2014...I am not ready for you to go

A year ago, I sat at my computer with my heart aching in pain, my eyes blurred by tears, and the fear of knowing what the next year would bring.  As I read over my post from last year, I found how incredibly similar I am feeling.  But this time, instead of dreading 2014 being upon us, I dread its passing.

Once again as others enter the new year with joy, I enter with heartache.  2015 means the year I held my baby boy is gone.  It means that I actually did have to become a different person, and we had to learn to be different family.  We will pass by this year just like we do in any other memory but will anyone remember him? Will they remember that Roderick Tristan Thompson did live?  He may have never breathed the air of this Earth or cried where anyone could hear but he DID live.  As 2014 passes us, I hurt.

I hurt for who I have had to become.  I hurt for the fact I have to explain heaven to my 3 year old, and that when we pass a cemetery he wants to know which one is his brothers headstone.  I hurt because instead of wrapping presents this Christmas for Tristan, I decorated a grave.  I hurt for my family, for we will never be complete, we will always have a hole and a missing piece.  I also hurt for the many families that are just like us.  The mothers that have shared their journeys and beautiful angels with me, that have given me hope.

I hate to see 2014 go, its passing signifies the year that brought although so much pain, brought my angel to my arms.  My knees to the ground, my love for the Lord, and for my family and friends to a greater place.

So what did I learn in 2014?
I learned and continue to learn to live in a grief, to be someone I never imagined I would have to be.

I learned to give everything to the Lord, and lay it at his feet.  This was a hard one for me since I am such a control freak, but I have learned to let the little things go.

I learned that my family will always be there to give me great hugs when I miss my son, even if it is at the airport as I hug them for the first time in 3 years or on Christmas day when my heart aches for him.

I learned that I am so much stronger than I ever imagined.

I learned that a 3 year old can understand so much more than I could ever anticipate, and I see the face of Jesus in his innocence.

I learned that it is okay to cry at the sight of pregnant woman, new babies, and babies that would have been the same age as Tristan.  I just swallow the jealously the best I can, bow my head, and tell him, I know I do not understand, but just give me peace.

I learned that God has some amazing plans, even when I may hate part of it with all of my heart.  I have to trust him.

I learned that I only thought I loved the man I married.  I would have never imagined the love I feel for him through such a storm in our marriage.  We were told over and over, marriages will struggle through loss.  You will have problems.  God guided us through and continues to do so as we grieve in very different ways for our son.  But he has shown me that the love I hold for Roderick has no end.  He is truly the man I was meant to be with.

I learned that just because I do not know what is to come, doesn't mean God doesn't have something amazing on the horizon.

2014 brought great pain, but it also brought great comfort from the Lord.  I am not ready to say goodbye to 2014, for it holds to many memories.  But 2015 stands for the year that God renews my family, and gives us his promise after a storm.

So what does 2015 mean to me?

2015 means a beautiful rainbow that I pray I get to bring home.  A beautiful baby girl that we are impatiently waiting to arrive, Adalynn Faith Thompson.

2015 means learning to love this sweet baby, while I continue to long for her older brother I will never get to hold.

2015 means stepping up and being a voice for those like us, to show that they are NOT alone in this journey.

2015 means listening even more to God and stepping out onto unsure ground.

2015 means having faith that his plans will guide me to where I need to be, even though I may not see the end of the tunnel yet.

2015 means surviving each day, balancing grief and joy

2015 means believing more than ever in the Hope of the Lord.

2015 means taking chances, so I can help others, and reach out to them.

2015 means leaving all the unknown to God, and allowing him to direct us.

So please, don't judge us.  For you do not know this journey in which we walk.  We have been asked to carry a very heavy load, one in which we know we are unable to carry without the Lord beside us.  We may cry at what should be joyous occasions.  We may seem nervous over small things, and extremely cautious over our children.   We may seem a bit odd by always saying Tristan's name or always saying we have three children.  It may seem like we should be over it or that this new baby should make it all better.  But understand, unless you have been in our shoes, there is no way for you to ever understand.  I pray that you never do.  Our son may not be here physically but he is here with us in our hearts.  He will ALWAYS be a part of this family.  He will ALWAYS be counted as one of my children, and I will ALWAYS say his name.

2014 maybe gone, but his memories and the love we hold for him will NEVER disappear.  Our grieving does not stop with the passing of the year, it simply becomes a part of us.

So as I wipe my tears from the pain I know I will always endure, I smile knowing the comfort and the promises my Lord has and continues to bring to me.

Proof of Love

And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. 

But the greatest of these is love.  

