I Couldn't Do It.

The sound of your child coughing, or "barking-like-a-seal," is a tough way to wake up. 

After talking to a handful of moms, I diagnosed Charlotte with croup.  With it being Sunday, I watched her like a hawk to see if we needed to head to the ER.  She seemed okay considering the awful sound she kept making when coughing...but no fever, she was eating well, etc.  

I reached out to family and a few friends, and they all responded that they would be praying for her.  

As I was getting ready for dinner, it hit me that I actually never stopped and prayed for Charlotte. The thought passed as quickly as it came, as I got distracted by something that needed my full attention.

After climbing in to bed, thinking through the day, the thought came again that I still haven't prayed for Charlotte.  As I started to pray, I realized I couldn't.  I couldn't pray for her.  I couldn't pray to God to heal her.  

I know that croup doesn't always end up in having to go to the ER, but I know of cases when a child has stopped breathing from having croup.  I know that being sick with croup can change on a dime and can become life-threatening.  Was Charlotte severely sick with croup?  No.  But I did worry about this turning into the worst case scenario. 

Now, I pray for my children daily and frequently.  I've learned that there's only so much we can do as parents, and it's so comforting to be able to pray for God's protect over the things that we can't control.  

But when it came down to me praying for Charlotte's health, to pray for the croup not to get worse, to pray for her healing....I couldn't do it. 

I became vividly aware of the times I prayed for Jonathan's healing and how I felt (feel) like God let me down in not healing him. 

Now I know that there are some fundamentally things wrong with me thinking that God "let me down" with Jonathan, and someday I will tackle that, but while laying in bed last night, my feelings were real.  I couldn't go there with God.  I couldn't pray for another one of my children to be healed. 

I continued praying and talking with God about feeling how I couldn't pray for Charlotte. 

I still love Jesus, and I know He loves me, but I still got a lot of junk to work through with my grief after all these years. I'll get there. 

In the meantime, I'm just thankful for my "village" that will come along side me and pray for me (and Charlotte) when I am unable to do so myself. 

I Know It's Me, Not Him

Guys!  I did it!

I did it twice!

I didn't give Zac or Charlotte a bath after MDO last week or this week!

Okay, I know that doesn't seem like something big, but for me that's huge!

It's no surprise that I'm a germaphobe.  It all stems from losing Jonathan, and now I have this deep rooted fear that Zac and Charlotte are going to get sick and die.  Because of this, I cling to fear.  I cling to control. I cling to controlling germs. 

I know I need to be clinging to Jesus.  My head knows this, but my gut still has a hard time trusting Him.  It's a been quite a process to even get where I am, but if I'm truthful, I don't trust Him 100%.  There are days I long for His yoke, but I just can't.  I know it's me, not Him.

But I can celebrate the small (or BIG) victories that bring me closer to trusting Him. 

We went out to lunch a couple of weeks ago, and I just didn't have the mental capacity to wipe the two highchairs and the table down...so I didn't.  Afterwards I told my cousin how freeing it felt not to wipe everything down.  I wondered if this is how "normal" people feel...  Probably not because they probably don't even think twice about it!

For the next 48 hours I waited for the kids to get sick.  Yep, it's true.  But they didn't!  That's not to say that they won't ever get sick, but I didn't wipe everything down, and they were fine!  Again, there was a freedom in this.  

I decided to take it a step further.  Since Zac started MDO last school year, I would give him a bath the minute we got home.  It's been exhausting.  When Charlotte came along, I just included her into this controlling routine I created.  I've been trying to break this habit, but the bondage of my fear as been so binding.  

Last Thursday was the first day I decided I was going to jump in the deep end and not give them a bath until before bedtime.  The entire five hours while they were at MDO, the amount of mental energy I used of debating whether or not I was actually going to go through with my plan was exhausting!  You should hear the messages I sent my cousin debating back and forth if I was actually going to do it.  I started to get mad at myself that it was such a tough decision.  But ultimately I knew I needed to wait on giving them a bath.  

In the midst of my own worries and fears, I often worry about passing on my fears to my children.  Now that Zac is two, he picks up on things quite quickly.  Yes, I am bound by my own fears of germs, but my worry of passing on these fears to my children is so much stronger.  I don't want them to live this way.  I don't want them to experience the mental exhaustion I go through on a daily basis.  Ultimately my love for them is stronger than my fear. 

For them, I was able to succeed.  Something as simple as not giving them a bath as soon as we arrived home was such a huge step in breaking my chains of fear. 

Each day I constantly have to choose to break through my fear.  Some days I succeed.  And some days I have Grace for myself when I lather myself and my children in hand sanitizer.

