Do Not Fear

Hi Baby Boy,

Last night Daddy and I watched some TV, including a reality show where the setting was New Year's Day of this year.  As we watched the show, I couldn't help but think how very different this year has turned out to be from the year I was planning. Maybe because of where I am emotionally, I am hyper-aware of all the sadness in the world right now, but it seems to me that 2015 arrived with a vengeance.

The death of so many loved ones. The loss of beloved pets. Mass murders and terrorist attacks on a weekly if not daily basis so far this year. An earthquake and utter devastation in Nepal. Ciaos and uncertainty in Baltimore. It is hard to turn on the news even for a few minutes and not feel overwhelmed by it all.

I've been reading a book titled Fight Back With Joy written by Christian author Margaret Feinberg. Last night's chapter was based on Paul's letter to the Philippians. I came across two powerful passages written by Margaret that struck me as not only relevant to me in my current situation, but relevant to anyone living in this messed up world right now:

"We rarely choose what is subtracted from our lives, but we can choose how we respond. How we reorganize our lives in order to move forward.The journey to joy leads to greater dependence on Christ." 

A passage found a few pages later, "In weakness and limits, Paul discovers Christ as the source of his strength. Paul wants us to walk in the confidence that God is our Tower of strength when we feel toppled. Our Advocate when we feel abandoned. Our Comforter when we feel crushed. Our Grace Giver when the thorn in our flesh won't budge. The severity of our hardship increases our opportunity to depend on God. In those moments divine grace seeps through the ruins, softens our wills, and takes us to deeper places than we could venture on our own. Our weaknesses become ripe opportunities for his infinite power to be displayed. We radiate God's glory."

When disaster strikes, when we are surrounded by injustice, and when hate seems as if it will prevail, we feel alone, weak and scared. But we aren't alone. The One above has more than enough strength for all of us to share. Over and over His Word tells us, "Do not fear." I can only imagine what a different place this world would be if people everywhere could hear, believe, and live those words today.

Love,

Mommy

 

Team Moments with Morris

Hi Sweetheart,

I wish I could have seen your face as you looked down today and saw all the Moments with Morris t-shirts running and walking the rolling hills of Dayton, VA. Your family and friends showed up in a big way to honor you and your friends in heaven by participating in the Sadie Rose Foundation's Annual 5K. Here are a few highlights from the day that I want you to know:

• We had over 60 people signed up to participate in your honor. Many more showed up today to participate, and others came to hang out and cheer on our team members as they crossed the finish line. Our youngest attendee was just 4 weeks old (Jackson), and our oldest attendees were 75 years old (your Great Papaw and Great Mamaw). We had people come from Richmond, Woodbridge, and Pittsburgh!
• All week the forecast for today has been rain.  In fact, as recently as Friday, the forecast said that the chance of rain was 70% and the temperature would be in the 50's.  A lot of people prayed for the weather, and God answered those prayers with a beautiful, sunny day and perfect temps. 
• Gramy and Aunt Becca arranged for a photographer to come capture the day.  She was amazing, and I can't wait to see all the great photos of our friends and family.
• Our team ended up with 6 winners for their age group. A big shocker for those who know him - your Papaw was one of our winners! Papaw wore his "Morris" necklace that has a cross and dogtag engraved with your name and birth date. He said he loved running to the sound of "Morris' jingle." Daddy didn't win a prize, but he ran almost the whole way. Some of the folks on our team finished their very first 5K today. I'm so proud of everyone!

I started out the day with tears, but I am ending the day with a smile. I couldn't be prouder of our Moments with Morris team. The money we helped raise will make such a difference for those in the community who have suffered the loss of a child.  I wanted to close my letter to you by sharing the words I said to our friends and family this morning:

"Ryan and I are blown away by how many of you came today to honor our sweet Morris. The Sadie Rose Foundation has been a big part of my healing process, and I am grateful for the support that this wonderful organization is receiving through our Moments with Morris team. The founder of the organization, Regina, tells me that we hold the record for the largest team to attend the event. Today is about raising money and increasing visibility for a good cause, but it is about so much more than that for me. Ryan and I made the decision a while ago that we wouldn’t have a formal memorial service for Morris. Saying goodbye to him the morning after he was born was the hardest day of our lives, and we knew that we couldn’t face another day like that one. So for us, today is a day that we will celebrate Morris’ short life and the impact he has made on our lives by making us parents.