For as long as I can remember 1 Corinthians 13:13 has been my favorite verse.  I know it seems so cliche, but it has been.  Something about having to have faith, and hope to get through life but meaning nothing without love has always spoken to me.

As I pondered on my new reality today.  I just kept relaying the facts through my mind.
My son was diagnosed with a random neural tube defect.
I couldn't have done anything about it.
I carried him, his entire life.
We chose to carry him.
Well it wasn't a choice, he was life, and we wanted his life.
I got 12 amazing and excruciating extra weeks with him.
He lived for 32 weeks.
He died on February 13th.
I delivered him on February 14th.
My son is dead.
He is gone.

The facts just kept replaying over and over in my mind.  Then Rod's words, over and over, on our way home.  "God knew what he was doing, and he showed us true love," (referring to me asking of all day's Valentines Day).  Tristan is the very essence of love.  Our journey is the very story of love.  Our son's life is proof of love.  Not only the love parents have for a child, but love for life, love for each other, love for family, love for our friends, and love for our Lord and Savior.  Tristan was born on February 14th.  The day we see as a day for love.  He was born on the day, that God could send a clear precise message.

But the Greatest of these is Love.

The Love a parent has to choose to carry a child knowing that child will not survive outside the womb. That is love.

The Love two people have for each other, to hold each other up as they both fall to their knees in despair, to hold each other's hands through the hardest of times, and not turn away.
That is love.

The Love a family has in supporting each other, crying with each other, and celebrating the brief life of a precious child.
That is love.

The Love of friends, that call and text, just to see how you are handling the day, or standing  by your bed side as you give birth to a silent child, or support you as you cry for what never will be.
That is love.

The Love only a gracious and merciful God can give.  One so powerful that comfort over powers your grief, as you kneel and sing to your child one last time or gives you strength as you carry him one last time. A love so powerful, that he gave up his son.  He sent his son to DIE, so I have the opportunity to see mine again.
That is love.

Tristan, was born on the day of love, because he is proof of love.

And now these three remain: Faith, Hope, and Love.  But the Greatest of these is Love.

WE. In Honor of Tristan

April 10th.  

If you would have asked me last August what that date meant to me, I would have said it was the day that my second child is due.  The day that Elex would become a big brother.  Now, it’s just a reminder of my empty arms, and my aching heart.

As I lay in my husbands arms sobbing for my son, he reply's to my wails of how I miss my baby with a simple but jabbing answer. We all do.  Not, I know you do.  Not, I do too.  WE. A word in the English Language that is defined by a speaker that refers to himself or herself and one or more people considered together.  WE.  In other words, you are not alone.  You and I are not alone. WE. 

I then start remembering all the people that have known Tristan.  The many dear friends that were there that night at the hospital as we held Tristan in our arms, and shared our precious time with him.  The ones that held us in our greatest sorrow.  I remember the many people that have offered so many gestures of love through flowers, food, monetary gifts, and simple words of sorrow.  The many mothers I have shared my story, my anger, my anguish with that are just like me.

I am reminded that Tristan’s body is not present on this Earth, but he is HERE. 

He lives among us in our hearts.
In each gesture of love.
In each word of hope.
He lives.

April 10th, the day Tristan was suppose to enter this world.  April 10th, the day my heart hangs between sorrow and joy.  I praise God for choosing me to be Tristan’s mother, for letting me be a part of his short, but amazing life.   I truly believe Tristan was sent here to reach people that are lost, to help others find a deeper more significant relationship with our Father.  I believe that Tristan’s life although brief has and will continue to reach out long after his precious body has been laid into the ground. 

In Honor of Tristan’s Expected Arrival Date, and what would have been two months of his life.   Honor him, and let us know we are not alone in remembering him by doing a small act of kindness between the dates April 10th-April 14th.  Please comment, Facebook, email, or text me your act of kindness so I can place them in his journal that we write to him in.  I will also share the acts of kindness completed in his honor on my blog later next week.

I will forever and always, love you my Angel Fish.

I Would Have Met You Today

I would have met you today.  

Today I would have gone in to see your sweet face, to hear you cry, to start our life together as a family of four.  Today I should have been excited to hold you, to introduce your big brother to you. Today we should have been surrounded by family, and laughter.  Instead our lives are sluggishly moving forward.

Instead of waking up to your crying, I will cry myself to sleep.  Instead of kissing your sweet face late at night, I beg God to see you in my dreams.  Instead of my body hurting from exhaustion, it aches with emptiness.

I should have met you today.