It's a journey, and I hope to ultimately take His yoke that He is offering to me on a daily basis.  I know that He is Faithful and being patient with me.  I long for that help and for my days not to be consumed by fear.  But until then, I can rejoice in the steps that I am taking in breaking the bondage of fear however how big or small they might be. 

Life's Too Short

I am happy.

It's been a long time since I can finally say that.  

I feel like I have truly been happy for the last few months.  Part of me attributes it to having Charlotte.  There is so much joy in being a parent, and that joy multiplied when she was born.  

Aside from feeling happy, I can actually see it.  We have maternity/baby pictures on the wall in our bedroom, and I feel like you see the progression of my happiness in those pictures.  For the past couple of years, I feel like my smile hasn't been as big as it has been or as it is now.  Yes, I'm was/am happy being Zachary's mother, but I really feel like these past few years have been so clouded with darkness and grief as I've been processing the loss of Jonathan.  

Along with my new found joy, I also feel like being happy is a choice.  Now don't get me wrong, I still have my moments and days of hurt and anger, and I am also an advocate for anti-depressant/anxiety meds, so I'm not saying that everything can be fixed by deciding to be happy.  But for me, choosing to be happy now is a big part of it.   

I was talking to my cousin the other day about how much weight I need to lose, and as I've said before, I have this scale number in my head that I think once I'll reach it, I'll be happy again.  That number has always been my pre-weight before I got pregnant with Jonathan.  My view of that number is twisted because it represents how I was and who I was before I had Jonathan...before I knew what the loss of a child felt like...before I knew what the darkness of grief felt like.  As I was talking to my cousin, I kind of felt it click that I can be happy now.  Yes, even with 40+ pounds to lose, I can be happy.  I just need to shift my perspective. 

Yes, I want to be healthy.  Yes, I want to still lose weight.  But I can be happy now while I'm on the journey.  I can also rock a cute new outfit now, even if the size on the tag is higher than I used to wear.  I can get the cute haircut now, instead of waiting until I lose the weight to look pretty.  I am pretty now.  I am cute now.  I am happy now. 

My perspective has also changed because my kids love me for me.  They don't care what size I am.  I thought of a popular blog post that floats around Facebook during the summer about a mom swimming with her kids instead of sitting on the sidelines because she doesn't want to wear a swimsuit.  Her kids don't care about how she looks in her suit.  Her kids care about her playing with them. Again, life's too short. 

With this new found epiphany, I'm still human, and I'm still a grieving mama. Yes, I find myself being happier, but there are still those moments of when I get that ache in my heart for Jonathan. Honestly, I don't think that will ever go away.  I shared a picture on social media this weekend of me holding Zac and Charlotte.  When I posted it, I didn't know how to caption it.  I wanted to write that my heart was full...  Or that my arms are full of joy...  But those didn't seem right because Jonathan was missing.  He wasn't in my arms or hugging my leg as I held his two younger siblings.  Even though my heart appeared full, it still ached a bit. 

Missing Jonathan and longing for him will never change.  But I feel like as I am raising Zac and Charlotte, I can choose to be happy in the moment with them instead of choosing to be happy in the future.  I think that I can give Jonathan the credit for me realizing what I have in my heart (and arms) right now.  And that makes me happy. 

Content

A few weeks ago, I found myself sitting at my parents' house on their porch swing...which is one of my favorite places ever.  As I was sitting there on that gorgeous Spring day, Miss Charlotte was sleeping my arms, and Zac was picking up rocks and sticks in the yard with my mom.  He kept turning around and showing me what he found with the biggest grin on his precious face.  I had a thought that I hadn't thought in about four years:

My life is good. 

This thought surprised me because I felt a level of content that I hadn't felt in years.  It was (and is) true. 

My life is good.

I genuinely felt that, and I thanked God for the blessings He had given me.  

I feel like I have hit a new chapter in my ever-changing grief. 

I am a mom of three beautiful children.  The amount of love that I have for them is completely indescribable.  What I feel when I see their precious smiles fills my heart with such joy.  I am absolutely loving this stage of my life of being a mom. 

It's still true that grief and joy are not mutually exclusive.  

I feel that I am finally able to find joy amidst my grief.  The Lord has provided different opportunities that have allowed me to love on others while grieving.  I am able to empathize along with them.  Through this, I am able to see the redemption of Jonathan's life.  I hate that he isn't with us, but I love being able to help others by being able to understand loss from my own with Jonathan.  It helps create some form peace for the purpose for his short life. 

