AndersenINK

I'm feeling....All sorts of things.

2012-02-20T09:05:00.008-06:00

I'm feeling the baby move. Of course, you could have asked me if I was feeling the baby move 4 weeks ago and I would have said yes. I am so desperate to feel the movement as if a part of me is craving validation. Every slight flicker sensation makes me quiet myself and strain to feel the next flutter.

I think it's only been the past week or so where I can truly say what I was feeling was actually baby moving. At dinner last week, I looked at Frank with surprise and said "I think I feel the baby moving!". Instinctively, he moved over to put his hand on my belly to see if he could feel it too.

And immediately I was transported to two years ago....when a different little baby would respond to touch - and especially her daddy's voice. A baby whose memory is wrapped up in those special nine months of carrying her, and the impossible 2 days we had before saying goodbye.

Really? I'm crying? Will every movement this child moves bring be back there? Will this child ever be separate from the grief we carry for another? Will the milestones of this cherished pregnancy always be tinged with memories of another? And those sweet, sweet memories, along with the grief, is what I get to keep.

I'm happy. I'm glowing. I'm confused. I'm hopeful. I'm exhausted. I'm sad. I'm expectant.

What is this going to feel like? Holding this child? I can anticipate that there will be extreme joy - and also the sadness...as we can't help but remember our first round and our 10.5 lb daughter (who, I affectionately call my baby monster, for she is huge in my life as she was huge when she was born).

How will I love this child? I already do, it's not a question of if...it's a question of how to love two children at the same time when only one of them is right before you. How do we continue to honor and treasure Lydia while still moving on to love another? How do we connect this child with his/her sister while still giving them their independence from it - their own identity?

I knew this pregnancy would be physically easier and emotionally harder....and it is both of those things. And I'm feeling all of it...

Peace and Joy

2012-01-10T17:25:00.005-06:00

There is joy for a new day...

There is peace that surpasses understanding...

...I just can't hide it.....literally! Physically my body remembers what it's like to carry a child and has already proven its muscle memory. Emotionally I'm bursting as my face glows....can this be true? Is it true? It is true. Wait, are we sure? Is this really happening? And "so fast"? God, are you really answering our prayers now? And in this way? Are we really about to do this - again? How will the doctors react? Will they be detached? Will I?

They (the whole office practically) hugged us and celebrated when they saw us. And then we saw it. That flicker on the monitor. That little grey and white "blob" with a tiny heart beating fast.

"Did that just change your life?" I asked Frank with wide-eyed awe.

"Yes," He answered in a hushed, yet deep tone.

"We're gonna have another BABY!" I squealed, allowing the news to sink in deeper than I'd let a positive pregnancy test secure.

we are going to have a baby

this one, in fact:
Yes, that one. That one will be great.

Welcome Baby Andersen #2. Welcome. We already love you more than we thought we were capable of. Sounds dramatic, but it's true. (P.S. I'm dramatic, but you'll learn that in time...)

So we wait with eager anticipation for the unfolding joy of our time to come. We wait with the peace of knowing that we are sitting right where we need to be. We will carry this child for as much time as God ordains, and as well as we possibly can.

We have another baby to celebrate! How great is THAT?

Fully Known

2011-12-21T07:25:00.006-06:00

I have been cleaning my home office lately that has been filling with papers as an untended home office is wont to do. Tucked into one of the cubbies near some other of Lydia's paperwork, I came across the huge stack of ultrasound pictures. Because of my auto-immune disease and certain antibodies I have, they started doing weekly ultrasounds at 12 weeks. In the third trimester, they didn't have to do them that frequently - but suffice it to say, I have a LOT of ultrasound pictures of her.

As I scanned through these and watched her grow in black and white, I was struck about how precious that pregnancy was. Never mind the physical duress my body was in, as I look back, I got to have a full 9 months with her - not just those 2 days when she came out. I'm remembering the times she kicked and the personality I imagined for her. The talks Frank and I had about her future, about our own fears of becoming her parents...

One of the saddest things for a mother who looses a child so young is that you feel like you didn't get the chance to know her. Though we did get a taste of her fighting spirit and sweet preference for her daddy's voice, we won't get to see her develop on this earth. I can imagine her voice, but I don't get to hear it. I got to see those chubby cheeks and toes that looked like mine, but I never saw her eyes open.

As I felt myself going down this familiar emotional dark path, it was countered from this passage from Psalm 139. I felt this reassurance in a deeper place.

For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.

My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place,
when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes saw my unformed body;
all the days ordained for me were written in your book
before one of them came to be.

And then, like a calming warm blanket, I was wrapped in the peace of knowing that even though I didn't get to fully know Lydia, she is fully known. Every baby at conception is fully known! I started thinking of the many women I know that have had miscarriages and the unknowns of that, the pain of that. (one of my worst fears moving forward!) ALL of those precious ones are fully known too! Instantly! And their days, like all of our days - are planned for.

And though I still have fears wrapped in the future of our next child(ren), I hope to cling to this truth that life, wonderful life, is precious - no matter how much we get to know of it on this earth...and for that I am humbly grateful.

For a time - for this time.

2011-11-09T10:10:00.006-06:00

There is a certain "I don't care" attitude you adopt while processing loss - because you don't have the emotional capital to mitigate extra emotions. For a people-pleaser like myself, this was a welcome relief.

I can say what I need to say, exactly how I want to say it - because I really can't afford to care how exactly it is coming across. The freedom of this has been intoxicating.

...for a time...

This coincides with an inherent selfishness. I had/have to cocoon myself and reorient my world without her in it. I have less energy to take on previous commitments. I have less desire to stretch myself thin with activities. I find myself not caring about things that used to preoccupy my life; playing music every week, making amazing meals, cleaning my kitchen/bedroom/house, meeting with friends, meeting with God.

I'm working on myself right now. I need new shoes. I need to watch the entire season of Project Runway. I need to eat that cookie. I need to test that limit. I need to emotionally dump on my husband in stead of facing myself. I need to think about myself right now - rather than attending to my ever-growing restlessness.

...for a time...

I've never been really one to curse. The word "crap' was a bad word in my house growing up. My coworker joked that not even labor pain would provoke the F-bomb out of me. Now, I have a hard time keeping myself from cursing. Who the HELL cares? This pain has to come out somewhere - and, again, I'm no longer that concerned with how the words will come across. My favorite thing to say is "Crap in a Hell hole!".....and I curse many a driver under my breath that dares to cut me off. This is beginning to move from understandable expression to a heat-attitude/condition.

...for a time...

He keeps repeating this phrase to me. I don't feel shame for the above things - because God clearly told me that these are for a time. It's OK to get the anger out. It's OK to focus on yourself right now. It's OK to say what you need to say. But, these things are for a time...

I have this sinking feeling that the time is up. This time is up. These times are changing. This is what I wanted - I wanted positive change. I wanted to be out from the deepest throws of loss. I do want not to be so selfish all the time and be so ruled by whim. I wanted to be out of pain and able to walk. I wanted to be fitting into my "old" clothes.

And as the positive physical changes take me out of this time, it further highlights the internal changes that need to find a new season too.

But who knew the inertia of good and necessary habits from coping with loss would be so hard to resist when the time came? When this time came?

Not one missing

2011-09-25T13:36:00.005-05:00

Sometimes (ok, almost every time) I talk about having another child, I say something like "I'm just hoping I can have one I get to keep!" And every time I hear myself saying that, something stirs in me. It is true. I do hope that my next one won't be taken from me.

Perhaps part of me is stirred when I hear myself say this because I feel her loss desperately She is not here with me. But that simple reality does not adequately describe the reality. She is not here, but she still IS. She's not here, but she's there. But my reality here without her aches. And I do hope our next child will not cause this type of ache.

I turned to Isaiah 40 today, wanting to read about God's power. As I read through the lines, assuring of his creation, design and intention - these words cut through me hard

To whom will you compare me?
Or who is my equal?” says the Holy One.
Lift up your eyes and look to the heavens:
Who created all these?
He who brings out the starry host one by one
and calls forth each of them by name.
Because of his great power and mighty strength,
not one of them is missing.

Not one missing. Not one. Every creation - every child, no matter how long after conception - will not ever go missing ultimately. Though death may take children, even that power is not enough to make their lives obsolete. They will never be missing because of HIS great power and strength. He knows exactly where every star, every child, every element of creation IS.

Now, I am still upset - I still ache - that Lydia is not HERE with me. I miss her. But she is not missing!

And though my sentiment of getting to "keep" a child is more about this present reality, I know - I know way, way deep down, that she is part of my inheritance. I already get to keep her. Not in the way I want, but in the only way that truly matters. She is with the God of all power. And one day there will be no difference between my reality and hers.

Magic Tru[st/th]

2011-09-07T17:03:00.008-05:00

My surgery was Tuesday 8/30 - this picture is from Thursday. And yes, my instruction manual said to bring a "housedress" - so I complied.

...but everyone kept assuming I was leaving the hospital that day and seemed confused as to why I changed from the hospital gown. Listen, my hip replacement manual told me to....

So where is the manual for how trust again? I've spent 2 years compensating for a bad joint with every step - and now, I am supposed to put all my weight on it and learn to trust it again? Compared to the slow, steady pace of the joint damage - this feels like some strange magic trick. My own joint failed me. Here I am, just over a week later from a new one in wonder at this [magic] joint.