I know that in addition to honoring Morris, many of you walk today to honor other children lost through miscarriage, stillbirth, illness or another type of tragedy. While our shirts honor Morris, these other precious children are not forgotten. Please join me in wearing a blue and pink ribbon to honor all the children who left this world too soon.

Ryan and I have been so blessed by your cards, messages, calls, visits and gifts in the last several months.  I don’t think there has been a difficult day yet when someone hasn’t reached out in some way to let me know they were thinking of us. It means a lot. Losing Morris is the most difficult thing that we’ve ever gone through, and we are so thankful for the love and support you have shown us during this time.

When someone dies, we often say we “lost” that person.  I used to think it an odd description, because our loved ones aren’t something we’ve misplaced like a set of keys or a cell phone.  But since Morris’ passing, I have found comfort in thinking of him as “lost” because something that is lost can be found. The words of Jesus’ in John 14, 2-6:

“In my Father's house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going. Thomas said to him, "Lord, we don't know where you are going, so how can we know the way?" Jesus answered, "I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.”

Because of my relationship with Jesus, I will find Morris in heaven one day. When the time comes, I hope that I find each one of you there too.

Thank you again for being here for us.  We love you all."

Morris, I know that I will never have closure...closure isn't something that is possible when you've lost such a big piece of yourself. But moments like today, moments when we are able to celebrate and cherish your short life, at least keep my heart full until I can see you again. I'll take as many "Moments with Morris" as I can get in this lifetime.

Love,

Mommy 

Aunt Becca, Mommy, and Gramy on Mile #1

Papaw came in 3rd place for his age group!

Daddy and Mommy after the 5K

My Words

Good Morning Sweetpea,

A week or so ago, I had a conversation with Gramy about how insensitive many of us can be to other's grief.  The conversation was sparked by a post that was made on the page of an organization that supports those affected by child loss.  The post was from a woman reaching out to say that she had lost a baby due to stillbirth several years ago, and that her husband didn't understand why she wasn't able to move on after having other children.

While some respondents offered the support and advice she was looking for, her post was also met with many comments like: "You should be thankful that you have other children.", "I lost a 22 year old son, and that is much more difficult than losing a baby you never knew.", "Trust me, a miscarriage is nothing like losing an adult child."  I read these comments with tears streaming down my face. Although the positive comments outnumbered the negative ones, I was beyond hurt to think that someone might refer to you as a "miscarriage" or as "a baby I never knew." Gramy and I talked about the insensitive things that we have heard or been told in the last few months, and we agreed that some people just don't understand.

But after thinking about it, I think the problem is deeper than just not understanding.  It goes beyond the way that people deal with a situation like the loss of the child. The world's insensitivity touches every type of grief and can come from a place full of good intentions, but also from a place of selfishness, bitterness, and anger. I have been guilty of insensitivity of both types in my lifetime.

Well-intentioned insensitivity is easy to recognize.  It often involves sentences that start with words like "at least" and "be thankful". These comments are usually not intended to be hurtful, but they come across as minimizing something that someone else is going through. Usually when we say them, our heart is in the right place...we want to remind the person of how much worse things could be or to remind them of all that they have to be thankful for in life. Unfortunately, it usually isn't what the person needs to hear in their struggle, and it adds a serving of guilt on top of the sadness, frustration, anger, etc. that the person is already feeling.

The other type of insensitivity usually comes when we can't see past our own grief or situation. Sometimes this comes in the form of lashing out and sometimes it comes in the form of "keeping up with the Joneses". What do I mean by that?  I mean that I don't think our desire to have something that outdoes someone else applies only to the good things in life like houses and cars and jobs. Sometimes I think we want validation that our story is worse than someone else's. In these moments, we are quick to interrupt the person telling us their story to tell them our own and to make it clear that they aren't going to get any sympathy from us. You struggled to conceive for 6 months?  I tried for 5 years. You suffered a miscarriage?  I lost a 35 year old daughter. You don't like your job?  I'm unemployed.  Your apartment is too small? Try being homeless.