I looked forward to this day, I dreamt of it.  Until we were told you would never make it here.  Now I dread this day, the thought of what should have been.  The memories I should be making.  I stand here aching to hold you once more, instead of finally getting to embrace you.

I should have met you today.

You are gone from this earth, living with our Lord.  I should rejoice that you never felt the hatred and sins of this world.  You only knew love.  But I can’t help but want to cry.  You should be in my arms, I should be singing Blue Sky’s and Rainbows as you drift off to sleep.  I should be telling you about Jesus, but instead he is telling you about me.

I should have met you today.

But instead, you wait for me in our heavenly home.  Until I come home and embrace you;

I will ache for you

I will cry for you

I will sing for you

I will rejoice that you never felt pain

I will praise our Lord that I got to know you

I will honor you

I love you my sweet Tristan, my angel fish.

A Different Kind of Normal

Over the last few weeks I have found myself doing things that I never thought I would have too. Not only am I doing those things, I am sure that parents that have never lost a child would look at my husband and I and think we are insane. So I made a list of what a bereaved parent does that another parent would never understand.

1. Going to see your child means going to a grave.
2. You only have one picture that you cannot change out on the wall, it's all you have and all you ever will of your child.
3. You read books about losing a baby to your oldest, so they can understand and remember their younger sibling.
4. You have an empty basket, and stocking for a child that does not live on this Earth.
5. You have to blow kisses to the sky, because you can't kiss your child's face.
6.You beg God to watch your child grow in your dreams, because you can't watch him grow on this Earth.
7. Having to explain to people you meet, that you have more than the child they can see.
8. You have to explain to your living child about death, and heaven way before they are ready to truly understand it.
9. You will never have all your children together.
10. Holidays will always make you cry, there is no way around it.
11. On your child's birthday, you have to blow out the candle.
12. Getting the very best for your child, means the best gravestone.
13. Instead of everything having to be perfect for a birthday or wedding, it has to be perfect for their funeral.
14. You have a stuffed animal with a name on it in place of where your child should be in family pictures.
15. You have an emptiness inside you no one will ever be able to fill.

I am a bereaved parent.  I do things differently, I have a different kind of normal.  Parents that do not know loss, do not understand, and I pray they never do.

The Peace Within Me

I sit here in complete dismay.  Was it all a dream?  It just seems like it never really happened.  I was never pregnant; he never came and left us.  It was all just a bad dream.  But to think back to Nov. 20^th on that day when the doctor said something is wrong, and your son cannot survive.  That day the specialist said, there is nothing we can do.  The day, the moment, the sonogram technician placed the still image on the screen, and I knew you were gone.  The moments of holding your precious, still body in my arms, and running my finger across your nose, kissing the coldness of your face.  I remember, every single heart wrenching second.

So why do I feel like it was forever ago?  It has only been two weeks.  Why does my heart feel at peace, although empty?  Why can I see your things and not cry, and smile when I hear your name? Is something wrong with me? Why am I starting to itch to move forward with our lives?  Do I not love you enough?  Am I failing you as a mother once more?  My constant prayer for peace, even without understanding, without understanding the why, has the Lord simply answered my plea…already?

I don’t really know what I feel, but I know I love my oldest with such love and desperation that I never knew was possible.  I know that I look to my husband for strength and comfort I never imagined I would need.  I know that I beg the Lord daily to give me guidance, and peace, and I find a greater comfort in his word then I have ever known.

Peace, how have I found you in such grief?   How can I stand looking at the pictures of my angel thinking, with such determination, your memory will not die!  I refuse to allow you to go silently.  Why am I so hell bent on yelling out your story to the world, so others, like us, will never have to suffer silently.  Why do I feel such a strong urge to reach out, and lift up other grieving mothers?  Why do I feel the necessity to stand before others and yell, you are not a MEMORY, you are ALIVE, and you are MY SON.  YOU are the very reason people need to see, that LIFE is not determined by the seconds in which a heart beats on this earth!

Peace has found me, because although your body is no longer on this earth, YOU LIVE inside of me.  You gave me my purpose, you made me stronger, you made me more determined, you made me more faithful.  I will love you forever my son.   I will always carry you in my heart, and I will continue to live out your memory and purpose on this Earth. 

Till I see you again, I promise to make you proud. I love you my sweet Tristan, my angel fish.

*photo courtesy of Faith Hope Love Photography

It's okay to say his name.

It is okay to say his name.

A very dear friend made a point that he was not sure he could come and see Tristan when he was born.  He just did not know if he could handle trying to celebrate his life, when death was at the door.  People wonder, and have asked, how do you celebrate this life when he will die.  The only way I can answer this, is with this statement: He lived.  He was a life.  No matter what the media, what the government, what society wants us to believe or may say--Roderick Tristan Thompson LIVED!

