Standing on the Shore

After losing our son in April of 2015, I saw several visuals created to depict grief. Some show a line drawing that looks like a mess of tangled string; there's no clear beginning or end and no real direction. For many, that is an accurate description. Grief is different for each person, so the stages, longevity of each stage, and the order in which each person experiences each stage is different and, therefore, very unpredictable.

I also heard it described as waves in the ocean. Sometimes the swells are immense and enough to pull you under. Sometimes the waves are smaller and more manageable. However, unlike a lake or pond, the waters are never still. There will always be waves. As one waves subsides, another is building and preparing to crash.

The waves for me come on as memories play through my mind, or as I see all the photos of kids going to school or dressed up for Halloween. Every Christmas and birthday celebration floods my mind with thoughts of what Thatcher would have been like. For anyone that has lost a child, these once full-of-joy moments become reminders of what they are missing.

I've done fairly well managing my grief. Perhaps a more accurate statement would be that I've done a good job of burying my grief with the busyness of a full schedule. I realized last year that the still moments gave way to tear-filled moments of flash-backs. I dread those quiet moments. I dread being left alone with my memories. Although it's been a year and a half, the memories of that day are so fresh in my mind; they are burned into my being.

Today was a hectic morning, just like all the others. But, as I sat at a red light, flashes of the funeral home and touching his lifeless body flashed through my mind. Why? I have no clue, but I'm sure my grief timeline isn't unlike many others that have experienced the loss of a loved one. There at that stop light, I sobbed for my baby. A year and a half later and I'm still crying in the car.

Some days it feels like life is moving forward at such a fast pace. Days seem to be whirling by me and I'm working to keep my head above water. Then there are days like today sprinkled in the mix in which I am brought back to those heart-breaking moments and I feel stuck in my sorrow. Please don't misunderstand me. I'm in such a better place than I was two years ago when this sorrow began. My faith is stronger, my love is deeper, my compassion is greater.

I write these words tonight not for sympathy, but in hopes that it would encourage another mother in her journey. The days will come when you will laugh again. But days will come when the tears flow...and that's okay. It's okay to have those moments in your closet or in the car when you cry out in anguish. It's okay to have those days when you just want to sit and be with the Lord with tears streaming down your face as you remember your little one. But, as you stand on the shore, waiting for the next wave, realize that vast ocean before you is full of His grace, love and mercy. As you stare out at the great expanse of endless waters, know that His plans and story for you are so much greater than this moment of grief.

A Holy Experience

Have you ever experienced God? Not just a glance at the sunset, or at the beauty of a flower and known that there was a "higher being," but actually had an encounter with the Father of all creation; an experience that left you shaken to the core and left you without a doubt of His presence, peace and power?

I hope your answer is yes, because when you do, it is a life-altering, earth-shattering, mind-blowing event.

I've had two in my lifetime and they both were within a couple of months of each other. The first was in a dream so vivid that I woke up terrified with tears streaming down my face. I cried out to God in that moment, the deep cry that comes from the depths of your soul. In the midst of that pain, God whispered to me. It sounded as if He were sitting next to me on the bed with His arm around me and He gently told me, "No." No to the prayer of miraculous healing for my son; no to me getting to keep him here with me on earth. It was from that time that my heart's prayer changed. I knew His answer regarding my son's life, now I just wanted the opportunity to meet him and hold him before he went home to heaven.

In the early morning hours of April 17, 2015, I had my second encounter with my Savior. In that hospital room, he answered our prayers in a bold way. He allowed us to meet our son and spend four precious hours with him. We talked to him, cuddled him, kissed him, and cried over him. He cooed at us and Jake captured a video of him talking that I will forever treasure.

Shortly after, we both silently prayed over him. We told God that we were ready and he could bring Thatcher home. Minuets later, he was gone. As heartbreaking as it was to let my son go, it was the most beautifully profound moment of my life. It was a holy experience. I felt such peace and love in those moments and gratitude that God chose me to be his mom. Even in the thick sorrow of death, I felt my soul praising the Creator. A holy experience.

God has since been laying the word "revival" on my heart.  He has promised not to leave me where I was but to lift me up and more than restore my heart and soul. As spring arrived and the trees began to bud, my anticipation grew and I became more anxious to see what He has planned for my life.