My surrounding leg muscles complain as I'm asking them to work against their re-adjustments. They, at least, seem as shocked as I am by the suddenness of this change.

...and then there are times of complete wonder. Like when I turned on some dance music to do my PT exercises to and started the routine in the kitchen. Frank had just gotten home and whisked me up into a dance. I took a step...then another step...then [gasp] a twirl! And the joint powered through as I had asked it to - without pain. Really? I said to myself as the tears fell Are you really going to allow me to dance again, hip?

I am constantly flipping from shock to tempered optimism as I adjust physically and emotionally to having a good hip again. I am realizing that I have emotionally acclimated to expect things to be taken from me, not given to me. And though this hip seems too good to be true, it is actually both good AND true.

My reality right now is beyond what I had hoped for - and is stretching hope to dangerous places....new places...mightly places. Welcome home hip.

You're too young.

2011-08-22T14:07:00.007-05:00

You're too young to be reading this post.

Wait. But you are! So.....akward.....I just denied your reality while recognizing it at the same time.

This is how I feel when people say this to me.

As I prepare for my upcoming Hip replacement, I've experienced a higher number of instances where the words "too young" are used. You're too young to have a hip replacement. You're too young to have had arthritis 11 years. You're too young to....whatever. I must have heard this from 5 different people on Friday as I went to various Pre-Op appointments.

I get it. I get that "too young" refers to some kind of normal expectation. Most people who have hip replacements are older (average age is 64). I get that when people think arthritis, they most commonly have experience to people with osteoarthritis - which is mostly connected with old age. Rheumatoid Arthritis can hit at any age - most common in women after 40 yrs old.

So yes, I can understand when they see someone like me needing a hip replacement, it demands an adjustment of those expectations.

Can I please say, however - for anyone in my category of having a chronic disease for years before it "normally" presents - telling someone "you're too young to have this problem" may be one of the LEAST helpful things you can say. Yes you can think it - I think it sometimes, but having to hear it so often is starting to grate on me....

Who does that really help? I mean really? Does it help you because you're acknowledging the anomaly before you? All you're doing is point out the most obvious and painful fact. I know that I'm young to have this disease. I live with that every day. I'm obviously not TOO young to have this because I have it. I can't change that reality and neither can you. Simply recognizing it's existence as different than the norm only frustrates the bearer.

So what should you actually say? What would I rather hear?

That is a lot to carry. That must be hard to have that for so long. or at the very least, I"m sorry to hear that!

You don't have to get creative, you don't have to open a can of worms - just don't unconsciously deny my reality by choosing what you think is just simple acknowledgment of a "normal". Don't just stop the conversation there. This disease is my normal. And I just may sketch the joint in Illustrator, decorate it, and give it a fine farewell. So long HIP!

Coasting down mountains

2011-08-11T10:04:00.006-05:00

Yesterday I found a pair of purple suede, peep toe, Maryjane, embroidered pumps at a consignment shop for $10 in my size. AMAZING. It did a lot to lift my spirit.
Later that night I took my first extended motorcycle ride with my husband...since like...forever. 2 years maybe?

What is she thinking? She has a collapsed hip joint and is riding a motorcycle and buying heels?

Yes. Yes I am. And It wasn't until we were riding back from a restaurant (just in Libertyville, we didn't go far!) in the dark that I felt a familiar feeling....one I hadn't felt since I lived in Taiwan in 2001. This feeling helped uncover, beyond words, what buying heels and riding motorcycles is doing for my spirit.

I was several months into a year in Taiwan with a missions organization. I was comfortable in the culture and trying to figure out how to be more comfortable with me. I took the invitation to go on a mini vacation with the Powells - a missionary family that grew even dearer in my heart during that year in Taiwan together. Their kids were younger, and so fun to be around. We went to Gao Sheng - the southernmost city in Taiwan - it had beaches and mountains!

One night, me, Aimee (the Powell's eldest daughter) and some of her friends took scooters up to the top of this small mountain/large hill. When we got to the top, we turned the scooters off and then proceeded to coast down the curvy slope in silence.

That's when I felt this feeling first....in the darkness, in the quiet, in the wind. Crouched low on the scooter for aerodynamics (did I mention it was a race too?), I released my stress, my discomfort, my loneliness. I felt such extreme freedom and peace with the sensation of coasting with speed down this long, steep road. There was no noise but the pounding of my heart and the wind rushing by.

This is where my heart escaped to last night - 10 years since that experience. On a powerful motorcycle, in the suburbs, on a wide road with no cars - in the dark of night, in the cool of night. I closed my eyes and that deep sense of peace while in motion flooded my aching heart.

For that moment, I was calm. I wasn't the hobbling girl with a damaged hip. I wasn't the grieving mother relearning to hope. I wasn't the stressed-out designer with too much on my plate.

I was a woman at peace.

And when the bike came to a stop at the traffic light, I looked over at my husband and took a deep breath. I don't know what lies ahead. I don't know what a new hip will feel like. I don't know when/if God will make me a mother again. But, for now, I'm willing to be caught up in the safety of His movement. I'm willing to release my fears and pain to the rushing winds.

I'm willing to be caught up and carried down this mountain. (even if it means having to be carried up it first.) And maybe, just maybe, I'll get to do it in purple, suede pumps.

Yay! Ready? Wait.

2011-08-05T18:02:00.003-05:00

I am on the other side of a year.

There is some closure in that. There is much progress in that. There is much growth in that.

I had pictured that being on this side came with benefits. Benefits like being able to start trying again. July was the month....all systems go.

?

Oh wait. You hip joint is collapsed....probably need to take care of that before you can have another baby.

So here I am again. Suspended. Waiting for the next stage. Waiting for a surgery I will have to repeat sometime in my life. Waiting for that time when I don't have to wait anymore. I guess I'll always waiting for something, I just wish I could choose what I'm waiting for.

How was your Birthday?

2011-07-25T20:43:00.021-05:00

Dear Lydia,

How was your Birthday up(out/in) there? The place that you are? That beautiful place? We were in a beautiful place too.

This was a very different birthday than what I pictured before you were born. I couldn't wait to see you stuff your face with some cake and get icing everywhere. Is there buttercream icing in Heaven? Are there sparkles too?

We made very special cupcakes for your birthday down here - your dad, me, your Pop and Nini (you might have called them different names), Dani, Jon, Lisa and Erich. We were up in Minnesota at the cabins I was so hoping to show you. I grew up going there every summer for vacation.

We started off your birthday with a BIG breakfast Dani/Jon made at the log cabin. It's my favorite spot for breakfast.

Then, Jon, your dad and me took a little paddle on the foggy Lake Superior to find some driftwood for a special project your dad had in mind. We paddled all the way past my favorite driftwood spot, but found it on the way back.

Then, Lisa, Dani, Nini and I went to start making the cupcakes and got them set up for painting!

Then everyone joined us to celebrate you with fun, beautiful cupcakes! You would've loved helping us paint color on these...and then helping us eat them.

Meanwhile, your dad had set up some "water sports" with that driftwood we found (and some other things lying around).
After a while we gave you an Andersen gun salute tribute.

Then we spent time talking about you and sharing stories.

The next day....was a lot harder. We took a hike along one of my favorite rivers, the Cascade. Your grandPop shared from a passage in the Bible and some reflections on grief. We are all so sad to have to wait so long to see you and cuddle you. We are all wishing it were different, but learning how to settle with God's taking you.
So I hope you had the best Birthday celebration up there possible, and I hope you enjoyed watching us celebrate you down here. We sure wish it were different, but we had a memorable time we will never forget.

Just like we'll never forget you.

Happy Birthday Sweet Pea! MUAH!

Though You Break Me (A Psalm of Lament)

2011-07-10T11:00:00.005-05:00

God, my provider, Your blessing is far from me
My body rolls in the depths – battered and torn.
My heart is deflated. My arms are empty.
How deep is this cavern of pain?
How thick is the bruise of tragedy?
How wide is this wound?
How long will you see me writhe and not intervene?

I thought loving you would free me from the darkest of tragedies.
I thought your protection would spare me this pain.
Loving you has cost me everything.
With hope I carried your blessing in my womb, expecting a joyful future,
Expecting your sure provision.
But you did not spare my daughter. You took her from me.
You have left me here.

But near to me is your steadying hand
Your breath blows over my downcast face
Your kindness collects all my tears
Your presence hangs thick about me

For, You did not even spare your own son.
His death brings life to my daughter’s death.
His death brings life to my own life.
His death brings HOPE back to my expectancy.

Though you have asked me to carry this sorrow,
YET will I praise You.
Though you do not answer all my questions,
YET will your peace flood my soul.
Though you pour me out,
YET will your fragrance fill my life.

Though you break me, you alone can breathe life into all the broken places.
So, I wait will for your breath,
for your healing,
for your restoration,
for your blessing.
I will wait for YOU.

Soups, Marinades and Cupcakes

2011-06-28T10:34:00.004-05:00

I've rediscovered cooking.

This is one of things that is making me realize that I'm beginning to breathe again. I'm the kind of cook who likes to know there are recipes, but never really follows them. I love making up things and figuring out substitutes. I mean I like to know that someone has come up with some boundaries - but cooking is the sort where you can make your own boundaries any way you like.