Yes, I still have my sad moments of missing my boy, Jonathan.  Just yesterday, the messiness of grief emerged on Mother's Day when a stranger at the park simply asked me how many children I have.  Fumbling over my words, I told her three, because I always want to include, remember, and acknowledge Jonathan.  She then followed up with asking how old they are.  In that split second before I responded, my heart skipped a beat with anxiety because I wasn't prepared for a follow up.  At this point I was committed with my answer of three children, but the next few seconds I needed to decide if I just quickly state that Jonathan is (would be) 4, Zac 18 months and Charlotte 2 months, or do I backtrack and make the conversation turn awkward and state that my firstborn had passed...?  As I proceeded to tell her 4, 18 months and 2 months, I then felt a shift in my mood as it obviously appeared that I only have two children with me.  That grief cloud lingered throughout the rest of the day.  It's sometimes unfair that a simple question from a kind stranger can carry so much weight. 

As I said before, my grief is still there.  I still have my good days and my bad days.  But I finally feel like I am in a place of contentment that I haven't felt in quite sometime.  I am thankful for God's Faithfulness as He has been patient during these past four years. 

Panicked

I feel panicked. 

Little Miss Charlotte will be here in 12 days, and I feel panicked. 

I fully feel ready for her grand entrance. Her room is ready.  Bottles have been washed.  Diapers and wipes are handy. Her drawers are fully stocked.  And I'm not too nervous about delivery.  

And yet I feel panicked. 

In these last few days I find myself overwhelmed with fear and anxiety regarding germs.  Yes, my germaphobeness is in full force.  

I have been praying for peace and for God to protect us.  I have been praying for TRUTH in this situation.  But my fear has debilitating. 

I know it comes down to control and trust. 

As delivery gets closer, I can't help but relive my delivery with Jonathan.  Even though Jonathan passed due to a genetic issue and not because of sickness or something going extremely wrong, the fear of loss is still present.  

I'm not afraid of the flu.  I'm afraid of Zac getting the flu, being hospitalized, and then dying. I'm afraid that I'll get the flu, which then causing harm to Charlotte, causing her to die. 

Before Jonathan, my thoughts wouldn't go to the extreme of death.  I wouldn't have thought twice that my child would die.  But after experiencing that death with Jonathan, I unfortunately understand that death can be a very real outcome. And that's automatically where my fears take my thoughts regarding Zachary...and now Charlotte. 

It's exhausting to be living in this realm of fear.  

I feel crazy at times.  If I actually shared my minute by minute thoughts, you'd think I was crazy. 

I know that I've made progress through counseling and facing my fears head on.  I also know that this has been an awful flu/sick season.  Sometimes it's two steps forward, and then three steps back.  Right now I feel like I've taking a few steps back from the process I've made, but I also know that I am having a baby in a couple of weeks. I know I need Grace for myself during this season.  I know that there will be a day where I'll take steps forward and make some good progress again.  But until that day, I need to tell myself the Truth and give myself some extra Grace. 

Messy Work In Progress

I survived the holidays. Seriously, this feels like such an accomplishment. I deserve a metal, or at least a sticker. The holidays are so suffocating at times, and January feels like I can breathe again. I've never really liked January in particular, but it's probably been my favorite month for the last 3 years. 

With each year, the joy and the grief get more complex as Zac is being more engaged with the holidays. I find myself loving the joy that he brings as his excitement fills the house. But then I'm pulled back to sadness, remembering that we never got to (or will) experience it with Jonathan. 

The holidays are a constant pull of joy and grief, ping-ponging me back and forth...back and forth. 

It's exhausting.

And then add pregnancy hormones, and you have a fun, complicated, emotional concoction. 

As we are approaching Charlotte's arrival in about 5 weeks, I find myself praying for protection for her, Zac, Charles and myself... especially in the midst of all this sickness going around. 

Me praying for them is big. But as I was lying in bed last night, I realized that I pray out of fear that I can't do it. I can't ultimately protect everyone from all the germs. When I pray, it's more of a last resort with me waving my white flag. I guess that's better than nothing. At least it's in the right direction. 

I also realized that when I pray for Zac or Charlotte, I'm compartmentalizing Jonathan. Meaning, I still have so much pain and hurt towards God regarding Jonathan. But I'll try to trust Him with my other two children. And me praying for protection is me trying to trust Him...along with me being exhausted from trying to do it all myself. 

I'm a messy work in progress. But at least I'm making progress. I am exhausted, and I ultimately want to turn to God first instead of a last resort. Hopefully I'll get there. But for now, at least I'm praying.