"to grant those who mourn in Zion- 

to give them a beautiful headdress instead of ashes, 

the oil of gladness instead of mourning, 

the garment of praise instead of a faint spirit;

that they may be called oaks of righteousness.

the planting of the LORD, that he may be glorified."  Isaiah 61:3

Here we are, one year later. I get to sit back and look at what God has done through one little life. My life and many others are changed for the better. So many things have been done in his memory that I will never know the full extent of. What an honor to have a son with that kind of legacy. I pray that I have a fraction of the impact on the world for His glory that Thatcher had.

I will keep running this race, now that I have seen His grace, with the assurance that I will see my son again some day.

"For me to live is Christ. and to die is gain." Philippians 1:21

Depression is for REAL

It's hard to know where to begin this post. It has been so long since I have written that I feel like something in me was lost. The ground I had covered in this grieving process began to fall away and I lost my footing. I thought I had come so far, but I was thrown backwards with the realization that I was merely avoiding my grief in many ways. I was failing to confront it and acknowledge its existence. So here I am, almost nine months later, finally admitting that I need help.

Grief is such a multi-faceted thing. Each view offers a different perspective, and no two people experience grief the same way. The awful thing about grief is it keeps coming back, like waves that never cease. It washes ashore all this ugly debris that you didn't know could ever exist. Not only did I have to grieve the loss of our son, but I had to deal with "life" and it has gotten mucky. After many months of not being able to find my way out of the pit I was in, I came to realize that I was indeed suffering from depression.

Months ago, I began to notice little things: I was unable to focus, I forgot everything. Bills didn't get paid on time, laundry was left half-done, we missed scheduled events, and I wandered around the house half-finishing every chore. At the end of each day, I felt defeated. I looked around and it seemed as if I had accomplished nothing. Playing with the kids became a task that I just couldn't handle.

I also began dealing with much bigger issues. Panic attacks became a reality for me. I couldn't handle being around pregnant women or tiny babies. The sound of their crying did something to me that I can't quite explain. I began to avoid some places for a fear that I would have to run away crying, unable to catch my breath. I became very irritable, and I'm sad to say that my family received the brunt of my attitude. Every little thing the kids did drove me crazy and there were days that I couldn't stand to be around them. On top of all this, I felt socially isolated. All I thought about was Thatcher. Every moment of the delivery and his life played on a continuous loop in my mind. I desperately wanted to talk about him. Perhaps it was because I was afraid I would forget something. Friendly chats about anything else became painful to endure.

For months I tried to make do with detailed to-do lists. I broke the most basic tasks down to simple steps and I was meticulous to check off each item as I finished. I set timers for myself to accomplish tasks, including playing with the kids. I retreated from time to time (sometimes I escaped to the car for some quiet). But, after a week full of tears, what I was doing wasn't helping...I was stuck.

Last week, I decided this needed to end. Not my grieving, but my depression and self-pity. I wanted out of this pit. I love my son so deeply, but I know that he wouldn't want me living this way. I went to my doctor and discussed a plan. I am so grateful to have a support system of friends, family, and doctors that have my back. The devil will use everything in his bag of tricks to bring me down, but I refuse to let him win this battle. I know the me I used to know has been forever changed, but I long to find a new me. I long to  once again see the joy in the day-to-day.

"Count is all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you my be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing." 

James 1:2-4 (ESV)

Confession

Let me start by stating that I might regret putting this out there. What I am about to post is a recent entry from my journal and it wasn't intended to be seen...just between me and God. However, I feel like we have a tendency to not show our true selves on the internet and it's for a good reason. There's too much vulnerability, too much risk of exposure to ridicule, judgement, or being misunderstood. However, I have come to realize just how taboo the topic of losing a child can be. People aren't chomping at the bit to open up about this deep hurt. So, the typical responses to the questions from friends and loved ones are superficial, at best. Sometimes they are an outright lie. That's right...sometimes I lie.

I've been told that I'm strong and my faith has inspired others, but let me be very honest: today, and for the last 8 months, my faith has been on shaky ground. Most of the time I feel like I'm hanging by a thread.

