An Amazing Ride

Hi Sweetpea,

Daddy and I are at Smith Mountain Lake for the weekend with a few close friends. The weather has been perfect, and we have had so much fun.

The last time we were here was Labor Day weekend of 2014.  I remember it well, because it is the weekend we announced to our friends that we were pregnant. We had just had our 14 week ultrasound that Friday afternoon. We brought our ultrasound pictures and a cake to the lake that read, "Happy Labor Day from Baby Rankin!" There were a few tears when we shared the news, but mostly there was a whole lot of laughter because thanks to hints from Daddy, our friends had long guessed that we had a baby on the way. (Your daddy has never been able to keep a secret or a surprise for very long. I usually get any gift Daddy buys me the same day he buys it. It is one of the things I find endearing about him.)

That weekend was a really happy weekend, and surprisingly this weekend has been too. Sometimes, I'm surprised that I can still have moments where I find myself so content and happy. But then I remember that we were made to be happy:

"Rejoice in the Lord always; again I say, Rejoice. (Philippians 4:4) 

"You make down to the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore." (Psalm 16:11) 

"Always be joyful." (1 Thessalonians 5:16) 

We took a long boat ride yesterday, and I looked everywhere for a sign you were with us. I finally spotted a "M"-shaped cloud in the sky.  Once I knew what to look for, I was able to find a few more. It was a beautiful day.

This morning we took an early morning jet ski ride. Daddy will think I'm being cheesy (hopefully something he finds endearing about me), but our ride reminded me of life in a few ways. You hold on tightly to your partner. You have to lean into the turns. At times you have shout above the noise. Sometimes it is smooth sailing, and other times you think you might get beat to death by the choppy waters. But overall, it is an amazing ride.

Love,

Mommy

Labor Day Weekend 2014

    

1st Weekend at the Lake 2015

   

Lessons Learned

Baby Boy,

There is so much pain in our community right now.  The tragedies seem relentless.  The year isn't quite half way over, and already I'm tempted to pull out my "Bad things that happened in 2015" list and write "YOU WIN" in angry, bold letters at the bottom.  But I'm not going to do that.

But me, I'm not giving up. I'm sticking around to see what God will do. I'm waiting for God to make things right. I'm counting on God to listen to me. (Micah 7:7, Msg)  

I wish that I had something profound to say to those grieving right now. I don't. I can't claim to understand what it is like to lose an older child, to lose a mother or a father, to lose a sibling, or to lose a spouse. I know what it is like to lose an unborn child, but as odd as it may sound, I can't even claim to understand the pain of someone going through stillbirth. In fact, when someone relays a story of stillbirth to me, I usually exclaim, "I can't imagine!"  The first time I said it, I laughed at myself thinking I had said it out of habit, but then I realized I was right. I can certainly relate to someone else's situation, but I can't imagine someone else's pain. Our pain isn't the same because we aren't the same.

I've seen a lot of posts about what others should do when someone they love is grieving, but I haven't seen much advice for the grievers. I have four months of experience in grieving. It isn't a lot, but I can offer up what little insight I've gained in these last few months. Maybe it will help someone.  Or maybe it won't help anyone but me on those days when I need to remember what I believe. Either way, here goes:

