My Joy Will Not Be Stolen...

I said it then and I'm saying it now:

I will not allow my joy to be stolen.

No matter what happens with this pregnancy, whether I get to bring home a child to hold and raise, I will soak up every wonderful and miraculous thing I can while I am able to. Lord willing, that's a lifetime.

I will not allow fear to prevent me from thanking God every second for this blessing, and for rejoicing in it.

I will not allow my finite mind to conjure up things that will keep me panicked for the next 34 weeks. Goodness knows that there's enough to rock my world that I never dreamed could happen...I do not need to add to that list.

I will not allow my worries about what people will think to stop me from indulging in lavishing all the love I can on the sweet little life I have been given.

Which means that no matter how it may seem or how big the smile on my face is, the Matthew-shaped hole in my heart will forever remind me that it is a bittersweet joy I am experiencing. I've come to the conclusion that many, many mothers who have had children die feel that if they are not in a state of perpetual mourning, their love for their child may be questioned, or that the world will forget their child.

And I TOTALLY get that. I've had those same thoughts in my own mind. As I've said many, many times before...to be able to smile when you have a precious baby buried simply doesn't seem right. It's like saying black and white are the same. It just doesn't seem appropriate.

But another conclusion I've come to is that I don't care. I know that I will never forget my son. I know that he will always and forever be priceless and precious to me. I know that a vital piece of my heart is in Heaven waiting for me to get there.

And while the rest of the world forgetting about how very, very loved and missed Matthew is would hurt...deeply...his place in our lives and our family will never be forgotten by US and that's most important to me.

Knowing that, and finding assurance in that, I refuse to let the heartache I have in missing my precious baby steal one second of the joy I have for Matthew's brother or sister.

Grief has won and will undoubtedly continue to win some of the battles, but I will win the war.

I have some really big guns on my side.

So, today I bought an outfit. It's for a little girl, because that's what I think we are having. Her due date is January 16, but we will not deliver any later than 38 weeks, scheduled c-section. It's even been discussed that we'd look at between 37-38 weeks. That means that she will be born sometime, God willing, between December 26 and January 2. We know what we will name her, but will wait until we officially find out that she's a she to begin calling her that. That won't be until around the end of August.

If I felt any better, I 'd take a picture of the outfit. Honestly, though, I've been up since about 4:30--wide awake. I've been like that for a couple of days now--and I thought it was the anxiety of the test. Apparently, the really yucky nausea and sleeplessness and flu-like feelings were not the test (or the flu). Very, very, very different than how I was with Matthew.

In any event, maybe a picture for another day.

It was very hard buying that outfit. I instinctively went to the baby boy things. It broke my heart...so, so many little outfits I own and imagined my little Monkey in.

It broke my heart because everything I saw (except the Panda outfit, though that had rainbows all over it, so even THAT was significant) reminded me of someone...little cherries, little ladybugs, little birdies, little giraffes, little lambs, little bears, little dragonflies and fireflies....and the BUTTERFLIES!!! Oh...the butterflies I've been seeing and saw in some of the little outfits today. I was so very sad for every mommy I thought of.

And sad for me...because for every smile I got from one of the sweet little girl outfits, I winced a little more each time I saw a monkey...or a blanket, toy, lamp, bib, or host of other things we have upstairs in Matthew's room.

This is going to be hard.

But my joy will not be stolen.

One year ago today....

Well...I'd like to say that a year ago today, this post would be a long, distant memory for which I would feel completely and totally ashamed of myself for thinking and feeling.

And yet...sadly, still somewhat appropriate. Even a little bit ironic, if you will.

We are going back to Shady Grove at the end of January. Our hope is that we will be able to start a new cycle sometime mid-February/March...which I may or may not have mentioned is just about the time of year that we started Matthew's cycle.

Am I hopeful? Of course. I wouldn't be doing it if I wasn't it. Am I apprehensive? How can I not be? I think I put it best in my post last year when I said that optimistic and realistic are not always the best of friends. I think, in light of the past year, I am entitled to say that I have every reason in the world to be nervous, not as expectant, skeptical and yep--even a little bit bitter about the fact that I spent nearly a year feeling like Matthew was invincible and ordained by God...and yet, I still don't have him. Still my arms are empty. Now, though, not only do I have the seemingly-always empty arms, but the gaping, crushing hole in my heart. A hole that will never be filled and has made me a new person: a mother who lost her precious miracle. Now, there is a dimension to my heartache that I never even imagined could physically be possible.

