2 Month Anniversary

After reading my post from one month ago I'm amazed at how faithful God has been in helping me with my grief. I'm not "over it," but I'm making progress. And progress is all that I can ask. The pain and loss won't magically disappear. And the alternative to progress is avoidance - and that isn't an option I will consider.

Since today is a type of anniversary, I knew it might be tough, so I tried to make it a really low key day. I caught up on some of my friends blogs because their words always comfort and soothe my broken heart. They encourage and give me hope. Then I spent time remembering Chloe.

I brought everything that reminds me of her into the guestroom (which would have been Chloe's bedroom). The pillow sham we wrapped around her in the hospital that we now keep on our bed. The little pink blossom urn that holds her ashes. The sand we collected from the beach two days before the ultrasound when there was no heart beat. A candle with the pink ribbon around it that we had tied around my pregnant belly at the beach that day. The pink elephant a sweet friend gave me when I returned from the hospital (that I slept with for about a week because I needed every ounce of comfort I could find). The pink and green box that holds every loving card we received during our journey. The blanket my sister-in-law gave us for the hospital that says Chloe Faith. The pink & leopard skin baby ballet slippers I received from my goddaughters. The gold coin from Korea that my associate bought after she heard Chloe had passed that commemorates the year she was born. I sprayed the Chloe perfume my brother and sister-in-law gave me in the hospital as an early birthday present. And put on "night blooming jasmine" lotion since Chloe means blooming. I lit the candle for Chloe and the candle we lit at our wedding to honor and remember my mom. I looked a the footprints the hospital made and the pictures they took. And our camera that has pictures of Chloe and us holding her. It was almost like a shrine. Strange and spooky to some, yet so wonderful to me. I brought in everything I could that is a tangible reminder of her. I smiled as I looked at all of it. And then I cried. Because this "stuff" is all I can physically hold on to since she isn't here.

She wouldn't even been here now, actually. She would still be in my belly until Sep. 4, her due date. So, in some ways, I feel like the reality of how our life has changed hasn't really hit. She would still be in the womb. I would be wearing maternity clothes. I wouldn't be drinking gallons of Diet Coke each day. But I still wouldn't have a precious baby girl in my arms. So, in some ways, it feels like the hardest days are still ahead of us, even though the first few weeks after her death were so gut-wrenching.

Reading every card we received touched my heart. The tears flowed continuously. I felt comforted and loved all over again. People were so kind to reach out to us during the darkest time in our lives. Thank you. We love you for being there for us.

Looking at pictures of Chloe was hard. So hard. The hardest part of all. My mind had blocked out how sick she was. Her little body was so sick. It breaks my heart to see my poor baby girl so sick. I am so grateful that she never experienced pain. That is a huge comfort. And I know that today she is whole and healthy and having a blast in heaven. That brings me joy - true joy. I know she is in the best place possible. But to remember how sick she was on earth is hard. Really hard.

I remember the first time I saw her on the ultrasound. She was so tiny. Jose' was with me and we fell in love with her right away. She was only 8 weeks but we could see her. See and hear her heart beat. Her head. Her "soon-to-be" limbs. It was awesome!!

And the second time I saw her. At about 13 weeks. While we were looking at the ultrasound screen she kicked her leg. It was such a precious gift. She looked perfect in the ultrasound. Absolutely beautiful. The doctors could see how sick she was in the ultrasound, but we couldn't. That was a blessing. I still have a perfect image of her in my mind from that ultrasound. And her short life as she kicked her leg. What a blessing.

I never did feel her move inside of me. Maybe there was enough movement since I was at 20 weeks when she was delivered, but I never recognized it. But she was there. She was alive. For 19 precious weeks. And I wouldn't trade a minute. If avoiding all this pain meant not having her at all, I would still gladly take the pain. I wish things could have been different and she was still growing inside me, healthy and whole. But even though that wasn't the plan, I still would choose the time we had with her over nothing at all.

The first week after she was born I remember looking at the clock each night at 9:40pm to determine how many days it had been since she was delivered. Every Wednesday reminded me of how many weeks it had been since we first received the fatal diagnosis. Wednesday also marked how long it had been since the final ultrasound. Every Saturday reminded me how many weeks it had been since we saw her face to face. It seemed every minute, every day, everything reminded me of Chloe. It isn't quite like that now at 2 months. It isn't every minute or every day. It isn't everything. It isn't even every Wednesday or Saturday. The loss is still there, the hole is still there. But it isn't as paralyzing as it was in the first few weeks. It has become more bearable. Thank you God.

The grieving mommy's I've met through the blogs said it would be like that. And that promise helped me get through those difficult days.