Here's my journal entry from a couple of weeks ago:

This has been the hardest year of my life and other than our little blog, I've kept most of my prayers and concerns bottled up deep within my soul - too afraid to say them aloud, write them down, or whisper them in a prayer. Zephaniah 3:17 says that you rejoice over me and that you are mighty save. The question stings as I read this passage: why did you choose not to save Thatcher? Was I the one that needed saving? I prayed and cried over that child more than I did for any of my other children. At this moment all the scriptures regarding your purposes and plans seem cliche. My soul needs healing from the gaping wound that his passing left. I wanted him to stay so badly and instead I'm left questioning your plans and goodness.

I'm so grateful that God can take my questions, doubt and anger because I've been full of all of them lately. I know that we live in a broken world that is full of death, sickness, and hurt. However, this just isn't an adequate explanation for my soul right now.

I pray that others that are dealing with grief can feel safe enough to open up to those around them. Grief is a treacherous road that God did not intend for us to walk alone. 

Satan Lies

He is the master of deception. He’s cunning and is smart enough not to use bold faced lies with us. He whispers ideas in our head that we can rationalize to the point of belief. He loves to give us things that we can roll around in our brain and ponder. Sometimes it can be things for our own pleasure. Satan will tell us that we deserve that sin, or that it’s not really a sin. Sometimes it can be ideas that bring us despair and anxiety. We deliberate on these ideas and convince ourselves that those little voices are true and we are undeserving of love, acceptance, and unity with Christ. It is Satan’s reward when allow ourselves to believe that God doesn’t care about us.

I know I have touched on this before, but I’m saying it again…SATAN LIES! He has been whispering lies in my ear for quite some time. Initially it was the lie that God didn’t care about me or my sweet Thatcher. Then, once I released that lie and submitted to God’s plan, Satan began telling me that I wasn’t strong enough to let Thatcher go. When I didn’t give into that lie, Satan began telling me that I was a weak mother for not fighting for my son. I could have done something…anything…to save him. He has beaten me at my weakest point, and left me crying in absolute despair.

But, I am here to tell you that our God is bigger. He is sovereign. He is walking right next to you and me through the hard stuff. He weeps with  us when we are in the midst of deep sorrow. He promises to uphold us with his right hand. He loves my child and will use this terrible event for good. I have seen  how many lives my little boy touched in his short time on earth, but there are many more that I'm sure I will never know about.

The waves of doubt and grief will continue to ebb and flow. Some days are darker than others, but I will not surrender to the lies that the enemy speaks. I will continue to hold onto the hope that I have in my Savior and the peace that one day there will be no more pain or tears.

It's Okay To Not Be Okay

It's been ten and a half weeks since we lost Thatcher. I can't really say where I'm at on this grief journey, because I never read any books about the grief process. I avoided them because I was scared of what they would say, but also hopeful that this would not be our story. But...it is...and has been.

Most days I'm fine. My definition of "fine" is based on what I have read from others' experiences. I do cry at least once a day, but I'm able to get out of bed and do the day-to-day things (mostly without incident). I'm also able to talk about Thatcher, now, without crying every time. I owe a lot to my children that don't give me the luxury of having down time, but mostly, I owe my Lord for sustaining me the last 10 weeks.

I was proud that I was doing so well, despite the ugly hand we had been dealt. Then, I began to second guess myself. I felt as though I wasn't fully dealing with the death of our son. I haven't even been to visit his grave in several weeks.

It has become apparent the last couple of weeks that I'm not as okay as I thought. Even though my brain is telling me that I'm okay, my body is telling me that I'm not. Physiological symptoms started to appear: insomnia, loss of appetite, heart palpitations, and an infection. I've also experienced a few panic attacks when I've been around newborns. I've spoken with doctors and started medicine for my sleep loss and infection (I avoid medicines when at all possible). My NP I saw today kindly handed me some recommendations for grief counseling and told me all that I am experiencing is a likely a bi-product of my grief. To be honest, I almost feel defeated. Like the facade I had created has crumbled and my true wounds are exposed. Not that I've kept what my family has been through a secret, but that I was withholding the full truth from myself. Perhaps it's a self-preservation tactic to keep those that have experienced painful loss from cratering.

I'm dealing with this as best as I know how. Thankfully, I have a whole host of patient people around me that are showing me lots of grace...especially my husband. I'm going to start being fully honest with myself. My new truth: I'm not okay....but that's okay.

