I Can Only Imagine

Sometimes it still doesn't feel like reality. Sometimes I feel like I'm going to wake up in the morning and none of this will have happened. I think I'm going to wake up with a beautiful baby girl lying next to me and I'm going to take a deep breath and let out a huge sigh of relief knowing that this has all just been a tortuous nightmare. I think about this scenario often, but then I remember that my nightmare is truly reality and that there's no going back in this world, and I suddenly feel like crumbling. That's the funny thing about grief, it hits when you least expect it and it usually hits with great force. I haven't been able to identify these so called "triggers" they often say associate themselves with grief. I just have moments; moments that burn so deep they take my breath away and I begin to stumble. I quickly wonder if this will be the stumble that brings me to my knees or if I'll find my balance and find a way to pull myself back up. I've been fortunate so far and have somehow found my balance each time, but I know that doesn't always mean I'll be that lucky.

Through this experience I've learned that there are so many different ways to bear the pain of losing a child and that there really aren't any "wrong" or "right" ways. Everyone has to learn through themselves how to move forward each day, and we have to remember that it's ok to feel stuck some days and it's ok to feel defeated some days. The most important lesson is to find a way to keep going; even in the darkness you must try harder to find a way and it is here that you will find the strength and courage within yourself that you never knew existed. It's an incredible feeling, one full of sadness and joy because it is here that you uncover a great discovery of yourself, you find a part of you that enables you to forge ahead in the face of pain but it is also here that you remember why you had to dig this deep within yourself in the first place. It's so incredibly tiring to constantly be searching for the deeper meaning so that you can pull yourself from the darkness but it's also so incredibly rewarding because it is through that deeper meaning we begin to see more clearly and more fully. Here is where your loved one lives and it is here where you feel a connection unlike any other,  where two worlds begin to feel like one, the connection between the earthly and the heavenly.

There have been many times where I have wished that I was not walking this journey, I've yearned to go back to what I now refer to as "The Simple Life." I want to live in my world where happiness prevailed, the world where I never knew what true sorrow felt like. I want to return to my old normal. The truth is though, I wouldn't be who I am today without this experience. I would have never known my true strength and I would have never known true love. I would have lived life at the surface without having to look deep within myself and understand the meaning of it all. It's then that I know that I wouldn't change this experience. It's then that I remember that the love I have for my daughter is so full that it spills over this earth.  I remember the courage and strength she had for her three short days, the same courage and strength she left behind for me to find so that I can continue to live this life without her here. I am reminded of how she has changed me and how I will always be forever grateful for the many gifts she has given me.

Grief helps me remember how precious this world is, it brings me closer to connecting my two worlds, the earthly and the heavenly. My imagination during these times wanders so deep and so far and it's in this moment that I've learned that there are just some things we can't imagine, even if we wanted to.  I say this because I truly believe I could have never imagined the emotions that I've felt along this journey before experiencing them first hand. I couldn't have imagined them because they weren't reality and I didn't even know these emotions existed. I know I've said, "I can only imagine" in different scenarios a hundred times but in all honesty I think I've learned through this that I really don't think I could have fully imagined. It is my belief that our minds block out the truest most deepest sorrows of the imagination to protect us from the harsh reality and only when reality hits, will you feel an inexperienced sense of emotion. It is here where you will have to uncover a courage and strength you never knew existed and it's here where you will find what true survival feels like. This is when I am reminded that the loss of a child is undoubtedly an "Unimaginable Journey."

Today though, I have decided that I am going to try to imagine what my sweet daughter experiences up above, knowing that I will not be able to fully understand the joy and tranquility of the after life because my imagination will only allow me to stretch so far. Today I will pick up another broken piece along this journey and place it sweetly where it belongs knowing that I'm one piece closer to experiencing life at it's fullest.

*Love You Harper Lynn*

"Firsts" can be followed by FAITH

After the loss of a child there are so many "firsts" you have to overcome. The first day living without them in your arms or in your physical sight. The first time someone asks you about them without knowing the circumstance. The first time you are able to speak their name without breaking down. Their first birthday without them here. This week I experienced a first, this week I had my first day back to work; back to reality, back to the norm, back to how it all was before the chaos began. I had so many mixed emotions regarding my return to work: fear, joy, sadness, excitement.  Would it feel like nothing happened? Would life just pretend to return to normal even though it wasn't? Would my mind be able to handle it all? I honestly couldn't tell you if I felt ready, but I knew I had to face the day at some point and the place that I had now found myself wasn't going to change, so it was time to take a deep breath, soak it all in and go for it.