And yet...yesterday, I bought two ornaments that one puts pictures in. I have several ornaments I have bought for Matthew over the past few months, and they really are heartbreaking to look at when I think about the joy I had in buying them and the desperate ache I feel in them now only being reminders of what I don't have. Still I bought two more. One, a train to match his stocking and Granddad's love of trains, for Matthew. One, a sled full of toys, for Matthew's brother or sister. In this, I am once again putting my heart out there and believing that Matthew *will* have a brother or sister and even if it is just a sonogram picture we'll place in that ornament, next Christmas, we will put our tree up and remember the blessing we were given in being Matthew's parents and will celebrate the joy we will have in knowing his brother or sister is part of our life.

I am hopeful.

However, it is not the same kind of innocent faith and hope I once enjoyed. Even though the post from last year obviously shows my frustration, I still had not yet experienced the grief that has stolen my ability to blindly and joyfully jump out, knowing it will all be ok. The reality is that it MAY not. In fact, sad as I am to say it, I think that the facts are on my argument's side: It does not always work out the way you want, even if you are at the very last part of the race. This year, my faith will continue to be placed in God's bigger picture...one that I've learned allows for bad things to happen to good people because the world in which we live is simply a flawed world. My prayer is that should more tragedy befall us, we will be able to continue to give God glory, even though I admit that I struggle on a daily basis with dark, dark thoughts and places. I'd be lying if I said that I was completely ok with this bigger picture because in the end, it's for God's glory--I *want* to be there, but in my heart, I admit...I want Matthew more.
I think God, in losing His son, can understand that.

I think C.S. Lewis sums up my feelings right now... "We're not necessarily doubting that God will do the best for us; we are wondering how painful the best will turn out to be." I'm not exactly doubting that there are blessings in store...for Matthew was such a blessing, and always will be. I just wonder how much more painful the road to the blessings in store may turn out to be...

Getting Real About Fear When You've Been The One.

So look.

I know, I know, I know, I KNOW we are told not to be afraid.

I know it is futile to worry about things out of our control.

I know that stress and anxiety steal joy.

I KNOW.

But I am afraid.

All the time.  Every day.  Every second.

I am afraid that something terrible is going to happen to Luke or John and I just.can't.bear the thought of picking out another casket.

That said, (and before any judgement on why I am not being faithful, a good Christian, being pessimistic, etc.,)—————

I work very, very, very hard to LIVE as if I am NOT afraid.  When Matthew died, I made a strongly purposed decision to not let fear guide my life.  I would NOT let fear dictate my decisions or steal anything more than had already been stolen.  When pregnant with Luke, I refused to let terror or fear overshadow my joy.  When pregnant with Trey, same thing.

Outcomes different, but my attitude the same.

Afraid I may have felt, but BOLD AND BRAVE was how I chose to live.

I still make that choice—the choice to live like I am not afraid—every single day.  Every hour.  Every minute.

Friends—it is NOT easy.  As a Christian, I hear and sing songs and read words ALL.THE.TIME about not being afraid.  Not being anxious.  Relying on God to rescue and heal and save.

I, without question, believe He does.  A lot.

But I know, within the depths of my soul, that I could sing and read those words every day of the week and twice on Sundays and I will still be afraid.

Because when you've been on the end of Him not rescuing...not saving...not healing????

You know that every situation has two outcomes, regardless of how much you pray and beg and plead.

We all have to make our peace.  I've made mine with God.  I know that trusting Him and having faith does not always mean the outcome will be the one I want.  I know that hearing "No." on a job offer or state to move to or relationship to pursue is VERY different than hearing, "No, your children will not live." and while it's not mine to compare grief and loss, I feel like God and I are at a good place of understanding.

I understand that I will never know, and He knows that I will never understand.  

So I don't ask.  There's no point in it for me.  I believe in a God who is good and bad things that happen do not take away from His goodness.

The gratitude I have for the privilege of raising Luke is a constant, constant reminder of His grace.

And I am afraid—because I know that His being good and faithful doesn't mean that bad, horrible things don't happen.  Won't happen.  To me or to loved ones.  The thoughts terrify me because I know pain that I don't ever want to experience again.

EVER.

But I choose to LIVE unafraid.