Like the marinade I made last week for some chicken we were grilling. How about lime juice and brown mustard? Sounds kinda weird....but let's try it. It was amazing.....Really. You should try it.

And I've been making Tuscana soup. It has kale and lean spicy sausage in a light broth (I leave out the heavy cream the recipe calls for). Frank loves this soup and has asked me to make it every week....and I'm rediscovering that I love making things that elicit emotional responses.

Like cupcakes that can be made so many different ways. I've been making banana muffins (breakfast cupcakes really) that are not only healthy, but delicious. (and another excuse to use my cupcake accoutrement [please hear this word with the implied French accent])

I'm anticipating a pretty big emotional month next month. I do feel way different than who I was a year ago anticipating a July baby. This July, I'm anticipating what this anniversary will feel like. I'm stronger than I was. I am weaker than I was. I am less hopeful than I was. I am more hopeful than I was...

I'm finding that I am picking back up things that lost their flavor for me....

I am once again recreating boundaries - and enjoying the process as much as the resulting emotions.

So Now, What Now?

2011-06-09T17:03:00.005-05:00

I've been thinking a lot about what I said.

hehehehehe.

It's true. I've been consumed by the the thought of what now?

As I was viewing back on the pictures we took from her monument, I realized I have a picture that I love exactly because it illustrates the Not Now, What Now? tenor/tremor of my now.

But I think what this picture also illustrates is that along with the emptiness there is a certain amount of light. I am/we are not without hope. I am frustrated with the emptiness of my upturned hands, but I am feeling the warmth of God's light against my skin. I am left with a deeper appreciation that what I have is the shadow. What my now is - is, at its best just a shadow of what life truly is.

My favorite line from the verse in Hosea 14:5-7 on the back of her stone is the line "She will live again in God's shadow." This brings up a sense of protection that reminds me of the verse in Psalm 61:4 -

I long to dwell in your tent forever
and take refuge in the shelter of your wings.

I have always loved this imagery and often picture myself literally in the shadow/protection of his wing. And now I picture Lydia there.

But if I'm honest, this image of being under his wing has been shattered in my life. I don't FEEL like I am there. I don't feel protected. I don't feel like that picture really fits my reality. How can I feel sheltered by him when my heart is broken so? What exactly did he protect me from?

Thinking about her in God's shadow yesterday brought me to a simple yet profound realization I'm still letting sink in.

The common denominator between where Lydia is in God's shadow, and where I live in the now (that is merely a shadow of true life) is Jesus.

He is the present. He is the future. He is both in my now and her now. I mean I get this theologically, but it clicked for me emotional yesterday in a way that simultaneously flayed open and healed my soul. I don't really know what exactly to expect for my now, but I know at least where I want to be.

In His presence. In His shadow. I am hoping for healing. I am praying for a renewed vision of my protector. I am longing to be in the presence of the only one that can be both in my now and hers. That's what I want for my now.

My Present, What Now?

2011-05-31T22:15:00.008-05:00

I've been doing a lot of thinking about hope recently.

I have never been so connected to life-after than now. I've never felt more secure with the ultimate future. I've never had this must trust before. I've never felt so full of hope for what is to come...

...to come in a distant future.

That is the future I am connected with - the future that comes after this life ends. So....what the heck am I supposed to do in the meantime?!?!??? I am still so unsettled with my present. I feel deflated without the desire to fill back up. What I mean is that I know that I know that I know that I know that God's will will be done. I am comforted by the big picture in a deeper way than I ever though possible. But it's really not helping me know what to do in the present. I feel taken by the wind. I'm not afraid. I'm not bitter. I'm not depressed. I just feel at a loss to know what I'm supposed to do now. What can I expect? What can I hope for? in the now?

What am I supposed to expect, really? God promises his blessings to those who love Him - but in what form? How specific can I get with hope for my now? What can I envision God will bless me with without turning those visions into demands? My pregnancy was filled with this type of present hope. A hope that endured. A hope that got me through many nights of unbearable pain. A hope that got me through 40 hours of her precious life. A hope for a present with Lydia that He has deferred. I want her presence to be in my now. But instead, it connects me to a future I know not how distant. She secures my heart away from what I thought would be my present, my now.

Sure, I hope for another baby in our not so distant future. But hope in that specific outcome feels naive to me too. Do I believe He can provide us with another child. Sure do! Do I believe he probably will? Yep. Do I know if He will? Nope. Do I know if He will ask me to walk an ever harder road than this one? Nope.

I don't know my present future. And I am, for the first time in my life, kinda disinterested (disoriented?) by it. I feel way more bound to the life-after where my present will include what I had envisioned, expected to have in my now - Lydia. That far-future seems sooooooooooooo much easier to deal with. So much more secure. So much more.....predictable.

So present, what now? Really?!?!!?

Third Gear

2011-05-13T13:58:00.002-05:00

Today, while driving home in Chicago traffic, I asked myself "Which is your favorite gear?". Without much hesitation, the answer was clear; third gear. When you're driving a manual trans truck, shifting takes work. It doesn't slide as easily into gear as the sporty car I learned on. Third gear slows down the car when you need a gradual slow down. It's you're last stop before getting to a "cruising" gear....but you can go pretty far in it while anticipating a cruising speed.

The more I thought about this, the more I took this to be a metaphor to how I feel emotionally right now. I'm out of start-up, first gear that takes the most work to shift in and out of. I'm past second gear, because I'm picking up speed (emotionally) and ready to slow down the RPMs. I'm not yet at cruising speed - I'm not back to where I was. I may never get there - or at least the getting-there will take a whole new clutch....

For now, I'm comfortable with third gear. It's moving me along. I'm not going as slow as I was. I'm not going as smooth and fast as I was either.

Third gear, right now, is my favorite gear.

Monument(al) Visit

2011-05-08T12:40:00.001-05:00

Our Mother's day visit was what I anticipated....all those things. It was glorious and tragic.
Her stone is more beautiful that I imagined!

I'll let the pictures do the talking.

Mother's Anticipation

2011-05-07T19:31:00.006-05:00

For Mother's Day, I thought I'd post one of my favorite poems my mom wrote as she grieved Lydia. She compiled most of them in a book for me for Christmas. I love this book. I find that when I read it, I read fast, because I want to get through it before my vision is completely blurred with salty wetness. This poem is a beautiful depiction of my mom loving me, loving Lydia. I think it quite appropriate for a day that both appreciates and anticipates.

[I love our expressions in this picture because my Mom is making a face I make. :) This was at our family baby shower in NJ last April 24th, 2010.]

11/27

My heart gets soft, my eyes grow wet
As I think on Betsy expecting
With sweet anticipation, her quiet smile
A waiting

How like when a child in her white dress
Sitting on Pete's bed...
I had asked each girl to wait separately
While I arranged something for their hair
A banquet we were going to.

That same expectant smile I recognized later
between labor pains
As she was rolled down the hall
As she greeted me post surgery
She was so happy waiting...
Lydia was going to be beautiful!

How dashed these expectations for now

But I will think on her as I glimpsed
that evening, hands folded
quiet smile awaiting
under her brown, bobbed hair.

Long after my hands are still
he will not fail me to fulfill
Such a sweetly longed for anticipation
It will be an adorning crown
for another, far better banquet.

[amen. I love you mom.]

Mothers Day, It'll be...

2011-05-06T16:23:00.004-05:00

It will be different
It'll be sad
It'll be glorious
It'll be remarkable
It'll be exhausting
It'll be anticlimactic?
It'll be healing
It'll be confirming
It'll be anxiety provoking
It'll be longing increasing
It'll joy abounding
It'll be heartache reopening
It'll be affirming
It'll be anticipating
It'll be hopeful
It'll be filled with her memory
It'll be filled
It'll be
It

$2 and an unexpected plan

2011-04-30T19:56:00.008-05:00

Went to lunch with a friend
We shared an order of fries
She gave me $2, which was way more than half
I stuck it in my pocket
I went to pick up Frank from work so I took a different route home
I passed by some people with red vests at a traffic light accepting donations
I remembered I had $2 in my pocket
The sun was out
Ok, if I see more of those folks on my long drive down Touhy Ave, then the $2 is theirs!
Chicago. Friday. 5:25. Traffic. Manual transmission. Tired joints.
Sure enough, 2 min away from Frank's work, more of those red vests.
I roll down my window, pretty young girl comes up with a smile and a can.
I hand her my $2, and she thanks me, hands me a small bag of jelly beans, and a card explaining their foundation.
I read the card and break down.

There were moments in the process of Lydia's short life where the doctor explained the prognosis of what her sepsis would mean. Her lungs were not oxygenating her blood and she fought hard - ultimately giving us more precious hours together than was expected for a baby in her condition. Had the last-ditch effort to use a machine that would bypass her lungs and oxygenate her blood worked, her major organs, including the brain, would've most likely sustained lasting damage.

All of this flooded my mind as I realized the people in the red vests were collecting donations for the Misericordia heart of Mercy foundation. Here's what the card read:

Misericordia offers a community of care that maximizes potential for persons with mild to profound developmental disabilities, many of whom are also physically challenged. By serving society’s most vulnerable citizens, Misericordia also serves the families who want the best for them, yet cannot provide it at home.

I was filled with compassion - filled with a connection to the disabled community I hadn't seen coming. This could have been me needing their services. I was surprised that this was such a trigger for me, but grateful too. I felt like in a very small way, I was honoring her, by helping them. I also felt like God, who lays out our every step, knew my friend's $2 in my pocket would blossom in me a new mercy I won't be able to measure or contain.