My Weary Heart

Thatcher has been gone for six and a half weeks, but I feel like I have been grieving for so much longer. Most of the time, I feel like I'm walking around in a haze. My ability to focus and complete the most basic tasks has diminished to zero. I had a hard time finishing things before...but this takes the cake.

Today, however, has been one of the hard ones. I can never tell when they will come. My day will be going smoothly, and without warning, I will get blindsided by something: a phone call, a keepsake, a comment, my milk letting down around other babies, all small reminders that my arms don't have a tiny baby to hold. Today, I was busy avoiding all the other things I needed to do and started cleaning out and reorganizing our garage while simultaneously helping the AC repair man and keeping the kids from killing each other. I was managing my day just fine, then, my phone rang. It was the funeral home informing me that Thatcher's death certificate was ready to be picked up. I felt like I had the wind knocked out of me. I hid my face and cried for a moment before talking to the repairman again...I hope he doesn't think I'm crazy.

It's days like today that make it so hard to not be bitter or to have a woe-is-me attitude. Life just doesn't seem to let up. I have two small kids that demand lots of attention, fights that need mediating, a house that needs tending, laundry that needs cleaning, and the list goes on. All this without the grief can make the most energetic person feel worn, but mix it all up with grief and it can feel like you're drowning. On these hard days, I find it so hard to talk to God. I feel like I can't go to Him with this bitter, weary heart. The truth is, that is exactly what He wants...attitude and all. I may have to force myself to take a moment (or many) and just sit silently in my closet (yes, I hide from the kids and chaos) and weep with Him. When I am done, I feel like the weight has been lifted momentarily and God gives me the strength and peace to make it until the next wave comes.

But now thus says the LORD, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: "Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. For I am the LORD your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.   (Isaiah 43:1-3a)

A Mourner's Needs

We will all experience sorrow at some point in our lives. Some may lose a close friend, others may lose a parent, a sibling, or a child, and others will have sorrow over a loss of things they held dear. What would you need at that moment in life? What could others do to show love and support? I'm no expert on this subject, as I'm still navigating through the murky waters of grief, but I have learned through the last few months that for everyone the "need" is different. But, I can say without question, the answer is never "nothing."

Nothing implies, just that, nothing. It implies there is no value in the person or the source of their sorrow. It opens up new wounds in an already raw flesh. Of course, I know this isn't true, but Satan can squeeze his way into these sad lonely moments and tell you that no one cares. Even with others surrounding you, grief can leave you feeling totally isolated.

I don't think anyone can predict what they will need until you are in the midst of grief. For me, I needed to be surrounded by people to keep me from crumbling. I was afraid to be alone because that was when I was at my weakest.  It's in the quite times that I let my thoughts race and the tears flow. I am so blessed that I had people around me doing whatever they could to take care of my family and me during the last few months. Meals would show up on our doorstep, gifts for the kids were delivered, cards arrived in the mail, my phone rang every day, and friends would just drop by to check on us.

It's so hard to know what a person needs during those dark days. So what should we do when we just don't know? The answer is ANYTHING. Anything you can do to show that you love them and that you are there for them. Pray and ask God what you can do for them. Pray that God will use you to show His love and grace to those that are hurting. I saw the Lord working through others and meeting our greatest needs during our darkest moments.

I know that there are those that will say they want nothing and that their desire is to be left alone. While they may not want anyone sitting next to them, I can guarantee that they correct response is not to leave them alone. Pray for them, send them cards, or leave messages to let them know you remember them and love them.

I will end this post by saying that it can be so easy to send a text message these days, and consider our job done. But please know that for a grieving person, they might need more. There is a level of intimacy and compassion that is lost in simply sending a text to show you care. Somehow in the last decade with smart phones and social media, we have veered off the path of closeness in relationships and truly meeting others needs. I know I'm personally guilty of that. Prayerfully consider what God would have you do to extend His love to others. 

Letting the Enemy In

The last couple of weeks I have struggled. Most of my moments are what others would define as "normal." I can make it through the daily routine without cratering. But, at the most random moments, when I let my guard down, the Enemy enters the scene. He tells me that I did nothing to save my son. He tells me that I am not an adequate mother. He tells me that I should be ashamed of our decision.