He never made it out alive from my womb.
He never took a breath of air.
He never cried.
He never opened his eyes.

But HE LIVED!

He had a heart beat.
He could move, punch, and kick.
He could hear my voice.
He could respond to pressure put on him.
He had a soul.
My son LIVED!

His time here on Earth was short.  I never got to take him home.  But no matter what, HE LIVED!

Now Tristan is gone, and his soul has left this place he will continue to live in my heart.  He will continue to live in Rod's heart. He will continue to live in Elex's heart.  His body may not be present, but his love will always surround us.  He is sitting on God's lap, listening to stories of time beginning.  He will be sung to sleep by angels, and will never shed a tear.  My son WILL live.

Tristan has a purpose on this Earth.  A purpose that God knew could not happen if he stayed here with us.  A purpose that everyone that surrounds Tristan and loves him is charged with carrying out.  I know what may plans are now that my son is gone.  I know through my pain, I have to find the beauty.  I know that I will have to take my pain, and share it.  Bring light to something common yet never spoken about.  I have to reach out to others, make this cause known to the world.  Losing an infant is so common, and so many hide in their pain.  They allow it to eat them up in fear of the misunderstanding that surrounds us.

So do not be afraid to say his name, you are not reminding me of my son, I have not forgotten him.
By saying his name, you are letting me know you remember HE LIVED!

I love you my sweet Tristan, you will forever be my angel fish.

Listen for My Voice, Mommy will Always Sing

My Dearest Tristan,

Today we buried you, and said goodbye to your Earthly body.

When we drove up, your mommy and daddy about lost it.  They had dug up your grave in the wrong spot.  We had your service where they had you, and were told they would dig in the correct spot to put you in.  As frustrating as this was, God knew what he was doing.  He had a bigger plan in place, we just had to wait to see it.

Our dear friend, and pastor, Jason Martin, spoke at your funeral.  He spoke of hope, and how to hold onto the hope we have in our Lord.  As he spoke, all I could think about is when you opened your eyes you saw Jesus.  You never knew hate, you never knew pain, you have only known love.

Your Pops, read a poem your Uncle Randy wrote about you and me.  He wrote about how I carried you while you were here on this Earth, and how hard it had to be for me.  But how you are so perfect to God, and you are an angel.  I wouldn't trade our time together for anything on this Earth.  Every moment was a blessing, and an honor to carry you my sweet angel fish.

Towards the end we played our song, I Will Carry You.  I knelt down at your side and I sang to you.  As I sang, the tears stopped falling, and God filled me with peace.

At the very end of the service we released green balloons to you in heaven.  We love you my sweet angel.  I hope you got to see those beautiful green balloons fly towards you.

As we waited around and spoke with the many people that came to say their goodbyes to you, your resting place was dug up.  They finished, and your father picked you up and carried you to your final resting place. He laid you down in the ground, and together we placed the first scoop of dirt into your grave.

Your big brother seeing what mommy and daddy did, wanted to join in.  He picked up a dirt clot and threw it in.  He found it to be so much fun in fact that he continued to throw dirt into your grave.  Don't worry angel, I got onto your big brother for throwing dirt on you.  We watched as family covered your casket, and helped in finishing your final resting spot.

My angel, you are loved by many, and have already inspired more than others do in an entire life time.  I promise to help carry out your legacy, and to never allow your memory to die.  I love you more than words can say.  My heart will always ache for you, and I will always long to wrap my arms around you.  But I know just like today at your funeral, each time I hear a child laugh, you are there telling me to be strong.  Each time I feel the soft breeze I know you are blowing me kisses.  I will meet you in my dreams my angel, and I will hold you there.  Listen for my voice my love, because I will continue to sing our song to you.

I love you my sweet Tristan.  You will always be my Angel Fish.

Love Forever and Always,
Your Mommy

Letter To Tristan, My Angel Fish

My Dearest Tristan,

You left us yesterday and were welcomed at the gates of heaven by ones that love you. Even though your body resides inside of me, I know you are not here. The Lord has taken you home. I may never get to sing to you again, but every time you hear the angels sing know that mommy loves you. My soul will forever sing out to you, my heart will forever ache, and my arms will feel empty until I am called home.

Today, your earthly body will join us here and I will get to kiss your sweet face.  Know that I will never regret giving you life, and carrying you till you heart stopped here.  I know that you will forever live on in my heart. I promise I will never let your memory die, and I will help fulfill your purpose on this Earth.