Maybe that sounds cynical, but I think this "keeping up with the Joneses" mentality exists in grief because I've had it. In fact, I've had it as recently as yesterday morning.  I got online to find a post from a Facebook friend about how difficult their life has been recently, and my gut reaction was "seriously?!" My mind immediately started listing all the things they had that I didn't...specifically, two beautiful and healthy children. I wanted to respond with a comment that let them know just how difficult my life has been since losing you...to let them know that in the competition of whose life sucks worse right now, I win.  But when I clicked in the comment box and started to type, it hit me that life isn't a competition.  I was about to be one of those people who in someone else's moment of need couldn't see past my own hurt to realize that someone else might be hurting too.  I was about to be one of those people that I had just complained to Gramy about the other day. So I deleted what I was about to say and posted some words of encouragement instead.

It taught me a lesson that I should have learned a long time ago.  I need to ask myself before responding to someone, "Are my words going to build this person up or are they going to tear this person down?"  If it is the latter, then even if my intentions are good, my words are not coming from the Holy Spirit.  My words will not be helpful; they will be harmful. I would be better to say to the person (in the words of Margaret Feinberg), "You are loved and prayed for today."  And if I can't say those words for some reason, I'd be better off to say nothing at all.  Even in my hurt, I hope I can always remember what the scripture says:

"Let no corrupting talk come out of your mouths, but only such as is good for building up, as fits the occasion, that it may give grace to those who hear." 

Ephesians 4:29

"There is one whose rash words are like sword thrusts, but the tongue of the wise brings healing." Proverbs 12:18

"Even a fool who keeps silent is considered wise; when he closes his lips, he is deemed intelligent." Proverbs 17:28

"Gracious words are like a honeycomb, sweetness to the soul and health to the body." 

Proverbs 16:24

Love,

Mommy

Scar Tissue

Hi Angel,

I was looking through photos on my phone earlier today. My phone started alerting me about a week ago that I was running out of storage, so I set out this morning to transfer photos from my phone to our computer. It is amazing how many photos I have taken in a little over a year. There were photos of your cousin Abigail's birth, of time spent with friends and family, of vacations and weekends away, and of course lots of photos of my pregnant belly.

A few weeks after I told your Gramy that I was pregnant with you, she bought me these cute belly stickers that tracked how big you were getting throughout the pregnancy. I downloaded a pregnancy photo app, and your daddy faithfully took my belly picture every week with the actual fruit or vegetable that represented your size or with one of your Gramy's stickers. Daddy would jokingly ask me which fruit or vegetable you would be the next week, and he teased me more than once about how much money we were spending on produce.

Today was the first time in a long time that I have looked at those photos, and I wasn't prepared for how they would make me feel. That's often the case with grief for me. The things I worry will resurface the pain, the things I think will make me lose it, and the things I just know are going to make me cry....they never do. No, grief catches me off guard and when I least expect it, like a rainstorm in the middle of a drought. And just as one would expect in a drought, it doesn't take much for the rainfall to cause a flood. A flood with waters that quickly rise and overflow and pick up speed, coming so fast and so hard that I feel as if I might drown.

Rose Kennedy described grief in this way:

 "It has been said, 'time heals all wounds.' I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone."  

I probably would have said that time forms a scab instead of scar tissue, but after doing a little research, I found that Mrs. Kennedy's choice of words could not be more perfect. Scar tissue comes when there is a significant injury to the body. It forms internally and serves as a "glue" that holds the broken pieces together. Although it is a necessary and important part of the healing process, scar tissue isn't as functional as the tissue it replaces. As it begins to build up in the body, muscles become shorter and weaker. Tension on tendons cause tendinitis. Nerves become trapped. All of these problems lead to a reduced range of motion, loss of strength, pain, tingling, and numbness in the affected body part. Sounds an awful lot like the effects of grief to me.

Perhaps Mrs. Kennedy and I are both right though. Scar tissue can take a long time to form, and it is a secondary healing process to the formation of the scab.  A quick and dirty first step, the scab is designed to stop the bleeding and protect the body.

Sometimes after a few consecutive "good" days, I feel like a scab is starting to form over my heart. I feel like I am healing...like things are getting easier, better even. And then someone will say something or I will do something that completely rips away the scab, and I am bleeding to death all over again. My only hope right now is in the promise found in Psalm 147:3: "He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds." I pray that the row of good days gets longer and that my wound scabs over and turns to scar tissue soon.