Misericordia is the Latin translation of the Hebrew word "hesed" (loving-kindness in English). God showed me his loving-kindness in giving us 40 hours with our sweet girl that easily could have been half that time given her condition. I am so grateful for that - and so grateful for organizations like Misericordia/Heart of Mercy that show loving-kindness in a variety of ways for those precious ones with challenges I can only begin to imagine.

www.misericordia.com

Heels and Hope

2011-04-28T10:49:00.005-05:00

I love shoes. I have a lot of them. Last Easter (2010) I rocked a pair of red, patent leather, peep-toe pumps while leading Easter services, 5.5 months pregnant. Perhaps one of my favorite, shining wardrobe moments. I love completing any outfit with the perfect accent - shoes.

I was truly unaware how many of my shoes are heels until they became unavailable to me. My feet changed during pregnancy. Add to that joint pain in my feet for over a year now; I've had to buy some more "sensible" shoes. Don't get me wrong, patent leather can come in almost any color and heel size - but I miss my heels. I miss that part of my identity. It's just another thing that subtly tells me how much my life has changed.

Yesterday, something wonderful happened. I wore my favorite pair of black heels (we're talking 3" easy), and for some reason, I was able to walk better in them than my "sensible flats"! The height, angle and shoe design somehow bypassed the joints that normally whine, and my hip seemed to ease into the shift as well.

My boss told me "you can stop now", with a grin as I did 3 consecutive walk-bys to demonstrate my smooth walking abilities. Pardon the pun, but there was true Spring in my step!

Was it just for that one day? Some cosmic colliding of a good joint day with correct vitamins and the right cup of coffee? Is this a sign of what's to come? With what may be restored yet physically (and, let's face it, emotionally), with all my lingering pain, with all that's changed, with all my body's been through, with all my heart has churned, I am hoping I won't have to give up on heels quite yet. Not quite yet.

Truth is, I don't know what lies ahead. I don't know all the things I may have to give up due to my health. I can't know all the different seasons marked by somewhat inconsequential things like heels or no heels. What I do know is that on a good day, you may see me in a pair of heels and a sparkle in my expression, seizing the delight of what has been restored to me - even if its temporary [just like everything else].

The Day Death Died by Death

2011-04-22T21:57:00.009-05:00

I have always loved Good Friday. I love the intensity, I love the darkness, I love the power. As I began reflecting on Good Friday this year with the depth of my new relationship to death, death deepened in perspective.

God chose to end death by death. He used death in all its ugliness, grossness and pain to forever break its power. The power of what Jesus did is that he conquered death, with finality, by using death itself. He made death impotent.

Now death, physical death, still carries with it unmeasurable pain and sadness in the meantime. I will be forever grieved while I live this life on earth separated from Lydia, but that hurt is temporary - it has an end! Ultimately, the power of death to reek havoc on our lives/emotions/actions will die. It is brief, temporary pain compared to the life we will have outside of its power. Death, though painfully concrete, is impermanent for all but the body.

The hurt is temporary - but the scar will be an eternal crown.
Just like Jesus' pierced hands and feet remain on his resurrected body, I believe what God has asked us to carry will remain perceivable on us, and will be another reminder of what God has redeemed. He has bestowed on us a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair [Isaiah 61:3]. He takes our deepest despair and pain and not only redeems that brokenness, but crowns us, revives us and adorns us!

Jesus' death gives opportunity for true life.
Life and death have never been more concrete and, at the same time, more abstract. It has been only in facing Lydia's death that I've come to ponder what it means to live. Lydia may be gone in this physical world, but she is alive with Christ. If life with Christ in eternity is really true(er) life, than Lydia is more alive than I am!

Our own lives are all fatal - they will all end in death. But that death - the death of our corporal bodies - will die. Life, however, will only intensify and become more true beyond imagination and satisfaction.

There's something about Lydia's death that makes me want to live and makes me want to die. I have never felt more connected to true(er) life after this one. This connection to what is to come has completely eradicated my fear of death. Physical death is necessary, but impotent. I welcome both this life and, in turn, death. Both lead to a life beyond imagination. While I have breath yet to breathe, I will honor the One that gives me this hope - I choose to embrace the life He has called me to here on this earth.

This Good Friday, as I reflect on the power of death, the cross, and true life, I feel deeper peace flooding my soul. Jesus victory over death, by death, has brought me life - a life together with Him, my Lydia, and a whole cloud of witnesses. Blessing and honor to the lamb that was slain!

Purple.

2011-04-13T10:19:00.005-05:00

I just finished the book “Heavin is for Real.” It’s about this 3 year old boy who has a serious appendectomy, and whose parents come to discover he visited Heaven for a short while while in surgery. He was able to verbalize things a 3 year old could not have known.

It was a quick read. A good read. One of my favorite parts is when the boy tells his Dad Jesus was the only one in heaven wearing purple. J It is the color of royalty. That makes me smile. As many of you know, I have a certain zealous affinity to purple – and have had for as long as I can remember. This love of purple increased exponentially when Lydia was born.

A friend of mine (who did not know my connection to the color) told me that she had a vision of Lydia dancing and she was wearing purple dancing shoes. She has had a couple similar visions. Oh the dances she’ll be able to teach me/us when I get there! And I’ll be able to dance without the limitations of my silly hip.

Today I miss her with purple.

There are other nuggets from this book I am still mulling over. If anything, it simultaneously increased my longing as well as my peace. Those things seem so contradictory - but somehow make sense to me right now. I guess this is the tension I've lived in all my life, but never felt so deep before. I treasure her now, and long to know her fully later. It hurts to be forced to wait, but I am also learning how to find peace with that too.

I guess that describes where I am right now on this wave. I am learning to embrace peace with the longing.

And purple is a visual way that reminds me of both those emotions: longing and peace. [and love and royalty :)]

Peru and Expectations

2011-04-10T20:39:00.002-05:00

We have the amazing gift of being able to take a 10 day vacation to Peru. We’re staying at a georgeous beach house my uncle owns with my parents and sister and her husband.

The first day here was a mess of emotions.

We wouldn’t have planned this trip if we had a 9 month old right now. My dad started planning this soon after she passed as something we could look forward to.

As glorious as it is to be in this beautiful place, I would so much rather be “stuck” at home with my baby. I was/am rather unprepared for the (re)cycle of emotions being here stirs up. We have been really looking forward to this trip – it seemed so far off. Now it’s here, we’re here.

I think I have been holding out on processing things, thinking "I'll have time to go there in Peru." This may be true, we have several days to fill. But being here is forcing the issue. I know one of the ways I cope is to push off reality to "deal with later". Perhaps I subconsciously convinced myself that this is where the cycle will end. I'll be past this by Peru, right? I probably told myself when I wasn't looking. Just hold out till then. That should be enough time.

Now, I am dealing with expectations I've been concealing from myself. So here I am, in this beautiful place, with family surrounding - forced to confront my expectations. No matter what happens in our vacation here, I know that I will not be over "this" ever. Yes, there are things I feel I can process now I had no ability to at first, and those things I will face as they come.

I guess what I'm trying to say to myself [are you listening, self?] is that you have permission to be where you are - no more, no less. You can process or not process. You can relax and just be.

You - all of you - can go on vacation.

I hope I am listening.

Strange, Yet Lovely

2011-03-31T16:23:00.005-05:00

Frank and I had a chance to get away for the weekend for our 4th wedding anniversary. For several reasons, we went to this adorable Dutch/German hotel oasis in NE Indiana called Das Dutchman Essenhaus (!). It was country cute, clean, and refreshing (did I mention the 10 person hot tub?). Along with the hotel, there was a huge restaurant, a bakery and some shops.

Best fried chicken ever.

As I started to devour said chicken, an elderly man approached our table. At first it wasn't clear if he was headed towards us or to the exit door behind our table. Maybe our expectant, curious glances in his direction reordered his steps. In any case, the resulting conversation went something like this:

Man: Is this your first time here?
Frank: Yes.
Betsy: It's delicious!
Man: Where are you from?
Frank: Chicago
Man: Oh, that's great. My wife and I, she went to the bathroom, are from around here. You can't get better than this place! [pause] Anyway, my name is Tom.
Frank: [shaking hands] Hi Tom, I'm Frank!
Betsy: Betsy. [I extended a greasy hand which was eagerly accepted. Then, back to my chicken. Take it away Frank!]
Tom: Enjoy your time. [moves toward the door]
Frank: God bless you!
Tom: [stops and comes back] eh? What did you say?
Frank: God Bless you!
Tom: [excited look in his eyes] Are you a son of the king?
Frank: I sure am!
[then ensues a comical, yet sweet conversation about the name of our church, "churches these days" and the Trinity]
Tom: Well if I don't see you before, I'll see you in heaven!
[we chuckled, agreed and he went on his way to find his wife again]

Then I got to thinking. It stands to reason that this sweet old man will beat us into heaven. Just saying. He was up there in age. I bet, even though we didn't mention Lydia at all, Tom will know her when he sees her. He will know her as the daughter of that couple who were eating fried chicken. He will see her before we do.