I love you my sweet angel fish.

Love forever and always,
Mommy

God is Pushing: Listening in the Dark

Through this whole journey, I have tried to find what it is that God is pointing me at.  I feel like he is shoving me around, trying to make me open my eyes.  See something.  As I have slowly been registering what I think God wants from me.  Several things have come to my attention, to the point where I have gotten to the point with God where I just want to yell, OK, I GET IT!  

I have felt an overwhelming desire to help others like us.  I want to reach out and comfort the families that have been presented with the same situation as us.  I have wanted nothing more than to reach over and hug and comfort women in the pain, the pain that I currently carry in my heart.  This became very apparent at my last doctor's appointment.  We were talking with my doctor, and she informed us that she had just received a call from the maternal fetal specialist that we had just come from.  A couple was on their way over, and they had just received similar news.  Their child would not survive.  Rod and I immediately started picturing the waiting room, trying to figure out which couple it was.  I found myself praying for them, trying to visualize their faces.  As we walked out of the doctors office, a lady walked in.  I looked at Rod and said, "It's her."  I knew, I knew by the pain in her eyes.  It took everything I had not to reach over, and hug her, and simply say, " I know."

God hasn't stopped there.  He has been forcing me at my dream and biggest fear.  I have felt an overwhelming desire to help others, with the passion God gave me from a very young age, photography.  I have spent years planning a business, taking photos for family and friends, but always to scared to really go for it.  The last few weeks, I feel like he has shoved me so hard at it, I can barely keep from stumbling.  I have been fighting with the idea for the last several weeks.  Is this really want he wants, is this really the direction I need to go?  Then I felt like I received a slap so hard, I couldn't deny it anymore.  My oldest brother was in town, and made a statement, that even my husband looked at me and smiled.  He said, "You know how God is, the more you run away from what he wants you to do, the more he shoves you towards it."  All I could do was look at Rod, and say, "Well, that's ironic."  

As I realize our journey of carrying our sweet Tristan is coming to an end, my desires to reach out to others and to truly start my photography career has become nothing but a certainty to me.  After I finish this phase of our journey, and begin the next phase, I plan on using my skill in photography to help myself and others heal.  God gave me a passion when I was very young, I believe he is now expecting me to use that passion to heal my soul and to help others heal theirs.

The journey my family is embarking on has no end.  This is something we never get over, but will have to learn to live in the pain.  It isn't easy, and it is about to get harder, but God is going to provide the comfort for my family.  He is going to provide the ability for me to transition my pain, to the ability to comfort others.  No one chooses this path, it is chosen for you.  Once you are chosen you can do nothing but live each day one day a time.  Some days are easier than others, some you can barely get out of bed.  But each day is a part of this journey and, I have to have the faith that God will always provide me with the comfort and courage I need to get through the day.  I still pray for a miracle, but as the day gets closer, I realize, God may have had a bigger plan for Tristan, and that plan he may have to carry out in the arms of our Lord.

God Protects Us, In The Last 8

8 weeks remain.  

8 weeks until my whole life changes, my whole world will become different.  Normal will be different for me, my family will have to learn to find joy while living in grief.  8 weeks.

In the last few days, my mind has stopped processing the whole situation.  I have actually started to become excited, and joyful about meeting my sweet Tristan.  I have prayed for God to give me the comfort to enjoy the moments I do have with my son, and to not spend my time with him grieving over his loss but celebrating what time I do receive with him.  I have felt like I am going insane, as the excitement has began to build inside me.  8 weeks, and Roderick Tristan will be in my arms.  8 weeks, and I get to kiss his face, tickle his feet, and look over every inch of his tiny body.  8 weeks, and his daddy will get to hold him for the first time, and melt my heart even more.  8 weeks.

The reality of what happens in 8 weeks stops there.  It's like God has answered my prayer, and is protecting my heart and mind from what happens after these 8 weeks.  After 8 weeks...the thought that has terrified me for the last 9 weeks.  The pain, the grief, the emptiness...I can't seem to process it anymore.  It's like God has reached down, and blocked that part of the process from me.  He guards my heart as we end this process.  He guards my mind from all the fears of the future.  He has given me a joy with this pregnancy that I wasn't sure was possible 9 weeks ago.  Every since we found out our Tristan wasn't coming home I have been a huge mix of emotions.  I have been up one moment, and down the next.  But for the last few days, joy has overcome me.  The joy that a "normal" pregnancy would have towards the end.  The excitement of meeting the human being growing inside you.  The thought of finally holding a miracle in my arms, that God had graciously choose me to carry.  

