Isolating

Y'all - it's been a hard couple of weeks. 

I have been anticipating and dreading the start of the school year this fall, but I didn't know it would be as hard as it was.

When we lossed Jonathan, you start to think of the milestones you will will also lose... kindergarten, 16th birthday, high school graduation... Those are some big ones.

Every start of school has been hard since 2014, and even if Jonathan wasn't school age, for some reason August was always a tough time. 

But this was the year. The big one. And I wasn't prepared for how hard it would hit me.

These last couple of weeks, the depression and anger that I have felt has been so much. It hasn't been as strong as when we lossed Jonathan, but it has been the worst I have felt since then.

Because it's been so strong, I've been having a hard time bouncing back from it. 

In a couple of weeks, I plan on getting back into counseling. It's been awhile since I've been, and I think it's a good idea to pick it back up. 

It just sucks. And on top of the pain, it felt so isolating. While all my other mom friends were excited to send their kiddos off to school, I felt like I just wanted to punch everyone in the face. It wasn't anything that they were doing. It was 100% me and where I was (am) at. 

It's so isolating because I don't want to crap on their parade by waving my hand saying, "Remember me?? My son died five years ago, and should have been starting school too..." 

I know my friends are there for me (and I have since talked to them on how I'm doing), but grief can be so isolating. 

In the midst of feeling so low, God reached out and used me. It almost made me laugh because how I was feeling didn't surprise Him, and He wanted me to continue to share my story. I was exactly where He wanted me to be. 

I've said it before and I'll probably say it again, but grief is messy. It's so unpredictable, but it's where I am at. It's part of my story. And God is using my story. 

Missing Piece

There is so much hurt and pain around us.

As I look back on the last couple of weeks, I feel like I've been bombarded with news of loss and grief.

After encountering your own experience if grief, you are awaken to the amount of loss that is truly around us.

I am sitting here with tears in my eyes as I see the hurt around me, as well as feel my own pain.

Sometimes my pain is still debilitating even 5 years later.

I (still) know that God is good. And He is faithful, but pain still hurts.

As summer wraps up, and school starts back into full swing, my heart aches for my firstborn. He too would have been starting Kindergarten this fall. But unlike most around me, I won't be able to post a "First Day of Kindergarten" picture of my boy standing on my porch.

Would he be nervous?

Would he be excited?

Would I have to bribe him to smile?

Would he be a helper in class?

Would he be the class clown?

Just add them to the list of unanswered questions.

I frequently think of - and miss - Jonathan.  I don't even know how many times in a day I think of him because I lose count.

I've noticed that as Zac and Charlotte get older, I wonder more and more about what Jonathan would have been like or what he would be playing with that same moment?

Would he bravely jump off the diving board, as we have a family pool day?

Or would he be the kid that just wants the yummy snacks on the side of the pool?

It's hard for my Mama's heart to have so many unanswerable questions. It just constantly reminds me that a part of my heart is missing.

I Miss Him.

Five years. 

How can it be (almost) five years since I held my precious first-born baby boy in my arms for the first and last time?  

When I actually stop and think about it, the ache is still so deep in my heart.  It's a rare thing for me to actually stop the chaos around me and allow myself to focus on my Jonathan. 

I just miss him. 

I frequently play the "what-if" game of how he could fit into our lives.  Sometimes those questions make me smile.  Sometimes they make me sad. 

I was crying on the eve before my birthday this year because I missed him.  Charlotte and I have the same birthday, and it was not only going to be my day, but her first birthday.  Another milestone that I never got to have with my boy. 

I was irritated because I wasn't suppose to be crying for Jonathan yet. In the previous years, the wave of grief of missing Jonathan usually hits on March 7 up until his birthday. 

I miss him.

I miss him when Zac and Charlotte play together. I miss him with the milestones that happen in Zac and Charlotte's life. 

I miss him.

There's really nothing else to say except: I miss him.