Even though the pictures cause me pain right now, I am so thankful that we have them. Just like the pictures of you and your birth, they are reminders of the precious time we spent with you. One day, when my scar tissue has formed, I think I'll make a photo book with all my belly shots and baby shower photos. After all, those pictures represent the best 8 months of my life.

Love,

Mommy

The last "sticker" picture we took at 34 weeks, just two weeks before you passed away.  We were supposed to take the 36 week picture the day before we learned we had lost you, but we forgot. In my grief, it never crossed my mind to take the picture before we delivered you. I'll always regret not having that one.

Your Passport

My Darling Boy,

Your death has given me the ability to feel so much more deeply than I used to...it is as if something in me has opened up and allowed me to experience life in a new way. Maybe that is what women mean when they say that being mother changes you. The emotion I feel when both sad and happy things happen has been exponentially multiplied since you've been gone. I find myself in tears over a stranger's bad news one day and sobbing over the beauty of the sun peaking out over the mountains the next. It is a roller coaster to say the least, but oddly enough, it's not one that I want to get off. In the happy moments, I feel as though I have some tiny glimpse into what it must be like in heaven, and my heart can't contain the joy I feel for you in those moments. "But Jesus said, 'Let the little children come to me and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven.'"(Matthew 19:14)

We received the sweetest gift from our TX friends the other day. When I opened the small package, I laughed. Inside was a Texas passport. I flipped open the small booklet and landed on a page that quickly turned my laughter into happy tears. The passport is yours. It contains your name and a picture of your little stuffed elephant in front of the Bluebonnet field. I don't know if I've ever received such a thoughtful gift. I immediately put the passport with all of our other Morris treasures in your nursery.

The passport made me think about all the places we went together while you were still safely inside my tummy. I was traveling a good bit when I first learned I was pregnant, and within a matter of a few weeks, you traveled with me Orlando, FL, Providence, RI, Plymouth, MA, Sturgeon Bay, WI, and to one of your daddy and I's favorite places, SML Resort (our framily's home at Smith Mountain Lake). As we sat on the dock at the lake that summer, I dreamed of all the long weekends that you would be lucky enough to spend on the water growing up. I thought about all the places that I wanted to take you...places I've been to like Disney World and the Dominican Republic and places that I wanted to experience for the first time with you like the Grand Canyon and Yosemite National Park.

Your TX passport reminded me that our adventures don't have to stop just because you aren't physically here. I'm going to try my hardest to make sure that at some point in our lives, your daddy and I get to all those places that I wanted to share with you, and when we do, I will carry you with me in my heart. Each time we return home, I'll write down all of our memories. That way, you won't miss out on a thing.

Love,

Mommy

Pictures

Hi Baby,

Well, another first is behind us. We had our big family Easter dinner yesterday.  It was the first family gathering we've had since you passed away.  Our family waited a week to have it since we were in Texas on the actual holiday. I think our celebration not being on the actual holiday made it easier. There were difficult moments, and I held back tears when your papaw said the blessing, but it was a beautiful day overall.

I took my camera with me. I just felt like it would be somehow less shocking to me if I was the one to take our first pictures as a family without you in them. I took the stuffed elephant that I had monogrammed with your name, and when we took a big family photo, I held it in my arms. It warms my heart to look at the picture and know that while you aren't physically in it, you aren't missing from it either.

The night before we went to the hospital to deliver you, your daddy and I argued about bringing the camera with us. Your daddy wasn't sure we should bring it and that angered me. It wasn't like he was adamant about it or anything, it was just that when I asked him to make sure it got packed, he hesitated and said that he wasn't sure it was a good idea. I instantly started crying and yelling at him. I know that he only wanted to protect me; he was worried that taking pictures might be too hard on me. I didn't know what you would look like at that point, or even if you would be a boy or a girl, but I knew that the day I left the hospital couldn't be the last time that I ever saw your face. We are so glad we have those pictures of you now.