You see, my husband and I made a conscious decision, several weeks before Thatcher was born, to provide only comfort care for our son. It is a decision that was made out of love for our unborn child. We didn't want to put him through medical procedures and surgeries knowing that it would likely not change the outcome. His tiny extra chromosome had created chaos in his body and his breathing, feeding and heart were all affected.

As mothers and fathers, we will stop at nothing to take care of our children. But, when nothing will keep that extra chromosome from claiming the life of your child, what can you do? We chose to cry out to the Lord and allow His will to be done with Thatcher. We had to loosen our grip on our child and trust the Lord fully with his life...no matter what that looked like. It was a heartbreaking, yet freeing, decision.

Satan loves to use things in our life that we fully entrust God with to try and diminish our faith in Him. I am no stronger than any other person, and I have allowed Satan to steal moments. I have allowed his voice to enter in and wage war on my soul. I had one of these moments today while driving home from school. The tears began to flow as I thought of our time with Thatcher. Why didn't I request more care? Why didn't I save him? Then, I heard Hunter from the back seat: "Why are you so sad about Thatcher, mom? I wish he were still alive, too, but he's in heaven." And there, in my all-too-wise four-year-old is the voice I need. The voice reminding me that our decision was right for our son, even though it hurts.

A Glimpse of His Grace

I have tried to write this post so many times, but just can't seem to find the words to describe the most gut-wrenching and beautiful day of my life.

Here goes...

Two weeks ago, I visited my OB for my weekly visit and ultrasound. My husband decided he wanted to be there for this appointment. He hadn't skipped work the last few months to accompany me. I think it was so hard for him to continue going just to receive more bad news. This day was different. My doctor told me we needed to have a heart-to-heart and I knew the time had come. She told us that Thatcher was beginning to show signs of heart failure as fluid was beginning to build up around his lungs. The amniotic fluid level had also increased to the point that it was becoming hard to breathe and do normal activities. When I left her office, I felt like I was in a fog. All through my pregnancy, I had wanted time to stand still so that I could have Thatcher forever. Now, time was speeding out of control and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

Jake took the next day off work so that we could get a few last chores done before Thatcher's arrival. That afternoon, we went back to the doctor so she could place a Foley Bulb. I felt very strongly about not inducing with drugs because I wanted a stress-free delivery for our son. I knew the odds were stacked against him with his condition and gender, but I serve a mighty God and I believed that He would give me the time I and so many others had prayed for.

After we dropped the kids off with their grandparents, labor really kicked in. After about an hour, the contractions really picked up and I knew it wouldn't take long. At 11:00 that evening, Jake took me to the hospital. By the time we got checked in and settled in a room, my contractions were coming every minute and I was really far along. I remember the moment my water broke, I was caught between relief from the pain and fear. My mind raced with what the next few hours would bring, but I was grateful for the relief from the intensity.

After three short pushes, Thatcher Yates Kelley made his entrance into the world at 2:17AM. He was a terrible gray color, and he wasn't breathing. His cord had been wrapped around his neck and I felt my world crashing down as they wrapped him in a blanket. Our family's pediatrician was present for the birth and gently handed me my lifeless son. My husband and I wept.

After what seemed like an eternity, Thatcher gasped for air and opened his eyes. God had answered our prayers and allowed us to meet our son. My heart was full. I cannot even begin to describe the emotion in that hospital room.

 

Thatcher was with us for four beautiful hours. He experienced several apnea episodes, but his heart kept beating strong. I had a sense of peace, like Jesus was present in that room with us. I began silently praying for God to take our little boy home. We had just finished with the Easter season. I had read and re-read the story of Lazarus over the last few weeks and I felt like I was right there with Mary and Martha. I had uttered those same words so many times: "Even now, Lord..." Even now I knew that Thatcher could be made well, if that had been God's will. But never had John 11:4 been so real: "But when Jesus heard about it he said, 'Lazarus's sickness will not end in death. No, it happened for the glory of God so that the Son of God will receive glory from this.'" There it was. God was going to use this ugly circumstance to bring His Son glory. As we sat there in the quiet morning hours of April 17th, I held my son while his little heart stopped beating. I know Jesus was in that room with us, and I know he wept with us, just as he wept with Martha and Mary. We were allowed to see a glimpse of His holiness, grace, and peace and for that, I will forever be grateful. 