 

Make My Heart Believe

While we were watching "First Man" this weekend -- *spoiler* Neil Armstrong was the first man on the moon -- there was another story-line that unfolded that I wasn't prepared for. 

Armstrong's daughter died at the age of two due to a brain tumor.  

This story-line seemed to intertwine the entire movie.   

It was hard.  Since it stung so much, I quickly made sarcastic and smart-alick comments all throughout the movie to keep the tears from coming...the healthy thing to do, right? 

Well, even though it was a few days ago, I keep lingering on how much heart aches from his loss...and obviously, my loss. 

I don't know what it is, but I've been missing Jonathan a lot these last few weeks. Perhaps it's all of FB posts about Kindergarten registration.  I can't believe he would have been five. Perhaps it's because Zac and Charlotte have been sick these last few weeks, and my root fear of sickness and germs stems from losing Jonathan. Perhaps it's all the new baby announcements of baby number three. 

**Friends who just had baby number three/pregnant with number three, I am beyond happy for you (which is why I stalk your Instagram stories!).  It has nothing to do with you - it's just the messiness of grief.**

Charlotte is my third baby.  But to those that don't know our story don't know that I, too, have three babies.  They see my two sweet babies, and not the hole in my heart from Jonathan. It's just another reminder that Jonathan isn't here. 

The other day I heard one of my new favorite worship songs: "Jesus Is Better" -- During these last few years of healing my relationship with Jesus, learning to trust Him again, this song played a big role in that healing.  

Here's some of the lyrics:

"In all my sorrows, Jesus is better
make my heart believe
In all my victories, Jesus is better
make my heart believe

Than any comfort, Jesus is better
make my heart believe
More than all riches, Jesus is better
make my heart believe
Our souls declaring, Jesus is better
make my heart believe
Our song eternal, Jesus is better - make my heart believe"

What I connected with is the crying out of "make my heart believe" -- Such a wonderful and encouraging line.  While I still have a way to go to completely trust Jesus hasn't/isn't going to let me down, that line encourages me that it's okay to also ask for help in believing who Jesus says He is. 

Man, at the end of the day, grief is so messy and so evident all day long.  As you can see, these are three different situations where I am constantly being bombarded with my loss of Jonathan.  Grief is an exhausting road, but:

 "In all my sorrows, Jesus is better

make my heart believe...
Than any comfort, Jesus is better
make my heart believe"

consuming

For the last few years, my grief has seemed predictable. 

I could start to anticipate the hard days. 
The week before Jonathan's birthday...April 1st...the day he passed...and then every day from Halloween until News Year's day. 

The thickness of the grief during the holidays seems to evaporate every January 1, and I feel like I can breathe again. I was never really a fan of January until Jonathan passed. It's now my favorite month. It is refreshing. It means I'm a survivor. I survived another round of holidays without my boy, and I can finally exhale. 

But just as I think I can predict my grief and anticipate it's arrival, it changes. 

This year, the holidays were a whirlwind. I feel like I blinked, and it's now 2019. Perhaps it's because Miss Charlotte was here and divided my attention this year. Or perhaps it was a combination of that and Charles breaking his collar bone the week before Christmas. For the past four weeks of his recovery, I have been in survival mode.

I feel like I haven't had time to grieve. I've been trying to survive my day to day...week to week. I've been taking care of everyone, I haven't had time to take care of me.

Just as I was looking forward to the freshness of January, I find that I am deeply missing my sweet baby boy. 

Just when I think my grief is predictable, my grief is consuming.

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. 

It's Not You, It's Me

I find myself feeling like I'm not really good at friendships.  Feeling a bit lonely.  But at the same time, not motivating myself enough to step out and connect.  

I know like everything in life, things come and go like seasons.  Some people are in your life for a season.  And the next, they're not.  I'm trying to be okay with that.  

Perhaps it's because I'm an introvert and exhausted after taking care of Z all day.  Wanting to connect with another being is not energizing to me.  I'm tired.  I don't like small talk.  A person will reach out here or there, but I'm tired.  

