Creative Outlet

I would be 27 weeks today, finishing up the last week of my second trimester and looking a lot like this:

Me at 27 weeks with Griffin

 And this:

28 weeks with Griffin

But instead, I'm empty and frustrated and missing my baby.  This just plain stinks.  I was just arriving at the super fun part of pregnancy...feeling movement all the time, showing more, feeling better, enjoying all the perks of looking pregnant.  And just as I felt sure that everything was going to be okay, it wasn't.  

There are some pretty terrible "extras" that come along with losing a baby in the womb or shortly thereafter.  First off, I still had my baby in my womb when he died, and I had to figure out the best way to birth him.  So, that likely translates into the majority of two days in the hospital at the very least.  IVs, drugs, tests, waiting, waiting, waiting, questions, hospital gowns, waiting, waiting, waiting.  Then, there is the physical recovery from delivering your baby whom you will never know on this earth, the physical recovery from pregnancy, the crazy hormonal changes, postpartum craziness, and everything.  And do all this whilst you grieve the loss of your precious child please.  Oh, and plan a memorial and figure out a burial "situation" on top of all that.  Down the road a bit, there is the aching and yearning, not only for the baby I lost, but for another...not to replace Levi, but to grow our family as we so desire to do...to give Griffin a sibling close in age like I never had, to fill our home with more laughter, more cries, more memories, more family.  So, there's the intense longing for a baby....a baby.  Then you must face all the questions and fears...When should we start trying to conceive?  What happens if I lose the next baby too?  And the frustration...I just did the first half of pregnancy...I was planning to have my squishy, squirmy little newborn son in my arms in 3 short months.  3 months, not 12...or more...  And on top of all that, I suppose I better find the motivation and fortitude to lose the baby weight before getting pregnant again.  I hate to be so negative, but this is the reality...all the ridiculous extras that are piled on top of the typical grief of losing a loved one.

Enough ranting.  For the past month, I've really needed an outlet for all the pent up expectant, nesting energy I still have as Levi's mama.  So, without my Levi, I've turned to projects, projects, projects.  I don't remember the order I did most of these in, so in no particular order whatsover: 

We used to only use the left side of this cabinet as a pantry.  The right side we used as a "coat closet."  (We have a serious shortage of closet space in our trailer.)  Well, I decided the spaghetti sauce, canned goods, and peanut butter had fallen out onto my toes enough.  So, I moved the coats into a more appropriate space (the actual closet in our office/storage/craft/guest room), and added some shelves to the pantry.  And [sigh], isn't this so fantastic?  Look at all the S    P    A    C    E   !

We received some precious keepsakes from the hospital and from friends and family for Levi, and I had them sitting on a shelf in our living room for a while.  However, I wanted to find a "home" for his things.  He'll never have a nursery, a "big boy room", or his own shelf of toys, and I thought it would be nice to have a little Levi spot in the house.  So, I built a shadowbox for his things.  First, I bought a large, white frame on sale at Michael's.  Then, I got primed wood from Home Depot cut to make a box slightly smaller than the size of the frame.  After a couple coats of paint, I drilled holes for the shelf brackets and installed the shelf.

As for the frame, I took the backing off and folded the metal tabs meant to hold the picture and backing in place down to hold the glass in place.  (This took a bit of figuring out, because the tabs were up to high to hold the glass.  I just took a screwdriver and pressed down on the tab until it folded into an "L" shape against the glass...if that makes any sense.)  Then I attached the frame to the box using two little hinges:

After that, I installed a little magnet closure on the frame and box to keep the frame closed:

Then, all that was left was to hang it on the wall and fill it with all his precious things:

I think it turned out pretty well! 

I decided pretty early on to knit a blanket in memory of Levi.  I would likely be knitting or quilting a blanket for him by now, getting ready to wrap him up in it.  Although that will never be, I decided to do it anyway, in the hopes that God will give us another sweet baby in the not-so-distant future to put it to use.  I am a few rows from being finished with it now, and I just can't seem to actually complete it.  For some reason, all these little projects wind up making me feel the finality of losing my boy.  Each completed project, although it feels good in some ways, makes me feel one step farther from life with him in it.  I know I'm rambling here, but that's part of why I can't seem to go to bed at night until 2am...or later.  Each day coming to a close is one day further from him.  I suppose I could look at it as one day nearer to him, seeing as how he's in heaven.  But I must face the rest of my lifetime on earth without him.  Someday, I'll be saying, "It's been 20 years since I lost him."  And for some reason, that makes me so terribly sad.  I don't want 20 years without him....I want to live all the rest of my days and years with him.  Oh boy, I'm clearly in a rambling kind of mood.  Sorry.  If you read this entire post, you are quite kind.  So, the blanket....

I decided on an old pattern for the blanket called "Feather and Fan."  In case you're interested, here is the pattern written out:

Cast on a multiple of 18 st.

Row 1:  (RS) Knit

Row 2:  Purl

Row 3:  *(K2tog)3X, (YO, K1)6X, (K2tog)3X*, repeat from *

Row 4:  Knit

Isn't it pretty?  And so easy.  Really, I promise.  It looks much more complex than it is.