Tomorrow, I have surgery for my sinuses.  I am excited to finally have a few months sinus infection free, but more, to have a few days of drug-induced, mandatory sleep!  My eyes tell the tale of my insomnia, and even though I guess I am 'middle-aged,' I don't love looking so tired all the time.  "Allergy eyes" don't help.

I saw the breast surgeon a few hours ago.  I left with the option to remove my right breast.  The gist of the consult was that I have, based on some physical findings and risk factors (family history and IVF), close to 30% chance of acquiring breast cancer.  I could be continue to be vigilant, watch the lumps I have closely and be on the look-out for more, or I could remove the breast altogether and not worry about developing cancer and possibly leaving Luke motherless.

Who says stay-at-home-moms don't make exciting decisions?

I asked the very respected doctor several questions, mainly whether or not removing a breast would be silly or radical and overreacting.  He did not think so, on any account.  To paraphrase his words, I am a young woman with a lot of living to do and a young child to raise.  Taking the elevated chance of cancer away is a big decision, but one he'd certainly respect and suggest.  He's left the decision in my hands, and I'm at a loss.

The odds of Matthew's IVF cycle being successful were 31%.  Luke's? 28%.  Trey's? 23%  Odds of miscarrying Trey when I did?  1:300.  Matthew dying from vasa previa complications?  1:10,000.  Him having one normal kidney and one pelvic kidney? 1:10,000.

I've been 1:4 twice.  I've been 1:3 three times. 1:300 once.  1:10,000 once.

I am good at being the one.

The one no one wants to be, that is.

I have more scans and more discussion March 5.  I think I will also seek a 2nd opinion, though honestly, this is not really surprising news. I was a bit surprised it was confirmed, but expected it as a possibility.  After the next appointment and second opinion, I guess I'll make a decision.

I do not want to make a decision based on the fear of getting cancer.  But, I don't want to wonder every day if that's the day that will change my life.

Again.

Totally off-topic?  That's a cape I got to wear this morning.   Seriously.  A cape????  Luke was sooooooo jealous!

What a weekend....

I've had so many people call me, email me, text me and message me about how this weekend went. Funny, before we left, Nancy asked told us she imagined our families and friends would probably do that, and wondered what we thought we'd say.

I shared that I decided my life can't be overtaken with grief.

Now, I feel I should clarify my last post--and say that though yesterday WAS a new day, it still was a sad day. And there will be many, many, many more to come.

I said I didn't want my new identity to be defined by grief. But for everything, there is a season.

This is my season to grieve. I don't know how long it will last. I know that even when it does, the ache will never be gone, nor will I miss my son any less.

Being at that retreat this weekend, I made peace with that. Seeing families in different stages of their grief was encouraging. As I have always maintained, it can't always hurt like this...our bodies are simply not able to physically sustain this raw, fresh wound. Thank God. Meeting and sharing with other families who have experienced this first hand only reaffirmed this belief.

There's so much that I could share about this weekend, and yet...I just feel so protective over everything that was said and shared. I came to love some of the most precious children in the world, and to hurt so much for their devastated parents. I learned once again that I am SO thankful that the pain I endure is NOT the pain that others have endured. I do not even know how to put into words the way I felt about the courage I saw this weekend.

Now, I know...I HATE it when people tell me how brave or courageous I am and my guess is that these people might feel that way too...we are, in fact, all survivors and only because of the grace of God. But friends...please, I beg of you...the next time you look at your calendar and think, "Oh, good grief...how will I ever get this, that and everything else done--I don't have two minutes to breathe, much less play dress-up or trucks,"....please, PLAY DRESS-UP! PLAY WITH TRUCKS. Do it for me and every single other mom and dad who would give their lives for that basic, simple luxury.

The next time you feel like what you are going through is just not fair--people aggravating you at work, friends or family members being pains in the rear, too busy of a calendar, whatever--please just try, for me, to stop and take a breath and realize that it's not THAT big of a deal.

I realize this is not easy. I know without a doubt that had Matthew survived, you'd see lots of silly little, "What does sleep feel like?" or "We sure do know Matthew's lungs work--he shrieked the whole time we were (fill in the blank)," statuses on Facebook. I know I would have never, ever been able to understand truly how grateful I should be. How could I? How could you if you haven't walked this road? You and I couldn't know, and if truth be told, I am grateful for that too.