                                     

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.

Refiner's Fire

We have all heard the term “Refiner’s Fire,” but up until recently, I never knew exactly what that entailed. After reading the chapter: The Process of Purity, in Jennifer Kennedy Dean’s book Fueled by Faith, I decided to research what the precious metal refining process really involves. The first stage is referred to as “The Breaking,” and as one might think, it involves breaking the rough ore into smaller pieces with the intention of bringing forth the more precious materials hidden within. The second stage is known as “The Crucible,” in which the broken ore is placed into a fireproof melting pot so that the metal can be exposed to extreme heat. The final stages involve exposing the crucible-encased ore to increasingly high temperatures, each specific level intended to draw out another impurity. At the completion of each melting process, the refiner carefully scrapes off the sediment and undesirable metal that rises to the top. I cannot think of a more perfect analogy for how God parents his beloved children.


Twelve months ago, my family began the hardest, most spiritually filled year thus far. It started when we saw no heartbeat on the screen. What was the hope of a third child quickly slipped away. The mourning that we did for that baby was raw and deep. It was not our first loss, but this one felt heavy and real. I began digging through scripture to try and find a reason for this suffering. I came across the story of Jacob and his brother Esau later that summer when I was in the emergency room experiencing the loss of yet another baby we had hoped and prayed for. Esau had once wanted to kill his brother and Jacob was struggling over the reunion that would take place the next day. He struggled so much with his emotions and ended up having a physical struggle with God that night. God broke Jacob at the strongest part of the human body, the sinew of the thigh. It became apparent to me that God was breaking me in perhaps the most painful way, because sometimes that's what it takes. Sometimes that's what is required for us to see God face-to-face. Ann Voskamp put it so eloquently in her book One Thousand Gifts when she wrote that the blessings don't come without first begging to see the wells of joy-water in the desert; wells don't come without first splitting open hard earth, cracking back the lids. There's no seeing God face-to-face without first the ripping. Tear the thigh to open the eye.” We now face, perhaps the most painful year as we welcome our second son into the world, knowing that his time on earth will be brief. Preparing to say goodbye to your child before you have laid eyes on his sweet face seems like a trial no parent should have to face. But, through this trial, I have seen beauty. God has been using this ugly circumstance to bring out impurities in my marriage, attitude, and faith and draw me closer to Him.


We as followers of Christ are promised affliction at some point in our lives. 1 Peter 4:12 says that you shouldn’t be surprised at the fiery trials you are going through, as if something strange were happening to you. So how do we pass through life’s daily irritations and devastating events? We are to keep our focus on the promises God has written in His Word and trust fully in the author and perfecter of our faith, Jesus Christ. Consider for a moment what Christ chose to do for you and me. Instead of choosing to stay in His rightful place in the presence of the Father, he chose the cross and its shame. Jesus chose to endure all the suffering this world has to offer so that we may join Him in heaven for eternity. For us, the suffering we endure isn’t typically a choice. But we can choose to keep our eyes focused on Christ and run with perseverance the race marked out for us. James 1:2-4 goes so far to say that we should “consider trials an opportunity for great joy. For you know that when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow. So let it grow, for when your endurance is fully developed, you will be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.”


You may feel like God is breaking you or exposing you to heat that you can’t endure, but choose to walk through these trials and allow the master refiner to do His work in you. Fix your eyes on Jesus and embrace the resurrection power that will come as a result.

Beauty in the Ugly

Two weeks ago, I decided to have an amniocentesis performed so that my family could begin to make the necessary preparations for our baby boy. I met with two doctors that both explained the possible complications and what all the scans were showing. I have prayed for clarity and peace for several weeks and I left the office feeling like God had provided both. I knew what the tests would show. I received a call five days later that confirmed what I already knew in my heart. Our son indeed has an extra 18th chromosome in every cell in his body.