This pattern looks a lot more intricate and lacey with smaller weight yarn, but I wanted soft and fluffy and went with this yarn:

It is delightful.  But here is what the pattern looks like on a smaller scale using cotton yarn:

I have been so perplexed with my incredibly long, boring, very yellow hallway since we moved in almost 6 years ago.  What do you do with a gigantic wall in a hallway?  I tried putting up a collage of pictures, but even that was dwarfed by the length of the hall.  It would cost a small fortune to buy the size and number of frames and prints I would need to buy in order to make a photo collage look right and fill up the space adequately.  ANYway, I saw this idea for a giant clothespin art holder on Pinterest and thought I would give it a whirl.  I found these giant clothespins (already painted...bonus!) at Michaels for $1 a piece:

I then bought an extremely long, already primed board (or is it considered "trim" in this size?  I am clueless.)  at Home Depot.  Thank goodness the thing fit in the van!  Once I painted the board and got the spacing of the clothespins all figured out, I turned everything over and screwed the clothespins to the board through the back:

All that was left to do was to screw the entire contraption onto the wall, hang up Griffin's artwork, and enjoy!

As I've written about before, we were a week and a half from moving to Michigan when Levi died.  So, a lot of our belongings were in boxes and most of our house was in total and complete upheaval.  Since then, I've been trying to get all the boxes unpacked (we knew we needed to stay here while we grieve with and in our community) and get our house in some kind of functional order again.  While I have needed and enjoyed lots of unnecessary, superfluous projects like decorating and crafting, I cannot begin to tell you how unmotivated I am when it comes to doing necessary and important tasks.  Like feeding myself.  Or showering.  Or unpacking kitchen boxes so we have glasses to drink out of and pots to cook in...  Which leads me to cooking...ugh.  I think I've cooked 5 decent/acceptable meals since Levi died 7 weeks ago.  Bills?  What are those?  Anyway, I was pretty proud of myself for finally getting the vast majority of the boxes unpacked.  Most people move boxes into a fresh, empty space.  But when you need to unpack boxes into a lived-in disaster zone, it's another matter altogether.  First, the space that you are putting things into must be undisasterized.  [I just made that word up, in case you didn't catch it :)]  So, it's got to be cleaned (at least somewhat) and organized a bit so everything fits and whatnot.  Well, this is a lot like squeezing toothpaste out of the tube and then trying to shove it back in...It just doesn't all fit anymore.  So, I've had to be creative, get rid of stuff, and reorganize things to make it all work.  Here is an example...I don't like having cleaning products where Griffin can reach them, and they were all stacked crazily atop the dryer and in random spots throughout the house.  I found this idea on....[drumroll please].....Pinterest  (and it is so brilliant)  of using an over-the-door shoe holder for your cleaning supplies.  I'm loving it. so. much.

Other non-essential household improvement projects include painting our coffee table light, light blue.  I would have picked a different color, but I wanted it to be as close to free as possible, which meant using paint we already had in the shed.  What a ginormous task painting this table turned out to be.  Just know that if you ever paint a heavily used table, avoid white because there is simply no good way to seal the top of it really well without turning it yellow.  I tried the Polycrylic and spray acrylic that specifically advertise that they won't yellow things.  Some tips I learned the hard way through this project:
-Use a good primer.
-Sand surfaces you want very smooth with fine sandpaper between coats of paint to make it as smooth as possible.
-Wse a foam roller and foam "brushes" for a smooth finish.  (bristle brushes always leave streaks, no matter what techniques you use, and regular rollers add far too much texture...at least for a table like this)
-Use clear finishing wax on white or close to white pieces to seal to avoid yellowing and stay away  from from anything with "poly" in the name. (although this isn't ideal or very durable for surfaces like a heavily used table)
-If you are painting a table, let the paint dry for several days or even a week before applying the several coats of sealant. (I was impatient with this and am now finding that the surface of the paint is easily dented....meaning it still hasn't cured.  I'm hoping that it will harden completely over time; but since there is already a sealant on there, I'm nervous it might not...ugh)



I also decided that the curtains in our living room were too dark and depressing.  So, I made white ones out of a $9.00 sheet set from Walmart.  The fabric is ridiculously cheap and definitely not suited for sleeping on...but it's just lovely for plain, white curtains.  I also finished the bolster pillow on the trunk in the photo below.  It's very lumpy, and since I'm not sure what to do about that...I just don't really care.  Also in the below photo is a poster I designed of the lyrics to the song, "Be Still, My Soul," which we sang at Levi's memorial service.  It's also on the bookmarks we passed out at the memorial service, and it's so very meaningful to us.

Here is the design, since the glare is so bad in the pictures.  Notice my little baby boy's footprints down in the lower right:


Our good friend (and fabulous musician), Howard, led worship at Levi's memorial and did such a great job.  I put together a playlist on my iTunes in memory of Levi, but I just could not find a decent version of "Be Still, My Soul"...at least nothing that compared to Howard's version that he sang at the memorial.  So, I asked if he would record it for me, and I am so glad I did.  It will forever be precious to me, and I listen to it all. the. time.  I encourage you to take a few minutes, listen to this beautiful song, and mediate on the deeply meaningful lyrics:  Click here to listen to Howard's version of "Be Still, My Soul" [get some tissues ready too...I know I do]

I saw another idea on Pinterest that I had wanted to do once Levi was born of family handprints all in different colored paper, stacked on top of one another according to size.  I had no idea how terribly soon I would have Levi's handprint.  Oh, little one, you had so much growing left to do...  Now, no matter how many children we have, Levi's little handprint will always be the smallest (please, Lord, please).  My surgeon was able to give us Levi's hand and foot prints after he was delivered, and so I used tracing paper to trace his little fingers and toes.  I decided to to both our hands and feet in different frames.  Here is how they turned out:

Sometime a couple weeks ago, I became frustrated that I did not know how to crochet.  I'm not sure why that suddenly became an important skill to me...I mean, how many dishcloths, scarves, and blankets does a person/family really need?  But, I'm not the kind of person who backs down from a challenge.  Apparently, challenges like organizing our finances and figuring out what on earth is going on with my student loans take a back seat to things like suddenly needing to learn how to crochet.  I seemingly cannot live for much longer without a blanket like this (not a blanket I have made...just a picture I saw a while back):

So, I promptly began an 23 lesson, online "crochet school," complete with instructional videos.  It is fantastic.  If you even slightly interested (and even if you're really not), you should check it out here.  I loved every second of it, minus the initial complete befuddlement at how.on.earth. to hold/work everything at first.  After completing most of the course, I made a couple of simple, easy, quick dishcloths, which are fairly ugly but allowed me to practice a lot of different skills:

But then, it was time to tackle what I really learned to crochet for:  a granny square blanket.  But, I'm not interested in your traditional granny square.  No, I have to make things a zillion times more difficult for myself.  Instead, I wanted to use a rounder looking pattern on the inside like this:

So, I tracked this pattern down, and it is called "Sunburst Granny Square" by Priscilla Hewitt.  The pattern can be found here, in case you're interested in suddenly teaching yourself how to crochet in order to make a blanket, of all things.  ANYway, I have made 18 squares so far according to her pattern and using the needle size she specifies, but I have also started a second blanket in the same pattern but using a much larger sized needle for a bigger square and a softer blanket.  So, now I apparently think I need two granny square blankets.  My rationale is that I will want one as a throw for adults in the living room or something and one for my future babies.  Yes, plural.  Please, Lord.  So here are what my squares are shaping up to look like.  Here is my very first one:

Isn't she lovely?

See how the second row puffs up a bit?  I love that.  It's called the "puff stitch", and she explains how to do it in the pattern.  It's part of what gives this pattern so much more dimension than the granny square you typically see.

I plan to do an update soon as these pictures are already way behind where I'm at with the blanket.  I can't really explain why it's fun or what I'm getting out of it.  I suppose I'm sort of using it as an escape, sort of using it to vent my feelings, sort of using it to busy myself, sort of using it to redirect my energies to something more productive than wallowing.  But, you know, sometimes it's impossible not to be absorbed with it all day, no matter how much you pray, no matter how much you want to be okay, no matter how thankful you are for what you have or how much you rationalize things.  Today has been one of those days.  I want to warn you, I can sense that I am about to go on a very long ramble of venting.  If you don't care to hear negativity or wrong-thinking, please stop here.  My heart is very heavy, and I've cried on and off all day.  Sometimes, when I think about how life is for others, I get extremely jealous, even covetous to be honest, of how light their hearts are, how nonchalantly, easily they get to go through their pregnancies, how so many hearts have not tasted the bitterness of losing a baby, how so many's greatest concerns are things like where they're going to go out with their friends that night or what color carpet to install.  I know everyone has issues, problems, burdens, and I don't mean to demean them at all.  It's just that when you are suffering, it seems as if the vast majority of the people you know are not.  It seems that way...I'm not saying it's true.  And it feels so unfair to be the one singled out in this way.  I would never wish anything like this on anyone I know, but why does it seem like only we are struggling like this?  It feels so...lonely.  And even though I know intellectually this isn't true, I'm just venting what it feels like.  This past year has been so terribly bitter that I hardly know what to expect for our future.  On top of a crippling anxiety disorder struggle, a very difficult terrible twos season for the past 8 months, Oliver going from job to job to terrible job, and losing our baby halfway through my pregnancy, we have to be continuously, never-endingly drowing financially.  Drowning.  Constantly.  I blush to even think about the late notices and overdue bills.  It's been almost 10 years of this, and it is just getting plain old.  The burdens are so heavy and so plentiful right now that I feel myself growing despondent in the midst of it all.  Oliver has his 3rd interview for a decent job tomorrow morning, and we are praying he will get it.  Neither of us wanted to get our hopes up, but alas, somehow we still have the ability to hope...in Christ alone.  But we are so, so afraid of what will happen to our hearts if he doesn't get the job.  If God says, "No.  Suffer more." once again.  

I debated whether or not to share this because it is so deep and so...unflattering, but I think it's more important to be honest and expose these thoughts to the light rather than keep these thoughts hidden in the darkness where they are most fed, most comfortable, and most damaging.  So, here it is...and here come the tears...[sigh] I feel like a dog who has done something naughty, say peed on the carpet, and the owner comes over and yells, "Bad dog!  Bad dog!"  And to drive the point home, the owner takes the dogs nose and rubs it in the puddle of wet carpet.  Then the dog looks up at the owner, knowing she's done something terribly wrong but is not sure what.  Cowering, looking to the owner with a confused mix of fear of what he's going to do next, the dog out of instinct yet trusts the owner, yet loves him.  Okay, so I realize that sounds a lot more messed up than I intended, but there it is.  I know theologically and biblically it's a very wrong perspective on myself and on God.  I'm not saying that I believe God is a heartless, cruel, abusive despot.  I'm just saying that that is the image that keeps popping up with what has happened.  A lot of times I feel like I'm being punished or at least being forcibly sanctified, refined with fire.  And a lot of times, it feels like I'm having my nose rubbed in the harsh reality that my baby is dead with seemingly everyone being pregnant or having newborns and everything just going swimmingly well.  And I'm supposed to keep a good attitude about it as a follower of Christ and to honor God.  I'm not supposed to covet.  But I am so fallen, so twisted, so sinful, and I just cannot always maintain a proper perspective.  And when I am weak and sliding around in slippery, misleading emotions, that image of the dog and the owner pops up.  It is so embarrassing that something so ugly is burrowed so deep in my heart, but I needed to share it so it would be exposed, confessed.  Clearly, the abusive dog owner would not lay down his own life for the sake of his dog.  And clearly I am not as innocent as that dog.  