If everyone in this world truly was capable of knowing how this feels, we'd live in such a dark, dark place. Everyone's souls would be crushed. There would be no one able of encouraging or giving hope. I used to get so aggravated with John, especially after my mom died, because he just didn't GET how hard it was to lose a parent. Dad was going through chemo, but we were so optimistic about his prognosis. I was seeing a therapist, my dear Dr. Guyer, and he basically asked me why I was so aggravated with John. I told him it was because he just didn't have any empathy. Dr. Guyer always gave me some "Aha!" moments and he did that day. He told me that if I loved John, I wouldn't really wish he had EMPATHY because it would hurt him. Why would I want him to hurt? How could he be strong for me if he was devastated like I was? What I really wanted from John was sympathy--not able to truly understand because that would hurt so much, but to care for, encourage and lift me up when I couldn't do it myself.

He was right. This weekend was a prime example of how much the ability to empathize with others really hurts. And if we all felt that level of hurt, all the time...it would be so hard to be encouraged.

So, while I understand that sadly, perspective often doesn't come save through practical experience, I'd feel irresponsible if I didn't attempt to ask each and every one of you to try and cherish every single moment you have.

I'd love to say this weekend answered all the questions. It didn't. In fact, for both John and me, it brought lots more to the surface.

What it did do, in such a powerful, powerful way is remind us that the questions may not have an earthly answer, but they DO have an eternal answer.

I was reminded that we have been held in God's hands every second.

Mom asked me how I even came upon this retreat. I mentioned this at the retreat but feel it bears mentioning again as I think it is so powerful.

When my mother died, 7 years ago, I bought Nancy's book. If ever there was a time I needed hope, that was it. Further, I needed answers that were backed with solid scripture. I picked it up, began thumbing through it, and though I may have had the intent to go through it day by day, I didn't. I kept it on my nightstand and every now and then picked it up again for a little wisdom here and there. It stayed in my book rotation through several moves, and even though my nightstand was inundated with pregnancy books in the last year, Nancy's book stayed.

The second night we were home after Matthew died, my family had dutifully and ferociously wiped my nightstand clean of any books that they felt would have made me upset. Nancy's book screamed at me. I climbed into bed, opened the book and began to sob. Being the reader that I am, I am sure I had dutifully read the introduction every time I picked it up to read it (I feel every book is owed the honor of the introduction being read!)--and yet, I doubt that any time I had ever read her story before, I felt anything more than that was a sad story for some unknown person.

When I picked it up that night, and read the introduction, I cried. Nancy was not unknown. I bet she didn't even know it, but she had written that book for me. She was no longer a sad story. She was another mother who knew what my heart felt like--times TWO. John and I began that daily devotional that night.

On some post I made, I mentioned her book and much to my surprise, she made a comment! Seriously--famous author taking the time to comment to ME? In any event, I then went to Nancy's website, found the information, asked John if he was interested (much to my surprise, he jumped on it), and the rest was history.

Though I've rambled, my purpose in recanting this is important. I won't lie and say it doesn't bring up a lot of questions for me, but I can't deny God's providence. Seven years ago, that book came into my life. It held significance, though at the time, I didn't realize just how much.

This weekend, a work that God started seven years ago was actualized.

God knows. He knew. He prepared me and began to prepare me seven years ago. On one hand, I can find complete and total comfort in that--trust and belief that God knows what He's doing.

On the other...I find heartbreak...God knew what was to come. He knew what would happen to Matthew.

And a whole slew of "Why?" questions that I've thus far not had rear their ugly heads.

Another day. I'll have to delve into them another day.

In the meantime, I plan to remember that there is an eternal answer.

And I will not allow my joy to be stolen.

My identity will not be forever identified by grief.

I am Matthew's mother...no amount of heartache will ever take the joy of being so away.

Miney's Photo Shoot...

Well...suffice it to say that I didn't sleep very well last night. At all. In fact, wide awake most of the night.

I've had a lot on my heart and I've been so, so anxious.

I just knew that we'd get to Dr.K and they'd do the ultrasound and look at each other, then me, and say, "Lori, we're so sorry."

Because it seems that would just be par for the course.

Joy stolen. I admit it. Worry is not something you can just turn on or off and no matter what you do, you can't control (without medicine and I can't do that) the wiring you've got going on in your brain.