1. There is no right or wrong way to grieve.  You'll probably be given a whole library of books that tell you about the stages of grief and how to get through them.  Some of the advice might be helpful; some of it won't be. I remember reading a book a month or so after my son died that said shock after a loss was expected, but that if it lasted longer than a few days, it was unhealthy.  I closed that book and never finished reading it. Whoever wrote that statement obviously never went through the shock of losing a baby that you had been preparing to bring home for 8 months. Knowing what to expect in grief can be good, as long as you know that it is okay if your grief doesn't fit someone else's timeline. Listening to other's suggestions of ways to get through grief can be helpful, as long as you know that it is okay if support group meetings or online forums or memorial displays/gardens or fill-in-the-blanks aren't your thing. 
2. Cut others some slack.  There will be people, mostly well-intentioned, who will say and do the wrong thing in trying to comfort you. There will be people who won't say or do anything at all.  Both will hurt you. Forgive them as best you can. I know it seems unfair that as the one who is grieving, you should be the one to offer comfort, grace, and compassion to someone else, but try to do it when you can.  I've found that most people genuinely want to make things better...in situations where fixing things is impossible though, many just don't know what to do. This isn't to say that you should ignore hurtful comments or actions. When I've been offended or hurt, I've tried to gently educate the person on how I am feeling or what is helpful to me so that they can comfort me in the way that I need.
3. Cut yourself some slack.  I have spent the last two months feeling guilty about the unsent thank-you's to people who brought us meals and sent us gifts. In the first few weeks after getting home from the hospital, writing those cards gave me something to do. But as the time passed, writing the phrase "Thank you for such and such that you did following the death of our son" on pretty stationary became more and more difficult. So I stopped. I know it isn't the polite or courteous thing to do. But I also know that the people who truly care about me will continue to do so long after their casserole dish is returned without a thank you card.
4. Find joy whenever and wherever you can.  This is easier said than done when your heart is broken, but when you can find some joy, even in something small, it helps. On the day we delivered Morris, I came across Psalm 94:19, "When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought joy to my soul." That verse has become my anthem, and it has allowed me to experience some pretty amazing things despite my broken heart. I held my Godson just hours after his birth. I saw my niece learn to walk and heard her say my name for the first time. I walked with a team of friends and family in a 5k celebrating and honoring my son and other children's lives. I am so glad I didn't miss out on those things, because those things have little-by-little helped restore some of the faith I lost. 

If a list of four things seems somehow incomplete, it's because it is. Grieving is a life-long process. It wasn't intentional that this list contains four things, but I guess four lessons learned is symbolic for four months spent grieving. When I figure out what lesson number five is, I'll let you know.

Love,

Mommy

Soldiers and Jesus

Darling Morris,

Today we honor fallen soldiers. We remember men and women who gave their lives that we might have freedom. As a grieving mother, my heart weighs heavy with sorrow not just for our fallen soldiers, but for the families they left behind. When someone we love dies, a piece of us dies too.

"Greater love has no one than this: to lay one's life down for one's friends." John 15:13

This verse is often quoted on Memorial Day, and it certainly applies to the selfless acts of our military heroes. I imagine that these words bring comfort and pride to the families of our lost soldiers, but I know that they can't ease the pain or fill the void.

I often think about the life you won't have, and today I wonder if you would have made the choice to serve your country. If you had, I hope that I would have had the grace and strength of the military mothers I know. I can only imagine the sleepless nights they face, the tear-filled prayers and pleas to God for the safety and protection of their child, the anxious scouring of news reports, the dread and worry brought with each ring of the phone. Yet these women stand firm in the face of their fear, tirelessly supporting their son or daughter's courageous decision to lay their life on the line. These women prepare themselves to make the ultimate sacrifice as a mother, all the while keeping a smile on their face and a fierce dedication to their soldier. As an American, and as a mother, I am so very grateful to these women.

Greater love has no one than to lay their life down for a friend. The men and women we honor today laid down their lives not only for family and friends, but for complete strangers. They laid down their lives for a nation that so often doesn't appreciate their sacrifice and at times even scoffs at it. They have that in common with another hero I know. For the second time this week, I am reminded of the lyrics to a country song:

"There's only two people who ever died for me,
Laid down their lives just so I could be free.
They both went through hell, beared crosses and shells,
And both got back up again after they fell.
They never picked the fight, but they're there to pick up the pieces...
God only knows where we'd be without soldiers and Jesus." (Soldiers & Jesus, James Otto)

Love,

Mommy

Faking Faith

Hi Baby Boy,

There is a country song about the loss of a loved one that opens with these lines:

"Sunny days seem to hurt the most. I wear the pain like a heavy coat. I feel you everywhere I go."

This morning, for the first time, I really understood those words. When I walked out the door this morning, the sun beamed down on me, and I could tell that it was the start of a glorious day. It was the kind of morning that would have made me feel on top of the world just a few months ago. But this morning, as I stood there in the sun's warmth and took in the beauty surrounding me, all I felt was hurt. I wondered, "How can the sun burn as brightly today as it did in the days before you were gone?"

It seems cruel that the sun could go on shining, exactly as it always has, oblivious to the fact that the world is missing someone as beautiful and precious as you. Sometimes I find myself angry, not just because you are gone, but because my innocence has been lost. Angry because being an optimist used to come easy for me, but now it is a struggle. Angry because I know that my innocence is not something that I'm likely to get back.

