's what they need to remember: Too late. I lost it already. I lost it with Matthew. And that's just the way it is. Psalms 13:12 says, "Hope deferred makes a heart sick; a longing fulfilled is the tree of life." Matthew was my longing fulfilled, and yes...my heart is sick. I am not only allowed but expected to be heartbroken and sad...it is completely and totally normal for me to feel hopeless right now.
My. Son. Died.


The good news? Psalms 23:18 says, "There is surely a future hope for you, and your hope will not be cut off." So just because all the hope I had in and for Matthew is gone, I am not cut off for future hope. It's just not the same and no one should expect it to be. I know people mean well when they tell me to hang on to hope--but that's a lot easier said than done. When one grows and carries her heart's desire for 10 months, only to tragically bury him a week later, mind over matter doesn't necessarily apply. Suffice it to say that I am trying.

So here I am...stuck....refusing to mourn Matthew any less than I want or need to in order to fit some societal framework of how I 'should' be feeling right now, no matter how long that takes, yet refusing to be anything but grateful and excited about Matthew's brother or sister--whenever and however he or she comes into our lives.

Wonder what kind of poster THAT looks like?

This and That...

So, being the reader that I am, I have bought a lot of books lately. A lot.
I mean really, a LOT! I think the UPS guy must think I do nothing but shop Amazon on a daily basis. (I sort of do.)

I've bought books on pregnancy loss...faith...Heaven...God's plans...surviving...breathing...you name it, I've probably bought a book about it in the last 11 weeks. I really think I have maintained my sanity the last few months by immersing myself in reading. Between the books I've bought, the non-stop Google searches I make on a regular basis and the blogs I stalk (and discover) daily, I spend a lot of time reading. Again, I emphasize A LOT.

I've made mention that we have gone back to Shady Grove and that Dr. Kiperzstock has recommended we transfer the frozen embryo we were blessed to have left from Matthew's batch. This has obviously led me to have a lot of apprehension as I am very well aware of the one billion and eight (exactly) things that can go wrong and end up very tragically.

All the books, blogs and research say this is to be expected. Even Dr. Kiperzstock himself told me that I was going to worry every single day. He also told me that's what I pay him to do, so I should try to let him as much as I can. Ha ha...I love that all my doctors appreciate and have good senses of humor.

The thing is, there's just no stopping the worry, so I am not even going to try. What I AM going to try doing, though, is being just as joyful, hopeful and expectant about this upcoming cycle and any others we may have to do if this is not successful. I look back to posts a year ago and can feel the excitement and joy I had.

I don't want Matthew's brother or sister to miss out on one bit of the same excitement and joy over his or her impending entrance to our lives. I want every day of his or her life to be infused with nothing but hope.

This is what the books say is tricky, though. The fact is, I have lost the innocence that comes with feeling invincible in pregnancy--that my child is destined to be on this earth for a lifetime and I am destined to raise him. I know that this is just not always the way it goes, even at 40 weeks and 4 days. On the way to the hospital, I remember thinking, "Well...worst-case scenario is that they have to deliver him emergency c-section, but if they have to, they have to."

Yeah, unfortunately, didn't think that one all the way out to REAL worst-case scenario. REAL worst-case scenario is that they DO have to deliver emergency c-section, and he DIES. And because I know that happens, regardless of how rare or uncommon it is, I will have to work on restricting my worry and thoroughly enjoying every second of another pregnancy.

How sad is it that one has to WORK at enjoying one of the most miraculous things in the entire world?

Moreover, how sad is it that one has to work so hard at that WHILE mourning the loss of her precious baby boy?

I know. Very sad.

In any event, in an effort to be excited and positive about Matthew's twin, I want to be sure to document all the goings on.

We saw Dr. Kiperzstock on Tuesday for the mock transfer. It was WAY more uncomfortable than I remember it being last year, but that's due to the fact I have since had a hasty emergency c-section (and not too long ago, either) and things are not as they once were. I am not looking forward to the actual transfer (which has tentatively been scheduled for March 4), because it will be more of the same, only with a very full bladder. Super.