It's been an overpowering week, to say the least, showing me each emotion noted above at some point but also showing me a sense of serenity and peacefulness; reminding me of the joys of life and the "normality" of life before this journey took a turn I wasn't predicting. I can honestly say that not a single moment went by that I wasn't thinking of her or wishing that I could answer those "How's your baby?" questions so much differently. My heart hurts so much when I think about her but I never take those moments for granted because it reminds me of how connected her and I were and how much I love her with every breath I take. If you take the time to look you can most definitely find a sense of beauty in sorrow, because without sorrow we would never know the reality of true grace and fullness.

Adam and I also met with the high risk fetal monitoring specialist for the first time since Harper's passing. He was the first one to embark on this unimaginable journey with us since he was the one to have found and diagnosed the hydrops.  He was the doctor who gave Adam and I the hope we needed to endure the four weeks in the hospital leading up to Harpers delivery and he was the doctor who helped me discover and  become a part of my daughter's personality and spirit in utero. Prior to the appointment lots of tears were shed because I knew seeing him for the first time and the closing of this chapter would not be an easy task. It was most certainly an informative meeting and during our visit we attempted to put as many broken pieces back together as possible.

 At one point during our chat the doctor looked at my husband and I and said "I have to tell you two there really is absolutely no medical reason why this should have happened. There is no reason why there should have been fluid around her lungs.  I'm so sorry we don't have answers but we do know that she didn't have any structural defects, her genetic make up was flawless and there were no infections to be found."

If I could have crawled into a deep dark hole at that moment I most certainly would have. I had been doing so well to lock up and contain the anger that I had felt so much after my daughter left this earthly life. If there wasn't a medical reason than WHY did this have to happen? WHY couldn't she be here with us right now? WHY were we the chosen ones to go through this pain and hurt?

My answers to these questions go back to when I was in the third grade. I remember sitting in class listening to my teacher lecture on eternal life and the joys of heaven; explaining God the Father and his master plans for each of us. I remember raising my hand to ask what I believed to be a very pertinent question "You may not have an answer to this question but how do we know that God truly exists and that there really is a heaven?" She smiled and looked at me and said "Actually Kate, I do have an answer for you." She walked slowly to the chalkboard and wrote in all capital letters one word...

FAITH.

Who would have guessed that a third grade religion class is what has helped to give me the courage to push forward through this unimaginable journey. Who would have guessed that I would ever feel like I had to rely so heavily on one word; a word I now know holds so much meaning. Sometimes I beg the Lord to take me back to the days before this all happened, to the days where I was so naïve to what pain could truly feel like. But with those days there would be no Harper and my eyes would still be closed to the true meaning of life and the value each of us have while we are here on earth, whether it be for a long time or just a short little while.  I wish with all of my heart there was a different ending to my story but I am so grateful for the lessons Harper has taught me and the absolute joy she brings to me every day of my life. I have her to thank when I look deep within my soul and find strength I didn't know existed and discover a deeper more meaningful existence to my being. So with my little girl's arms wrapped around my heart and soul I will pick up another broken piece and place it along the path leading me towards her light so that one day I can hold her in my arms again and watch her as she smiles and tells me all about God's plan.

If Only He Knew

Everyday Life. It never stops, it's constantly going, constantly taking us somewhere and constantly trying to teach us some new miraculous meaning to each experience we encounter. It happens so fast and before we know what is happening we begin to just exist. We begin to drown out the deeper meaning of our existence and the glorious details of every minute.  How long had my eyes been closed to everyday life before this happened?! How often had I glanced at everything from the surface and watched the true meaning pass me by?! How often had I spoke to a stranger, simple words, and not truly understood the full impact those words might have had?!

"Baby!"

...said Levi as Adam held  him close while we waited in line. Levi was infactuated with the cutest little guy in front of us; he was all snuggled up in his car seat carrier, being held by his dad and just smiling from ear to ear.

My husband responded, "That's right Levi, that's a baby. Can you say Hi to the baby?"