I think about having another child one day, God-willing, and I know that I won't have the same happy anticipation and glow with the next pregnancy that I did while I was carrying you. I see a woman somewhere with her hand resting happily on her growing bump, and I know that I'll never feel the way that she is feeling in that moment ever again. I've lost the ability to be blissfully unaware to the possibility the child I'm carrying might not come home. The next time, if there is one, my hand won't rest on my tummy as an act of love for my unborn child, but in a desperate act of protection.

Some days, like today, my troubles seem so big and my faith seems so small. On these days, I try to keep in mind a phrase that I've heard used in the business world, "You have to fake it until you make it." I think it can be an applicable phrase for our faith too. In those moments when we aren't sure what we believe anymore, we have to keep telling ourselves we believe in the promises Jesus made us. When our words don't come easy and the songs we sing feel empty, we have to force ourselves to continue offering up praise and thanks to God. When we feel like no one is listening, we have to repeatedly lift up our prayers.

Faith can be a constant struggle in the midst of so much pain and heartache. But at least for me, I've found that faking faith can lead to finding real faith again.

Love,

Mommy

Keep Moving

My Darling Boy,

Today is a special little boy's third Angelversary. His momma came back into my life when I lost you, driving hours the week you passed away to bring me dinner and give me a hug in person.  God loves a celebration, and I bet there is quite the party going on up there for sweet Jameson.  My heart smiles for him and breaks for his mommy at the thought.

Gramy and I went to a Sadie Rose Foundation meeting the other night.  As we drove home, we talked about how hard it is to live without someone as precious as you.  We talked about people we know whose lives have been marred with far more tragedy and heartbreak than our own.  We wondered, "How is it possible to go on living in these situations?"  Finally, Gramy answered, "We just keep moving."

We keep moving. We don't move on, because that would imply that we are leaving something behind. We don't move forward, because that would imply a focus on only the future. We just keep moving. We get out of bed, even on the hard days. We put one foot in front of the other. We push ourselves to enjoy the time spent with family and friends, even when our heart is breaking because someone we love is missing.  We rely on God to get us through each day.

I saw something recently that said, "Grief never ends...it changes. It's a passage, not a place to stay."  I don't know if I agree with the first part...Does grief change or do we change?  I tend to think the latter. Almost four months have passed since your death, and there are moments when grief hits me with the same intensity and force as it did the day I said goodbye to you. I've heard this to be true from people who said their goodbyes years ago. I've become more adaptable though; I've found techniques to get me through the grief when it comes. I do agree with the second part...grief is not a place we can stay. We keep moving not because it is the brave thing to do (although it is), and not because it is what is expected of us (although it is), but because it is the only thing that we can do. If we stop moving for too long, the realization of what we have lost comes closing in on us. It sucks out all the air and crushes our spirit. Keep moving is our survival tactic.

Grief is a like a chronic illness. We live with it every day. Some days are good days, and we look back at the end of those days amazed at what we were able to accomplish despite our illness. Other days are bad days, days that come with pain so debilitating we wonder how much more we can take. While others with some sort of chronic illness hope and pray for a cure for their illness, we just hope and pray for some relief from ours. Our cure will never come in this lifetime. We just have to keep moving until the next lifetime comes.

Love,

Mommy

An Empty Seat

Sweet Baby Boy,

I'm sorry that I haven't written in a few days. You've been on my mind a lot, but for some reason, I just haven't had the words to write. Daddy told me that he was missing you today, so I know that you are on his mind too.

I got home  from a business trip yesterday. I hadn't planned on traveling for work this year. I had planned on having a newborn at home. My plans are hardly recognizable these days. Like Robert Burns said, "The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry."

As I boarded the plane on Tuesday morning, I couldn't stop the tears from coming. They streamed down my face as we started taxing to the runway. The attendant dimmed the lights like they always do before takeoff, but the weirdest thing happened. Just as all the other lights on the plane went out, the lights above my seat came on. I tried and tried but couldn't get them to turn off. Since the attendant light was on, the flight attendant came over to see if I needed something. She didn't have any luck in getting the lights to turn off either. Any hint of mechanical or electrical problems would normally cause me anxiety, but I found the stubbornness of the light to be comforting. It was a reminder that there is a light in my life even on the darkest of days. "The Lord is my light and my salvation - whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life - of whom shall I be afraid?" (Psalm 27:1)

The persistent light also reminded me of the first time I traveled for the job I'm in now. Sometime after college, I developed a serious anxiety about flying. I hadn't flown in a long time when I booked my first business trip for this job, and I was anxious for weeks after booking. The night before my flight, I barely slept. I boarded the plane sick with worry, and I prayed as hard as I could for God to protect me. I prayed that it would feel like Jesus was sitting beside me. I didn't mean it literally, but God must have taken it that way. On an otherwise full flight, the seat beside me remained empty that day. The same thing happened on my plane ride home a few days later. Sometimes God answers our prayers in an immediate and tangible way.