My amniotic fluid levels are high, so the doctors want to keep monitoring me pretty closely. I keep thinking that the doctor appointments will get easier. After all, we are just hashing out the same facts that we have known now for weeks. What does not get easier, however, is hearing that our baby boy will die. For the first time in this journey, we had a doctor suggest ending the pregnancy. He told us we had plenty of evidence to cling to in order to justify such actions. I know doctors are trying to prepare my husband and me for what the odds say is inevitable, but I prefer to cling to hope. I know realistically that we may not have much time with our son, but any time will be precious and beautiful and I will allow God to decide when it is time for him to go home.

The last couple of weeks have been filled with tears, heartbreak, and some bouts of anxiety, but they have also been filled to the brim with an outpouring of love from those around us. Jesus has been manifesting himself through others taking care of our family with meals, phone calls, cards, encouragement, hugs, and most of all, prayers. This is an ugly part of life...these trials...but you can choose to see the beautiful through all the ugly. Our little boy, whom we have named Thatcher Yates, has touched so many lives already. His time on earth may be brief, but he has a mighty purpose that we are all seeing unfold before our eyes. 

The risk now becomes heart failure for him before he is born. It poses both a risk to him and myself so the doctors are watching us closely. It is our deepest desire to meet this handsome boy before his time is up. Please join us in prayer that we get to meet him, hold him, and tell him how much we love him before God calls him home.

"But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, to show that the transcendent power belongs to God and not us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies. For while we live we are always being given up to death for Jesus' sake, so that the life of Jesus may be manifested in our mortal flesh."
-2 Corinthians 4:7-11.

Where Do We Go From Here?

Last week we received a blow that we are trying to stop spinning from.

Let me first back up by starting at the beginning of our year:
We were expecting another child and were so excited. Those hopes were dashed when we went in for our first ultrasound and there was no heartbeat. After a few months, the healing process incomplete, we found out we were expecting...again! The initial tests didn't look promising and our doctor told us to prepare for the inevitable miscarriage, which came one week later. The tests began...and we were left with more questions than answers. Our doctor could not tell us why we had now lost three babies (two of which happened after we had two uneventful, perfectly healthy pregnancies.) We were definitely looking at our children with new eyes. We were beginning to see what miracles and gifts from God they truly are.

Fast forward a month and we were remarkably expecting another child after two miscarriages this year...the one in August still so fresh. We were so scared, so hopeful, so unsure. The initial blood work all looked great and our first ultrasound showed a HEARTBEAT! Whew...such a glorious sight after the year we have had. We had all the routine blood work and a new test that checks for chromosomal abnormalities and gender. We were so excited to be at this point and I was/was not pumped about the usual pregnancy symptoms.

So, back to last week...I was at home with sick kids, not feeling so great myself and my doctor called. It's never a good sign when your doctor personally calls you to discuss test results. She informed us that our baby boy had tested positive for Trisomy 18. I didn't even have words to respond with. The nurse scheduled an appointment for us with a perinatologist.

The prayers began. I'm so grateful to be a part of a community that is full of prayer warriors. People have surrounded us the last few days with phone calls, emails, visits and love. It has been amazing to see God lift us up and surround us with His grace in the midst of all my doubts, fear, and distrust. I was, and still am, praying for a miracle. I'm praying for the test results to be wrong and praying that we welcome a healthy, perfect boy into the world in May.

Today, we met for our first visit with the perinatologist and genetics counselor. We saw beautiful images for our son and his cute profile, his perfect-looking hands and feet. All parts were accounted for, but I was left uneasy while the sonographer kept looking at the umbilical cord. A second sonographer came in to re-check. I was getting sick to my stomach. The doctor came in, after what seemed like an eternity, and chatted about what we though and noted how cute our baby was. He said our baby's growth was right on track...whew!

Then the news: the umbilical cord only has two vessels. I tried to wrap my layman mind around what this meant. I understood the inefficiency aspect and possible slow late term growth. But, when the counselor explained to us that two-vessel umbilical cords are potentially a marker for chromosomal abnormalities, my hope began to fade. She talked about our options for further diagnostic testing, which my husband and I refused. I was fully engaged until she mentioned the resources available. As soon as the word hospice left her mouth, I checked out. I had received all the information that I could possibly absorb and my hands were beginning to shake. I couldn't wait to get out of there.

So...where do we go from here?

We wait...which is one of the worst parts. Being stuck in this limbo of "not knowing" is terrible. We have the next 5 weeks to continue to pray for a miracle.