After we delivered you, your daddy shared with me another reason that he hadn't been sure we should bring the camera. He told me that he knew that there would be people who weren't comfortable seeing your picture, and he knew how much that would devastate me. He said that there would be people who wouldn't see you the way that we see you...so beautiful and perfect. I can't keep the tears from falling as I type this, but I know that he is right. There are people who won't understand. People who will find it too hard to look at a photo of a baby who wasn't born alive. People who will look at your picture and not feel the overwhelming love that we do when we look at you. The thought absolutely breaks my heart.

That's why I'll never forget what our good friend Jamie did the day we got home from the hospital. I should call her "framily" really, because we consider her a friend that is part of our family. But anyway, the day we came home, she was our first visitor. She burst into our house, plopped down on the couch beside me, and with tears in her eyes asked if she could see your picture. I don't think your daddy has ever been more grateful to someone in his entire life than he was to Jamie in that moment, and I couldn't have been more proud to share you with her.

I learned yesterday that many of our family members are displaying pictures of you in their home. It makes my heart feel full to know that they see you in the same way that your daddy and I do, although I don't know why I am surprised by this. I know that they love you so much, and that they are devastated that you are gone. But something about yesterday confirmed to me that I should do something I've been thinking about doing for the last few weeks. I decided to add a page of pictures on my blog and to share a few pictures of you and your nursery in the hopes that other people, maybe even people I've never met, will be blessed by seeing your precious face and the room we so lovingly designed for you. I know that everyone who loves your daddy and I will love you too.

Love,

Mommy

Morris' Field

Morris,

I’m writing you this letter from the air. Your daddy and I are on a plane headed back home. A friend of mine who is also a momma to an angel shared with me the other day that she always feels close to her son when she is flying. She thought it might sound silly, but I totally get it. 

We had an unbelievable time on our trip. I know that I'll never be completely healed, but this trip was healing for me in many ways. I am beyond grateful to our friends for so graciously welcoming us into their home, for treating us like royalty and for sharing an abundance of laughter and conversation with us this week. I've always heard that laughter is good for the soul, and after this week, I believe it. We spent our last night in Texas meeting a few members of our friends’ family and enjoying a fun car show and outdoor concert. Later, gathered around our friends’ kitchen table, we proudly told them a little bit more about you. There were smiles and a few unshed tears as we shared our memories and photos of you. When we left our friends' home this morning, we felt as if we had known them our whole lives. They seem more like family than friends now.   

The truth is you are never far from my mind, even when I am distracted. Thankfully though, there are times like this week when the pain of losing you doesn't feel so suffocating. I know there are people who feel guilty about having fun or finding happiness after a loss like this one, but I am not one of those people. The pain that comes from focusing on your absence is gut-wrenching, and if that was the only emotion that I let myself feel, I would be crippled. I would never get out of bed. I would miss out on the blessings that I receive from things like hearing your song somewhere, sharing a memory of you with a friend, or feeling your presence someplace unexpected. Finding ways to remember you, honor you and connect with you is the only way that I know how to get through this life without you. 

As we headed out of Austin the other day, your daddy and I stopped at the Bluebonnet field one more time. Once again, we were all alone with you in that sea of blue flowers. Your daddy managed to take a picture of the two of us by using the camera timer and roof of the rental car. Before we left, I picked a few flowers to press so that we would have a keepsake of the time we spent there with you. 

Not long after we got back on the road, we passed another Bluebonnet field. I told your daddy that we didn't need to stop for that one because it didn't come close to being as spectacular as your field. As soon as I said it, we both laughed. Now, in addition to all the other things that carry your name, there is a field. That beautiful Texas Bluebonnet field, the field where we found you again for a little while, will forever be Morris’ field. 

Love,

Mommy

Morris' Field 

(Just outside of Austin, TX on 290 West)

Waiting in the Bluebonnet Field

My Sweet Son,

Your daddy and I are in Texas this week thanks to the generosity and hospitality of two wonderful friends. Just a few weeks after we said goodbye to you, this lovely couple invited us to come visit so we could get away. We didn't think we'd actually take them up on the offer, but they were persistent. I think they knew that getting away would do us some good.  I'm glad that they convinced us to come; we've had a great time so far. They have been the most gracious hosts. There was an Easter basket waiting for us upon our arrival, and over the course of the last few days, we have enjoyed continental breakfasts, themed dinners, a 3-D movie and lots of great conversation.