What a strange, yet lovely thought. I was at once struck with jealousy and a smile. My deep desire to be with my daughter quickens at the thought of dying - not in a morbid way, but in a deep anticipatory way. It doesn't seem fair that others [even strangers!]will get to see her before I will. Odd I know, but that's the feeling I had. I'm her momma! I want to be where she is!

Yet, knowing this stranger would know her as ours gives me comfort and a entirely new perspective on Heaven. I've already been so encouraged by visualizing sweet Lydia with other loved ones I know are there with her already. But this was new. Even virtual strangers will know her.

And that...is strange, but truly lovely.

The best way I know how...

2011-03-23T10:01:00.006-05:00

I've had a bit of a head cold in recent days - and before that Frank had a mess of a cold w/fever. He is miserable when he's sick....and I try to have compassion, but mostly I end up telling him to suck it up. :)

This forced down time led to many a quiet hour watching movies and snuggling with blankets. One, no-name movie I watched randomly was a romantic movie about this couple that has to overcome some obstacles, and in doing so, find themselves. Classic! Though I watched it while coming in and out of consciousness, there's one line in the movie that has stuck with me.

I don't want to miss out on something that could be great
just because it may also be hard.

I'm not always brave. I'm not always as strong as I seem. Frank can attest, that I have a very well trained whiny voice when I want to. I don't like it when plans get changed last minute. I don't like it when something happens to my car that can't be fixed instantly. Sometimes I shy away from what I perceive to be a mountain. Sometimes I do let what I think is going to be hard keep me from what is great.

But sometimes, [dare I say most of the time] the mountain in front of us can't be avoided by choice. We find ourselves in impossible situations; out of a job, out of a home, loss of a loved one, change in health, [fill in the blank] ___________

As I process what it is that compels me to face my current impossible mountain, I struggle to find the words to explain why, unlike with previous challenges, I find the chutzpah to engage with the deep cavern that is grief.

Why? Because it is the best way I know how to love. I will not lose what is so amazingly great about being entrusted with Lydia - just because it might also be hard. I will not miss out on cherishing every good and perfect thing about this mountain, just because it might wear me out and bruise me in the process. I will not avoid an opportunity to love without return, just because it may open up a floodgate of unbridled, weighty emotion.

This is the best way I know how to love Lydia. And I will continue face this mountain unlike I have ever faced anything in my life - because she is so worth loving with all that I have, and more.

It is not....God is.

2011-03-16T09:05:00.006-05:00

Before Lydia, the suffering I carried [still carry] centered around my Rheumatoid Arthritis. RA is an unpredictable, painful disease effecting all your joints - though usually not all at once. I remember saying things like "I've grown so much from having this disease that I'm thankful for it in a way." In truth, I have learned a lot about myself through the disease. It is a lot to carry.

enter present grief

Since my previous experience with suffering "lessons" resulted in a sense of thankfulness, this pressure started tugging at me early on. How in the world could I come to that conclusion out of this? People would quote: I would quote: Romans 8:28:

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.

Love God? check.
Called according to his purpose? check.

So how in the world is this going to be worked for good????????????????????????
This is what I know.

1) Death is not good.
Lydia's death is not good. It will never be good. It is, by nature, not right. We, created by God, were not supposed to die - that was not in the plan. But BAD entered what God made as GOOD. And physical death will always be bad. But it is not the END. We have a saying in the design world that [pardon the crassness] "You can't polish a turd." Which is to say, you can't make good out of what is intrinsically bad. Death is intrinsically bad.

2) I may never know the good.
I am never promised to see/know the good God makes of what is bad. God promises that he will work the good for those who love him - BUT he does not give a timetable for that, or set expectations that it will be made known to those called according to his purpose.

Looking for the good out of circumstances is, at best, misplaced hope - and at worst, deceitful distraction. Sometimes it is easier to want to hold on to the circumstances we want to be made good, but this is dangerous!! It is the lesser thing!

3) God is good.
Not death. Not circumstances. This is the one sure thing that is worth clinging on to. Though I may never see how He works good out of this, what I do know is that He is the best kind of good. He's the kind of good that doesn't change; the kind of good that transcends all; the kind of good that also knows me.

His ultimate purposes are to bring life to my deepest parts. His goal is not, as one of my friends recently said. "to turn lemons into lemonade. He’s not that simple. He wants us to become more like His Son, that’s His ultimate purpose for everything in our life, all the good and all the bad."

So I will not ever say that Lydia's death was good - nor will I cling to seeing circumstances turn to good. What I will cling to is something much more stable, much more life-giving;

God is good.

A Mom Deferred

2011-03-07T16:32:00.020-06:00

"Hope deferred makes the heart sick."
Pr.13:12

A good friend of mine just had a baby boy. I went to visit last week with some other friends and we had a lovely evening cooing over the little, squirmy baby. Holding him, as you can imagine, stirred many emotions in me - both positive and furrowed [mark or be marked with lines or wrinkles caused by frowning, anxiety, or concentration.]

"How will I ever get over how fragile children are?" I wondered to myself. "Don't you worry all the time?" I asked my new-mom friend.

"Of course you do. All mom's do." she responded with her sweet, glowing smile.

Right! All mom's do. I am a mom - and holding that precious baby boy reminded me that I am one. But, I, unlike my friend, am a mom deferred. It was beautiful to see how instantly Frank became a father in instinct, passion and devotion. I, similarly, know what it is like to carry a child and see the perfect combination of me and Frank embodied with life. I also know what it's like to stare down the doctor when he suggested discharging me to follow Lydia to the other Hospital was "not protocol". Try and stop me!

This is the tension I live in.
I am a mom, but my crib never held my baby.
I am a mom, but I have drawers full of adorable clothes that do not fit my child.
I am a mom, but my nursing tank-tops have not been used for nursing.
I am a mom, but I don't know how to operate the infant car seat I purchased.
I am a mom, but I can sleep in till 10am on Saturdays.
I am a mom, but I can wear white pants.
I am a mom, BUT I am...

deferredpast participle, past tense of de·fer (Verb)

1. Put off (an action or event) to a later time; postpone.

As holding that little baby reminded me of that aspects of "momhood" I don't have, it also reminded me that I am, unlike a lot of moms, simply postponed from what I hope to be a definite future. Holding him reminded me of the possibility of a "momhood" I yearn to have yet while on this earth - as well as the imagining of the "momhood" experienced in a whole new way after this life with the child I do have.

This is why, no matter what, I want to be the kind of grieving mom that doesn't shy away from holding the tangible of what I yet desire for myself, as a mom.

The Jesus Genie

2011-02-26T16:30:00.008-06:00

This is not what I wanted. Sometimes I picture God sweeping in on that day Lydia died. I picture him reviving her and placing her restored, living body into our arms. Even in the darkest hour as we desperately prayed for deliverance and her life, I was acutely aware that we really didn't get to choose. It wasn't up to us. I knew/know who gets to choose.

Still, I wanted him to magically fix it - reverse the wrong and set things right. Swoop in and save her! This can't be happening!

This week I've been pondering the many different examples of a desire for deliverance that God overturns for His own bigger plan. The Israelites were expecting their Messiah to come as a mighty king and set right all the injustice of their political oppression. So many, even after seeing Jesus' many miracles first hand, would not see him for who he was. He was not what they expected. And He did not bring the swift justice to reset their circumstantial woes. No, the justice He would bring would be much bigger and much greater - setting right the wrongs of the whole world for all time. And he would do it n an unexpected way - not with a sword.

I understand this concept in the abstract. Yes, God is in control. Yes, His ways are not our ways. Yes, His plan is far better than one I can devise.

Emotionally, sometimes, I am like some of those Israelites. I want/expect the Messiah who swoops in with a sword and slashes injustice with the sword- setting right the wrongs. I want the Jesus Genie that can magically restore, in the moment, what this world wants to destroy - according to my desires...

I do believe in miracles. I do believe that Jesus does unexplainable things to restore/redeem life. I have seen some with my own eyes. It is this belief that compelled me to pray for a miracle when I desperately needed one. Because I know he can and he does!

But ultimately, He chose to bring Lydia home. He did not choose what I wanted. I could not choose to make Him "perform". I could only choose to recognize who was in control and start the long journey of reconciling that choice with my found reality without my daughter.

I cannot say I am comfortable with His choice to take her home. But I can say that I find unrelenting hope in the assurance of seeing Lydia again - a hope afforded to me because of the recognition of control - because of the recognition of His ultimate plan that is beyond mine. That is faith. That is the assurance of things hoped for. (Heb 11:1)

Though it is quite fantastical to imagine Jesus swooping down at my command and rescuing me/Lydia from our desperate situation (dun, da DA!) - I must profess, somewhere, deep down, way down, that His plan is better than mine. It is. It has to be.

A Smile and a Tear

2011-02-21T17:29:00.010-06:00

"What did you have?" the young ophthalmologist said after reviewing my health questionnaire, disclosing a c-section under the prior surgeries category.

[pause....I know where this is going.] "You mean my baby?" I clarified. That's it, Betsy. Buy some time. Buy some time.

"Yes." she replied cheerfully, her back still turned to me as she finished reading my chart.

"A girl". I smiled. I braced myself. How do I do it this time? I wondered, eager to talk about her, but knowing this conversation was about to take her in an unexpected, heavy place. [me? I live in that place it seems!]

"Ooooh" she cooed. "How old is she now?"