If anyone has, by some miracle, read to the end of this excruciatingly long post, I thank you.  Thank you for letting me share some of my ugliness with you.  I'm sorry this post was such a roller coaster, from lighthearted to dark and serious in a sentence or two.  I suppose that gives a pretty good picture at what a person's heart does throughout the day in grief.  

Our Boy in PJs

How precious is our Griffin?  We are so, so thankful for him.  I realized it has been about 14 months since I last took Griffin's picture in the blue chair that we took his monthly picture in for the first year.  He's grown to be such a handsome, smart, big boy.  Here is a little clip of his cuteness tonight:

For the Support System of Parents Who Have Lost Their Baby

I've had so many loved ones express their heartfelt concern in not knowing what we have needed in this time of grieving the loss of Levi.  I'm sure it is very difficult to discern what grieving parents need from their support system.  Life brings with it the very sure reality of death, and so I thought I would share, for all those who find themselves in the support system of grieving parents, some things that do and don't help, things that are and aren't needed.  Of course, these are my suggestions in my own situation and with my own preferences.  It is always best to just ask the grieving person if something would/would not be helpful/needed if you are unsure.  And for those who have been forced to drink this bitter cup, I would like to share things that have been helpful for us in a future post.

For the support system:

Do:

-Your prayers mean so very much, and knowing that you are praying is a great support.  I don't pretend to know how it all works, but I do know that God uses your prayers to tangibly aid those who are suffering. Your prayers are effectual, and God uses them to provide His comfort, peace, and a host of other basically miraculous things in the midst of a crisis.  Keep praying.  Keep praying past the point where the initial shock has worn off for you, because the parents are only just beginning their intense struggle towards healing.

-Ask about the baby.  Use his/her name.  We want so badly to talk about him.  All. the. time.  And right away in any conversation.  He is always at the forefront our minds, just like any parent who has just had a baby.  Ours is just no longer with us, sharing the same air.  If a conversation goes very long without any mention of the baby, we tend to feel like it he isn't a welcome topic.  We know it is difficult and less-than-desirable to talk about someone's dead baby...It's not comfortable, and I'm sure it's hard to know what to say.  So, we tend to retract from bringing him up ourselves because we don't want to make people uncomfortable or sad.  So, take the lead, and bring him/her up.  Tell them when something reminds you of their baby.  Tell them about how their baby affected you.  There are no memories of the baby to share with people, so the only thing we have to share is the sad reality of the loss, the footprints of his tiny, lifeless feet, the journey with the Lord since the loss, and the impact that their life and death has had on the world.

-Initially, meals are such a major practical help.  There are days at the beginning where you don't remember or bother to shower, brush your teeth, or do even the most minimal, normal daily task.  Meal planning, preparation, and making shopping lists are way out of the picture.  But, alas, you still need to eat, even if you have no appetite.  Even 6 weeks after losing our little one, it is difficult for me to think ahead (or to think clearly enough) to grocery shop and make meals.  I just went on the first grocery shopping trip since losing Levi a couple weeks ago (one month after he died).

-Pursue relationship with the parents.  I know it must be really hard to choose to enter the darkness and pain surrounding the parents who have lost their baby, and it is a great blessing for people to choose to do so.  In grief, it is difficult to reach out to others.  It's far more natural to become a regular ol' hermit, not make phone calls or pursue getting together with people, but that's not because company is not wanted in the valley.  At least for me, I needed and need friends and family to pursue me through phone calls, texts, asking to come over, etc.  It's so necessary and important to talk through all your feelings, everything that happened, what God's doing, etc. with people over and over again and continually for a good long time after the initial tragedy occurs.  We noticed the very natural and understandable drop-off in most peoples' communications with us after the first week/week and a half after we lost Levi, and it was a difficult transition.  After a week or so went by without visitors or calls, I found myself pouring out what happened to Levi to a neighbor I had never talked with two doors down and then again to our mailman.  Yes, our mailman.  Embarrassing.  I'm pretty sure he's going to avoid me for the rest of time.  When it seems like things are getting back to normal, press on and continue to pursue, pursue, pursue, because I can promise that things are still far from normal for them.  When the initial horror and sadness have passed, and it seems like the parents are doing much "better," press on.  They are still in the trenches.

-Mementos, meaningful gifts, and gifts that memorialize the baby are so very sweet and precious to parents.  We received a keepsake box from the hospital with handmade gowns, blankets, his matching hospital bracelet, and a tiny hat, all just Levi's size.  It is so very dear to us.  Sweet friends gave us little treasures, a Build-a-Bear a couple had made for us and named "Levi Bear" so that "our arms would not feel so terribly empty" [sigh....how sweet and thoughtful was that?!], a Willow Tree figurine of an angel holding a little brunette boy in her arms, a crocheted hat to match his big brother's... These are all things we will treasure forever.  So, when you see something or think of something that would honor the baby, be meaningful to the parents, or reminds you of their child, grab it up!  So maybe this is just me, but do you remember being asked what you would take with you if your house was on fire?  Why do I remember this?  Was it some morbid childhood game?  Anyway...  I used to think I would take my pictures (since that was in the caveman days before digital cameras).  Today, it would be my Griffin and the keepsakes for Levi...his footprints, the keepsake box, the teddy bear....