Perhaps it's because I withdraw during my pregnancies.  For some reason, I tend to pull away from everyone during these nine months.  Maybe it's a defense mechanism that allows me to protect myself from letting others down if I lose another child.  Maybe it's because I'm in survival mode the entire time.  I'm just trying to survive my fears of another loss.  

Perhaps it's because I am at a different stage of life and am on a baby's schedule.  I'm one of the later ones of my friends that have a baby (with another on the way).  I am currently on his naptime schedule.  I plan my days around what he can handle.  And some days it's easiest to just stay home and not venture out.  I've never been a good hostess, so having people over sounds like so much work. 

Perhaps it's because I'm still grieving J, and people don't understand. Maybe they think I should be over it by now.  Maybe I feel judged.

Perhaps it's me.

Perhaps it's not just me. 

Perhaps other mom's feel the same way.  

The good. The bad. The tired.

I'm tired.

I'm tired of health issues.

I'm tired of family drama.

I'm tired of being tired. 

I'm tired of feeling like I'm not good enough based off people judging my decisions. 

I'm tired of just feeling like I'm surviving.

I'm tired of a crying baby when he should be sleeping. 

I'm just plain tired:
mind
body and 
soul.

...I know having an almost 10 month old and being 8 weeks pregnant doesn't help...

Ultimately, I know my own soul health can really play a huge role in how I'm feeling.  To be completely honest, my soul's not doing so well.  There's still a barrier between God and me.  It's not a 6 foot cinder-block wall that has been present in the past, but even a 2 foot picket fence can still be a barrier.  

When I boil my relationship with God down, it is clear that is the issue is that I don't trust Him.  Don't get me wrong, I believe in Him as my Savior, but I'm still wagging my finger at time as to say "don't let me down, again" when I pray.  I know that He didn't actually "let me down," but it's hard to get past that feeling deep within my gut.  

I have a lot of head-knowledge about the truths of who God is, but my gut isn't aligning with the truths that I know.  Because of this, I've created this barrier that allows me to be in control.  Because I trust myself.  

It's exhausting.

I want to be free.  Freedom is a big word I discuss in counseling.  I long for freedom.  I want the weight off my shoulders.  I want rest.  Even as I type this out the verses Matthew 11:28-30 come to mind: 

28 "Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. 29 Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 30 For my yoke is easy and my burden is light."

Again, I KNOW it (head-knowledge), and I want it, but I get stuck along the way.  There's a deep valley of pain and lack of trust that I've built from my grief.

I truly long for that rest.  I know He is there just patiently waiting for me to take His yoke.  I know I'm tired.  I know His yoke is easy.  

I know how I want the outcome, but I'm just having a hard time getting out of my own way.  And it's tiring. 

I survived.

Yesterday 12:52pm: 
Zac throws up on our bed.

Now, he had been fussing a bit beforehand, so I thought he might have just worked himself up and made himself sick.  

By 2:30pm:
Zac throws up a total of 7 times.  

The stomach bug had officially hit Zac.

One of the times Zac got threw up, it ended up all over me.  My shirt, bra, pants and underwear were saturated.  I had just gotten initiated into motherhood.

It was so sad and heartbreaking seeing him so scared each time he got sick.  After talking to to the nurse, we ended up taking him in to make sure he wasn't more sick than he appeared.  By the evening, he was able to keep a few ounces of Pedialite and formula down.  He also got some good sleep last night...even though momma didn't. 
He is 100% better today.

It's no secret that I'm a germaphobe.  And I deep down I really think I have Emetophobia (the fear of throwing up).  I can literally count the times I have thrown up in my life on one hand. While working at the elementary school, if a kid was throwing up, I was the one rushing out of the room.  I couldn't handle it.  