It won't always hurt this bad.

The pain won't always be this raw.

I knew it was true because I had experienced grief when my mom died. Now, 23 years later the pain isn't the same. The loss and pain are still there. The void is still there. But the pain isn't all-consuming like it was at first. Thank you God.

Today was a special day to remember my precious little girl. I'm grateful to have had it. I'm grateful to have a day to remember her life and the impact she made on my life and so many others. I'm grateful she was my daughter. I'm proud to have been her mother. I hope to give her a little brother or sister some day. And I know I will see her again in Heaven.

One last remembrance of Chloe...a friend sent us the Watermark CD with the song Glory Baby. The lyrics rang in my head continuously. They still touch my heart...

Glory Baby, You slipped away

As fast as we could say baby, baby

You were growing, what happened Dear,

You disappeared on us baby, baby

Heaven will hold you before we do

Heaven will keep you safe

Until we're home with you

Until we're home with you

(chorus)

We miss you everyday

Miss you in every way

But we know there's a day

When we will hold you, we will hold you

And you'll kiss our tears away

When we're home to stay

We can't wait for the day

When we will see you, we will see you

But baby let sweet Jesus hold you

‘Til mom and dad can hold you

You'll just have heaven before we do

You'll just have heaven before we do

Sweet little baby, it's hard to understand it

Cause we are hurting, we are hurting

But there is healing

And we know we're stronger people

Through the growing and in knowing

All things work together for our good

And God works his purposes

Just like he said he would

Just like he said he would

(chorus)
We miss you everyday
Miss you in every way
But we know there's a day
When we will hold you, we will hold you
And you'll kiss our tears away
When we're home to stay
We can't wait for the day
When we will see you, we will see you
But baby let sweet Jesus hold you
‘Til mom and dad can hold you
You'll just have heaven before we do
You'll just have heaven before we do

I can't imagine Heaven's lullabies

And what they must sound like

But I will rest in knowing

Heaven is your home

And it's all you'll ever know

All you'll ever know

Choices

We make many choices. And many are made for us. We chose to try to get pregnant. We didn't choose which egg and sperm would create our baby. God chose to bless us with Chloe. We didn't choose for her to have severe Down Syndrome. We didn't choose to have her die in the womb. We don't have a choice about our circumstances. But we have a choice in how we respond to our circumstances.

If someone told me that the first few weeks after our loss I would have wanted to punch them. But it is true. And I'm glad that I'm in a place where I understand that fact. I'm even more thankful that God has given me the strength to make good choices and be strong in situations that have been difficult. It is truly His power, not mine, that has enabled me to get through the last few months.

We have a choice about our attitude and our perspective. We have a choice to heal or to hide from our pain. This choice came to my attention during our Empty Arms Support Group meeting last week. One of the moms shared how difficult it is to be at her childrens events when she is still hurting. She said, "I don't have a choice." She has to care for her living children by going to their school events and social occasions. Another mom mentioned that she does have a choice. She could choose not to be there for her living children. She could hide in the house for the rest of her life and keep her children with her. She has a choice, and she is making a choice by being a good mom to her children in the midst of her grief. It really hit me when she said we DO have a choice. I hadn't really considered it before.

When my mom died I didn't know how to grieve. I didn't really know that I had a choice, because I didn't know there were other options. I didn't know about support groups or anyone else who had lost a parent. So, I chose what was in front of me because I didn't know what else to do. I just went on with life without addressing the loss or the pain. And I found that doesn't work. It keeps us stuck emotionally if we don't deal with our "stuff." And we end up with a lot of people who are emotionally still children but in adult bodies.

This time around, intellectually, I guess I knew that I had a choice. I could choose to hide from my grief. Pretend the last few months never really happened and just move on with life. I could choose to numb the pain with alcohol or pills. There are a lot of options. But those choices don't have any chance of a happy ending. They just postpone the pain and create more problems. And those choices would keep me from the things I really want in life. They are options, but I choose to do something else.

My choice is to walk through the pain. To feel it. To talk about it. To acknowledge it. Even when it feels like it is so heavy and painful that I could literally split in two. Because if I don't I will lose even more. I've already lost my daughter. I don't want to lose years of my life hiding from reality. I don't want to lose relationships because I'm more committed to my pain and loss than I am to my blessings and provisions. My choice is to live. Chloe didn't have that choice. But her Dad and I do, and we owe her a life well lived. In honor of her. It would be even more of a waste if our friends and family lost Jose' and I along with Chloe.