So...I just kept praying, "Please just let us get to Dr. Sweeney. Please just let us get to Dr. Sweeney. If we can get there, we'll be in such better shape." Poor Dr. Sweeney. No pressure for him at all.

I was literally sick to my stomach...seems like every time I go into Shady Grove's office, I am on pins and needles!

So...the tears ran when I saw that sweet, familiar little flicker on the screen. I saw little arms and teeny tiny legs (so different than my diamond ring!)....in this picture, Miney looked a lot like his/her brother and reminded me of my sweet little Gummi Bear.

Dr. K said the heartbeat looked good and I said, "Yeah, well, I'll feel better when you tell me what the heartbeat is...."

169!!!!

Hooray and praise God! Wait...praise God and HOORAY!

All looked great...measuring right on target for a January 17 due date and fabulous heartbeat. Matthew's on this appointment was 162.

Of course, I cheated a bit and had about 10 sips of coffee this morning, so after my initial bliss, I immediately thought, "Wait--maybe the coffee elevated that heartbeat!!!"

That doctor and those nurses think I am a nut. Certifiable.

The proverbial basket case.

They're not too far off base. Dr. K said, "You need to be strong and healthy...you have to RELAX!"

(Again, add grow in there, because if I could bottle the ability to do either of those, I'd be RICH!!!!)

He suggested counseling.

Check times a few.

He suggested yoga.

Umm, abs aren't going to facilitate that and my mind races too much anyway.

He suggested writing.

Check. Times a lot.

Then he said--"For every bad thought, I want you to write two good ones."

This could take a while.

He then got right to where he knew I felt secure. "When do you see Sweeney?"

"About 40 minutes!"

Yep, they looked at me as if I was already wearing the straight jacket.

And they totally understand.

We got lovely pictures of our sweetheart and were then off to one of our heroes, Dr. Sweeney!!!!

It was hard to sit in that office, if I'm truthful. That's one of my real last memories of Matthew...November 23 (the day before his due date) and seeing him wriggle all over the screen...or try to! He was so, so scrunched. So scrunched, in fact that I think the only picture we really got that day was of his foot...fitting...I remember Dr. Sweeney telling me he looked like a million bucks (my favorite thing to hear)...scheduling for the following Monday but joking about hoping we wouldn't need it!

We didn't.

Matthew was dead before the following Monday.

I didn't think we'd do a scan since I'd just come from Shady Grove, but we did--abdominally Miney looked very blob-like but Dr. Sweeney said the baby looked great. He discussed some proportional ratios between the baby and yolk sac and said that my miscarriage rates just went down looking at those ratios.

Things looked great!

A special treat was hearing the heartbeat! We saw it at Shady Grove, but HEARD it with Dr. Sweeney and it was precious. Music to our ears!! Heartrate of 170 (he said that was the baby's heartrate and the caffeine from earlier in the day didn't make a difference!) and just beautiful. I can't wait until my doppler works.

We planned to come in for observation and checks every other week (unless my sanity breaks and we need to check for viability more often) and he agreed that delivering up in Annapolis was a smart decision, even though it breaks my heart to not be able to be with my sweet L & D angels at our local hospital.

We just can't take any chances.

John said if we ever won the lottery, the first thing we would do is build a NICU at St. Mary's.

I'm trying to figure out how to do that WITHOUT winning the lottery, since we don't play.

We won't go past 38 weeks (less than 30 to go!), and he's got a plan for who will deliver.

Have we mentioned how much we love the people who take care of us?

So today...as we are so joyful and grateful to God for this little miracle...

We are also very keenly aware of how much the holes in our hearts hurt....how we ache for our boy and wish more than anything in the world we could be sharing the joy of a brother or sister with him.

I know a lot of people believe that those in Heaven can see us, and are aware of what's going on in our lives. To be truthful, I don't know that that's not true.

Personally, I don't see how it could be...if there are no tears in Heaven, I don't know how anyone there could look at this broken and suffering world and not cry at the state of affairs. I guess I may be in the minority, but I would rather think of Matthew as perfectly whole and happy...which means that he doesn't miss me or see me and my sorrow at all. He, like all my loved ones in Heaven, is blissfully unaware.

And I am ok with that...

One day, all things will be made right.