I've come to enjoy flying again in the last few years. Being thirty thousand feet in the air gives one an amazing view of God's creation, and I am always struck by its beauty. As I looked down at all the tiny houses and cars below me on Tuesday, I did something I've never thought to do before. I said a prayer for the people I was flying over. I prayed for those finding themselves brokenhearted in this season of life, for those feeling hopeless and tired, for those surrounded by darkness, and lastly, for those needing Jesus to fill an empty seat.

Love,

Mommy

Happy Mother's Day

My Sweet Morris,

Today is the day that we celebrate mothers. You being gone doesn't change my status as a mother. I've received so many wonderful reminders of that in the last few days - cards, sweets and flowers - sent by amazing family and friends who aren't about to let me forget that I deserve to be celebrated on this day too. I appreciate it more than they know.

You were still born; I am still a mother. I say it to myself often, sometimes repeating it to myself in the moments when I am overwhelmed by the things things that I'll never do for you as your mommy. Offering it up like a silent prayer in the moments when I am hurt by the things that I'll never get to know about you. Some days, as hard as I try, the reminders of what won't be are all around me.

I won't change a thousand diapers or wake up for 3 AM feedings. I won't get to see your first steps or see you dig into your birthday cake for the first time.  I won't kiss away boo-boos or wipe away boogers. I won't know your favorite color or the food you hate. I won't see you play baseball or hooky from school. I won't watch you walk across the graduation stage or down the aisle. There are a lifetime of won'ts, and those hurt more than you could know. But they don't make me less of a mother.

No, at the end of the day, the won'ts don't have anything to do with it.  It's the got-to's that make me your mommy.

I got to cry happy tears with your daddy when we saw those two beautiful blue lines. I got to start dreaming and planning for you. I got to carry you for eight wonderful months. I got to hear your heartbeat and feel you do somersaults inside of me. I got to argue about names with Daddy and put together a special nursery just for you. I got to sing to you and read stories to you. I know things about you, like the fact that you were an early bird and you loved hearing music. I've seen your beautiful face, a face that would have carried your daddy's smile if it could. I held you for a few life-changing hours.

Yesterday I saw a painting done by a local artist, Lisa Geiman. We have one of her paintings hanging in our entry way to honor you.  The painting I saw yesterday though is what triggered me to remember all the got-to's.  On it was this quote:

"A Mother's Love begins before we can remember...surrounding us with warmth and joy...and forever blooming in our hearts."

A mother's love begins the moment, often even before, we know about our baby. It doesn't matter if our baby ever lives outside our womb. The warmth and joy of our love is felt from the inside. It doesn't matter if our baby lives weeks, months or years. A mother's love outlasts the amount of time spent together. It is the love we have for our precious children, not the things that we do for them, that makes us a mother. And one thing I can promise you sweet baby...I have more love for you than you could possibly imagine.

Love,

Mommy

Painting by Lisa Geiman

http://www.lisageiman.com/

Lists

Hi Sweet Boy,

In my last letter, I was telling you about all the bad things happening in the world and how I still had a fairly positive outlook on things. Early Tuesday morning though, a tragedy occurred in our small and quiet neighborhood that briefly changed my optimism to pessimism. Although our interaction with the particular neighbors involved in this tragedy was limited to the occasional hello, I was really shook up by the event. It felt like one more bad thing being piled on top of an already terrible year. I made a mental list of every horrible thing that has happened this year to me or someone around me, and by lunchtime, I had a very long list. My list made me feel bitter, sad and hopeless.

