Our Burdens

As I went through the mail today, I couldn't help but be overwhelmed with emotion. Marketing materials for new moms and cards were piled before me. Some were stinging reminders of the life that will most likely be cut too short, others were reminders of how much we are loved and prayed over during this season. We are so blessed to be surrounded by so many people that truly care for us.

Many people have offered help with whatever needs arise, but to be honest, all I really need is for someone to take this burden from me. This isn't supposed to be happening to us. I would be lying if I said I wasn't terrified. I have tried to prepare myself for what the future looks like, but Jake and I really have no clue what that will be. I'm scared of how ugly grief can be and how it will manifest itself in each member of my family. No matter how many books I've read, no one can tell you exactly what to expect our new normal to be.

Although it has become easier to put on a strong face and answer strangers' questions that arise while I'm out running errands, it doesn't hurt any less. I cannot go to a single place without someone commenting on how far along I look or asking if I'm done having kids. It makes me wonder how many times I have caused some other mother pain with my shallow comments or inconsiderate questions. For the most part, I spare strangers the awkwardness and politely answer their questions without too much detail. Occasionally, I feel prompted to just open up and be honest about our situation. It lifts a weight off my shoulders and makes it easier to breathe.

There is one person that I struggle to fully answer: my son. As my belly grows, his questions become more and more frequent. His little heart is so full of love and his intelligence is beyond belief. Lately he has asked some questions that cut straight to my core. He wants to know what Thatcher's first word will be and when he will be four years old. He also wants to know why his baby brother can't stay here forever. For the last four months, one of my greatest fears has been how I will help Hunter understand and cope with the reality we are facing. I am beginning to realize that this burden doesn't fully lie on Jake and me. I think the Holy Spirit has been speaking to Hunter's heart, especially as we prepare to celebrate Easter. Last Sunday, we were discussing what he had learned at church and I retold the Easter story. I asked him if he knew where Jesus is now and he said, "In heaven." I explained to him that Jesus promised to come back to earth one day and that when that happened, everyone that believes in Jesus and loves him will go to heaven with him. Hunter promptly responded, "Even Thatcher? Well, I definitely love Jesus and believe in him." Hunter has this amazing ability to make my heart swell and rip apart at the same time.

I know the time is quickly approaching for us to meet our precious son because I don't feel like my body can hold out much longer. Please join me in praying that God will give me the words to say to those around me, especially Hunter as we help prepare his heart for this difficult time.

"For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are - yet was without sin. Let us then approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need."   Hebrews 4:15-16

Section 85

Section 85, Plot 9. This is the location we will lay our son to rest, should he be called to heaven. Jake and I spent last Friday afternoon discussing funeral arrangements and visiting the cemetery. I fully expected it to be a totally emotional experience and to have a breakdown at some point that afternoon. Instead, I found myself emotionally numb. It almost felt like I was doing all this for some other child...not my own. Earlier that day I had seen his face so clearly on the screen. He hid his face and squirmed out of view, just like his big sister would do. How could we possibly be here discussing his death when he is so clearly alive at this moment?

The funeral home felt old and the silence within its walls spoke volumes. It felt like death. As the coordinator showed us the casket models, I hardly felt it was like a peaceful place to lay my small son. She asked us if we had any questions, but how are young parents supposed to know what questions to ask at a time like this?

As we walked among the tiny grave sites, I felt heartbroken for all the other families that had lost their children too soon. One child had been buried within the last few days. The dirt was fresh and the flowers had blown over, just starting to wilt. I wondered who the family was and how they were doing. Were they able to get out of bed and face the day? I want to go back and write down names to pray for the little ones' families, but maybe another day I will find the courage to do so.

A couple of days later, Hunter asked when Thatcher was going to come out of my belly. He then asked when Thatcher would be four years old, like him. My heart broke at the thought of missed birthdays and missed milestones. I told Hunter that his brother might not get to be four. His series of "why" questions were answered with uncertainty. These kind of answers don't satisfy my inquisitive, smart, sensitive son. Unfortunately, those are the only answers I am able to provide him with. 

We will continue to hope and pray for a miraculous healing of every cell in Thatcher's body. We pray that his heart will be made whole and that he will thrive and get to experience all that a little boy should in a lifetime.

