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.