I used to judge the parents who would come in to the office to pick of their sick child and hug and kiss them when they'd come out of the nurse's office.  But now I get it.  I hugged, held and kissed Zac all afternoon long.  Trying to comfort him while he was so pale and lethargic in my arms.  I knew he was sick, and I knew that there was a big chance I could get sick from loving on him, but I didn't care.  I wanted to take care of my precious, sick boy. The love I have for him outweighed any fear of getting sick that came to mind.  I didn't care.  

In addition to overcoming my own fear of germs, I feel like we conquered another fear.  Before yesterday, I had never had a child get sick that didn't die as a result.  Between Jonathan and the miscarriage, sickness equaled death.  This is a huge underlying reason behind my fear of germs. I have a fear of Zac getting sick and dying.  I have dreaded the day that he got sick for the first time because of what the outcome could be.  Even on the way to the doctors yesterday, I was crying because I was so fearful that he so sick he would need to get admitted to the hospital.  

A marble moment was when we saw a neighbor at the doctor's office with his own sick child.  We were unable to get in to see our own doctor, but the neighbor was glad we were able to see their doctor that afternoon.  Just having that encouragement of a new doctor put this momma a little at ease.  It was definitely a marble moment that God was in control. 

I'm so thankful that Zac is fine today and that yesterday wasn't worse. I feel like I can conquer the world because I survived the past 24 hours. It is more than just Zac being sick for the first time.  I feel like I tackled a huge fear in my life and won.  I'm not saying that I'm not a germphobe anymore, but I feel like I took a huge step in winning that battle yesterday.  

I survived.  

one step forward, 20 steps back

I am find myself in the thick of it with grief still which irritates me because I feel like I should have made more progress than I have. Granted, I know that April 1st is coming up which surfaces more layers of grief.  

I still find myself feeling left behind regarding kids and my family.  Yes, I have Zac, but now my friends are having their 2nd or 3rd child...and yes, Zac is my second child, but it doesn't appear like that to the outside world.  I still feel need to catch up.  Granted, getting pregnant right away won't solve anything, but it's still a feeling that I am constantly fighting. I'm finding it hard to be content with where I am. Perhaps it's because I feel like my family is incomplete with Jonathan missing.  That hole that he left will always make me feel like something is missing from our family. 

I feel like I am failing at friendships.  Literally.  I feel like I am the suckiest friend in the whole world.  I would like to make a mass apology to those who have texted/messaged me, and I haven't responded.  It has nothing to do with you.  It has everything to do with me. I want to be a better friend.  I want to connect with you.  But it's me.  Not only am I trying to figure out married life with being a new mom, but my emotional bucket is empty usually the month of March... Okay, that's a lie. I feel empty often.  This is where I get irritated with myself for not being better.  I know that you care and love me.  I know that you aren't judging me (even though I fill that part in for you and feel like a complete failure).  Again, I know that you care about me. I'm sorry I don't actually let you show it.  As I previously said, I think I should be feeling better by now, or at least know how to deal with my grief.  But I still have those really tough days.  And my safe place is my home...with Charles and Zac.  I'm still trying to figure out who I am.  I'm not the person or friend that I once was.  For that, I'm sorry.  But please continue to be patient with me as I am still navigating through this grief.  I don't know how long it will take, but please be patient.  

I'm still really struggling with germs and my fears.  Yesterday, I had Chusan lunch with Charles at Chick-fil-a, and I almost had a complete panic attack while there.  Zac was in his stroller, pulled up to our booth.  We were sitting in a booth next to where the order line would be if it was long.  Once we got our food, 50 kids came in from a field trip.  They were right next to us, bumping into Zac's stroller.  They were really well behaved, but one would cough and another one would sneeze... and I was about to die.  Poor Charles kept trying to start a conversation to take my mind off of it, but I couldn't concentrate.  We inhaled our food and left.  I cried the whole way back to the office to drop Charles off.  It's moments like this where I feel so crazy.  I feel like I haven't made the progress that I thought I have.  My fears are such a struggle for me.  I am so afraid of losing Zac.  I'm so afraid that God will take him away from me.  As you can see, I'm still working on the whole "trusting Jesus" thing... 