Maybe that's the very thing holding me together, giving me the joy I have.  God's gracious mercy.  

I know that my son will not be coming home to live with our family.  I know I am about to experience pain beyond my understanding.  I know that my home, my family is about to be attacked harder than ever from the enemy, to turn away from God.  I also know, that even though this is more than I can handle, God has and will handle it for me.  I know that I have been blessed with the most amazing husband, that is going to guard our family and our faith from the enemy.  I know that I do not have to fear the pain, because God has already felt it.  He gave his son, and now I have to give mine.  Tristan may not be here to save the world, but he has a purpose and I will always help him live out his purpose on this Earth.  

8 weeks.

8 weeks and I say hello.  8 weeks and I will have to say goodbye.  8 weeks if I am lucky, I have left with my son.  8 weeks we have left as a family of four. 8 weeks of God's angel living inside of me. 8 weeks and God choose me.  8 weeks and God choose Rod.  8 weeks and God choose Elexander.  8 weeks, and we will find a greater faith and reliance on God that we never knew was possible. I pray for 8, but I know 8 may not even get to be.  All I can do is trust in God, because trusting him is all we have right now.

Romans 8:26-29

26 In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans. 27 And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for God’s people in accordance with the will of God.
28 And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who[a] have been called according to his purpose. 29 For those God foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brothers and sisters.

How Blessed Am I

My oldest brother, Randy, wrote me this poem.  He lives in England, and he got to meet my Tristan while he was still in my tummy this weekend.  I was super excited to see him for the first time in 3 years, and cannot wait until him and his family return in July.  I just wish I wasn't going to have empty arms.  I plan on reading this at Tristan's funeral, so a part of Randy can be there, and because it is so perfect.  For all you women that have lost a child, I hope this brings you as much comfort as it has me.

How Blessed Am I

How blessed am I

to be a part of God's plan

to carry a child

a perfect little man

The hands of God

have been at work in me

a creation so wonderfully and beautifully made

Sadly I am full of sorrow

for my child will not grow up

to live with me tomorrow

By heavens standards

he's perfect in every way

But on this Earth

he will not be allowed to stay

How can I be blessed

when I feel this much pain

It's hard to wrap my mind around it

I scream, I cry, and feel insane

My God, My God

have you forsaken me?

Why so soon

does he have to be with thee?

I do not understand

God's sovereign plan

Why does this child have to leave me?

Why does this have to be?

But I know of God's promise

a life beyond what we know

a place of rejoicing

where the faithful will surely go

So in the midst of my grief

I'll cling to his word

I'll still be kicking and screaming

But I know my prayers are heard

So how blessed am I?

So very much so

Even though I don't comprehend

it's more than I can ever know

For I was chosen by God

to help create a child

to carry an angel

even if only for a little while

By: Randy Leach

Praying for More Time

You know those pregnant women that complain, about how much longer they have.  How miserable they are because they are so large, and just want their baby to come out already.  If you are one of those, stop, and cherish every single moment you have.  Some of us are begging for the time you are wishing away. With my first child, my time to grow him big and strong within me was cut short due to preeclampsia.  He was born 6 weeks early, and I have been blessed beyond imagination that he is healthy, and does not have any developmental issues due to being premature.  It took me over a year to stop blaming myself for what I thought was my body failing my son.  For two weeks I wept each night with my heart aching in pain for him to be home.  I spent almost my entire day at the hospital, because I refused to leave his side.  I would be forced out of the NICU at night, for a nurses change and my mother dragging me out to get some sleep.  I thought that pain couldn't be matched....then Tristan came along.

My emotions have been all over the place since we found out Tristan's diagnosis back in November.  I have always had days that the emotions of actually losing my child have been overwhelming.  I have broken down, and I have not cared who was there to see it.  I have had days of overwhelming hope and faith that God will heal him.  I know he can, and I have just expected it to happen.  Then yesterday happen, reality is starting to truly set in.  I am not sure how much of it was seeing him, and realizing it is all happening or how much was it being in the exact same room with the exact same technician when we found out Tristan's diagnosis.  (On an unrelated noted, that technician was AMAZING once again, and told us she has been praying for us.  She also checked to make sure we had a church home to help support us.  She told me anything I wanted to know about my son, and got me any picture I wanted of him.)