-Share with them how their loss has impacted you.  By default, being part of their support system and being their loved one, you've suffered a loss too.  What is God doing in your life through this?  What impact have those little feet had on your heart, in your world?  This means so very much to us.  When you lose a baby, you so badly want to see God use their life and their death for good, to bring about something beautiful.  You long to see, taste, touch the fruit that has grown from the seed in the cold, hard ground.  I want to see and understand what has come from Levi's life and death, if only just a small fraction of it.  I want to know more and more ways that he mattered, and not just to me.

*(added after a suggestion by a mother who lost a baby many years ago and has walked this road much longer than I have:)  Remember the baby's death and birth days/"anniversaries" and due date for those who have lost babies in pregnancy.  Not only will February 29th (Levi's day of death) and March 1st (Levi's day of birth) be difficult days each year, but the 29th and the 1st of every month in this first year are very large hurdles as well.  The Lord was gracious and made Levi's day of death Leap Day, and so we will not have a "death anniversary" to get through each year...just once every 4 years.  Levi's due date was July 20th, which I'm anticipating will be a rough, rough day, trying to just remember to breathe through a day that commemorates all the dashed dreams, all the crushed anticipation and excitement, all the hopes for my life with my Levi baby.  For those who lost a baby during pregnancy, ask them what their "flip day" was.  (Their flip day is the day of the week when they went to the next week in pregnancy, when they turned from 20 to 21 weeks for example.  Almost every pregnant woman will be able to tell you their flip day, and it can be an especially hard day of the week for those whose pregnancies came to a sudden and bitter end.)  Thursday is my flip day with Levi; every Thursday, I think about how many weeks I would be and how many weeks would be left until he was due.  I think about how big my belly would be and what size fruit Levi would compare to.  I think about what things I would be experiencing, and I look back at belly pictures of my pregnancy with Griffin to imagine what I might look like.  So, all that to say that it is very touching when people remember these different "anniversaries" and text/Facebook message/call/(and even better...)visit to help you get through those days.  Upon the year anniversary of the baby's death and birthday, I can envision it being extremely important for loved ones to make an extra effort to memorialize the baby and support the parents.  Try to be with them, send a card or a thoughtful gift in memory of the baby, or something.  As Levi's parents, we want so badly for him to be remembered, not to be forgotten just because he wasn't able to spend time much time alive with us.  He matters just as much to us and to the Lord as the little old lady who lives to 110.  So, it is very appropriate to remember his birthday just as you would Griffin's.  Those who have lost a baby count that baby as one of their children, which is why it becomes difficult to answer the question, "How many children do you have?"  And the special days that commemorate the baby that didn't make it are just as important to the parents as the special days that celebrate their living children.  I haven't walked that part of the journey yet, so I can't speak from experience here, but I am more speaking out of what I can envision being helpful.

Don't

-Don't avoid them or the topic of the baby, the loss.  This is basically covered in the paragraph at the top.

-Don't take it personally if you feel like your conversations are one-sided.  Grief is a very self-centered thing, and the griever is likely keenly, painfully aware of this.  It will get better, and the griever will slowly begin to think of/ask about your life again.  Just give it time, and try to be patient and understanding.  I know this must be hard.  Know that the grieving parent is probably aware, sad, and frustrated that they can't seem to think of/talk about anything else but the baby, the loss, for very long.  I know I very often feel like a self-centered friend in this season, and I feel so guilty for that a lot.

-Also, don't take it personally or be offended if the parent isn't able to share in your joy to the extent that you rightly desire as a loved one.  This is related to the above issue.  It is very, very hard to feel the proper positive emotions for others when you are in such a dark place yourself.  Try, try as the griever might, their emotions aren't stabilized or responding normally for some time.  I've had very dear friends have beautiful babies in the month after we lost Levi, and although we are thankful for God's blessing to them and we rejoice in the precious gifts they are, our joys are very muted and we struggle to express the correct emotions at the correct time, if that makes sense.  Know that the grieving parents want so badly to rejoice fully, completely with you, but they are being bridled by deep sadness and their own, unwillingly self-centered grief.

-Don't try to "fix it".  As they are your loved one, it is natural and comes out of good intentions to want to see the grieving parents healed, whole, and happy.  But, you must, although it is difficult, allow them to go through their process with the Lord in grieving and healing.  Yes, their baby is with the Lord, the very best place to be.  Yes, the baby will never know a tear or day of suffering.  Yes, the grieving parents still have so much to be thankful for...salvation, each other, family, food, shelter, etc. etc.  But the reality is that they have a gaping wound that needs time to heal.  Having many other unscathed body parts doesn't change the fact that the giant, bleeding wound is throbbing and sore.  Yes, they are still thankful for the gifts in their life, the grace they have been given, but the loss is big, ugly, and painful.  C.S. Lewis says that when mothers lose babies, they are given the spiritual mercy of knowing their baby is with the Lord in perfect peace, and yet their role as a mother of that child must be sacrificed.  It's my natural, God-given role of motherhood to Levi that must never be satisfied.  So, while I understand that my baby is in the best place possible, I ache with the separation, the harsh division of our lives, the ugliness and wickedness of death.  This is not a season of celebration.  I recently read an article from, I believe, "Christianity Today" about the very recent trend away from funerals being a time of mourning and towards funerals being a time to celebrate the fact that the deceased is in heaven.  Please hear me when I say that I do understand this, and I'm not saying it's wrong.  I am saying, though, that death is a consequence of sin, and it is an ugly result of the fall.  It is very appropriate to grieve and mourn the death of a loved one, and you do not need to feel forced to celebrate at that time.  Of course, we intellectually take comfort in the fact that Levi is with the Lord, but we do not celebrate him being taken from my expectant body by death.  Jesus showed us his approach to the death of a loved one with his friend Lazarus.  So, try not to press too heavily on the grieving parents' to celebrate their child's arrival in heaven.  Let them weep as Jesus wept.  Let them be "deeply moved" as Jesus was "deeply moved."