I made a twisted realization the other day.  I'm trying so hard to lose my baby weight from Zac's pregnancy.  I still have 24lbs to go to get to my pre-Zac weight.  My ultimate goal is to lose an additional 20lbs after that.  If I do that, I'll be at my pre-Jonathan weight. That number is 151.  I just want to be back at 151 so badly.  The other day I realized that deep down that number stands for more than just being a size 8 again.  In my mind, I think that if I get back to 151, I'll be happier.  I'll be my old self again.  I won't feel this pain that I feel on a daily basis.  My eyes finally see what that number represents.  But it isn't my baby weight that brings me this pain.  I need to accept that I won't ever be that person that I was before December 9, 2013. That's a hard truth.  I know that I have some really positive things going on in my life, but there is a part of me that just want to be happy again.  But 151 won't be the happiness I'm searching for.  
When I say these things out loud, that's when I really feel that I haven't made as much progress as I thought I have.  Deep down I know that I have made progress, and I know I need to be gracious to myself.  I guess I just continue to realize that I'm still trying to navigate this journey and continue to accept my new normal.  Grief is such a messy thing.  I know I've come far, but there are those days when I feel like I haven't moved an inch.  I know that God's Grace is new every morning.  And for that I am thankful.  But there are still days were the pain seems to overpower the grace.  Thankfully tomorrow has a new morning. 

scars and germs

I had a great counseling appointment yesterday.  As I was summarizing how I have been the past couple weeks, my counselor acknowledged how good I looked....meaning I looked brighter, happier, lighter.  

I agreed that I felt better all around...minus the baby weight I still need to lose.  

Previously we had discussed how my wound with Jonathan had put me me in ICU for the past three years.  In the room with me was only Charles.  My family and friends weren't even allowed in the hospital.  And Jesus was only allowed just outside my room, on the other side of the closed curtain.  

While being in ICU, I have had to keep myself safe, secure, healthy and protected....allowing only Charles in.  He was the only one who understood.  He was the only one I could trust.  He was the only one I have felt safe with.  

Because of this, I have kept visitors at bay.  I've kept friends at bay.  I've kept relationships at bay.  

My deep, painful wound needed to heal.  

I feel like these past three months with Zachary has brought much healing.  

As I wrote last time, I've been on repeat for the past three years on a track, repeating pregnancy and loss over and over again. But now with Zac, I've broken away and am creating a new path on a new road.  I'm not on repeat anymore.  I'm actually healing.  

And healing doesn't look like replacing.  And healing doesn't mean that I'm healed. But I am slowly seeing a scar form over the gaping wound that once was.  

Now that I am not in the ICU anymore, I find myself having the strength to reconnect with friends and family around me.  

Along with the healing, I'm still working on fear of Zac dying.  I'm still afraid of him getting sick and dying.  I know in my head that germs are good for him and his immune system, but deep in my gut, I ache to protect him, in fear that he will be taken from me.  

I am working on carving out new ruts with my fear of germs.  For the past three years I've clung to control and fear and carved deep grooves of germophobia.  The ruts from the past three years are deep.  And it's mentally exhausting to cut out new ruts that allow me freedom from my fear of germs, but I'm slowly trying.  It will take time to carve new ones to replace the current ones.

The love that I have Zac is so much, it's unexplainable.  I love him so much that he is my motivation to work on my fears because I do not want to pass them on to him.  I don't want him to grow up in my fearful world.  For him, I would do anything.  And right now, breaking my OCD with germs and fear is what I'm working on.  It might be two steps forward and one step back, but it is still progress.  This process needs to be filled with Grace for myself, but I know I can eventually get there.

My fear of germs really comes down to me not trusting Jesus. I've felt that Jesus really let me down with Jonathan's death.  That's why even Jesus wasn't allowed inside the ICU room.  He had to stay outside.  For the past three years I've kept Jesus at arms length because I didn't trust Him...that I don't trust Him.  