There it is! There is the defining question in this all-too-familiar exchange which forces me to decide How will I do it this time? I let some silence pass between us and she responds as I had hoped, by starting to turn from my chart to look at me.

"Well, she lived for 2 days. She was born in July. She would have been 7 months this week." I did not make it through these three sentences without breaking up. Tears clouding my eyes. "She was beautiful" I add proudly, after composing myself.

"I'm so sorry" the Dr. whispered. Our eyes met and I was touched to discover that hers were as cloudy as my own. She handed me a tissue as she grabbed some for herself. For a moment we both fully embraced a weighty silence. I was thinking of my sweet red-head baby, and she was giving room for my loss. Not only that, she was participating in it.

When she started moving again, getting ready for the eye exam, I assured her that though it still makes me cry, I do appreciate being able to talk about her. "I know you didn't know what you were asking. But please know I appreciate any chance I can get to celebrate her."

Remembering Lydia will probably always come with a smile and a tear. I am thankful for the conversations with complete strangers that instinctively embrace the tragedy and the joy that we carry as her parents.

On What Remains

2011-02-14T12:28:00.008-06:00

A week ago today I came to a four-way stop on this little country road in Frankfort, IN. There is a little flower shop there. As I brought my car to a full (and complete) stop, my heart stopped too. I felt this overwhelming urge to stop at the shop to get Lydia flowers - as I was on my way to check out her headstone that had just arrived.

This is my life - I heard myself say (to myself). This is my life. A life where it will probably become routine to stop at this flower shop and pick up some purple flowers (maybe with yellow daisies in there, maybe some other seasonal surprise) and bring them to the spot. I was taken a-back with my reaction and began processing what visiting Lydia's spot actually means. Is it going to feel like this every time I get to this four-way stop?

I came to the conclusion that the significance to Lydia's grave spot is the celebration of what physically remains of her precious body. It is simultaneously Her and Not Her. It is her dust, but it is not the essence of her. It is what remains of her body, but is not the whole of her physical/spiritual presence. It is a physical presence we will visit and celebrate and mark with a (rather large) cut of granite - but her spiritual presence cannot be bound by earth, stone or weak memories.

There is something sacred and powerful about marking what remains of her physical body. This is the portion of what remains that will stay bound to this earth. But what is infinitely more powerful is her spirit and her essence that, regardless of death, lives. That is the part that cannot die. It can never be taken away. Her spirit is what remains long after the earth ceases. I do believe, as the Bible says, that we will have some sort of body (physical presence) in Heaven. But this future body will not be made from dust - and it will also, like the spiritual essence, never die.

So my life, through Lydia's sweet personhood, will be forever marked by both the (very definite) place where her physical self remains AND the very assured [place] where her spiritual essence can never die.

When I do get opportunities to visit that very definite, physical place, I will celebrate what remains of her (all of her) - sometimes with flowers, sometimes with other things - always with the tireless hope of knowing her completely.

(her "spot" before the marker gets placed in the Spring. It's somewhere in there!)

32 Years Ago Today

2011-02-08T18:47:00.007-06:00

32 years ago today, my mom was in a labor and delivery room giving birth to not just me, but my sister Katie (big bonus!). My whole life she's told me the story in varying degrees of detail - most of which I had no capacity to comprehend.

From the pieces I remember, I know that Katie was Baby A (meaning the one lower and predicted to come out first) and I was Baby B. Then, as Katie and I started negotiating this grand exit, I think we both must have agreed it would be better for me to pave the way. At some point in the labor process, it was discovered we had rotated and I was now in Baby A position and breach (butt first)! This is a major complication. During my own Preparing for Childbirth class this past June, they warned us that breach presentations are always delivered C-section. I bragged to the teacher after class, that my mom had twins naturally, and I was breach (thanks to her really great OB who advocated for a natural birth)!

I imagine my mom now, in the hospital room (not the hospital she had planed) going through labor, overwhelmed with the thought of two babies, surrounded with doctors and residents come to see this rare birth, full of pain and wonder and excitement and anticipation. I imagine her today and do finally appreciate those pieces of the story I've heard all my life and never been able to feel.

I imagine her today with thanksgiving that despite the odds, Katie and I were born healthy babies ready to meet the world (well, I may have been, so I'll speak for myself!).

I imagine her today as I remember my own difficult labor - both stories ending up with chubby, screaming, fighting babies ready to respond to their new world. I responded as Lydia ultimately responded - listening to our Father's voice to come home. She has beaten me there. I'm coming Lydia - when it's my time - I'm coming.

On Death and Waiting

2011-01-30T16:47:00.005-06:00

I had the pleasure this past weekend of spending an evening with some of my close lady friends. As we laughed and cried and encouraged and challenged each other, I was struck by the calmness I felt. Yes, talking about Lydia still brings tears as I deal with all the pieces of her loss, but there is a growing sense of calm that clings to a delayed future with her. I've always clung to hope since she passed, but as the months pass, it seems to be settling in deep.

There's something about death that heightens your sense of waiting. As I ponder the 9 months we waited for Lydia, and now the lifetime we continue in that wait - or as I ponder the waiting between my empty nursery and a busy nursery later (hopefully) - I can easily feel suffocated by this undefined time of waiting. How long, Oh Lord??

We are all, in a sense, in waiting for what life is after death. Experiencing loss heightens this sense, making this life, caught up in time, seem that much more fleeting. What I mean is, perspective changes when you look up from the experience of the waiting to see the full context of death and life. We are all on a life path toward death. And I believe Jesus' death brings a life after physical death that will transform not only our bodies, but this world.

Of this new world after death, Isaiah writes:

Behold, I will create new heavens and a new earth.The former things will not be remembered, nor will they come to mind. (Isaiah 65:17)

To to the me that exists on the other side of death, this period of waiting will not come to mind. I can't even imagine this. But when life's pain pierces my current future, there is a comfort in knowing that these pains won't even be remembered in the eternal future. The verse goes on to say:

I will rejoice over Jerusalem and take delight in my people; the sound of weeping and of crying will be heard in it no more. Never again will there be in it an infant who lives but a few days...(65: 19-20)

What comfort. There's something encouraging about having my particular pain called out in Isaiah as something specific that will not continue after the new heavens and a new earth.

Even though I am much more comfortable with crying here, there and everywhere these days, I am glad that the days of crying have a definite end. Just as the days of having a child and loosing him/her so soon have a definite end.

Yes, I really have no way to know what it is going to be like, but I'm grateful to have this verse in Isaiah that gives me a specific picture. My perspective on waiting for what lies beyond death sure effects my own fear of death. And though these days of waiting have a definite end, it is really hard to be patient - really hard to wait for timing and blessings not set by my own guidelines. So when I get anxious, I try to remember the bigger context and encourage myself that I am simply waiting for the true life to start (one where mothers no longer lose their children).

Burden is MORE

2011-01-27T20:14:00.006-06:00

^{Matthew 11:28-30}
“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.
Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart,
and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

I hear people quote this passage all the time. They quote it in a way that seems to say, If you're struggling, shrug it off - ovbiously you're wearing the wrong yoke because HIS yoke is light. GET WITH THE PROGRAM. It's like we take the actual meaning of this passage and distort it to somehow feed into the whole misconception that if you're a Christian, things should be easier, happier and therefore problems can be ignored successfully. They don't exist! That loss I have? Don't need to deal...because that is heavy as all get out - and the burden I'm supposed to carry is light.

Sometimes I hear people quote this verse along with "He'll never give you more than you can handle." Bleck. First off, the Bible actually says "He will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear." (1Cor 10:13) Totally different!

Truth #1: Sometimes, God does give you more than you can bear.

there. I said it. It's true people. He gives you more than you can bear because you're not supposed to bear it alone. But this isn't the grin-and-bear-it type of bearing.

Truth #2: The word easy in Matthew 11 (chrestos) also means gracious.

His yoke will not tear or strain our necks as we press in the work of pulling through life. Life is work, and it's hard work, but He offers a connection to life that is gracious and redemptive and not toiling.

Truth #3: Jesus can say His burden is light because we don't have to carry His burden. Only He can do that.

This doesn't mean that we don't carry anything - Or that we don't feel the weight of our own burdens. His burden is light to us because we can't carry His burden. But, the amazing thing is, we reap the benefits of His victory over everyone's burden. This leads me to Truth 4....

Truth #4: For those that are weary, He gives rest.

Life isn't fair. Horrible, painful, unexplainable things happen to us - things that are beyond what we can bear. But for the weary, the worn and the heavy there is a place for rest.

I don't think we are, in general, good at rest. I know I'm not good at rest. I don't really understand what it is....but I can tell you I need it. I haven't found rest by ignoring my pain or denying its everpresence. I haven't found rest by telling myself my burden should be lighter. I haven't found rest by harping on what I've lost.

But I guess the good news for my unbearable burden is that I do know who can give me ultimate, profound, staying rest way down in my soul. Yes, please.

In God's Shadow

2011-01-20T16:44:00.004-06:00

Even in the anticipation of things there is unpredictable emotion. Emotion that defies explanation with words.

I got an email from the headstone company today with one minor change to be approved before the stone is etched. It is sparking in me a strong emotional response...

It took Frank and I a long time to decide whether we wanted to bury our Lydia, or spread her ashes somewhere special. At least it felt like a long time. Through a series of God-directed events, we both came to the agreement that she should be burried in Bunnel Cemetary in Franklin, IN (where her fraternal, great-grandparents and great-great grandparents are buried and parents and grandparents plan to be buried).