In the meantime, I am grateful for the joy that I am able to share in the privilege of this new, sweet little life. For Miney's "Trip to Annapolis" item, Daddy decided on a cute sleeper that could go both ways. If she's a girl, we'll give her a green bow or band in her hair (?) and if he's a boy, he'll just be getting ready for the frogs to come! We've always loved frogs here....




Here's the still of Miney. Cute, huh? I know it's impossible to tell (for y'all) but honestly, the baby already looks a lot like me. Really.



There's video--which isn't all that great, and honestly, in listening to it, I cringe. I'll be more quiet at future ultrasounds, especially if John continues to make me out to be the grinch that he does! FOR THE RECORD...there's not a doctor or nurse that has been a part of all of this who doesn't know how stressful this is and how worried I am. Dr. K said I'd worry every second of the pregnancy (and I didn't even take offense to him suggesting counseling!) and Dr. Sweeney said we'd do whatever we needed to do to maintain my sanity. (Again, poor man...no pressure).

This is nerve-wracking...but I'm so grateful. I just keep telling myself, "This one, she will keep."


Thank you so much for the prayers...they are so coveted and so precious to us!

Five Years was Yesterday...Timehop Tells Me So

It really was.

I honestly do not know how it was just five years ago that I left that hospital without my child.  That John left Georgetown after he held Matthew until he died, and then gave him to the nurses and just left.

Alone.

I still know that if that was me, they'd have had to sedate me and carry my body out.
I would never be able to do that, and am sad that John did, but grateful.

The PTSD episodes I've been having these last few weeks have been horrible.

Like wake up at 1:26  several different mornings just sobbing horrible.

How does a body know that?  I mean, really?  How does my body know that he died at 1:26, and wakes me up crying to remember?  In the last 4 weeks, I've done that at least five different times--the last was on his birthday.

Black Friday.  Oh, don't I know it.

We were overwhelmed, as always, with how much love and support we have.  How many people remember what a beautiful but hard day yesterday was, and more, how hard today was.

How five years ago, the world stopped, even though it didn't, and I had to figure out how to keep breathing.
Literally, I had to tell myself how to breathe.

There is never any milestone that seems easier or better.  Every day is a different thing I've lost.  And, while Luke makes our lives worth living and we are so grateful, there is no denying that the joy in watching him often makes what we lost with Matthew's death even more tangible--we don't have to imagine how amazing parenting our little boy would be--we gratefully get to do it--but not with all we should have.

So five.

Five has been very hard.  Five seems like such a milestone.  So many things that five would entail.
He would be in pre-k this year, being a later birthday.  He'd be writing his name and growing out of his toddlerhood into full-fledged little boy.  Soccer.  T-ball.  Piano.  We always wanted him to learn how to play piano.

So much that we planned.  Just stolen.

I'm sure that plenty out there may think that having Luke makes it less a loss because we still have a little boy we get to do those things with.

But it's not him.
It is not John Matthew Ennis.
He is not, nor ever will be replaceable.

I installed the Timehop app this year.  It's been a really fun way to look back very fondly on Luke as he's grown.

I've also seen my blind, blissful innocence every day.

Every day, I want to tell that me something...

That camera...it died to me the day he died.  And then, I was given the gift of pictures of my son.  That was the day that Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep became a precious ministry to me, and our sweet Maureen became a never-forgotten part of our story.  That camera is now at a shutter count of almost 90k and I can't bring myself to replace it because I will never forget buying it and the purpose...to take pictures of Matthew.  To learn how to become a "Momtographer" and document every second of his long-awaited life.  I have been blessed to pretty much take a picture of Luke every day of his life, but...I'll never, ever forget why I wanted a nice camera and to learn how to use it.

This was last year.  It was so hard then.  Those who say it gets easier?  Liars.

I look at this and really have a lot of regrets.  I've been very blessed these last five years to not have many regrets.  As the years pass, though, I feel like I have more and more of those, "I should have known," moments.  This was just a week before we went to have him.  The room we were in ended up being the exact same room I labored in a week later.  The silly cd of labor music (the craziest heavy metal lullabies) was still in there from a week before.  We didn't know it then, but this was the beginning of pre-e.  Not that I had any major signs other than the blood pressure and swelling, but in hindsight, those were pretty significant for me.  It wouldn't have changed anything.  He didn't die from anything related.  But who knows how it could have been?

I.was.so.wrong!  There were a few weeks to go!

People were surprised I made it that long.  I went out of work at 32 weeks because of swelling and concerns for leg clots.  He wouldn't come for another 9 weeks almost!