We arrived in Texas on Saturday night, and our friends were kind enough to invite us to join them for an outdoor Easter service on Sunday morning. The church members handed out music sheets for the service, and I noticed right away that "How Great is Our God" was the closing song. I smiled through my tears when we sang your song, and I knew that we were meant to be here.

In the past few months, lots of things have become known as "Morris' such and such" to us.  "How Great is Our God" is "Morris' song".  Psalm 94:19 is known as "Morris' verse".  Your Gramy recently painted her upstairs guest room in "Morris' gray" (the custom color we pained your nursery). And now, the Texas Bluebonnets are "Morris' flower".  Let me share the Bluebonnets story.

Just two weeks or so after you passed away, I met a friend from church for lunch. During our conversation, my friend shared with me that she had dreamed a few nights earlier about a little brown-haired boy walking through a field of beautiful flowers. She said that she woke up and immediately knew that the little boy in the dream was you.  She told me this story with a smile on her face, and I could tell that the dream had touched her. To be honest, in that moment, I was a little jealous that she had dreamed about you and I hadn't.

Fast forward to few weeks later.  Just a day or so after we had booked our flights to Texas, the friend we were coming to visit sent me a text telling me that we were coming at the perfect time. He sent me a link, and when I opened it, I saw pictures of the most beautiful fields of blue flowers I had ever seen. It was a field of Texas Bluebonnets. I instantly thought of the dream that my friend had shared with me.  Since then, I've read up on the Bluebonnets, and it is clear to me that God had a hand in our trip to Texas. The Bluebonnets bloom each year sometime between mid-March and mid-April. Even those who follow the flowers each year have a hard time predicting exactly when and where the fields will bloom, and there are websites dedicated to reporting a sighting. Once the Bluebonnets bloom, they stay pretty for only about 2 to 3 weeks max. Your daddy and I happen to be in Texas during peak Bluebonnet season.

Yesterday, your daddy and I drove from Houston to Austin.  We saw small patches of Bluebonnets along our way, but when we finally spotted that first field full of blue flowers, I was overcome with emotion. We got out and stood with about a dozen other people who had also pulled off the road to get a closer look. After taking some pictures and spending a little while gazing at the flowers, we got back on the road. An hour or two later, we spotted rolling hills of blue from the highway.  Your daddy got off the interstate and pulled onto a little country road. There wasn't a soul around...it was like we had found our own private Bluebonnet field. Aside from you, that field was the most breathtaking and magnificent thing I have ever laid eyes on. As I stood looking out into that gorgeous sea of blue, your little stuffed elephant in my arms, I could feel you with us. I pictured you, a beautiful little boy with a head full of brown hair and a smile like your daddy's, running through that field. It was such a spiritual moment for me, and I left that field with my soul renewed.

I've known all along that your daddy and I are going make it through losing you somehow. I believe that we will find happiness again. Your presence in the Bluebonnet field yesterday confirmed those feelings for me.  It was proof that in every beautiful and meaningful moment in our lives, you'll be with us. I'd give anything to see you and hold you again, but until the day comes when we are reunited, meeting you in my dreams will have to do. So Morris, tonight, I'll be waiting for you in the Bluebonnet field.

Love,

Mommy

The first field of Bluebonnets, just before Brenham, TX on Rt. 290:

The second field of Bluebonnets, just outside Austin, TX on Rt. 290:

It is Finished

Precious Morris,

So many people have asked me why I'm not angry. In fact, one friend recently told me that she reads my letters to you and can tell that I'm not angry, so she has taken on the role of being angry for me. People have assured me that it is okay to be angry, that I would be justified in feeling that way. They are right...the world would understand if I was angry. God gave us the emotion of anger, so I know that even He would understand if I was angry. So why don't I feel that way? When I sit and think about it, I can come up with a few reasons.

