Breaking the Silence

Recently I sat around a table surrounding a group of women and the subject of infertility and miscarriage was raised. Days prior, I walked into an unwelcomed conversation regarding my own struggle with infertility and my most recent loss.  Both of these experiences triggered very different emotions. While listening to another woman openly share her experiences with infertility and miscarriage, the room suddenly fell into a deafening silence. I felt uncomfortable. But not because of the content of the conversation; I was uncomfortable with the silence that took over the room and with how the woman with the open heart who took a risk must have felt. Here's the thing about this. You either talk about it, or you don't. Whether you are fighting or are a survivor of the infertility battle, suffering from the excruciating pain of miscarriage or other loss, the listening ear or the silent one, you are on one side of the fence or the other. I am not typically the silent griever but when I was approached by a woman only known as an acquaintance days prior, silence filled the room. Suddenly my open heart closed up to the unsolicited comments and advice coming from the woman who believed that she was serving virtuous counsel to her receiver. 

I walked away from both conversations which took place just days apart with a heavy heart. I am, and always have been dismayed at the two very differing perspectives that surround these heavy topics. But I learned something. In a world full of unique, we cannot all possibly share the same idea on the journeys of life and how we are supposed to approach them; infertility and miscarriage included. But for those of you who are like me; who openly, and even silently, grieve your losses and battle with the unpredictable journey of infertility: I get you.  And maybe that's all we need to hear someone say. I offer you my story today because I understand your journey.  I have been a pilot on this same voyage and to be completely honest, it is quite unstable. The particulars and the conditions of my story may differ but I have felt your pain.

Five years stand between two of the biggest losses that I have ever endured in my 29 years of life. My second pregnancy was unexpected and my third I fought like hell for. I was as equally elated for the two miracles that I had been blessed with, even under such differing circumstances. After 17 weeks into my second pregnancy, however, another unexpected twist of fate surpassed my elation and I gave birth to a sleeping baby boy. I remember being wheeled to the operating room just hours after a difficult labor to have a procedure done.  Tears streamed down my face as I processed what had actually happened and what was about to occur in the room next door. To this day, I remember the demoralizing words that were uttered from the attending nurse just before going under. Oh, hunny, don't be scared. You're just crying from all of the hormones.  From that day forward I grieved my loss in silence. I was afraid to talk about the tiny little human being that grew inside of me for 17 incredible weeks and then was gone without warning; my son that only in my dreams I would come to know. I assumed that by being silent I was sparing everyone else's feelings. And if I did talk about him, I expected that people thought I was foolish for identifying him as person that deserved to be acknowledged. So, I rarely mentioned his name and pretended as though I was a mom of one. Eventually the dark moments got a little lighter and with time the nightmares faded into pleasant dreams. A genuine smile replaced the tears that had stained my face and I allowed laughter to fill a once dark and quiet room. I tucked my memories away into a drawer and never visited them again.

Life began to unfold the way I dreamed it would when things were hard. I found love again and together we pursued the journey of conception. Only, we soon discovered that it wasn't as easy as we hoped. After two and a half years of routine date nights, one surgery, a misdiagnosis and several different medications, we gave in and found ourselves at an infertility clinic pleading for the chance to have another child. Our despairing desire to have another child came at a cost. Our entire lives were on a fixed schedule and one that, for once, I did not create. We took three hour road trips sometimes twice a week and then attempted to do our jobs as parents and in the work realm with bags under our eyes. My emotions were on a roller coaster ride from all of the hormones I was taking and there were days when a car commercial could bring me to tears. I felt so out of control of something that I should have been able to govern on my own. Meanwhile, friends and family struggled to find the rights things to say. Your time is coming. Don't worry, you'll be next. It will happen when God wants it to happen. You're still so young. At least you have your daughter. I had to remind myself that they didn't understand this journey. To be fair, I don't even think I did.

We were fortunate enough to have met our victory after three long years. It had been the longest three years of my life but we knew there were those who would have traded positions with us any day. We had something incredible to look forward to as a family. Each ultra sound and every listen of our baby's heartbeat was an infinite reminder of how grateful we were. However, we soon discovered that this journey, too, would regrettably end for us sooner than we hoped for. My former nightmare had come right back as preterm labor came creeping in and tore my baby from his safe haven. A pain had washed over me that I had never met before. I was grieving the time that it took to create him, the love that I had, have, for him, and who he should have grown to be. I grieved the empty bedroom we began preparing for his arrival and the never ending medical bills that poured in that we would have been glad to pay had they been a result of the son that we got to bring home. I grieved the empty rounded belly that I looked down at each day and every single time someone else noticed that it was empty.

Weren't you just pregnant? 

No, I lied.

Are you sure? 

Pretty sure.

Really, because I could have sworn you were?

I had no choice but to give in. I gave her the short version and spared her all of the heartbreaking details. I even offered a sympathetic smile to the relentless and unwitting woman sitting in front of me.

Oh. Followed by a blank stare. At least he didn't suffer. At least you don't have to watch him suffer. 