Why?  Why do we rush it? I know it is because I was so, so excited.  But...gracious.  What I wouldn't give for some more time with him.  If I'd only known.

I cried this day.  Cried.  I was so swollen and in so much pain.  I remember telling my doctor I still preferred a c-section.  If only I'd stuck to my gut.  Not that they pressured me to change my mind, because really, a c-section is no joke.  But, I knew.  Inside, I knew.  Somehow.  He'd have lived, if only we scheduled a c-section.

This is how I've felt for several weeks.  It was only a little over a month ago that my third son would have turned two.  I would have had a full house.  Three boys running around.

But then I am honest.  Luke would not be here if Matthew had lived.  And then I stop thinking about it because it hurts my head and heart.

Yeah.  WRONG.  This was the last day we saw him on sonogram.  November 23.  I remember vividly.  He only weighed 6lbs, 6 oz at birth so that sonogram was a bit off.  I worried he'd be big for my little body.  Oh, what I should have worried about.

Hotel Mommy.  The best job I've ever been given.  He knew.  He had to know he was going to die and it was already in the works.  And there I was...begging him to come out.

His due date.  He outgrew his first outfit before he was even born.  

This is where I scream, "DO NOT DO IT! DO NOT GO!  Let him stay with you as LONG AS HE WANTS!"  I was terrified of going past 41 weeks.  But if I had...maybe the pre-e would have come on while I was still pregnant with him instead of after and forced an emergency c-section.  If only...

Obviously, Timehop has been hard on my heart.  Has probably contributed to the sleepless nights and the night terrors and PTSD episodes.

But I still looked every day.  I still want to remember because I was so happy.  So thrilled.  So excited.  So. Ready.

Five years later, and it still feels like I was just leaving.  Gut-wrenching and heavy like cement.

We put up our Christmas tree yesterday, as is our tradition for Matthew's birthday.

I pulled out the stocking I'd bought for him in September.  The "My First Christmas" ornaments I'd bought in July.  I remember thanking God for his life, and promising that I'd raise Him to know and love Him.  I promised that I'd remember he was His first and that I was only given him for a short time.

Friends, as well-intended as that talk was, and it really was well-intended, it was not true.
I would have raised him to know God.  To love and serve Him.  I really was thankful for his life.

But really, Matthew was mine.  The 'short time' I casually offered to God was something like 87 years at minimum.  Certainly not the nine hours he lived, most of which apart from me.  And, if I am REALLY honest?  I know that we all belong to God.

But I don't want to offer Luke.  I don't want to offer Luke for whatever time God deems.  I wish I wanted to.

I just cannot fathom the thought of burying another child.  My only living child.  The reason I wake up in the morning.  The mercy I was given after Matthew died.  I cannot and do not want to do it. So, God and I just don't talk about that.  I recognize that I'll hear all about trust and faith and sovereignty and all the things I've lived my life for and by.

If honest, I know His grace is sufficient.  I know it is.
I don't want any more lessons on it though.

And that's just the raw Mama's heart truth.

"Auntie Shelby" and "Uncle Craig" picked up Matthew's favorite cake and John, Luke and I sang him happy birthday.  I asked Luke if he would blow the candles and eat the cake for his big brother and he said, "Sure.  I'll do a great job for him."

I don't know that Luke will ever know what he means to us.

When I think of how fresh this seems, I remember one of the last arguments I had with my mom before she died.  She knew she was dying, and I vehemently denied it because I am Queen of Denial. She told me she wanted to be cremated, and her ashes to be spread over our sister's grave.  This sister was a little girl born still in 1978.  In our family, she was "That baby mom had that died," and my stomach always turns when I think of the disrespect her life was given.  I know it was a different time and a different era, and I know that was probably where my parents' marriage began to unravel, though they stayed married until she died.  It was never the same marriage, though, and I can understand that.  I know my mom mourned her sweet Angel (what my sister was named), and in hindsight, days I'd find her crying and then quickly covering it up make so much sense now.  