I go in tomorrow for a baseline ultrasound, and will likely begin taking Delestrogen shots every 3rd day until the transfer. I will add progesterone in oil (yuck!) to the mix around the 26th and continue that until the beta test (probably on the 17th). If it is a positive test, I'll continue those for a while. Here's hoping I have to take those shots for a long time.

11 Weeks...

"We are troubled on every side; yet not distressed; we are perplexed but not in despair." 2 Corinthians 4:8

Oh, Matthew...I am so very perplexed, but trying hard to not be in despair.

I miss you.

Missing him....

It has been snowing for about 307 years. Or feels like it. I'm really hating this weather...I've never been a huge fan of the snow, but appreciated it for the occasional day (or twelve) off of school and the serenity the world seems to be under when it comes.

Not this year.

We had, in my opinion, a fairly mild fall. I was wearing capri jeans (one of two pair of pants that still fit) well into November. I do not really remember feeling cold, regarding the weather-sense of cold, until the day of Matthew's funeral.

It was cold, gray and rainy. As I sat in the chair in front of his tiny little casket, I shivered...not believing that to be my life and feeling cold for the first time in months and months.

Not long after Matthew died, we got the first big snowstorm of this winter. The East Coast was abuzz--a white Christmas!!! Excitement was all over-- even in our home (thankfully), with nephews and niece and dogs abounding.

But I HATED it. I hated every single snowflake that fell. I felt like each inch that accumulated was a personal affront to my heart. There I was, in the middle of the most devastating time I've ever known....my heart literally feeling like it was breaking in pieces and I had to purposely tell my brain to breathe...and the world was covered in quiet--a calm and blissful ignorance to the hell I was going through. I had no idea how I was supposed feel the world was beautiful when MINE HAD CRASHED. It was just not happening.

And so...this winter seems to be purposely dragging--and taking my heart with it. Every time I go out into the cold, I associate the weather with that day. Every time it snows, and Lord knows it's been a lot, I remember how my little boy's life was book-ended by uncharacteristic snowstorms that brought nearly 2 feet each. I will be reminded by the snow, forever...and I hate it.

Cleaning out the office (a SO needed chore) was a great thing to tackle today, and in doing so, I came across a sonogram picture. I don't know why it wasn't in the folder I have for all the other sonogram pictures, but it made me smile.

Then it made me cry. I miss that little (huge) foot. I am so saddened that I never even got to touch those toes...much less give each little piggy a kiss.

I miss him.

Yes, I do count weeks still...

Why lie?
I do count weeks. Every Saturday, I think about how my life is so drastically different than I thought it would be. Every Sunday morning, as I get ready for church (or not, considering we seem to have been under THE.MOST.SNOW.EVER these last few weeks), I replay being wheeled down to the car....holding my bags and things in my lap and not being able to fathom how that could possibly be happening to me--leaving the hospital WITHOUT Matthew. I type that and am sickened at the memory.
Ten weeks ago my baby boy was born. Ten weeks ago he died.

I've mentioned that some songs just get stuck in my head, even in my sleep. Some songs I know I'll never sing again. Some songs I'll never be able to listen to without sobbing. Some songs will always be bittersweet but I'll sing. Some songs I'll never listen to again because there's just too much pain in them. But ALL songs stay in my head and I hate that I am not able to control their appearances or their incessant repetition.

So, they come. For the last week, three songs have been making the rounds in my head. In defense of my control of their presence, I have to say that one or all of them seems to be playing in my car nearly every time I use it.
Hold My Heart by Tenth Avenue North is one. More specifically, several lines from this song play constantly:
I'm on my knees, begging You to turn to me
I'm on my knees, Father will you run to me?
One tear in the dropping rain,
One voice in the sea of pain
Could the maker of the stars
Hear the sound of my breakin' heart?
One light, that's all I am
Right now I can barely stand
If You're everything You say You are
Won't You come close and hold my heart.

"If You're everything You say You are, won't You come close and hold my heart?"
I cannot emphasize enough how many, many times I have said this to God. How many, many times I have been on my knees...BEGGING and PLEADING these very things. Most poignant to me is the "IF" before "You're everything You say You are..." because as scary as those words are--those questioning and heartfelt words--they are honest. I am always amazed when I look at some of the blogs of women who have also lost their babies because they seem SO SURE and SO UNSHAKEN.