"The Lord your God is in your midst, a mighty one who will save; he will rejoice over you with gladness; he will quiet you by his love; he will exult over you with loud singing."  Zephaniah 3:17

The Hard Stuff

The last week has been hard for me. As I approach the last two months (we aren't sure if we even have that amount of time) of pregnancy, we realized it was time to sit down an begin the necessary preparations for Thatcher and us. We have talked with Thatcher's pediatrician, counselors, hospice nurses, and contacted a funeral home this week. Hindsight, I probably should have spread these discussions out a little more, but I have been avoiding these tasks at all cost. My doctor was urging me not to put off birth plan decisions any longer as she needed to discuss them with her staff and file them with the hospital.

So, Tuesday night Jake and I sat down to have a talk that no parents should have to have. The questions seemed endless as we decided how we wanted to deal with every detail of the birth including staff, privacy, and how we wanted Thatcher monitored during birth, how and when we want our family (including our children) to meet him, and the contact for all persons regarding end of life care. One of the questions was incredibly difficult: did we want to be notified if his heart stopped beating during labor. A part of me wanted to answer "yes." I want to be aware of the moment that my son is called home to heaven. But a part of me wanted to answer "no," simply because I can't imagine having to continue with labor knowing that he was already gone. It may have been this question that caused reality to set in that this pregnancy is coming to an end. I feel like acknowledging this has set into motion a chain of events that may ultimately lead to us saying goodbye to our sweet son very soon.

I was reminded of Jesus as he made his way back to Jerusalem. He knew what laid before him...the pain and suffering that He would have to endure. I tried to put myself in his shoes as he struggled with his emotions. I imagined the fully-man part of his being wanting to just stop time and remain in the present moment. Maybe he wanted to stay in Bethany with his dear friends and avoid the Passover Feast all together. Then there was the fully-God part of him that knew his purpose. He knew he would be handed over and crucified in a matter of days. He pleaded with the Father in the Garden of Gethsemane: "Father, if you are willing, please take this cup of suffering away from me. Yet I want your will to be done, not mine." Luke 22:40.  What an internal battle! I have found myself praying that same prayer every day. I want so desperately for God to take away that extra chromosome from every cell in Thatcher's body. I want him to be born perfectly healthy and thriving. But, I also want God's will to be done...no matter what that entails.

We have set up a meeting with a funeral home later this week. I did this not because I have given up on my son, but because I know I will not be able to handle these decisions after the fact. It was surreal to make that phone call while Thatcher was kicking and stretching in my belly. It was as if he was reminding me that he was still alive and strong. I will treasure all of these little reminders that this little life is a gift. Please continue to lift up our family in prayer over the next few weeks as we prepare to meet this miracle face-to-face.

I Hate the Grocery Store (and other public places)!

Today was an exceptionally hard day. I say this not looking for sympathy, but in hopes that someone going through a similar situation may find comfort in knowing that their feelings are normal.

It has become increasingly hard to go out in public. Almost every where I go, good-hearted people ask questions and want to talk about my growing waistline. I would love to say that I always find it as a good opportunity to talk about Christ and my faith, but more often than not, people are shocked when I respond that our little boy isn't expected to live. That kind of response tends to be a conversation killer and, if I'm being honest, people act as though it is a socially unacceptable answer. I've had a lot of practice keeping my composure when the standard questions arise, but today I felt as though I wanted to crawl in a hole and stay there for the next few weeks.

One sweet old lady at the supermarket talked to be about how her two boys were why she was on such a tight budget. When I mentioned that this was my third child, her response was, "Well, that's plenty!" She meant no harm, but it was a knife to the heart nonetheless.

Another lady at a different location proceeded to tell me that a family member had been through a similar situation, but she just "killed the baby in her belly." I was stunned by her honesty.

After reading through books and other materials, I've found that my day-to-day experiences with a swollen belly are very common with those that choose to continue carrying their babies that aren't expected to survive. I've come to realize that my fear of questions from strangers and the anger that arises from encounters out in public are normal...thank goodness! This experience has taught me more about sensitivity and compassion than I could have ever imagined.

I think I'll send my husband to the grocery store from now on.