My counselor gave me an exercise to do for the past few months.  I have a mason jar in our living room, and every time I feel  or see Jesus move in some way - big or small - I put a marble in the jar.  Being a visual learner, I have something that physically reminds me of God's Goodness.  His Faithfulness.  

With each marble, my trust in Him is growing.  

Even though I haven't conquered my fear of germs and control.  I'm working on it day by day, hour by hour.  

He is Faithful and full of Grace.  And my mason jar is almost full.

the track

I have been chewing on writing a blog post for awhile now, but I just couldn't figure out how to put these past two months into words.

Zachary is doing so good, and I am falling in love with him more and more each day.  I didn't realize how strong a mother's love truly can be.  When I watch him next to me, the love I feel for him almost brings tears to my eyes.  My heart is so full of joy and love.

Unfortunately, along with that comes guilt.  I feel guilty that Zachary is here in my arms, and I am able to love on him in a way that I was unable to with Jonathan.  I almost feel like I'm cheating on Jonathan in a way. 

Up until Zachary's delivery, I felt like I was on a track.  In my mind, I picture my old high school's track.  With Jonathan, I completed the track once (pregnancy).  But life ended, and I stayed in repeat.  I continued another lap on the track with our miscarriage.  And then I did another lap during Zachary's pregnancy.  All I had known were pregnancies and loss and laps around the track.  When I finally delivered Zachary, I broke free of the track and continued down a road.  A new road that I never experienced. 

There are so many new experiences I am having with Zac that I never got to do with Jonathan.  Instead of looping around the track for another time, I now have this little person that keeps hitting different milestones that solidifies the passing of time from Jonathan.  I find myself playing the "what-if" game a lot more with Jonathan that I did before.  Zachary is a new way to track the time that has passed without Jonathan. 

By leaving the track and continuing with Zac, it feels like this momma is leaving her Jonathan behind.  ...that she is moving on with her life without her first born.

That makes me feel guilty.  It makes me feel like a bad mom to Jonathan. 

That's why it's so complicated.  The intertwining of grief, sadness, love and joy is so messy.

I'm a big numbers and date person, so all throughout the year I remember the odd days of when this or that happened.  This also applies when I was pregnant with Jonathan.  December is always a fun month because this is when we learned of his diagnosis -- December 9th to be exact.  You know what, I didn't realized it was December 9th until it was around 8pm that night.  Perhaps this is a part of our journey of healing, but it hurt my heart that I forgot.  It felt like somehow I forgot Jonathan...even though I think of him many times throughout each day.

One of my biggest fears is that people with forget Jonathan.  That people will think that I am "fixed" now that I have Zachary.  This isn't the case at all. 

As twisted as it is, the pain of Jonathan's story connects me to him.  There were moments of joy and love with him, but the main thing was pain and sadness.  By forgetting the 9th, I felt like part of me had moved on with my life with Zachary, and I left Jonathan behind. 

Like I left him back on the track. 

Hormones + Grief = 1 Hot Mess

Zachary James is here and is officially one week old!  

Last Wednesday I was induced, and 16 hours later, our little bundle arrived. 

This time around, labor was totally different with Zachary in comparison to Jonathan. After I got the epidural with Jonathan, I felt like it was a piece of cake!  I was sitting up, chatting with people who came to visit. This time, I had a hard time handling the epidural, and my BP kept dropping really low...which means I felt so nauseous, so I ended up flat on my back most of the time with a cool rag on my forehead to feel some relief. In addition to the low BP, I started feeling all the contractions 12 hours in.  We finally upped the epidural dose, but I was fearful it would drop my BP again. But in the end, I was fine. 

I started pushing a bit after 9pm, and at 9:58pm, Zachary arrived! 

Part of delivery and afterwards was a bit of deja vu, but overall I felt so much joy when I held Zachary for the first time.  My heart was full knowing that I wasn't being handed my son with a ticking clock counting down the time.  