Still Breathing

I have been putting off blogging since we lost him, our little Levi.  This is mainly because I was thinking I had to write the story of what all happened before I started writing about our journey since then, and I wasn't ready to write the story...I'm still not.  In a Word document I've been adding to, I've written all the way up through Levi's life until the very moment my midwife could not find his heart beat using the fetal doppler, and I just cannot write on.  Writing a story like that is so unexpectedly much harder than I imagined it would be...choosing the right adjectives, trying to capture the feelings, the thoughts...It's all so intimate and still so raw that trying to write the actual story feels like dragging a fork through a gaping wound.  But as I wait to be healed enough to finish writing about his death and delivery, I keep feeling the urge to write about where I'm at now.  So, I will.

By the grace of God, I'm still breathing.  I miss him so terribly much.  I thank God all the time that I have Griffin, and I'm so glad that Levi wasn't our first.  I'm so glad we didn't come home to an empty house and have completely empty arms without him.  But at the same time, because we know what it is to be parents, to carry to term, to experience the birth of our child, to hold and kiss and breastfeed and rock and sleep and cherish, we are that much more acquainted with what we are missing out on with Levi.  A lot of the day, it makes me so heartsick that I honestly feel like throwing up out my heart.  It sounds disgusting, but that is exactly how it feels.  But I'm not without some more "level" times, and I do feel "new normal" a lot of the time too.

You know a bizarre side effect to losing a baby like this?  You join this horrible "club" of moms/parents who have lost a baby.  20 weeks is considered the cutoff for being termed a "stillbirth," and Levi was 19 weeks, 5 or 6 days.  So, I guess I'm not technically in the stillbirth club, but boy do I feel like it.  People look at you differently, or at least it feels like they do.  I feel like a pitied tragic story that marks us forever as a tragedy...  I don't want to be in this awful club.  I don't want to be marked.  I don't want to be a tragedy.  I don't want to walk around with this all my life.  It feels like some sort of terrible life sentence to be a mom who lost her baby at 20 weeks.  All the days of my life, I will carry this.  I will ache for him.  I will be the mom of one, or no...two?...  What a terrible club of us mothers who have had to deliver their babies, one way or another, lifeless into this world, silent and emptied of their souls.  What a horrific, sin-sick, death-filled, broken world we inhabit.  It is sickening.  Lord Christ, do not tarry...

I've learned so much that I do want to blog about, but tonight's entry is just a beginning, a cracking open of the cover so-to-speak.

I was so looking forward to Easter Sunday.  We lost Levi around the beginning of Lent.  I had been thinking I needed to give something up for Lent this year.  I never imagined what I would be called to give up...  As Good Friday approached, I was identifying with a sliver of Mary's pain at watching her precious Son suffer and die on the cross and marveling at God's willingness to send His ONLY and very beloved Son to die on our behalf.  After the most heart-wrenching Lenten season and Holy Week of my life, I longed for the celebration of Easter Sunday.  For some reason, I expected it to be a healing, transformative day in the grieving process.  I expected to feel different, having arrived at the day in the church calendar when Christ achieves victory over sin AND death, giving us the hope of heaven and the resurrection.  But, to be honest, I was disappointed.  I expected a little part of the gaping hole in my heart to be filled in with the promises of Jesus, but it wasn't.  Still gaping, still bleeding, still ever millimeter as big as it was the moment we saw our baby's heart completely still on that ultrasound screen.  Oliver and I were upset and/or arguing with one another a lot of the day.  I forgot about planning and Easter meal so we went to Cracker Barrel for lunch, but we had to leave before we ate our food because Griffin was being so nasty.  I wanted so badly for Easter to be a day where we began to try to create new, good family memories.  Instead, by the end of the day, I broke down into a hot mess, thinking it maybe wasn't possible for us to create any more happy memories without him.

My biggest obstacle since losing Levi has been having hope for happiness, joyful seasons, good things in this life - This past year has been very, very difficult for us with a series of pretty big, life-changing disappointments.  First, we graduated college, and Oliver was unable to find a job with his degree.  Then, we had a youth pastor position at my parents' church in Michigan that we went to Michigan for Oliver to interview for that took months and months of time to come to a point where things fell through.  During that time and beyond, I was struggling with and getting counseling for an absolutely debilitating anxiety disorder.  After that, Oliver continued to look for work and wound up hearing about a promising farm job which wound up being a big disappointment, and he proceeded to spend months and months working for a man who was downright cruel to him.  I got pregnant somewhere in there, and although there was much joy and anticipation, I struggled with anxiety and depression most of my first trimester until about 13 weeks when we found a vitamin D3 deficiency (which, once corrected, corrected the anxiety/depression).  At 20 weeks, just two short days after our big ultrasound where found out he was a HE and saw our new little man kicking, squirming, and sucking his thumb healthy as could be, we discovered that he died, most likely from the very tight knot in his umbilical cord (discovered upon delivery).  1% of babies have a knot in their cord.  98% of those babies with knots are just fine.  2% die.  Of that 2% of the 1%, the vast majority die during labor when the cord is able to be pulled tight.  Our doctor has absolutely no idea how, at his age, a knot could be tightened as tight as his was.  We were just a week and a half from moving at the time Levi died, boxes stacked to the ceiling.  We were moving to Michigan, Oliver had a landscaping job lined up, and he was going to be going to Physician's Assistant school.  We never had felt quite settled in our hearts about the move, and after we lost Levi, we realized it wasn't right for us.  Oliver had been so excited to be moving toward a career where he could finally provide for his family, but going to PA school soon was not to be.  So, this year has been one major disappointment after another.  We don't know how much more we can take, but, then again, we thought that before we lost Levi...