There was a part of me that wanted to tell her how beautiful my son was. That he had his daddy's nose and my round face. I wanted her to know that we didn't want him to suffer - but we would have suffered if that meant we got to bring him home. Instead, I changed the uninvited conversation about why I didn't look pregnant anymore and asked about her plans for the upcoming holiday.

Time seemed to stand still for months after we left the maternity ward. I questioned my body and it's capability to do what women are naturally born to do. I questioned my existence, my faith, and God's plan for me. I was dangling on a thread of hope that my husband and daughter had provided for me in those dark, silent moments, but the dark days were lonely days. People that I felt closest to left me to grieve alone and those that stayed didn't know how to comfort me. The silent ones caused me to question the significance of my grief. And then there was the well-intended listening ear. Everything happens for a reason. You should be grateful that you have your daughter. You're so young, you'll have more. Maybe you're just not meant to have more kids. God has a plan for everyone. I didn't believe that this was all a part of God's great plan for my life; it just happened. And, of course, grateful had taken on new meaning when I looked into the big, beautiful brown eyes of my daughter, but being grateful didn't make my arms feel any fuller or my heart any less tender.

I'm not really quite sure when I did start to pick up the pieces but when I did the once shattered fragments of life that fell to the ground slowly began to come together on their own. I laughed again. I danced in the car and belted out the words to my favorite country song. I talked about him. I talked about both of them. I said their names in the presence of others. My two sons, Brody and Kade. It didn't matter what anyone else thought anymore. I stopped referring to their birth as a result of miscarriage because it shortens their lives and the impact they made on mine. Because no life is too small to leave an impact on the lives of their creators. I stopped allowing the opinions and my assumptions of others opinions to dictate my own feelings, emotions and grievances. I no longer hide behind the silent ones or run from the well-intended listening ear. It has taken me a long time to recognize that the intentions of the acquaintance, friend and family member only come from the bottom of their hearts. And that those who stay silent do not deliberately misunderstand. That the silent grievers deserve the right to choose. To those who left, well, what can I say. I realized that we are not all equipped to manage life the same just as we are not all destined for or deserving of one another.

Today, I acknowledge my sons because the only thing that matters to me is keeping their memory alive while they dance the skies of heaven. Today, I do not hide my pain in attempt to spare the feelings of others. And today, I realize that pain is felt differently by each of its receivers. My wounds are still healing but they will always leave a scar. I have discovered that to heal from these wounds I must acknowledge them. I must feel them, mend them and give them time to heal. And once they become scars I will let them be a constant reminder of who I am because they are a part of me. And when someone notices my scars, or when they are on display for the world to see, I will wear them proudly.

No matter what side of the fence you are reading this from, this is for you. Because I think that we all could use a reminder that every walk of life is treaded differently. Many times, myself along with those that stand beside me are misunderstood. But here I am, breaking the silence. I tell my story in hopes that you will be encouraged and empowered to share your own or to at the very least know that I will accompany you on your journey and assist you in healing your own wounds; because you are not alone.

Love, a mom of three.

Trading Your Burdens for Peace, Joy and Love

Sometimes I get so caught up in trying to help and inspire others that I forget to inspire myself. Sometimes I forget to find joy in life and sometimes I am lazy and feel like wallowing in my own mess.  I am a phony.  I don't always follow my own words of wisdom that I deliberately preach to the world about.  After I wrote my last post I uncovered a painful truth.  I've been lying to myself. Am I grateful?  Yes.  Have I accepted that life will happen?  Absolutely.  I am, without a doubt, a lucky woman.  But these last couple of weeks I haven't actually been considering why I am so lucky. Remember those sunrises I was telling you about?  You know, the ones I would gaze at while sipping my coffee in the morning and suddenly I would feel blessed?  Well, I must confess, I have not observed a sunrise in two weeks.  I haven't had time because my hand meets the the snooze button on the alarm one too many times in the morning and I regretfully settle for a cup of coffee on the way to work as I speed through traffic to get my daughter to school on time.  I have not even attempted to find joy in the smiling faces of my family or by the beautiful piece of art that my daughter had been showing off one day and had worked so hard on just for me.  I have been floating through life just trying to make it to the next day. My thoughts have consumed me.  My dog has been driving me up the wall and the thought of turning on the stove to actually cook a meal for my family sounds absolutely dreadful. I've lost sight of the joy's in my life and I've just been going through the motions. I sensed it as soon as it started but I did nothing to intervene.  And then it hit me last night while I rolled around in bed attempting to resume a comfortable spot on our king size bed.  

I wasn't just fighting for a comfortable spot on our pillow top mattress, I was trying to fight off the millions of thoughts running through my head that were causing me discomfort in my everyday life:

Gotta clean the dinning room chairs off that have suddenly become a drying rack for our wet clothes. The bathroom needs painting.  Actually I just want something different to look at - for the third time in two years. So, Aqua Blue or Blue Igloo? I've got to walk the dog or at least convince my husband to so I can finish writing a paper for my Children's Lit course.  That reminds me, the litter box needs cleaning. We're almost out of milk and my car inspection is due - in July.  It's not even Friday but you better bet I've got my top three dinner choices planned out along with how I am going to get it on the table by 5 pm so we can finish by 5:30 and then make it to soccer practice by 6.  Oh look, squirrel.  