I felt like I could breathe. 

We decided to come home 24 hours later even though it was late,  but we were ready sleep in our own beds and start this life together. 

Towards the end of the pregnancy I couldn't wait to get home.  This is what I was looking forward to the most!  I had waited long enough to bring a child home with me. This was uncharted territory, and I couldn't wait for this to be reality. 

...and you know what, bringing him actually home is even better than I imagined... 

I am finally seeing how joy and grief aren't mutually exclusive though.  Grief and joy can be so intertwined and be extremely messy. Throw some fun hormones in, and you've got yourself a party.

My doctor was right in expecting me to feel guilty at times when I'm taking care of Zachary. There are moments I find myself realizing how many things I missed out on with Jonathan.  Part of me also feels like I'm moving on with Zachary and leaving Jonathan behind.  Like I'm torn to either follow my growing, healthy son as each day passes, or stay put with where Jonathan remains. 

Overall, Zachary really is the best baby.  He eats and sleeps so well!  By the way, Charles is a freakin' rockstar! He is so good with Zac, and he is the first to jump in and help if Zachary or I need anything. Charles has been such a good balance for me, and it is so freeing having a husband who is wise and compassionate as we are figuring out this parenting thing.  

The biggest struggle right now are my hormones. I feel pretty good throughout the day, but by early evening, I am usually in tears for one reason or another. And unfortunately that seems to last for the remainder of the night. 

In addition, I am finding myself feeling guilty and pressured from people wanting to visit and see Zachary.  Charles and I had decided to hunker down these first two weeks and not really have any visitors as we settle in as a family of three. But I still find myself feeling pressure to let people come into our sacred world. I know people are excited to celebrate with us, but I feel guilty when I can't respond to people by inviting them over to meet Zac.  

This is where is gets even more complicated. 

Based off of counseling, my anxiety is being fueled into the safety and security of Zachary's well-being.  Add hormones to an already germaphobic person, and you get an irrational momma who doesn't want people to be around him in fear of him getting sick and me losing him.  The thought of having someone come over throws me into a panic which is normally accompanied by tears and sobs.

In addition to the fear of germs and the guilt of not letting people visit, the trifecta is that at the end of the day I don't want to share him with anyone. 

He's mine. 

I've waited so long to have him here, holding him in my arms, in our home, that I don't want to share him with anyone. I want to have him all to myself.  Even when I do share or post pictures, it feels like I am giving away a piece of my heart that I'm so desperately trying to cling to.  

I'm not ready to share him with people.  I've waited too long and he's finally here.  

Again hormones plus grief is a messy, messy thing.  

I'm not saying that the above thoughts are logical or anything, but that's where I'm at. If you want to visit, please be patient with me.  I know I need to work through these things and not live in fear, but for now I need continue to give myself grace, take one day at a time, let my hormones balance out and love my sweet Zachary the best that I can. 

grace and oxygen

I've been feeling a lot of pressure recently.  Granted, most of it is me putting the pressure on myself.

As Zachary's due date is getting closer and closer, I have found myself getting more stressed out about upcoming decisions....however minor they might be.

I think a lot of the pressure is me not wanting to "screw up" with Zachary.  I think part of this stems from losing Jonathan, and here I am with another opportunity, and I can't mess up.

In my past few counseling sessions, I have realized that I don't give myself enough grace.  If I fail at something, I automatically label myself a failure.  There is no middle ground.

I anticipate a new layer of grief to present itself as I go through labor and delivery again.  I also anticipate that grief to linger in the upcoming months with Zachary, because I will be mourning the fact that I didn't get to go any of these things for or with Jonathan. 

At the end of the day, I want to be the best mom for Zachary, and I want to do everything right...because he'll actually come home with us...because I actually have the opportunity to do so. 

Alright, alright -- I know how unrealistic it is to be perfect.  And know I will fail at trying to do this...because perfect isn't possible.  But I can try to be the best mom I can be, failures and all.