We had a check up sonogram yesterday.  Tristan is still growing, but at an extremely low rate.  He is measuring close to 5 weeks behind, and still only weighing about 1 lb.  He seems to not have the ability to swallow, which is causing my amniotic fluid levels to increase.  I am still in what is considered the normal range, but only by 1 cm.  Although this is still a day by day, having to much fluid can send me into preterm labor.  The doctor informed me that I could go the rest of my pregnancy with this same amount of fluid in me or my fluid may increase.  And it may not matter anyways, I could still just go into labor at any moment.  I have been informed I am likely to go into preterm labor simply because of his condition, and all the mechanics that work with a pregnant body carrying a child with this kind of condition.  Health wise, Tristan is living happily and safely within the walls of my womb.  I am healthy, and I am gradually starting to be able to control my blood pressure at the doctors office, so no signs of preeclampsia thus far.

As of now, we are both healthy, and my body is keeping my son alive.  I pray for as much time as God will allow.  I pray to naturally go into labor, so I won't have to be induced which could very well send him home to our Lord.  I pray that we can hold him while he is still on this earth.  I hope Rod and I both get the chance to tell him how much we love him, and kiss his sweet face.  I pray that Elex gets to meet his baby brother, and gets to tickle him and tell him he loves him just once.  I pray that my parents, and my in laws get to hold their grandson one time and get to say goodbye.  I pray at the very least, that Rod and I are able to say good bye to our son, and tell him how much he is loved.

At this point I am fully aware that it does not seem like it is God's will to heal my son, but as I have said before.  I will not give hope for his healing until he is gone in the grave.  I know no matter what happens God will provide.  I may freak out at times over the agony of it all or the financial burden we are about to endure. But I know, God will provide, for everything.  I just have to believe that he will provide me with the strength and comfort I need.

I Wish I Could Be Normal

Grief is a roller coaster ride, you are never sure what kind of day you are going to have.  One day I may be over whelmed with peace and hope, and the next day (or sometimes hour) barely be able to put one foot in front of the other.  I never know what the day will hold, and sometimes it takes a while to even see what kind of day it is going to be.  I try to look at each day as a good day.  I get up to wake up next to the man of my dreams (actually better), and I have the sweetest little boy in the world giving me kisses and hugs every morning.  So how could it be a bad day right?...Yeah, then grief hits.

Today was no different.  I was tired to start with since this lovely weather has caused both Elex and I both allergies and cold problems.  I was dragging through the day, barely making it through with my kiddos at school.  Today was very much so a, my body is here, my mind is not.  I tried to stay focused on school work, and getting things done for my class.  But I would find myself staring into space, completely lost.  I was out of it, but my grief or what I call reality hitting me, didn't set in until after school.  As I was walking to my car, tears started to flow.  I had sunglasses to cover my face in case I ran into any students.  I got into my car and they just fell, I drove away, trying to think of the "big game" and what I was going to cook.  I found myself sitting in the middle of Walmart parking lot, crying in my car. I couldn't control it.  I was in complete devastation.  Why?  What was it that just hit me like a wrecking ball.  Out of no where I was crying uncontrollably.  Then I remembered the text I sent my sister right before I left school, the text of frustration.

So what broke me down?  All the things I don't get to do..

I don't get to have a baby shower

I don't get to go and register for baby stuff at the store

I don't get to pick out cute clothes

I don't get to have maternity pictures taken
  (I had my brother take a few for me at Thanksgiving, but we don't know when I will have this little boy, so I will never get to see how large I really get other than my lovely bathroom selfies I take each week.)

I don't get to have that coveted moment of my husband in the nursery, holding our baby up, showing him off to all that have gathered (this is always my favorite part, watching the new dad with the baby in the nursery)

I don't get to dedicate my son at church, on Mothers Day

These are all things that are so simple, and so taken for granted by most.  Honestly, I have never had a "normal" baby shower.  My baby showers fell after I already had the baby with Elex since I was sent into the hospital so early with pre eclampsia.  I did get to register at the store with my husband, which was actually a blast, and I picked out some perfect outfits for my little man.  I never did really get to have maternity pictures taken, I was only able to set up a few shots at home while I was home for two days in between hospital stays (three days later I delivered Elex).  Rod never got that moment in the nursery being able to show his son off.  Elex was rushed to the NICU immediately after delivery.  We did dedicate Elex at church though, and it was the best mother's day, my first as a mommy, and it will always mean so much to me. I find myself just wishing, I could have a normal pregnancy.  That I could have the "normal" stuff that everyone else gets, but once again...I drew the short straw.  For whatever reason, I just can't be normal.

What I would give, to have a normal pregnancy.

2014...I am not ready for you.