I am so.not.there. I am shaken. I am desperate for God to prove to me He is there. Be it wrong, call it faithless...whatever it is, it is where I am. I always cringe inside when people are so kind and generous to me in telling me how inspiring I am or how strong I am because here's what I am really feeling...I'm challenging God.

Not too inspiring, is it?

The next song taking occupancy in my head on a 24/7 basis is Heaven Is the Face by Steven Curtis Chapman and specifically these words:
And God, I know, it's all of this and so much more,
But God, You know, that this is what I'm longing for
God, you know, I just can't see beyond the door.

But in my mind's eye I can see a place
Where Your glory fills every empty space.
All the cancer is gone,
Every mouth is fed,
And there's no one left in the orphans' bed.
Every lonely heart finds their one true love,
And there's no more goodbye,
And no more not enough,
And there's no more enemy (no more).

"And there's no....more.....enemy."
This line is on SERIOUS replay in my head. Probably one of the more repetitive lines I have encountered in 10 weeks. The other night, for the 4 and a half hours I tossed and turned in my sleep, this line looped in my head. In fact, I actually 'woke up' with a START at 2:47 and almost felt like I could HEAR the words. For the most teeny, tiny brief moment, I felt a sliver of peace.

No more enemy.

I may or may not have mentioned that in our Adult Bible Fellowship class (always Sunday School to me!) we have been going through a series entitled "Tough Questions" and the 10-12 weeks have appropriately been focusing on how God could allow evil and suffering. Each week is a different discussion topic. Topics have been based on questions such as, "Why do innocent people suffer?" and "Why doesn't God change things?" and "Does a loving God send people to hell?"

Seriously. There are mornings when I think there is NO WAY I can sit in on those discussions and there are mornings that I think there is NO WAY that I can't. And though they are HARD, HARD, HARD....we obviously are right where we were meant to be.

I've wondered, though, about one topic: "Is the devil for real?" I admit that I've sort of wondered why the reality of the devil is part of this series because it explores the actuality of a specific, purely evil and purposeful creature--not just the concept of evil, which is what seemed to be the bigger picture.

Some very, very relevant things have come from that discussion though. There IS an enemy. He is not looking to convert you to a hell-raising satanic devil worshipper. He doesn't have to.

He's just looking to steal you from God.
That's all. Take you from God.

And how easy to do so? How much easier does it get to do that than to plant one little seed of doubt. One little question of how God can possibly be real. And the snowballing begins.

Let me tell you this, friends. I have now experienced what I know to be the worst, worst, WORST feeling in the entire world. The scariest, darkest, deepest, most earth-shattering and devastating feeling in the world.

And it wasn't Matthew dying.

It was feeling abandoned by God. It is feeling unloved. It is feeling alone. It is questioning His very existence.

Checkmate for the enemy.

And I AM ANGRY! I am SO ANGRY that he took my son....my beautiful and precious son. I am SO ANGRY that my miracle was TAKEN just to try and take me from God. I am FURIOUS.

Every second of my pregnancy was just inundated with thanks to God. Every second of my being, I gave thanks to God for the amazing life I had. I went NOWHERE without thinking of how blessed I was to have a wonderful husband, a beautiful home, wonderful family and friends...and my miracle, Matthew. And the ENEMY took it. With one fell swoop, he shattered my world, but more....he took away the only security I have ever had--God.

Or, he's trying to.

Which leads to the third song that has been prevalent in my mind--Follow You by Leeland:
And I'll follow you into the homes that are broken.
Follow you into the world.
Meet the needs for the poor and the needy God.
Follow you into the World.
Use my hands, use my feet
To make your kingdom come
Through the corners of the earth
Until your work is done

"I'll follow You."
That's all I can do.

NOTHING makes sense to me. NOTHING. Doesn't even come close. In fact, the only things that 'seem' sensible are awful for me to think about: God "CHOSE" me for this pain. God "CHOSE" to not save Matthew (though the more I think about it, the more I am grateful that my baby son does not suffer). God "CHOSE" to let the devil do this. God "CHOOSES" to remain silent to me.
So, knowing that none of that makes sense, and that I can wallow in that or choose to follow still...I choose to follow.