I'm also feeling pressured to do things the way other people have done them.  But I have to be okay if those things aren't best for me, Charles and Zachary.  There might be a few unconventional things that we plan on doing, but it might be the best fit for us. 

...It might be the best thing for us to do for our healing hearts.

I have to be okay with putting myself and my family first in these decisions.  I have to be okay if friends and family don't understand, they think I'm being rude or they disagree altogether.  But I can't apologize for being someone that I'm not or having a need that I need to take care of.

My counselor threw my own advice back at me this week during our session when I was telling her how I was feeling selfish: "Sometimes you need to put your oxygen mask on first."
(referencing what flight attendants tell you if you are flying with a child) 

Sometimes you do need to put your oxygen mask on first...and that's okay.  That's okay to take care of yourself, so you can take care of those around you.  For a people pleaser, this can sometimes be a challenge. 

One huge area I'm debating on is breastfeeding.  Without getting into all the details on why or why not, we might end up solely doing formula.  This honestly might be the best option for me, Charles and Zachary. 

Another decision we've made is about visitors and houseguests.  I have no idea what to expect after we get home, but I cannot wait to treasure up the sacred moments of just Charles, myself and Zachary.  It brings tears to my eyes when I think of this time together...being home...just the three of us. 

For the first couple of weeks while Charles gets paternity time, we plan on getting a lot of quality time, just the three of us.  My heart needs this time.  My heart needs this time to heal and be filled with joy. 

I'm not trying to be unrealistic...I know there will be challenges during the first few weeks.  But as a mom who left the hospital last time with empty arms, bring it on.  Bring on that time, the good and the bad...and the healing. 

And after those two weeks, who knows how my heart will be.  Perhaps we will need more of that sacred, quality time.  Perhaps we will want all the visitors who can come to do so.  We have no idea what to expect, and that's okay. 

For those of you who are in the area and want to visit, just send us a text, and we will let you know where we are at during that time.  Perhaps we will welcome the company and want to share the joy of Zachary. And perhaps the next day would be a better time for a visit. 

Honestly, I feel selfish for setting this boundary, but the end of the day, I need grace for myself as I put my oxygen mask on first.

Grief Still Sucks

Recently, I have really felt like I've taken like 12 steps backwards in regards to where I am with my grief. I know it's messy and not black and white, but sometimes the depths of grief seem to be bottomless. 

I know my pregnancy hormones don't help things, but I also feel that this pregnancy is bringing new layers of grief to surface. 

As I am coming up on 32 weeks, I am finding myself comparing this trimester to my pregnancy with Jonathan more than the other two. Since I was on bed rest this time last time, I find myself more anxious about aches and twinges that feel at this stage.

I think ultimately there's a real part of me that thinks there's a chance that something could still go wrong.  It's almost like I can't exhale the breath I've been holding on to these last 32 weeks. As Zachary's due date gets closer, the harder I am trying to hold my breath. It's exhausting.

In our own twisted way, Charles and I joke about how we've already done the pregnancy part, but we haven't actually brought a baby home before. And I find myself being anxious of bringing Zachary home, but I also anticipate there being so much relief when that actually happens...(I just had to fight myself from typing "if that actually happens")...

You know, I have yet to finish any of the baby books that I have. And time is coming soon for us to actually meet Zachary. I think deep down I haven't finished a book yet because I am scared of actually anticipating bringing Zachary home. That by reading the books, it will just get my hopes up that much higher.

See, I told you grief still sucks. It still has such a strong hold on the outlook of these next few weeks.

I've always been a worst case scenario person and grief just amplifies it to another level. I was anxious with my delivery with Jonathan, but the count down of these next few weeks and delivering Zachary has my anxiety spiraling. 

I know there will be challeges when Zachary arrives, but I think the joy of having him safely in my arms and bringing him home will bring a new form of healing. 

Now, if only I could actually breathe before then.