Later that evening, our up the street neighbor (the friend who would have been your nanny) came over. As we sat on the deck and chatted, I told her that I felt like aside from our Godson Jackson's recent birth, absolutely nothing good has happened in 2015. My friend didn't use one of those 'at least' or 'you should be grateful' statements to make me feel guilty about the pity party I was throwing for myself, but she didn't join in on the fun either. She simply said, "Abigail (your cousin) learned to walk this year...that is something else good that happened." Her simple statement got me thinking, and I started a new list yesterday...a list of all the good things that have happened this year. Before I had even finished drinking my morning coffee, I had a list that was just as long, if not longer than my other list.

You see, I had what happened to you on the list of bad things the other day. But in my glass half-empty mindset, I forgot that you happened. It was a huge oversight on my part, and it devastates me that I let my sadness cause me to overlook the joy you brought to this year even for a minute. I am so grateful for friends who remind me what I've said over and over again to them about the importance of finding joy in the midst of tragedy. Friends who keep me focused on making it through one day at a time so that I am not overwhelmed thinking about all the years I might have to live without you. Friends that remind me that my purpose as your mother is to make sure your legacy of love lives on through my thoughts and actions. 

Being sad is a normal part of the healing process. Even Jesus, knowing that he would raise Lazarus from the dead, wept for his friend's life and for the heartache endured by his friends (John, chapter 11).  We've all heard that story a million times. What I hadn't really paid attention to before now though is that Jesus' miracle of raising Lazarus from the dead is really the beginning of what leads to his crucifixion. Just a few chapters later, we read about Jesus praying in the garden before his arrest.

It occurs to me during this time in his life, Jesus' list should have been full of bad things. He should have felt bitter, sad and hopeless. And maybe he did feel that way sometimes, but he didn't let his list or those feelings stop him from fulfilling his purpose. It is a lesson that I really want to take to heart. In the face of terrible agony and heartache, Jesus used his time not to complain or throw a pity party, but to lift up those around him and to remind them of their purpose (John, chapters 14-16). He prayed for his disciples, and he then he prayed (John 17:20-23):

"My prayer is not for them alone. I pray also for those who will believe in me through their message, that all of them may be one, Father, just as you are in me and I am in you. May they also be in us so that the world may believe that you have sent me. I have given them the glory that you gave me, that they may be one as we are one - I in them and you in me - so that they may be brought to complete unity. Then the world will know that you sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me."

I think the other day was the first time that I read this passage and really realized that Jesus was praying for me too when he said, "I pray also for those who will be believe in me through their message...". I'm going to put that realization on the "Good Things that Happened this Year" list.

Love,

Mommy

Milestones

Hi Darling,

I was caught off guard last week by another "first". Your daddy and I were out to eat, waiting to be seated, when we ran into someone we don't know well and hadn't seen in a few months. I knew the moment that I saw this person's face that he didn't know about you. I braced myself for the question that I knew was coming, and even so, it still felt like a punch in the gut when he asked about you. Your daddy smiled a sad smile and told him you were gone. As the person profusely apologized for our loss, I felt terrible for him and for us. I held it together until he left, and then I excused myself to the bathroom to cry. I thought by now everyone knew about you, but I guess I should have expected that we might run into someone one day who hadn't heard the terrible news. I hope there is no one else left.

Tomorrow will be three months from the day that I delivered you. Maybe some people find it weird that I refer to that day as your birthday when you weren't born alive, but it isn't weird to me. You may have been stillborn, but you were still born. And just like I would have done if you had been born alive, I find myself counting down the milestones from your birthday...one month, two months, three months. I definitely would have been one of those moms with a Facebook photo of you for every milestone you hit. I don't know if it would have been pictures of you with stickers or with blocks or with a chalkboard, but I have no doubt that I would have found a cute way to mark each and every occasion.

I try not to dwell on the time I won't have with you or the things I won't get to do with you too often or for too long. Doing so leads to a pit of despair and sadness, a pit so deep and dark that it is hard to climb my way out of it. Instead, your daddy and I try our hardest to focus on the time we were given with you, to celebrate and be grateful for the precious few moments we had together as a family.

While we won't get to mark tomorrow in the way that I wish we could, Daddy and I did something this morning to celebrate your three month milestone. We planted some purple flowers (the color of your birthstone) and made a special place for a beautiful memorial bench that we were given. Just like the painting Gramy gave us that is hanging in the entry way, your bench will serve as reminder to everyone who enters our home that you are forever loved and missed.

Love,

Mommy