We started looking online for headstones and I found one I thought was just beautiful, artsy and symbolic. I set to setting the type. Never did I think that I would be designing my daughter's headstone!!! The picture at the top of this post was done for us by an Illustrator friend of mine - and I'm so grateful for her! I will be excited to post a picture of the complete headstone soon on here, but until then, let me leave you with the adapted verse on the back of the headstone. This verse was given to Lydia at one of her baby showers and how it has comforted and marked our lives! I'm going to put it down in this post, read it, and let the emotions surface again.

The Lord Says,
“...I will be like dew to the people of Israel.
She will blossom like flowers.
She will be firmly rooted like cedars from Lebanon.
She will be like growing branches.
She will be beautiful like olive trees.
She will be fragrant like cedars from Lebanon.
She will live again in God’s shadow.
She will grow like grain.
She will blossom like grapevines.
She will be as famous as the wines from Lebanon.”

Hosea 14:5-7

6 Month Reality

2011-01-16T17:34:00.006-06:00

Happy 6 month birthday Lydia.

I imagine what we'd be doing today together. One does a 6mo-old eat? I think just formula/milk, but I'm not sure. The other me would know. The me I sometime imagine when I picture life with her instead of without. The other me would know exactly what to do. I am jealous of that me.

I really wanted to sing Happy Birthday to Lydia today but I couldn't bring myself to do it. The other me would have done it. The other me would have covered her with kisses and probably had 3 different outfits picked out for her to wear (why settle for just one?). The other me would have made a production of a thing like a 6mo milestone.

Sometimes, if I'm not careful, I begin to resent the real me for the sake of the other me. I begin to resent the time I have because I'm not taking care of her (the other me would feel exhausted, but have the satisfaction of her smiles). I begin to resent the silence I surround myself with (the other me would have her hands full with baby cries and other little person noises). I resent even the TV I watch because it makes me think about how the other me wouldn't have time to watch every episode of The Good Wife when it airs.

I can't resent my life now though I have to fight against it [resentment]. Yes, the life I have now is not as great as I imagine other me's life to be, but I am not living other me's life. Access to that life is only imaginary. I think I will always enter other me's world in my thoughts, but I know I need to temper those thoughts with my actual present tense. I want to be where I can't be, so I'm learning to want to be where I am.

So sweet Lyida, Happy 6mo Birthday for your momma who is imagining what life would be like with you today. I'm hoping Jesus and Robbie and Rodger H. and Aimee and Scott and Sam and Jesse and Sandy and Don and Grammy and so many others are throwing you a special celebration! I am trusting that is your reality since I need to also recognize my own.

Honest Complaining

2011-01-11T22:41:00.005-06:00

I really enjoy revealing quasi-self-deprecating, honest humor. For instance, if I catch myself whining to Frank like "Friiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiizzy, you can't stop at the auto parts store again! You always go in there and say it's going to be fast, but then 20 minutes go by, and then....and then - well I just don't waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaant you to!"
Frank: "Well, I need to pick up a battery and we're passing right by. Why are you whining!?!?"
Betsy: "Because I'm bored and want something to complain about."

...which is the honest truth. Humorous to point out to oneself and ones husband at the same time. Voicing true intentions instead of hiding them has a certain cathartic freshness about it that dissipates the pretense and calls out the motive for what it simply is.

_____

I've had a lot of people thank me for my honesty in recent months. This kind of puzzles me because I feel I have made honesty a high personal value in my adult life. Was I not honest before? What is it about Lydia's passing that reveals more raw honesty to others I feel has always been there?

Frank and I have been going to a grief support group and this past week someone in the video said "Biblical complaint is vulnerable frankness to God." This is exactly what I feel has been the most helpful for me in the past 6 months. I'm vulnerable because of my circumstances and my grief, and I'm frank/honest about it verbally because there is something inherently healing about complaining to God in this way. Obviously it isn't in the same way of my complaining to get attention with Frank due to boredom or selfishness or laziness or merriment.

No. This type of Biblical complaining acknowledges my weaknesses in a way that then lays all my cards on the table. I think it carries with it a certain bare-bones freshness that is not striving, or people-pleasing, or rationalizing. But rather, this type of complaining is for honesty's sake, and not for self-sake. It also calls out life in that moment for what it simply is.

So yes, God. I am complaining. I'm complaining because you're big enough to handle it. I'm complaining because it refreshes my soul. I'm complaining because you've forced me to wait(wade?) in fresh vulnerability - and I will not hide.

“I will not let you go unless you bless me.”

2010-12-29T20:57:00.003-06:00

Over a year ago I started experiencing hip pain due to my arthritis. I've had arthritis for about 10 years, but never in this particular joint. It was pretty bad during pregnancy - so bad in fact, that a special interventional radiologist did a "blind" hip injection when I was 5 mo pregnant to calm the inflammation. An x-ray post-pregnancy revealed significant. permanent joint damage in that hip. Now, I almost always walk with a limp.

A few months ago, close friend of mine was praying for me and was reminded of the story in Genesis 32 where Jacob wrestles with God. Jacob, let's face it, had made some pretty poor/impatient decisions in his life: stolen birthright, some bad deals with a father-in-law, a couple wives etc. At this point in his life, he was returning back to his ancestral lands and was afraid of how his scorned brother would treat him and his family.

The Bible doesn't give much description, but it reads "So Jacob was left alone, and a man wrestled with him till daybreak." Jacob says he will not let go unless "you bless me." I don't completely understand it, but there is something about needing to be blessed before the sun rose. My friend said it was because if he had seen this man (who was God) with his eyes in the daytime, he would have died. (Jacob after naming the place Peniel says “It is because I saw God face to face, and yet my life was spared.”)

My point is, Jacob - who had compromised so much in the past - wrestles with God and decides that this time he will wait and even risk his life for God's true blessing (not a stolen/compromised one). God touches his hip during the wrestling which would then be a permanent reminder of his determination to secure God's blessing.

"Do not let go." My friend encouraged me, "Cling to God with a conviction that would even stare death in the face rather than compromise. Cling to Him, and he will bless you."

I often think of this on days when my hip is acting up (which is more often than not recently!). I'm not sure how God is going to bless me, but my bum hip reminds me that I'd rather cling to the anticipation of his sure blessing than fear death and its collateral damage.

I have a 10.5lb pillow

2010-12-27T20:29:00.000-06:00

It's true.

My sister who is a Child Life Specialist said that she's heard of some women holding a pillow after their baby is gone.

It's a reminder of her weight. It's a reminder of her physical presence.

Sometimes I sit in her nursery, in the rocking chair and hold the soft weight - imagining what she might have smelled like and how she might have wiggled. When they took her out of me, she was swept up to the NICU and was on some medical equipment pretty much until her last few minutes when Frank held her until she slipped out of this world. I was still in transit from the other hospital. I never got to actually hold her while she was alive.

This is one of those strange, sad specifics of our story. There are so many "I wish"s that have no resolution on this earth. And it really does no good to sit and think of what I didn't get to do parts. But that doesn't mean you don't recognize those things. You just can't dwell on them.

So sometimes, in braver moments when I just need to feel her, I pick up my pillow Katie made for me, hug it to my chest/chin and imagine - through the tears - what it might have been like to hold my 10.5 lb newborn. (and yes, sometimes I make the pillow wiggle too)

Stockings and Notes!

2010-12-16T11:37:00.002-06:00

A good friend of mine asked me if Lydia had a Christmas stocking. Hadn't thought of that, but the idea is getting me excited.

What to put in it I wonder?

words, love, hopes.

That's for sure what I know I can give her for Christmas. Want to join me?

I want to put little notes from those that care about her/us into her little stocking. When I put it up every year from now it'll be another reminder of her sweet everpresence and those around us that treasure her like we do.

So comment on this post, or on my FB page, or send me an email, or a hand-written note! I'll put them in her stocking - and then sit there and glow - perhaps a smile on my face and a tear in my eye, but with comforting embrace of hope and love that true CHRISTmas is really about.

Walmart parking lots

2010-12-14T20:36:00.003-06:00

I'm not a frequenter of them. In fact, I've only been there twice in 8 months.

Brandi and I are planning a certain surprise for a Christmas present, so I stopped there on my way home from work to pick up my part.

I pulled into the parking spot.

Shut off the car.

and froze.

The last time I was here....in this very parking spot, I was going to pick up a car seat. Not just any car seat - but one that fit some very specific criteria of mine. I'd been looking for this car seat for about 5 months. It had to be ergonomic so my arthritic hands could manage it. It had to be lightweight for the same reason. It couldn't be too girly. It couldn't be too wild. It couldn't be beige. It couldn't be too modern, but it really couldn't be "kitchy". I wasn't going to commit to some kind of theme (you know, where the stroller matches the carrier matches the Pack-n-Play matches the high-chair matches the world). This was a part of my envisioning what it would be like. What it would be like...
That day back in May was the first in a long string of days where I could be on my feet and carry myself for a few steps. My joints were screaming, and the shopping cart I used doubled as a stabilizer, but I somehow made it to the back of the store to the pick up counter with a smile on my face. I'm going to have a baby! A baby we would carry around in this carefully picked-out car seat.

our baby

So there I was tonight, in a Walmart parking lot, remembering in one overwhelming moment that anticipation, the physical pain, the expectation and the emptiness represented by one super cool Baby Trend car seat.

she would have looked great in it.