You get this idea.  My mind is a racetrack and in my defense I think my thoughts have a mind of their very own.  I have been trapped inside my own mind.  I know I claimed otherwise, but I didn't even realize that I had been consumed by such a burden until that very moment.  We were shutting everything down and heading for bed by 7 pm.  I'd been skimping on dinner and ordering out or just barely mustering up enough energy to make sandwiches.  My hair hadn't met with the blow dryer in two weeks and my poor husband had been taking on the never ending piles of laundry.  I thought I was just tired.  I thought I was just trying to be more laid back.  Or at least I convinced myself otherwise just to avoid the truth but I wasn't actually any of these things.  I stopped looking at all of the little joyous things that typically had the ability to bring me back to life.

Shame.  Regret.  Guilt.  Sorrow.

All of these begin to consume me.  And then I remember those life changing words from weeks before: Today is the beginning of peace and reconciliation.  Right now, this very moment.  I am letting go of the burden.  I have been paralyzed by my own never ending thoughts, worries and concerns.  Some are senseless and some a real.  Regardless, these thoughts were powerful enough to suck the life out of me.  Joy, passion, peace, focus, connection and love - all missing from my soul.  I didn't expect to write this today  (I should tell you that I've also edited this 7 times since posting yesterday).  But I also didn't realize that I had even been missing parts of me to begin with.  I share my heart with you today because maybe you, too, are feeling lifeless.

I invite you to ask yourself these questions:

What are you missing today?

What does it take for you to feel connected with yourself and the rest of the world?

What does love, joy and peace look like to you? 

I am missing me.  I was missing me and all of my little quirks because I allowed my thoughts to consume me.  To feel connected I need to be surrounded by those that I love most and to be conscious in each and every one of my experiences.  If I am capable of doing so, then I am better able to recognize when I am a little off.

Love is my fur child, Sadie waiting by the living room window for my return home.  Love is the passion I feel for my job when someone thanks me.  Love is in the kitchen preparing a meal for my family that we planned three days prior.  I miss doing that.  Love is eating a dozen Hershey kisses and then getting licked by my seven year old's chocolate covered tongue.

Joy is the game of hide and seek that my human child forces me into when I walk through the door and she is no where to be found.  And then again when she jumps out from behind the fridge, carelessly giving herself away as she anxiously fly's into my arms and declares how much she had missed me for the hour that I was at Walmart. Joy is the little moments spent with my family being silly, because that's who we are and enjoy being.  Joy is in my writing and in the words that I speak to those who listen.  

Peace is at the end of the night when my husband wraps me into his arms, even with a dozen pillows standing in his way, and then effortlessly falls asleep snoring in my ear.  Sounds a little ironic, right? I find peace in this moment because no matter what the day entailed, or what kind of mood I was in, my husband always finds me at the end of the night to remind me that he is still there, loving me every step of the way.

Maybe for you, sunrises and sunsets aren't the answer.  Maybe you don't find joy in being silly and in laughing until tears drown your eyes.  Maybe peace isn't through your husbands loud and abrupt snoring right smack dab next to your ear.  Maybe for you love consists of much more than it does for me.  But whatever it may be, I encourage you to find it.  I encourage you to choose peace, joy and love every single day.  I know that when I do not choose, I am instead unconsciously choosing regret, shame and sorrow.  And I am likely missing out on some of life's greatest moments. From here on out, the reminder is there in plain sight.  I refuse to let the burden of my worries and senseless thoughts suck the life out of me.

It's possible that you are not a relentless thinker like me.  I wish I was more like you.  But I am not. So whether you over analyze next Wednesday's dinner menu, or even tonight's.  If you just remembered you missed a deadline, or have one coming up in six months.  Or if something just rubbed you wrong today and is sucking the life out of you - ask yourself.  Prompt yourself to discover your own inner burdens and replace them with your definition of peace, joy and love.  

They are in the ordinary and if you choose to commit to them today, and everyday, the weight that you may not have even known was there will be lifted.  That is my promise to you.  And who knows, maybe you will inspire someone else to do the same.  