God doesn't promise us happiness and lots of lengthy happy, joy-filled seasons.  But we are promised suffering.  Does He care about our happiness?  Or does He just care about changing us (which happens most drastically through suffering)?  It's hard not to despair and believe we will just suffer like this all our days, be destined to lose more babies, be in a tough season all our lives.  If He were willing to allow Levi to be taken from us, why not others?  It just all makes me long for heaven, for Jesus to come back.  Yes, I know He will use all the suffering, the losses for His glory and for my good, but that can be a really rough reality for us.  C.S. Lewis said, "We're not necessarily doubting that God will do the best for us; we are wondering how painful the best will turn out to be."  That sums it up perfectly...perfectly.  I know people and have read the stories of many, many women who have had multiple stillbirths, miscarriages, AND have lost infants at 2, 3, 4 months.  The amount and capacity for suffering in the people of this earth is sickeningly astounding.  I am not promised to go on to have a baby that survives next time around just because I lost Levi.  I had a friend who, after having 2 miscarriages and a stillbirth at 24 weeks, was 10 weeks pregnant when she had a fleeting thought of something being wrong.  She remembers talking to the Lord and saying, "Surely not, Lord.  Surely you wouldn't allow this baby to be taken too..."  And yet, He did.  And the next one...

Oh, Lord, should I even ask for happy seasons, for joy-filled times?  Shall my life be dominated by sorrow, grief, suffering, and pain?  Yes, it will make me more like Christ, but even he asked for the cup to pass...  So, I will not be ashamed to ask for it to pass for us as well.  Yet, not my will but yours be done.  It's so much harder to say now.  Like Lewis said, I don't doubt God's goodness, even towards me, but I fear His will for me.  It's hard to trust with hands held open for God to carry out His will with our children, my Griffin, my future babies....even if He chooses to allow death to tear them out of our arms and into His.

Please don't confuse these ramblings of the grief-stricken heart with a theological treatise...These writings aren't meant to portray what is true of God and the world; they are meant to be me processing, with my finite and struggling brain.  It's my battles and wounds worked out in writing, so please be sensitive to that if you are interested in responding.

I will leave you with some music that has impacted me.  In the year after Steven Curtis Chapman lost his 5 year old daughter in a terrible accident, he wrote a CD of songs that he calls his "psalms." I'm not a fan of Steven Curtis Chapman's music typically, but this album, "Beauty Will Rise" is absolutely wonderful.  The title track, "Beauty Will Rise" has been the cry of my heart since it the CD was loaned to me by a friend.  It talks about the reality that God will cause beauty to rise out of the ashes of loss, no matter if we can see or feel it now or not.  I know this reality will find its ultimate completion when Christ finally returns and makes everything new, sets everything right, puts an end to mothers losing children, to separation, aching, emptiness, wounds.  But, I know (just intellectually at this point) that He will also cause beauty to rise out of the ashes in this life.  I pray this song every day.  My soul absolutely contorts with longing at the words.  I cannot explain the throbbing, aching way my heart yearns for things to be set right.  Like the song says, "I can almost feel the hand of God reaching for my face to wipe the tears away and say 'It's time to make everything new.  This is our hope.  This is a promise.'"  Yes, Lord.  May it be, and soon.  Being newly acquainted with death, I have come to realize how unnatural, how wrong, how unjust it is.  It is the final enemy.  I simply cannot wait for Jesus to put an end to the despicable way it snatches babies from their mothers, husbands from their wives, mothers from their children.  Yes, yes, God is sovereign.  But Jesus was "deeply moved" and wept at the death of Lazarus, whom he knew he was about to raise from the dead.

Here is a YouTube video with lyrics if you would like to listen to Beauty Will Rise and say a prayer that He would cause this to be true in my life, in Oliver's life, in our family.  How desperately I want God to answer this cry with more babies born who survive, more babies who outlive me, more babies who will meet me before they meet their brother, Levi.  But I am not naive and will not lull myself into a false sense of sureness just because that's easier.  The truth is that I could suffer the loss of more children (please, Lord let that cup pass from me...please), that I could have scarring from the procedure with Levi and be incapable of future pregnancies (please, Lord, let it not be).  I don't mean to be pessimistic, but I'm getting to something...  I believe that the Lord can bring beauty out of the ashes in the form of future children (at which point we will be using the middle name "Phoenix"...a beautiful bird born out of the ashes of death), but I believe He most assuredly can bring beauty out of the ashes in the form of being made into the image of Christ, in having the void filled by the only one who ever can...Jesus.  Like we sang at Levi's memorial "Be still, my soul; thy Jesus can repay from his own fullness all he takes away."  May we be filled with the fullness of Christ.  And then, may we enjoy the blessing of more children :)  Please, Father.