When I couldn't...

2010-12-10T21:57:00.010-06:00

When I couldn't...
stand on my own to lead worship, you brought me a stool
When I couldn't...
cook meals for my husband, you brought us meals
When I couldn't...
plant my annuals like I usually do, you helped me arrange and plant them
When I couldn't...
weed my garden, you pulled them out...and then pulled them out again when they grew back
When I couldn't...
drive myself to the doctor's office, you hopped in the car

When I couldn't...
bear putting my "Lydia thoughts" in an old journal, you went and bought me a new one
When I couldn't...
return some of Lydia's new clothes and unused toys, you took them back to the stores
When I didn't...
make it through the day, you let me leave work early, or cancel our plans, or not call
When I didn't...
find any words, you were comfortable with my silence
When I couldn't...
keep it together at the simple mention of her name, you just let me cry
When I couldn't...
process that my daughter had just passed, you helped us take beautiful pictures and imprints of her sweet little hands and feet

When I couldn't...
tell you what I needed, you guessed
When I couldn't...
tell you what to pray for, you prayed anyway
When I couldn't...
find hope, you spoke of Heaven and God's weighty goodness

When I couldn't even fathom how we were going to go through this, You reminded me that You were there....and we were meant to do this together.

Thank you to all of you who have shown us that God is near to the brokenhearted by practical, impractical and supernatural means.

Lullabys

2010-12-09T07:38:00.003-06:00

I love to sing.

During most of my pregnancy I would sing here and there; sometimes at church, sometimes anywhere. Most of the time it was made up songs to her about what was going on that day. Sometimes it was this half-made up lullaby I used to sing while babysitting in college.

"Go to sleep baby dear, don't wake up until morning
Go to seep, rest your head, on your little bed.
For the sun will come out in the morning time
for the sun will come out in the morning time."

Driving home from a friend's house Tuesday night I turned off the CD playing and had a sudden urge to sing (which, my friends, has not happened since I was in labor). I started singing this lullaby. And I sung with all my might.

Tears started to flow, and flow, and flow. Which, I might add, is not a safe thing to do while driving... This is another thing I have lost. I grieve not being able to hold her and sing to her as she falls asleep. I grieve not having her in my belly all the time to talk/sing to. I miss her presence. And, I also, somewhat miss that part of myself that wants to sing.

Today, I miss her with lullabys.

What we get to keep

2010-12-06T12:15:00.006-06:00

This poem was written by my mom last week. It encapsulates how I feel. [And also shows off how cool of a mom I have who has a gift with words!]

I cannot explain it, but I do feel it.
I am getting stronger, lighter.
My heart looks way forward now to what is ahead
"All that God has prepared for those who love Him"!
That is a sure consolation;
And there is a sure reward reserved in heaven for us,
For such a grief entrusted to us...
Her name is Lydia.

-Mary Barton Nees

Grief. Entrusted.

I got a letter soon after Lydia passed from a dear, dear friend who had also lost an infant child. I didn't even know she had! There was a lot from her letter that I've clung to, but this one line plays over and over in my head:

"...I still get it out[picture album] and let it all rush over me again. The pain is welcome, because it is part of what I got to keep."

Grief is entrusted. Is is part of what we get to keep. That sounds crazy as I type it, but it's true. I'm not afraid of the pain (anymore), and I'm learning not to fear the grief. There is so much to look forward too when I see her again in heaven! But until that day, I will look at her pictures, speak of her chubby cheeks and red hair, and let the pain come with the joy too. That is what I get to keep here....

what awaits us on the other side is minus the tears, minus the grief, minus the pain. What awaits us is joy, love and knowing beyond what we can even imagine!

Talk about it....

2010-12-05T17:50:00.006-06:00

I've been contemplating for a few days about the responsibility that comes with grief to inform. I have resented this and tried to downplay/ignore it, but it really isn't going away. Isn't grief, itself, enough? Why do I also have to help people understand grief at the same time?

People who have not carried the burden of loss don't, in general, know how to relate to those in its grip. They also fear it. How do I know? Because that's how I used to be! I have a good friend that lost her infant son 3+ years ago now and I often think of my response to her in relation to how some people respond to me now. The fact is, I didn't respond to her. I didn't know how. I didn't know how to bring it up, so I just didn't. I had just gotten married at that time and was in my own little world...or so I let myself justify my silence.

She and her husband have been a huge support to Frank and I in the past months and I know they will continue to be. I have apologized to her recently for how I didn't really ask her about her son because I had no idea what to say! Ever felt like this? Ever not known what to say to someone in grief? We've all been there!

Even if you have lost someone close, we can't assume that you carry it or have dealt with it in the same way. We are all people in process. We experience, react to, and interact with circumstances differently.

As my journey continues I'm starting to not resent this extra burden of having to explain to people what grief is like (mostly in answer to the question "how can we help you?"). Because really, if that is the barrier between you and I getting to talk about my precious daughter or me getting to share my/our burden, then that's really not all that bad!

So thank you to those of you that have pressed in with us and helped us carry sorrow. Thank you to those who've even said to us "I don't know what to say." The key is just to say something....don't just ignore "it" because it seems easier. Engage yourself, though it may lead to unexpected emotion. You'll be glad you did!

For more on how to help a grieving friend, written by Molly Piper, click on this link: How to Help a Grieving Friend.

Do you have any kids?

2010-12-04T11:24:00.004-06:00

After a few days away this week, Frank and I decided to grab dinner at the spot we got engaged over 4 years ago. Frank picked me up on a routine Monday evening on his motorcycle. We went to this Japanses hole-in-the wall place called Toyko Bowl we often visited. When we got there, we just sat down - which I thought was odd because normally we order first - but it seemed like they already knew what we wanted. "Cool!" I thought "We're reached that stage in our restaurant/customer relationship where they know what we want already!"

The owner came out with two plates - Frank's usual noodle dish and one covered with another plate. That's odd....why would they cover it? To keep it warm? When I took the cover off my teriyaki chicken it said:
so I said...yes after a series of "are you serious?" and "really?". And five months later we were married.

Toyko bowl has since switched owners so there's no longer the same restaurant/customer warmth when we come in, but we still like to go there every so often and remember. The new owner was seeming quite chatty yesterday while we were waiting for our food, and the conversation went something like this:

Betsy: "You know we got engaged here."
Owner: "What?"
Betsy "You know, he asked me to marry him here."
Owner: Oh! How nice!...My sister used to own this restaurant."
Betsy: "Mmm. Tell her we said hello."
Owner: "How long are you married?"
Frank: "Four years!"
Owner: Do you have any kids?"
Betsy [after a glance at Frank]: "Yes, we have one child."
Owner: "oooo, Boy or girl?"
Betsy: "A girl"
Owner: "How old is she now?"
[akward pause here as I try and figure out how to say this without embarrassing her]
Betsy: "She lived for two days."
Owner [blink, blink]
Betsy: "She died."
Owner: "I so sorry...I [gulp]"
Frank: "So what are the previous owners doing now?..."

...

This has not been the first conversation like this. But this is probably the first that didn't scar me. Frank and I spent the first half of our meal talking about how lovely our daughter is and what her smile must be like. This, I suppose, is progress. It helps that we don't have any prior relationship with this owner. "Why is it that sometimes that conversation devastates me and sometimes I can take it in stride ?" I asked Frank as we walked to the car. We both shrugged.

Grief is like this. It has its own way. And its own way with you. I guess there is no figuring it out. Sometimes it breaks you. Sometimes it lifts you up. Sometimes it's quiet. Sometimes it won't shut up.

But grief or not, the sweet truth is that we had a precious baby girl. She is our daughter. She is our gift and has our hearts like nothing else can.

WHAT DO YOU WANT?

2010-12-03T12:28:00.008-06:00

seriously. What do you want?
I ask myself. I ask Frank. I ask God.

HOW ARE YOU?
I ask myself. I ask Frank. People ask me. People ask Frank.

words dammit. words. Why must I find words? I have none. Wait. No. I have some. Right? I think? Wait, think? I don't want to think. I want to stop thinking...do I? Thinking leads to rehashing leads to questions leads to doubt leads to pain leads to relief leads to joy leads to reflection leads to release leads to comfort. ? & # ?

I can't stop thinking. Press on. Press through. Press in. Press. I feel pressed.

most of the time I don't honestly know how I am. And I don't know how I feel.

I look back at my life before Lydia was born and it seems like some rosy-colored, ignorant, shell of a life. Not that I think I hadn't lived the best I knew how to live, but it was a life without the constant, weighty burden of loss. A life that now seems easy, carefree and in the past.

Like it or not (and I'd DON'T like it), my life has been/is being recolored. Everything has been redefined and re ordered.

Back to the original question. What do you want? the #1 answer is peace. I want peace restored. I want restoration. I'm not afraid of the pain of my "current situation", but I am weary from the cycle of my discontent. Physically speaking, I'm also weary of complications. Every three weeks (it seems) there are more complications. I just want my body to calm the heck down.

Nothing like physical pain to amplify emotional discontent.

This blog is one more recent step toward peace - or at least a reflection of my hope for peace. hunt for peace more like.

What do YOU want?