Replacing the Unknown With Perception

"Maybe you're fighting something you don't like today.  Why don't you have a new perspective?  God wouldn't have you there if you didn't need it.  It may not be good, but he knows how to use it for your good." -Joel Osteen

I slept fine the night before my surgery.  I even woke up with a smile on my face the morning of. Probably because I found my daughter lying next to me as soon as I rolled over at the sound of the alarm. Or maybe I don't give myself enough credit and forget that I am generally a very happy person despite these recent curve balls I have been thrown.  Either way, I was ready to face this head on and even more ready to move on.  My husband must have asked me a dozen times if I was OK  on the hour long drive to the hospital where my surgeon would be preparing for my procedure.  "Just fine" I replied almost instantly each time.  It was hard to tell if I was really just fine or if I was just in a fog due to a lack of caffeine.  I was not to eat or drink after midnight and I wasn't sure if I would undertake this instruction pleasantly.  I managed to have conversation with my husband but it was forced through a grumbling stomach and a cotton felt mouth.  Pre-op was scheduled at 8:30 in the morning and the actual surgery was scheduled for noon, but we knew better.  We had a long wait ahead of us.  We attempted to watch a Netflix series through our rather noisy neighbors combination of high pitched cackles and frequent complaints about how long it was taking for the surgeon to come get her.  If you've ever been in an outpatient center you get the idea.  Forget HIPPA and you can certainly forget trying to get any rest.  A nurse came in to change the the placement of my IV and then the surgeon's nurse came in to discuss the procedure.  I lost it.  Through teary eyes I told the story of what brought me to this room to begin with.  I do not typically cry in front of people, especially those that I don't know let alone have never met.  Let me tell you, the fear of the unknown is far more pervasive than fear itself .  I didn't know what to expect here.  I didn't know how my body would react to the anesthesia and I didn't know what the doctor was going to find during this procedure.  I was expecting and preparing for the worst.  How couldn't I.  I've been through hell a handful of times already so it's almost always my subconscious's immediate response when a challenge presents itself. It took some convincing but I managed to collect myself as I gently reminded my fears that I've already been through the worst of it.  I put all of my faith in the surgeon as he looked down at me in the operating room and simply said "I'll see you soon."

And so, it turns out that my body reacts gracefully to anesthesia.  Still a little off, but I'm here. And in even better news, the unknowns are now known.  What was found had no real cause for concern and it's no longer lingering.  We knew this would be the best case scenario. We hoped for this outcome but in no way did we think it was possible considering my history.  God is good.

I am diligently aware that my surgery was a simple one; one that is done almost robotically.  What I was not aware of was the outcome.  And that was enough to put my mind into overdrive.  Today, as I sit here with a much clearer mind, I realize that life is all about unknowns.  We don't plan to miscarry the baby that we had hoped and prayed for.  And we certainly don't plan to have difficulty getting pregnant in the first place.  We don't plan to have surgery because the doctor found an unidentifiable mass on one of our organs.  We unquestionably do not plan for our health to unexpectedly decline or for people that we love to leave us.  We don't plan to have a bad day and we may not plan to overreact about our given circumstances.  What I am trying to say is that life happens.  Bad things happen, every single day.  Finding a healthy way to cope with your given circumstances will be a huge turning point in your life.  For me, initially I have meltdown and I am probably more hard on myself than I deserve.  I look to my husband to tell me that everything is OK; that I am OK.  I don't always believe him at first, but I must say that he doesn't give up on me.  Once I am smacked in the face with reality, I am finally able to put things into perspective.  Here is what I have to offer to you today:

We are going to struggle and challenge will continually present itself throughout our short lives.  We will endure unexpected, or sometimes expected, pain and it will not feel good.  We are going to fall down and we will likely feel like we can't get back up.  But we will.  And the pain won't last very long.  These difficulties are trying to teach us something so look and watch closely as life unfolds. Don't miss an opportunity to grow.  I think that we must remind ourselves that everything that we endure in life, good and bad, is only temporary.  I often forget that when life comes crashing down, the pieces eventually fall back together.  Sometimes I allow myself to wallow in the broken pieces.  I feel so out of control and scattered that I want to crawl out of my own skin.  I forget just like you.  I am my own worst enemy at times, but eventually my own inner strength surprises me. Each new experience in my life provides insight and strength that I never knew existed.  I am learning to embrace the unknown, because life is full of it.  The world is constantly changing and tomorrow's are uncertain.  Time is ticking so why not just live in the now.  Live in the present moments today; the little moments.  We can cross the bridge when we get to it.  So for now, let the unknown provide us with new insight.  

I will tell you that if I had let my fear of the unknown consume me for the entire week before my surgery I may have missed a really great time during our family outing the weekend before and I certainly would have brought everyone else down with me.  Your negativity reflects on others around you, so be cautious of your attitude.  You cannot resist the inevitable; instead you must find the courage to face the inevitable trials that await you.  Our trials are not over.  But our most recent trials have become our triumph.  We can face anything and we are ready to take on our new journey.  I am much stronger today than I was yesterday.  It's amazing what one positive thought can do for the negative mind.  Keep reaching my friends, you too will be rewarded in the end.

Braving the Darkness With the Light of Hope

Not many people are aware of the full-fledged details regarding my loss. Without really going there I will tell you that I could have lost my own life. This was a very terrifying concept for me to process under the given circumstances. After my water broke I developed a severe infection that remained in my body for three days before it had actually been discovered. My body was going into septic shock once the doctor had finally discovered what was causing my vitals to spike. I wasn’t able to actually process the significance of the infection until we were released from the hospital. “You’re very lucky,” they said, “This could have been fatal had we not discovered it when we did.” I didn’t hear our doctor declare that I was lucky. All that resonated with me was the fact I could have died. I could have left my daughter to grow up without a mother and my husband to grow old without me. I was angry. Angry because in my heart I wondered if this could have been prevented.