The teachers at school had been prepping Levi for his baby sisters arrival, taking him into the nursery and having him "help " with the babies. They told me for months that he was a natural, that he loved going into the nursery to bring toys to each wiggly, smiling and happy little friend. I would always smile as they told me the stories and I would always be so thankful and grateful to know how lucky I was to have such a warm-hearted and compassionate first child as Levi.

As Levi continued to be entraced by this tiny human being the Dad of the little guy turned to look at me and with a huge grin on his face proceeded to say...

"Mom, I think this is a sign that he's ready for another one."

UGH! and just like that there it was, the gut wrenching throb to my entire body, that feeling that I had been doing so well to dull; it was now exploding in full force and it was sharp.  As sharp a feeling as it was the moment I came off that operating table on March 18th, as sharp as it was the moment the doctor told me that Harper's heart had stopped beating while she was cradled in my arms, there it was raw and without pretense. How was I going to hide it this time?  Every emotion that I had been trying to tuck away inside of me only to open on rare occasions had been kicked over and spilled everywhere. I was so vulnerable.

 I took a deep breath and quickly smiled back, managed to break out a little laugh and tried to direct my attention towards Levi and his new found friend again. If only this dad knew how much I would do anything at this moment to have my daughter physically with us. If only this dad knew how much Adam and I tried to build a bond and friendship for Levi to cherish with a sibling so close in age. If only this dad knew what the past two months had held for us and how that the only wish I had for this moment was that we too were holding a little baby in a carrier at this exact same time. If only he knew...

But he didn't know, and we won't always know the journey someone is on and the roads they have had to take to get there. Some people you will find are an open book and will tell you their whole life story in 5 minutes or less while there are others who will quickly smile, let out a gentle laugh and acknowledge your words all while silently being torn apart on the inside. And both answers are appropriate, both are examples of how grief wears masks that we may never see or know. Now that I've been a "wearer" of one of these masks I feel I  have been given a better appreciation and a better understanding of the everyday things. These unexpected moments that seem to always catch me off guard are crucial to my continued learning and explorations of these raw sentiments. These emotions and these unexpected moments help me locate where the broken pieces still reside and allow me to slowly and gracefully rebuild this journey that I have found myself on, knowing that this is what it will take to one day be peacefully reunited with my beautiful daughter up above.

Hope*

Mother.

The dictionary defines the word mother as "a female parent" but we all know this word stems from something so much deeper than that simple explanation. It is true that when we think of a mother our first thought might be that of a female parent but when looked at in a deeper meaning we can see this word for all of it's beauty. A mother is: a giver, lover, fighter, nurturer, educator, companion and so much more. She is the foundation for every family, the one who brings new life into this world. She knows how to demonstrate grace and beauty while facing the challenges of the world with extreme courage and strength.

There are those moments though where a Mother will be reminded of her pain and her agony, where grace and beauty will feel like a distant trait and strength will be hard to find. Today is one of those days. Today is a day that I am going to have to dig deep to see the joy, today is a day where I am going to have to look at something other than just the surface because today I am reminded that what my dreams for this day were suppose to be, will not be. Today I will look up at the sky, more than once, and wish that I could just see her one more time, or hold her one more time. Today I will look at the flowers still surrounding our house and think "I wish she was here." Today I will walk through my front door adorned by a pink cross and wish that it was hanging there for a much different purpose. Today I will be reminded that part of me is missing.

I know that today will not be easy, that today I will feel a great amount of sadness and that a part of me will feel empty. Today I will have to find the courage and strength to dwell a bit deeper in my soul  in order to find the beauty that I know surrounds me. Today I am going to rely on HOPE. I hope today that when I see the sun I am reminded of the light that she brings to me along with her brother. I hope that today when I see the wind blow I am reminded of the breaths I got to watch her take and I hope that when I feel the warmth of these two combined that I am reminded that I am so lucky to have been chosen to be her Mother and to get to hold her close.

Today, I will get to peer into the eyes of a little boy who helps bring me more completeness than he will ever know.  A little boy who will say "mom" and comfort me in my times of sorrow. As much as I want to yell to the sky this Mother's Day "THIS IS NOT HOW I IMAGINED IT" I will live for every moment with Levi and I will cherish every memory. A part of me is most definitely  missing on this Mother's Day but the other part of me is fully here; living life to it's greatest potential. Today I will pick up a broken piece and place it gracefully where it belongs so that I can keep moving forward on this unimaginable journey and be a Mother to an impeccable little boy here on earth and an immaculate little angel up in heaven. 