First, in my 32 short years on earth, I've learned that anger doesn't make you feel better. We say and do things in anger that we come to regret, things that we feel guilty about later. Anger distracts us from our pain for a while... it even makes us feel stronger for a brief time. But it isn't long before anger makes us bitter. And that bitterness turns into resentment. That resentment eventually leads to hate. I could never let that be your legacy, so I heed the bible's warnings about anger:

"In your anger do not sin. Do not let the sun go down while you are still angry, and do not give the devil a foothold...And do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God, with whom you were sealed for the day of redemption. Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice." Ephesians 4:26-27, 30-31  

"My dear brothers, take note of this: Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry, for a man's anger does not bring about the righteous life that God desires." James 1:19-20 

"Refrain from anger and turn from wrath; do not fret - it leads only to evil." Psalm 37:8-9

Secondly, it is hard for me to be angry at the God who gave me you, even if he only gave you to me for a short time. God answered my prayers and made me a mother. He hasn't broken a promise to me because He never promised me all good things in this life. The bible tells us that there will be bad times in our lives, but that we should remain thankful during those times:

"He said, 'I came naked from my mother's womb, and I will be naked when I leave. The Lord gave me what I had, and the Lord has taken it away. Praise the name of the Lord!'" Job 1:21 

"When times are good, be happy; but when times are bad, consider this: God has made the one as well as the other." Ecclesiastes 7:14 

"More than that, we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us." Romans 5:3-5 

"Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness." James 1:2-3 

The words of Jesus: "I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace.  In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world." John 16:33 

That last verse leads me to the final reason that I don't feel angry, and I only need one scripture to explain it:

"For God so loved the world, that He gave His only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life." John 3:16

I can think of no better day than Good Friday to rid ourselves of all the anger in our lives. No better day to remember that Jesus, the one person who deserved to be angry at the world and at God, showed no anger. As he died a horrific and painful death on the cross, no curse words or words of anger came from his lips. When he breathed his last, he simply said, "It is finished." The Greek word for finished in this scripture (τετέλεσται/tetelestai) is an accounting term that literally translates "paid in full". Jesus paid my debt in full, and because he did, I will get to spend eternity with you when this life is over. How can I be angry about that?

Love,

Mom

Heavy

Sweetie,

There are days, like today, that just feel heavy. Days that carry a weight with them that I can feel from the moment I wake up. Days that have an actual and physical thickness about them, as if they were bearing down on me, making it hard to breathe. On days like this, I try to remember the words of Jesus:

Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. 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. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light. Matthew 11:28-30

This morning, I had a text conversation with a friend who lost two precious babies last year.  As we texted back and forth, I was struck by the conversation we were having. When did visiting graves and picking out headstones become normal conversation in our lives? I know the answer of course, but there are still moments like this one when I am taken by surprise by how very different my life is from the life I had hoped for and planned just a few short months ago. Moments when I hear someone say something, and I am shocked to learn that the someone was me. Moments when I find myself in disbelief that I could be talking about losing you so calmly and matter-of-factly as if I were talking about the weather.

I had lunch with a close friend yesterday. We sat and talked for hours, and then we took advantage of the beautiful day and walked the streets of downtown. I tried hard to bring other topics into our conversation, but I always made my way back to you within a few minutes. When did I become this person who is unable to carry on a conversation unless it revolves around you? Again, I know the answer. But as much as I love talking about you, I want to be able to ask my friends about what is going on in their lives and feel genuinely interested in their answers again. I want to not be so consumed by the tragedy in my life that I am blinded to the struggles that my friends are facing in their own lives. I know my friends understand where I am in this moment of my life, and I am grateful that they don't seem to mind the one-sided conversations, but even I miss the conversations we used to have.

Something my friend said to me as we were saying goodbye got me thinking last night. She said that the day she learned you were gone, she broke down and cried telling her husband how your daddy and I would never be the same people again. She said that after spending time with us in the last few weeks, she knows that we are different, but that she can also see how we are still the same Ryan and Keri that we've always been. Her insight struck me as so profound. All I've thought about since losing you is how I'll never be the same person again. I've grieved over losing not only you, but myself. But now that my friend has pointed it out, I can see so clearly that while parts of me have changed, I haven't completely gone away. I am still the me that I used to be, but I am a better me in a lot of ways. I can see how God has been using you to rid me of all the parts of me that needed to go anyway, how He has been using you to strengthen the parts of me that are best.

As I finish this letter to you, it just dawned on me why today feels so heavy. Today is exactly two months from the day that I saw your beautiful face for the last time. Two months from the day we said goodbye. Even on the heaviest days, I am forever grateful that I was given the chance to be your mother. I love you so much.

Love,

Mommy