Eventually, though, the anger stopped consuming me and I found comfort in what I have been blessed with; I was alive. I had no choice but to resolve to sanguinity; the anger had been eating me alive and was ruining who I was. And so, I reminded myself that I have an incredible daughter and husband and that we have each other. I continually reminded myself of this through my daily struggles. That was plenty enough to be grateful for. I started to see things a little bit more clearly. I stopped looking through the eyes of anger and instead found comfort in the little things. For me, it was watching the sun rise as I had my morning coffee and when I witnessed the joy in my daughter's face after she scored a goal in soccer. It was when we would laugh until we had tears in our eyes because of the way we found our dog sleeping. I found happiness again because I decided to let go of the anger. And once I did, I finally heard the words “you are lucky.” Yes, indeed I am.

But then life happened, as it always does. For a moment, I forgot that life wasn’t always seamless. Our former nightmare had come back, barreling through the door and not letting anyone stand in its way. We discovered that the infection I had several months ago ensured lasting effects. I saw a look of doubt in my doctor’s face when he affirmed the news and my entire spirit shattered. Anger began to consume me again. Every awful memory from our nightmare at the hospital had flashed across my memory screen.

I left the appointment feeling defeated. For the first half hour of my drive home I was cursing in my own head. I felt like I couldn’t control the thoughts that were replaying in my mind. I decided to pray. I prayed to God to give me the strength that I needed to accept our given circumstances. I asked him to grant me peace and to guide us down this new, unfamiliar path as we took measures to secure my condition. I needed something to hold on to and to believe in, so I prayed for hope. And then something happened. My shoulders relaxed and my mind began to unwind. My thoughts went from being destructive to optimistic. I was relieved because I would soon be on my way to safety as I was braving the snow covered roads in my unfit for winter vehicle. I was content in knowing that I would soon be home with my family, with the people who love and support me most. And I was satisfied in believing that everything was going to work out, one way or another. I had hope that our unfamiliar journey wasn’t going to end gravely.

It doesn’t end there. I was relentlessly reminded for the remainder of the day of just how lucky I am. By the man who told me the story about the recent passing of his mother and losing everything he had, including his home. My life wasn’t so bad after all. I was reminded by the sight of a single mother bearing the snow storm on foot while transporting two car seat carriers by hand that confined her twin babies. I have more than I actually deserve. I was reminded again while talking to a woman who shared a love for animals just like me. She spoke of her two dogs with a love in her eyes that I know all too well. I thought about my own dog and my heart instantly became warm. I have people who love me.

It was easy to believe that these events were a result of divine intervention but then a longtime friend and co-worker challenged me and put it into an altered perspective. "Did you ever think that maybe these events occur every day and you just don’t see them?" I pondered on this for the rest of the day and here’s what I came up with:

There are people who are struggling every single day; people that we know and people that we do not know and their battle may require a greater combat. Struggle and difficulty surround me. I work with it every single day with each client encounter. I see it in the news and on social media. I see it in my own hometown and in the eyes of very dear friends who are fighting their own battles. But most days I am so caught up in my own messy, or sometimes tidy, life that I forget to acknowledge this. Shame on me.

God did not place these people in front of me so that I could come to terms with my condition. I believe that through prayer I was able to acknowledge my faults; I was able to recognize that my anger was once again blurring my vision. And because I acknowledged this, my perspective became a little bit more clear and I was then able to see the world through the eyes of the gentleman who had just lost his mother and then again through the admirable woman trucking through the snow coated sidewalks, both of her babies in arm. The woman who spoke of her pets as if they were her children reminded me that there is always something to be grateful for because despite the hand that she had been given, she spoke with a glimmer in her eye and a smile on her face at the mention of her two most prized possessions . She saw the light.

And so my friends, I encourage you to see the light.

Life can be messy and really, really hard. You may be presented with a difficulty that will leave you feeling defeated and possibly alone. But you are not. Everyone around you is fighting a battle that you know nothing about. It’s OK to feel the emotional repercussions of your given circumstance. What’s not OK is to stay in this place. If your health has been compromised, do not let this defeat you. If someone has wronged you, holding bitterness or anger only worsens the pain. If someone you care about is absent from your life, whether as a result of demise or disparity, I promise it will get better. If your house is a mess and nothing is going right today, just take a moment and breathe. Your life doesn’t have to stay in this unwelcoming place; you have the power to remove yourself from it. You, and only you, are in control of your own responses and reactions. Whether you believe in God, a higher power, or nothing at all, I encourage you to have hope. Have hope that your journey will not end in misfortune and have faith that you will not remain in this place for too long; look for the light. It’s there, I promise.

I will confess to you that I still feel conquered and I am terrified of the unknown. I am headed down an unfamiliar path, but I have faith that my care is in the finest hands and I have been assured that this is reversible. My friends, this is only a barrier. I will overcome this. The misfortunes of your own life are just barriers and you, too, will overcome this. You just have to look for the light.