So I want to say Happy Mother's day to all of the incredible women out there, to those who celebrate today with huge smiles on their faces and to those who feel like a piece of themselves is missing. Women who have sacrificed so much each day to bring joy and life to the world, especially my Mom and Mother - in - law.... HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!

{*Harper, I hope I make you proud today. XoXo*}

One or Two: What do I do?!

It happened. The moment I wanted no part of. The dreaded, awful and terrifying question had been asked. The one I had been trying to avoid. The one I've been playing my answer to over and over on repeat in my mind since this all began. The one I knew I had prepared myself for. It's the question I told myself I would stay strong while answering. The one I swore I would never look back and think twice about. It was a simple question. Six pure and simple words that when put together to form a sentence sent off a panic within me. It was as simple as...

"How many kids do y'all have?"

I know, I know, this seems so silly, but for a mom who just lost a child this is one of the most difficult questions to answer. This was my first "official" outing after losing my daughter and I was so sure I was ready and willing to answer anything that was thrown my way, anything, but this. I was with a group of amazing moms, many of whom knew my story and what I had just went through and who were extremely supportive during my time away. We had all just been chatting away while decorating my son's school for the upcoming week. I mean how many times had I asked this same exact six word question as a conversation starter? I watched how each mom answered this simple and pure question so effortlessly and without hesitation and then I realized it was my turn. I felt my heart racing faster and my mind spinning, the room literally felt like it was 100 degrees as all eyes turned towards me and I answered...

"I have one."

My heart immediately plummeted to the ground. It was the heaviest I had ever felt it since losing Harper and I don't think if I wanted to I could have picked it up at that moment to brush it off. I felt stuck, as if I couldn't move. I can't even begin to explain the emotions that succumbed to me immediately after answering that question. For a lack of better words I felt so ashamed of myself.

"Kate you've been practicing for so many weeks now how you would answer this.  Just say two and if they ask more questions than just say I have one on earth and one in heaven."

After a few minutes of feeling nothing but shame and guilt my subconscious was wanting me to yell out, "Excuse me! Can I change my answer please? I don't have one kid, I have two. Two beautiful children, you just physically can't see one, but she is here, right here, always and everyday!"

I bitterly just kept playing my answer over and over in my head for hours that day."One, I can't believe I said one." Why did I even have to question what my answer would be? Was I worried what the other moms would think if I said two? What do they think now that I said one?

This experience for me was incredibly eye opening and extremely life changing; it was a moment where I realized that I'm not perfect, this situation isn't perfect and I'm learning how to manage my emotions the best I can with what I have been given. I've learned that I don't need to be so hard on myself, that this isn't something you can prepare for and I've also learned how one simple question can have such an enormous impact on an individual. Just a few months ago I would have answered  the same question just like all the other moms: without hesitation, without fear and with a huge smile on my face. I know one day soon I will be able to answer in the same manner but I also know that there is a learning curve for me now and that it will take time and guess what? That is OK. My heart aches for my daughter and that is an ache that no answer or no person can ever take away. As Adam told me when I confronted him about this situation: "Kate, I don't think I'll always feel the need to tell someone my whole life story every time I'm asked that question. I know I have a daughter and nothing will ever change that, so don't be so hard on yourself."

His words are undeniably true. This past weekend we celebrated the LIFE of Harper. My daughter was physically here, in our presence, for three glorious days where even though she was kept sleeping, we could watch through monitors how much fight she had within her. Her heart did not want to give up and so neither will mine. My heart will beat stronger now because of my daughter. That is a gift I will cherish for the rest of my physical life. The heaviness I feel at times is because I ache for her; not because I am weak but because I remember. Because I will forever cherish those three days and the memories that came from them. Memories that will be engrained within me forever and memories that no one or no answer can ever take away from me. This new found strength is what makes me fight harder and in the end will make me that much stronger.

So if you want to know my answer, I have two children who both give me different perspectives in life and who both give me a reason to fight in very different ways. Two children, whom I love equally and whom I love with all of my being.  I may not always answer the same but I know that they have both in their own way helped me become who I am today, broken yet stronger. So with that, like I always do and always will for the rest of this unimaginable journey here on earth, I will pick up another broken piece that I've found on this path and place it delicately where it belongs so that I can keep moving forward and find the beauty in each and every day that I celebrate here.