For the last few days I have barely been able to put one foot in front of the other.  I thought I was getting sick, it didn't seem to matter how much sleep I got, I still feel like I am just barely able to function.  Today I realized that other than my lovely allergies my exhaustion was coming from the pain in my heart.

As everyone entered the new year with joy, and looking forward to things to come, reality hit me.  I was greeting the new year with a heavy heart.  This year is going to be the hardest year of my life.  This year is going to bring more pain than I have ever experienced.  I am going to have to learn to be a new person, a person that will always have a piece of me missing.  My family is going to have to learn to be a different kind of family, one that will always have a hole.  

My heart hurts more and more as the days pass by.  I realize that I am one day closer....closer to the pain.  Part of me is filled with joy when I think about meeting my little boy for the first time.  I can't wait to see his sweet face, and kiss him.  I can't wait to hold him close, and tell him how much I love him.  I can't wait to look at each of his features and decide if they are his daddy's or mine.  Part of my heart rejoices, I get to hold one of God's many miracles.  Then it becomes sad, I am going to have to give up my son.  I am going to have to say goodbye, as soon as I say hello.  I am going to have to hand my son over the God.  I am going to have to have a nurse take him away, for me to never see psychically again.  I am going to have to go home to an empty crib, and an empty room.  I won't have the joy of waking up multiple times during the night to my son crying, and being able to rock him as I feed him.  I won't get the joy of watching my husband get home, and wrapping his little boy up in his arms.  I am not going to get to watch him hold both our little boys on his chest, while they watch sports together.  

A part of me will always be missing.  I am going to have to learn to be a different kind of person.  I am going to have to learn to live in constant grief.  This year, we will change, in a way we never imagined we would have to as a family.  This year instead of having a resolution, I am just going to take each day at a time.  I am not going to make any long term goals.  But learn to listen more closely to my heart and God.

So what does 2014 mean to me?

2014 means cherishing every moment I have left with this little boy.  I am not sure when God is going to take him home, but I know the longest I will be allowed to have with him is about 11 weeks. (Although, I still pray for a miracle, and hope God gives him to me till he grows old.)

2014 means I am going to have to learn to be a different person, and learn to live in grief.

2014 means giving my pain, my heartache to the Lord.  I am going to have to learn to let go of things, and just remember that his plans (even if I hate them very much) are greater than mine.

2014 means shutting up, stop planning, and opening my heart to what in the world God is trying to tell me.  My heart has been so heavy, and I feel like God is trying to point me in a direction, I am just not sure where, why or what.  

2014 means getting to see my oldest brother and his family for the first time in three years...with empty arms, and a torn heart.

2014 means many things that I do not even realize it holds

2014 means trying to not cry each time I see a mother holding her new baby. Trying not to be jealous, and judgmental asking why she got to keep her baby?

2014 means trying to rejoice for each new life that is born on this earth (cause lets face it, EVERYONE IS PREGNANT!), and not yelling at God, why me?  Why must I lose my child, and they get to keep theirs?  I must learn to overcome the anger, and pain I feel when I see their perfect little heads on their sonograms.

2014 means falling in complete devastation at the feet of the Lord, asking him to heal me.

2014 means falling even more deeply in love with my husband.  He is my rock, and I cannot imagine my life without his unyielding faith.  I pray he only knows the depth of my love for him, and how incredibly blessed I feel that I get to call him mine.

2014 means holding my sweet Elex and stealing as many kisses and hugs as I can.  Praying over him multiple times a day, and teaching him all I can about his little brother, and the Lord.

2014 means, leaving all the unknown to God, and allowing him to direct us.  

So please don't judge the dark circles under my eyes. Don''t take it personally if I snap at you or ignore you online.  Don't think because I walk away in a the middle of a conversation I am trying to be rude.  Understand that if you say/ask something like, "how are you?", "God always has a plan," "God needed  another angel," "you are so strong," "your faith is so strong", and I look at you like you are crazy or grunt.  It's because I feel like crap, and there is no way I am suppose to feel good about this.  I know God has a plan, but that doesn't mean I like it.  Don't tell me he needed another angel, he didn't ask for yours. I am NOT strong, I being held up only by the Lord and my husband.  Just because I say I trust in the Lord, doesn't mean I don't yell at him.  It doesn't mean I haven't begged for him to heal my child.  It does not mean I have not slammed my fist into the wall, and screamed at him, why me?  But I know that I have the choice of either running to him, and having him hold me up, or running away from him blaming him for something I do not understand.

My heart hurts, more than I can describe, so through this time.
Just remember, I am simply trying to survive.

Roderick Tristan Thompson, you are loved more than you will ever know.