Striving For Progress Instead of Perfection

After we lost Brody my husband and I had an awakening.  We needed to start living we said.  Stop trying to be in control of every aspect of our lives and just live.  Let things be.  Enjoy our family.  Let the housework go.  Put the phones down and have conversations.  We knew that we were over committed, over worked and exhausted.  We never stopped.  I was, who am I kidding, I still am a controlling type A, who if nothing goes my way watch out or else the horns and tail come out (or so my husband jokingly claims), kind of woman.  Let me assure you that I am not a monster.  I am, in fact, extremely loving and affectionate.  I am wild and crazy and love a bottom of the belly, tears in your eyes, kind of laugh.  I love to have fun, I am way too sensitive for my own good, and my heart is big.  But I depend on routines to get me through the day.  I have commitments and deadlines.  I have rules, and my seven year old usually breaks one of them before the week is over.  I push myself way more than I am physically or mentally capable of and I have put entirely way too much on mine and my family’s plate.  When dinner isn’t ready and on the table by five pm I get anxious and short fused.  When everything isn’t just right and something is out of place my heart starts to race and I immediately find the need to fix things.  When we have just three minutes left in the morning before we need to be in the car and on our way to school and my daughter starts to cry because she doesn’t have her chapstick “like all the other girls in school,” I want to yell.  I want to yell because I am frustrated that we are on our way to being late.  In the moment, nothing else matters other than the thing that I “need” control: time, routines, or the picture that isn’t hanging evenly on the nail in the wall.  Or, I want to yell because of something that wasn’t said the way I wanted to hear it, or the mismatched outfit that my daughter insists on wearing to school. 

So suddenly, the day that we came home from the hospital after losing our baby, we were insisting (or rather desperate) that our daughter sleep in our bed rather than maintain that she wait to crawl in with us until early morning like usual.  We couldn’t let her out of our sight.  Having her with us every second lessened the pain. Suddenly, the dishes sat a little bit longer and the laundry waited to be neatly tucked away into our dresser drawers.  Dinner waited to be served until whenever we felt like eating and the play room floor began to close in from the day to day mess that our daughter made.  To be honest, we let everything go.  But we didn’t care because we were enjoying life and taking it all in; this new thing that we were trying felt good.  Really good.  What had happened to us was bigger than any dirty dish that was hoarding the sink or the laundry basket full of clean and folded, or sometimes freshly crumpled, clothes that consumed our bedroom floors.  Bed times were no longer and we lived life spontaneously.  Suddenly, the only thing that mattered was the three of us and enjoying every moment that we had together, because we realized that it could be taken from us at any given moment.  Of course, this always mattered to us, but there was always something pressing, or so I believed, that was pulling my attention away from the things that mattered.

But, I must admit to you, this “nothing else mattered but us three” thing slowly made its way back to the bottom of the priority list as our lives began to fall back into the everyday chaos that consumed and overwhelmed us.  I went back to work and fell back into my routines, juggling all of our commitments and deadlines and suddenly my controlling, nitpicking, anxiety ridden old self showed her ugly face again, burdening the lives of those I loved the most.  I even caught my husband following behind: harping, short fused, and exhausted.  Little did I realize that I was setting the tone in our house and everyone else was just following along. 

And then it hit me.  Two nights ago I was putting ear drops into my daughter’s ear as she had been complaining: “Water is making those weird sounds again in my ear, mommy.”  She was afraid of those ear drops and had argued with me before about how “they are going to hurt,” or “they will feel weird, mommy, I just know it.”  And before, I would argue back and demand that she just let me put the drops in so she could feel better.  I put them in and this time she didn’t put up a fight.  But as soon as I was finished she looked up at me and asked, “Can I cry, Mommy?”  Holding back tears of my own, I said "of course you can cry."  And I thought, yes my child, please do cry.  Let it all out; because I will comfort you and tell you that it’s all ok.  And then, the regret set in.  Every stop crying, you’re fine moment replayed in my head right then as I was comforting my fearful child.  Every control my daughter’s feelings moment because I just couldn’t handle the drama that would play out for the next ten minutes that I just “didn’t have time” for.  What had I done to my little girl, I thought.  Here I was, telling my child all of her short life that she could tell me anything and I encouraged her to share her feelings with me, yet I was inadvertently depriving her of actually doing just that.  She didn’t cry when I got the ear drops out because she was being dramatic; she was crying because she was afraid.  And I was “too busy” and just too blind to see that.  She needed me to comfort her with a soft voice.  Instead, I scolded her.  Told her to settle down and to be a big girl.  But she didn’t need to be a big girl; she just needed her mom to hold her and assure her fears that it would be OK. 

It’s difficult for me to admit this to you.  Because in doing so, that would mean that I am a mean and heartless mother.  I know that this is not factual, but to the rest of the world who reads this, I was not there for my child and that may speak volumes as to who I might be the rest of the time.  I share this with you in hopes that you may find that you are not alone.  You are not alone in your frustrations or your irrational actions.  If you find the need to control, you are not alone. 