When she told me that she wanted her ashes spread over Angel's grave, I was furious.  For the duration of my mom's bout with cancer, I'd driven to her nearly every week or every other week (because John's dad was also battling cancer and I'd alternate weeks) and tend to her every way I could.  I've always been the stereotypical 'oldest child' and a pretty devoted daughter, if I said so myself.  So for her to want her remains to be left with a baby she didn't even know over her 'real, living' children?  I felt it was completely disrespectful to our lives.  WE were her children.  WE loved her.  WE did things for her.  She never even saw that baby. (Oh, the tears I shed over knowing she suffered so silently for so long.  I am heartbroken.)

She realized she'd upset me, and she dropped it.  Never brought it up again, and she was cremated, but her ashes are in a mausoleum in the same cemetery that Angel is buried. 

Now, I get it.  She loved that baby just as much as she loved us because we were ALL her children. She mourned her for the rest of her life because there is no forgetting that a piece of your heart and soul is missing.

And, mostly, I got that nearly 30 years later, she missed that baby so much that her final wish was to be able to finally be together with her.  Nearly 30 years later, the ache in her heart still ached with the same ache it had the day Angel died.  She'd just had to learn to live with that ache, much as I have learned to live with mine.

Life goes on in spite of the ache.  But every now and then, it aches as freshly and as intensely as it did the very day.

Like it was yesterday.  

Five years was yesterday. 

So says the ache in my heart.

One Year With A Little Piece of Heaven!

I really find it hard to believe I am writing about the last YEAR with my sweet Samuel Luke.

Especially because it is 4:02 in the morning and I am STILL trying to get a video of the past year I made put together.

Rather, it's put together but I need to clean space off my computer because my eight million and 4 pictures have stolen all my space.

Time consuming. But I'm still on Maui time, so it's ok.

Luke is back to regular time, though...so it could be rough in a few hours!

How is it possible that my sweet little boy is already a year old? How?

I just brought him home.

He just opened his eyes and saw his Mama.

He just mewed that sweet little Baby Kitty mew.

I just don't get it.

And because it is late, and I am tired, I don't have the energy to tell that precious boy of mine everything I want to tell him, but that's ok because I'll tell him the gist every day for the rest of my life:

He is precious.

He is healing.

He is magical.

He is bliss.

He is SUCH a good traveler.

He is not walking yet, but cruising all around and starting to stand on his own for a few seconds.

He has 6 teeth and working on two more...his bottom two and his top two and the two on either side of those are in, and the two on the side of THOSE are trying!

He is a great eater, when he wants to, and he'll at least TRY just about anything.

He'll immediately push right back out whatever he doesn't want.

His words are: Mama, Dada, Hi! Bye, Doggie, Bath and Baby.

Yep, pretty much the essentials, though I think he uses Doggie as much as mama and he also learned Zach (his cousin) this week.

He loved Maui. Not so much the sand, but eventually the pool and the little pebbles. They were delicious. BIG fan of the hot tub. The boy likes warm water! And loves, loves, loves fruity drinks with straws!

He is a great sleeper. He goes to sleep around 7ish and wakes around 7ish the next day. Sometimes wakes up in the night, but usually settles himself. We'll see how that goes when the paci goes bye-bye.

Naps are not on any schedule, but more certain periods of time since last wake-up. He really only fusses when he's ready for a nap, and then, it's not fussing as much as whining and clinging to mama.

Which I love. (Well, the clinging to mama part!)

His 12 month appointment is next week. He is 21 lbs, 7 oz. by our scale. Still low on the percentiles, but you'd NEVER know it by looking at him or picking him up. Someone in Maui called him a Sumo Baby.

Hmpf.

He is just joy, joy, joy and more joy to my soul. He has helped my faith be restored.

Yes, I felt betrayed and disappointed by God. I think that would have been expected.

But if I hold God responsible for my feelings after Matthew died, then I must do the same for the last year with Luke.

And truly, my heart has been filled with a love so amazing and so deep that I simply cannot thank God enough.

I'll never know or understand why we've lived the years we've lived.

Or why they've been how they've been.

But I don't need to know.

Holding that precious little boy in my arms for the last year has been enough to tell me that God LOVES me so much.

How else could I have been so blessed with this amazing and wonderful little boy we call Luke?

Happy Birthday, sweet, sweet boy. You will never know what you mean to Mama, but I hope you believe that you are precious to me in a way that words simply can't do justice.

I love, love, love you.

I love you in the morning,

I love you in the night.

I love you when you're happy,

I love you when you fight.

I love you in the daytime,

And all the nighttime too.....

I love you, love you, love you...

I love you, YES I DO!