This really hit home for me when I talked with a friend about a similar situation. Someone in her life experienced a loss like ours and the woman made a different choice. She chose to numb her pain with pills. She didn't grieve the loss of her baby, she chose to "check out" of life. She numbs her pain and is in a constant fog because of the drugs. She doesn't feel the pain, she probably doesn't feel much of anything. She isn't even the same person. Her friends and family lost her when she lost her baby. It breaks my heart. We have a choice. I wish she had made a different choice. But, the choice is ours alone to make.

On Sunday, Jose' and I were in the prayer room and someone came for prayer for her new baby. We had been pregnant at the same time, but I don't think she remembered that and she didn't remember our loss either. I was a little nervous about my ability to pray for her without breaking down so I asked another couple to pray for them. I made a choice.

Then a teenage girl came in for prayer. There was no one else available so I sat down with her and asked her how I could pray for her. When she told me she was four months pregnant and terrified I was taken aback. Not because she was pregnant and unwed, but because I was surprised that God would choose to have me pray for someone under these circumstances so soon after our loss. Did He chose to have me pray for her or did He choose for me to pray with the first couple but I said "no"? I don't know the answer.

Because of my choice with the first opportunity to pray, my choices were kind of limited at this point. I don't believe in coincidence so I knew that God had a reason for this scared young woman to come for prayer and that God would be with me as I prayed for her. So, I silently prayed "Help me Lord," caught my breath and then prayed for her. Truly, half the time I didn't know what I was saying. God was with us both in that room. He gave me the words to support, comfort and encourage her. She doesn't know my story and she probably never will. But I hope to see her again and that she has a healthy baby that she will dedicate to the Lord. I hope that she will make the best choices she can. We all have a choice. Not that it is easy. But I think the benefits of making the best choices out way the challenges.

Later that day I was thinking about the entire experience. "Why Lord? Why me? Why now? Don't you think it is a little early for this type of challenge?" I don't have answers for any of the questions. But I was reminded about "choices." I had a choice, I could have said no. In fact, I did say no to the first opportunity to pray. And with this young girl, I still could have said, "I can't pray for you, let me tell you what just happened to me". I could have broken down and started crying and made it more about me than her. I had a choice. But what good would that have been? It wouldn't have helped her and it wouldn't have been good for me.

I didn't choose the road we are on. But I can choose how I make the trip. I don't plan to skip down the road smiling like nothing happened. But I do plan to move forward. And when there are flowers to smell and enjoy on the way, I plan to enjoy them as often as I remember to stop and take the time. And if there are people that need help along the way, I would like to be able to help them. That means that I have to work through my own "stuff." If I don't, I won't be of any use to others.

People are watching. What do they see? I can't live my life worrying about what other people think of me. But it is good to be aware. What message does my life communicate? They will notice how I choose to live my life. My niece and nephew will notice. My friends will notice. Colleagues will notice. And what will they see?

I want them to see someone who is real. Not perfect. Not "together" all the time. But someone who recognizes that life is hard. But life is also good. And that God is good all the time. Someone that doesn't have all the answers, but isn't afraid to ask the questions. Someone that struggles with giving up control, but is learning and growing each year. Someone that is moving forward. Someone that makes mistakes, but doesn't give up. Someone with hope and a future. Someone who tries to make the "best" choice as often as possible.

We all make choices. And everyone has an audience that is watching how they live. They probably won't ever tell you, but they notice. I know because we have heard so many comments from people who have walked this journey with us and have shared their observations of how we have handled our challenges.

And that woman that came in for prayer was watching too. She didn't know what to expect. She was scared and uncertain and in need. And my reaction sent a message to her about who she was. If I chose to focus on my pain, I couldn't have been there to help her with hers. Putting my pain aside for a few minutes was the best gift I could give her. And the only reason I could put my pain aside for a few minutes is because of the healing that has taken place. The first few weeks the pain was huge and raw and I would never have been able to support someone else. But God has been working in me and healing my pain. I've been doing the grief work that needs to happen to heal and move forward. And only through that healing can I be of help to others. And I choose to do the work so that I might be able to help others.

Choices. In some ways, I guess they are more important than circumstances. For someone that likes control, I suppose it is nice to know that we are in control of something. I am in control of how I choose to live my life and respond or react to what happens. I won't always make the right choice, but I'm thankful there are second chances and that we have the choice to learn from our mistakes.

I choose to live. I choose to honor Chloe's life by sharing her story and being a light to others who are hurting. I choose to continue through the grief process until I'm at the end. I choose to remember my little girl. I choose to have the courage to try to give her a brother or a sister even though the thought scares me at times. I choose to move forward. Remembering the past, with hope for the future.

I choose to live the life I've been given.