Here are the lyrics:

It was the day the world went wrong
I screamed til my voice was gone
And watched through the tears as everything
Came crashing down

Slowy panic turns to pain
As we awake to what remains
And sift through the ashes
That are left behind

But buried deep beneath
All our broken dreams we have this hope

Out of these ashes beauty will rise
And we will dance among the ruins
We will see it with our own eyes
Out of these ashes beauty will rise
For we know joy is coming in the morning
In the morning, beauty will rise

So take another breath for now
And let the tears come washing down
And if you can't believe, I will believe for you

Cause I have seen the signs of spring
Just watch and see

Out of these ashes beauty will rise
And we will dance among the ruins
We will see it with our own eyes
Out of these ashes beauty will rise
For we know joy is coming in the morning
In the morning

I can hear it in the distance
And it's not too far away
It's the music and the laughter
Of a wedding and a feast
I can almost feel the hand of God
Reaching for my face to wipe the tears away
You say it's time to make everything new
Make it all new

This is our hope
This is a promise
This is our hope
This is a promise

It will take our breath away
To see the beauty that's been made
Out of the ashes, out of the ashes

It will take our breath away
To see the beauty that He's made
Out of the ashes, out of the ashes

Out of these ashes
Beauty will rise
And we will dance among the ruins
We will see it with our own eyes
Out of this darkness
New light will shine
And we'll know the joy that's coming in the morning
In the morning
Beauty will rise

Oh, beauty will rise
Oh, oh, oh, beauty will rise
Oh, oh, oh, beauty will rise
Oh, oh, oh, beauty will rise

Honestly, I'm scared to post this first post.  I'm scared that those who read will think I'm ugly on the inside now or something.  I don't feel that way myself, but will you think that?  Maybe it's more that I'm afraid to peel the bandage back for people I don't see regularly to view my wound.  Will you recoil with disgust?  Will you think I'm grieving too hard, too long, too much?  Will you think I'm too honest, too emotional, sharing too much?  Will you compare my loss with others who have lost later term or full-term babies or their already-born infants?  Will you think I should just be thankful for what I have and choose joy instead of grief and loss?  But whatever my fears of what you all will think, I believe that God is in control, has allowed this to happen, and is prompting me to write it out, to share it with others.  Perhaps He will use it somehow in the blogosphere...29,000 mothers have lost a baby/child under 5 years old today.  7000 mothers have lost their baby in a stillbirth today (and by World Health Organization standards, "stillbirth" refers only to 28+ weeks/3rd trimester).  Stillbirths during the 3rd trimester account for more deaths than AIDS and malaria deaths combined!  The suffering...Oh, the suffering.  Jesus, come quickly.

And Jesus, can you give my boy a squeeze?  I know he is completely fulfilled in You and needs me not...but will you tell him that I love him anyway?  Tell him his little 1 1/4 inch feet are making quite the impact here.  Selfishly, how I wish he did need me.  How I wish he were still kicking around in there, getting his oxygen, nutrients, everything from me.  Like C.S. Lewis talks about in A Grief Observed, it is so selfish to want them back.  They've made it through death and to the other side of those pearly gates.  They wouldn't want to come back.

Mama Bird's Nest Necklace!

I've been making these mama bird's nest necklaces, and I finally decided to list them for sale on Etsy.com to see if I might be able to earn a little income for our family!  Here are a few pictures of my nests:

I haven't listed the one with the greenish blue eggs on Etsy quite yet, but it's a-comin'!  Anyway, here is the link to my Etsy shop listing:  http://www.etsy.com/listing/89263839/mama-birds-nest-necklace
Check it out!!  And for future reference, my Etsy shop name is "katiebowbatie".

Other Blog

Hi, all.  So, it has officially been months and months since I've posted on this blog, and for a somewhat good reason.  I have been doing a "one photo a day" blog since January, and have used all my blogging energy/time keeping up with that.  I plan to (at some indefinite time in the future) start posting on this blog again, but until then, follow us at:  http://thethompsonsdailyphoto.blogspot.com/

Family Zoo Time

Summer is upon us...and it's only March!!  The high today in Columbia was 88º.  You read that right.  Oliver's parents and brother, William, and his girlfriend, Cat, visited and went to the zoo with us this afternoon.  Shortly after arriving, we all realized our desperate need for Icees, and I realized that it was time to whip out the sunscreen for my sweet, fair toddler.  Although it was hot, it was a gorgeous day to be out and about.  The tulips were in full bloom, families were out in force, and an Icee never tasted so good. 

Griffin loves to run free.  He sort of runs in whatever direction he feels impelled to go, and it's our job to keep him from dashing right into groups of people, strollers, etc.  Today, he walked towards a group of people and grabbed excitedly onto a complete stranger's leg.  The man was very gracious, and it's nice that people just think he's so adorable at this age.  I suppose we'll have to teach him not to grab onto strangers pant legs at some point :)

Griffin enjoying some of his Grandaddy's Icee.  Grandaddy is still quite possibly Griffin's favorite person on the planet right now.  It's so sweet to see how much he adores him.

Griffin wasn't being very cooperative in getting a picture with Gigi.  I think he's entering into the phase where all pictures must be taken incognito.

Since Griffin's last run-in with the birds, where we were basically assaulted by birds (they were being quite aggressive that day) one jumped on his head and then clung to his shoulder, he has become quite serious when it comes to feeding the birds.  "Uncle Bubba" did a good job of keeping the birds at arms length, as not to scare the poor child.

Here Griffin is trying to say "eye."  He loved the tiger statue.

Poor Grandaddy is going to have sore arms tomorrow.  Like last time we went to the zoo, Griffin preferred to be held by none other than his Grandaddy the entire time!

Checking out the stinky flamingos.

After hitting his Papa in the face, we were (again) talking about being gentle, and using "gentle touch" with people's faces.  This is Griffin making it up to Oliver by using "gentle touch."  So cute it hurts.

We ran into a few good friends of mine and their kids, and this is my friend Kristin's son, Asher, and Griffin checking out the fish and whatnot in the Amazon tank.