My husband and I had a doctor’s appointment yesterday afternoon that was out of town and consequently we could not pick our girl up from school.  Instead, she went with our friends and we wouldn’t be able to pick her up until well after dinner time.  Two nights ago this would have made me anxious.  My heart would have raced and I would have snapped back at my husband because he wasn’t driving fast enough to get back home and into our nightly routine.  This sounds absolutely ridiculous to me as I type.  Regret and guilt begin to consume me again.  BUT, this is today.  This is the beginning of peace and reconciliation.  So, on the drive home, I was relaxed.  My husband and I ate dinner in the car on the drive home.  We talked about our lives and the people that we wanted to be for our daughter, for each other and for ourselves.  We laughed as we talked about our wild and crazy dog who was probably waiting for us at home by the window, like always.  We picked our girl up and when we finally made it home it was time to get ready for bed.  Her homework hadn’t been done and she was asking for dessert.  And so, we let the homework go for just a little while.  We sat on the couch and snuggled and I sat there with ease.  We each had a bowl of ice cream that was exceedingly unhealthy, but I woofed it down anyway.  I was at peace, right here with my family.  No routines, no need to control and not one worry about the time.  And that felt good.  Really, really good.  I realized that my daughter could feel it too.  I could tell by how her shoulders were relaxed and by the warm smile that she looked up at me with as she said, "it’s nice spending time with you, mama."  And when my husband pulled us both into his arms and said, "this is what I love the most, right here" while he squeezed us tight against his chest, I realized that this was exactly where I wanted to be each and every day…

Relaxed and at peace

No routines

No watching the clock

Not controlling one single darn thing

And never, ever acting out irrationally again

And so my friends, I leave you with this:

To the mom who is consumed with deadlines and routines or who survives on being in control; put down the phone.  Shut down your computer.  Let things be.  Even for just a little while.  Watch your children play, or better yet, go play with them.  Eat dinner an hour later and eat the bowl of ice cream.  The laundry can wait and so can the dishes in your sink.  Your family needs you.  

To the dad who follows behind, just like mine; take hold of your wife and remind her that the dishes can wait.  That you need her, that you want her and only her.  

And to everyone else; yesterday’s mistakes are not today’s.  You get a do over each and every day.  Do not become consumed with your regrets or with the guilt that washes over you each time you think about the way you handled the meltdown from your child.  You get to do it right the next time and your family will thank you for it, trust me. 

I am a work in progress.  For the record, I did bark at my husband yesterday for not driving fast enough to our doctor’s office because we were late, as usual.  But I recognized it right away and I changed my behavior.  This morning’s meltdown about the chapstick was resolved by the way I reacted to my child’s behavior.  And what do you know, I found her chapstick in my purse just as soon we got to her school.  I changed my daughter’s entire day because I spoke a little bit softer and I validated her feelings.  I understood that though a measly tube of wax may not matter to me, it does to her, and that’s what’s important.  Finding the chapstick probably made quite a difference too. 

Transformations do not transpire overnight.  They take effort and time; but from here on out, I’ve got all the time in the world for the things that matter the most. 

Impacting the World One Release at a Time

My ideas about where I initially wanted to go with my blog changed quite a bit before I officially went "live."  After experiencing the biggest loss of my life I knew the only way that I would heal and find peace would be through helping others.  So that was it; I would create a blog about my experiences with grief.  After all, I am all too familiar with this kind of pain as I have had to say goodbye to two of my children; two sons that I would never get to know (I will save this for another day).

But life in general can be really hard too.  Add grief and loss to the mix, and you're looking at a recipe for disaster, or insanity, but what's the difference.  So everything else, parenting, wife-ing, working, student-ing, playing (because in the midst of the chaos I need to have fun too) running (because this is where I find time for just me) and just living day to day, this is my release.  This is where I become reconnected with myself and the rest of the world.  Because to be completely honest, sometimes I feel like I am going to explode.  Whether it's because I am happy, angry or just downright sad.  Those dark moments don't last long, but when they are approaching, I just need to release.  And when I'm happy, or content or when I have reached a revelation, why not share it with the rest of the world so you, too, can reach your own revelations.

I want my readers to know who I am outside of my loss.  That I am human and live life like the rest of you.  I am your everyday, ordinary mother, wife, homemaker, professional and everything in between.  Though my loss does not define me, it certainly has contributed to a large of who I am today and who I will continue to grow to be as I navigate my way through life and self-healing.  So here I am, sharing my entire life with you; every raw emotion and experience that I have endured can be found right here. I'm an open book and a very real human being.  It is my hope that I can start a pathway for others; whether I can help you find your own inner voice or help you quietly find your way through the twisted pathways of life.   There are very few people in my life that I have to lean on through times of hardship.  I know firsthand what it's like to feel alone and isolated from the rest of the world.  I am only just now learning that my story is not exactly unique.  We are all human, and we all face challenge and triumph.  Some just handle it better than others, don't handle it all, do so quietly or just spill their guts to the rest of the world just like I do.  But I won't ever apologize for that.  I am determined to do big things with my life.  And if I have helped just one other person, then I have at least accomplished what I have set out to do and that is enough for me.