I don't know how. I don't know what I am to do. I don't know why I am to do it. I don't know much of anything these days.

But I DO know this:
Matthew was a miracle. Plain and simple. I have (and you've seen) pictures of him when he was EIGHT CELLS. EIGHT. They had to be magnified hundreds, maybe thousands of times to even picture them. Those eight cells turned into a wiggly, music-loving, chocolate cake and red-meat craving, dark-curly haired, huge-footed, chubby-cheeked, great sleep-patterned, soft-skinned, almond-eye shaped, dimple-chinned, LONG miracle named John Matthew.
And how else could that be without God?

Much Loved....

This has been a hard, hard week. I have missed Matthew more than I feel like I ever have. Mini-breakdowns happen for no reason, at random times, and with increasing frequency. I am afraid of what the coming weeks and months hold as I am really just at the mercy of my heart and my tears. It is a very unsettling feeling.


Just when I feel as if time passing may finally be helping, I literally stop breathing simply because I look at one of his pictures and I am overcome with sorrow. I just want to sob and sob some more.


This week has also been wonderful though...I have been blessed to call a group of women my dear friends for nearly 13 years! We all met when we were all newly married, and most of our husbands were in flight school in Pensacola. Hence, we call ourselves the Pensacola Girls. Yes, we know....very original. We spent the first few months-years of our marriages and lives as young wives together--in church, leisure and neighborhoods even! We have tried to get together every year since we all (but our home-base Jenny!) moved on to our various duty stations, usually at Labor Day. Sometimes the reunions are less populated than others, based on where people are and who can and cannot travel, but we are never far from hearts in joy and in sorrow.



These women have seen us through thick and thin and have been down the roads of our family-building with us. When Matthew died, these women rallied around me and lifted me constantly. I felt it, and knew it. Mandy flew out at a moment's notice to represent all at the funeral, and I can never express what it meant to have her there. When I saw her, I literally fell into her sobbing...I really didn't want to let her go and I just wanted to bury myself in her dark coat and have it all be a bad dream.



They all expressed interest in getting together...but really, knowing how close these women are to my heart was enough to make me very apprehensive. These are women who have known my heart's desire as theirs for me. These are women who love me so much that my grief truly is theirs. These are women who I could not imagine talking to without breaking down over the devastation of it all. More...what do I have to talk about but the same sad story??? While I can now share the experience of pregnancy with some of them, my experience then ends in tragedy. I have nothing new to share but the same disbelief, shock and horror of it all. I have nothing new to say but that I am heartbroken, don't understand and don't know how I can spend the rest of my life aching like this. I have no motivation to do much of anything, nor do I have control over my emotions and my engagement.

Really, as I feel in most situations in my life right now, I worried about them all going to the trouble of getting together because I just don't have much to give.

I just don't.

BUT....these are also women with whom I laugh and share so much joy. We came from all over; Pensacola, Jacksonville, Wichita, New Hampshire and OKINAWA....to cry over our broken hearts and to soothe them with just being together. I am deeply humbled and honored that they dropped their very busy and full lives to just be with me. I am touched deeper than anyone can ever know nor I can ever convey.



True to my new motto of "If It Can, It Will," we all met in Virginia Beach during what is being called "The Worst Winter Storm Of the Century," and that has made things interesting, to say the least. As I type, I am looking at a clock that will buzz its alarm in 4 hours so that I can get Jenny to the airport here and then get Salley up to Dulles by 10 in anticipation of her making it out before the world ends.



I couldn't go to sleep without letting the world (well, those who read, that is!) know what God does to help heal broken hearts. He sends His comfort in the form of five amazing women I love dearly.



I am much loved.


Matthew, your Aunties Salley, Jenny, Lisa, Tina and Mandy agree: You were one beautiful little boy and their hearts are broken with mine because you are not here with me. You as well are much loved.

The Pensacola Girls

Still.
More.
Always.

I miss Matthew.