So, instead of filling my blog with emotional tributes to my two boys, because while that can be emotionally fulfilling and cathartic, I decided to also share the rest of me with you to find healing in other aspects of life and so that you can also find healing in your own lives.

Stay tuned world, it gets better.

Look No Further Than the Journey Itself

Sometimes we get so caught up in the whirlwind of life's chaos that we forget to live in the moment and really take it in.  We get so caught up in the life that we are leading that we lose connection with one another, and most importantly ourselves.  And sometimes, we become more concerned with our destination that we rob ourselves of being able to really appreciate our journey.

I'm always trying to get ahead.  "Can't wait to do this, can't wait for that to happen, or need to hurry up and get here or there."  I find myself chasing things that I believe will make my life more enjoyable and I am consistently focused on the next phase of life.  I'm a planner, what can I say.

When my daughter was first born I said I couldn't wait until her and I could exchange words.  I said I couldn't wait for her personality to grow and to watch her take her first steps.  Gosh, I don't know what I was thinking.  I would give anything just to go back and hold her as a newborn and to take in that fresh baby smell.  I would even go back to changing diapers if it meant I could hold on to those moments a little bit longer.  So here she is today, 7 years later, having conversations with me, running soccer fields and more independent than I would like her to be.  Sometimes I stare at her while shes sleeping and think to myself, "if only life would slow down just a little bit, I wouldn't have to watch her grow up so quickly."  Only, it's me that needs to just slow down and enjoy her journey.

When my husband and I were planning our wedding we would say that we couldn't wait for the day to come; and not because it was difficult to get there, it was because we couldn't wait to enjoy this incredible day with one another that we had put so much hard effort into.  Little did we know though that your wedding day does not consist of simply just enjoying each other.  Just the opposite in fact.  I was so overwhelmed with the fact that our entire audience had their eyes locked on my every move and my every word during our ceremony that I just could not be present during such a special moment between my husband and I.  Not to mention that I didn't even see him once we entered the reception because we had been so busy catching up with everyone else. And that's OK; our wedding day was incredible.  The memories that we made with the ones we love are unforgettable.  I only wish that I hadn't rushed through those crazy, silly and frustrating moments spent planning that unforgettable day and that I would have at least attempted to ignore everyone else, even if it were only for a minute, and just live in all of the moments that presented us that day.

My husband and I tried to conceive our second child for three years before we finally conceived with the help of an infertility clinic.  We could't wait for the day to find out we were finally going to have another child, and once we found out that we were, we couldn't wait to meet that child that we had created.  We knew this pregnancy was special and we knew that we were blessed.  We knew that there was a chance that I could lose this pregnancy as I had lost a child before.  Don't get me wrong, we enjoyed every moment of even the crazy hormones that came along with our miracle and that incredible feeling of being able to feel our baby move, but there was a part of us that wished it away. We were concerned with the destination rather than the journey itself.  And who wouldn't be; what parent wouldn't count down each milestone of pregnancy along with the days until they were able to meet the tiny person that had been growing in their womb for the last nine months.  We wished it away so much that it was taken from us before we had a chance to get to nine months of pregnancy.  I went into preterm labor and gave birth to our son in my second trimester of pregnancy and we lost him.  I spite myself for wishing those precious moments of pregnancy away.  I didn't do it because I wanted it to be over.  I did it because I couldn't wait to meet the miracle that we were finally given. Only, I didn't think that we would meet him as soon as we did and that we wouldn't ever have the chance to get to know him.  We don't understand why this happened to us.  The pain of losing a child is a pain that never really goes away and not a day goes by that I don't miss my pregnancy or the thought of having our son Brody here on earth with us.  BUT, our loss has reminded us that in order to enjoy life's journey, we must be present; we must live in the moments that life presents us with.  We must not concern ourselves with the destination.  I like to think that we aren't really in control of our journey, we just have to be present for it.  

And so, I attempt to enjoy each of those moments and be present for each of them to the best of my ability.  Including the most frustrating and mundane ones that might seem meaningless.  Because sometimes, if we just look a little bit deeper, we may find that everything we do in life takes meaning to our journey in some way, shape or form.  For me, it's the moments that my daughter comes up behind me and wraps her arms around me while we're hurrying to brush our teeth and get out the door in the morning and I'm reminded to just slow down.  Or when I've had a hard day at work and my last client tells me how much I've helped them, I am reminded of how rewarding my job can be and that I am lucky to even have a job.  When my husband makes a joke, or when the dog does something funny that throws me into a fit of laughter, I reminded to just relax and take it all in.  I learn patience after fighting crowds in Walmart on a Saturday and I find happiness in my everyday, mundane routine, even when it's rushed, because I know that I am alive and well, and God has been good to me.  There is no denying, I am blessed.  Together, as a family, we have it all.  And even though we can't stop time, we can learn to move through life at a slower pace and just enjoy the journey.