Fostering-to-adopt: Our story, Part 2

First, a very few important links you'll want to look over.
 
Find Part 1 of our story here.
 
Deanna, Leyla's first foster mom, wrote their version Leyla's story here:  Part 1,  Part 2 and Part 3.
 
I highly recommend going through all the posts before continuing here. Now, I know that sounds like a lot of reading before you get to, well, you know, reading . . . but it's really worth it. I promise. Deanna's even a good writer. :)

Ok, so without further ado . . . Part 2.

It's the first week of January 2013.

I'm still reeling from the failed, but hoped-for, foster placement of a newborn baby girl. We just had Christmas, Maddy's birthday, and the 1-year anniversary of our loss of Olivia.

I remember being invited out with some new friends to go dancing at a bar a few days after Christmas. Ryan encouraged me to get out of the house, and have something fun to do. (The dance at the bar was a different story entirely, but I'll suffice it to say I did very little dancing and was hit on by an Amish guy. Ask me the story another day.) :)

At dinner, one of the girls commented that I seemed sad. And I was. I was sad all.the.freaking.time. I really didn't know how to be happy again. And so I was totally honest about it all with them. I told them of the babies I'd lost (talk about an awkward "fun" night out) and I told them that it felt like my life had just been sucked out of me.

So, when I got the call to do respite for a 10-month-old baby, I wasn't really in a great place emotionally. But man, was I ready to have that baby in my home for a weekend.

The caseworker sent me Leyla's foster mom's email so I could check in with questions. As you could imagine, I had quite a few as I had never met this baby before and we would have her for an entire weekend.

So I shot her off the following email:

Hi Deanna,

I'm just writing to find out about arrangements for Leyla's respite care.

What time should we take her tomorrow? Would you like us to pick her up, or are you planning on dropping her off?

Also, I was wondering if you would let me know about her normal eating/sleeping routine.

The notes said that she's been clingy and crying more. Is there anything that is soothing to her? Does she like to be in the Ergo carrier?

One last thing -- Depending on when you pick her up on Sunday (or we drop her off), she will be attending church with us. Is it OK for her to go in the nursery?

 

Here's an excerpt from her reply:

 

Hi Rachel, 

Leyla can be a pretty fussy baby and has a very loud cry when she is upset. But when she is in a good mood she is so sweet and delightful and a joy to be around. Her moods definitely swing though. Sometimes she likes the Ergo, sometimes she hates it. She loved it this week when we went outside for a walk. She loves to swing, so if the weather is nice a park visit would be a hit. She typically enjoys riding in the car or stroller rides. 

She generally sleeps through the night, after bath, a bottle, and some cuddles and stories. We usually sing to her and pray with her before putting her in her bed with a little music to put her to sleep. During naps we have a fan going in her room for white noise (it gets loud with two other little people running around!) and that helps her sleep longer for sure. We typically put her in a blanket sleeper at bedtime and naps, and she has a special blankie too. I'll be sure to pack that for you.

Typically she is up in the morning at 6:30, but the last few days she has been sleeping until 8:30. It's been insane and I'm wondering if she's gearing up for a growth spurt. Usually she is in bed by 6:30 or 7:00 pm, and she will definitely let you know if she is over tired.

We give her a bottle when she wakes up, then feed her some real food an hour or so later. She is typically ready for a morning nap about 2 hours after waking up, and then ready for an afternoon nap 2-3 hours after waking from her morning nap. She doesn't sleep so well in the carseat or being held; the girl loves a crib. (emphasis mine.)

 

We kind of play by ear giving her real food or a bottle depending on when she is awake and when the rest of the family is eating. She eats purees (we thicken with a little cereal) like a champ and devours cheerios and crackers. But she is struggling with squishy foods like bananas, steamed carrots, baked apples, cheese, etc. So we keep offering these things to her, and try to have her eat with the family and give her tiny pieces of what we're eating. The sweet child still has no teeth, so we do what we can. I was just at the doctor today and he was concerned a bit with her weight, so he wants us to be sure we offer at least 4 bottles a day. 

I'll pack you bottles, formula, baby food, clothes, pajamas, diapers, wipes, etc. Besides her blankie, is there anything else you need? Toys or spoons or anything?

Yes, church nursery is fine. With daycare, mops, and our church she is used to multiple caregivers and as long as she has attention, she is usually pretty happy.

 



So, Ryan and I got ready for our baby to enter our family for a weekend.

We didn't know she'd be staying the rest of her life.

I'll never forget the moment Deanna and Darin walked through our door for the first time. They brought in the cutest little bundle in a carseat. We small-talked in our entry way as we went over her routine again, and everything they packed (the poor family had to pack everything but the kitchen sink), and we talked about pick up plans on Sunday. Then they were off.

And facing me was a darling girl that was a little bit fussy. She had big, big eyes. (And a big forehead. But she's growing into it.) And a tiny, wee little body.

Leyla, a few weeks before we met.

For the first time in a while, I felt a lightness and a joy. Sometimes babies do that to you.

Ryan probably wondered what happened to his wife, as I quickly took her off to play. He may not really have seen much of me the rest of the weekend. :)

The first night, I totally (intentionally) disregarded the whole thing about just putting her in her crib. I never knew a baby that didn't like to be rocked, and I was ready to rock. The second night, before we put her down, I snapped this shot:

I remember thinking that her eyes looked a little empty. I later learned that this was all part of her coping mechanisms. Shutting down a little, sucking her fingers, and twirling her finger in her hair (or rubbing her forehead.)

As I rocked her, I noticed another odd behavior. She turned away from me, and covered her eyes with one hand.

I later learned that this is what she does when she's overstimulated.

It's just as well I didn't know. That girl was rocked, sung to, and generally loved on for a very long time.

And a really strange thought came to me as I rocked.

This little girl is mine.

I didn't want to admit the thought to anyone. After all, we didn't know much of anything about her case, other than why she was in care and how long she had been with first family. The child even came with a picture book that said "My Family" on it, with pictures of her with her foster family on the inside.

Even as my heart assured me this little one had a place in it forever . . . . my mind thought I was being a little ridiculous. Maybe it was just the grief talking? Maybe I was so desperate, I was a little crazy?

All I knew for sure was that I was crazy about this little girl.



Leyla rocked to sleep in my arms
 the first of many, many times.

That night, I marveled at how tiny she was in that great big crib that stood empty for so long. A mere 15 lbs, and sleeping kind of folded over, she barely even made her presence known on that grand mattress.

But I knew she was here.

I couldn't sleep that night. Not because she was a bad sleeper. Quite the contrary, she slept through the night. I, on the other hand, was a hot mess. I was so worried that something would happen to her. She survived the night (as did I, albeit much more tired than she) and we pressed on through our weekend.

She had just learned how to crawl, and it cracked me up watching Ryan try to "wrangle" her into just staying in one part of the house. He even set up pillow barricades . . . all to no avail.

I was sure that her first foster mom was missing Leyla, so I sent quite a few texts and photos to her during the weekend. We ended our time with her by taking her to our grandma's birthday party at Anthony's.

I'm not going to lie. I held that baby, fed that baby, walked that baby like she was mine. Because secretly, I really wanted her to be.

A few of my Facebook posts from that weekend:

"Enjoying my 6 o'clock time in the rocking chair! I forgot just how peaceful it is. Hoping one day soon we'll have our own placement, and can make this an everyday kind of thing."

"A very good morning."

"Treating Maddy. She did so well helping with the baby!"

First family let us know that they would be needing some more respite soon since Deanna would be doing some more travelling. I couldn't wait. It was the hope of the next visit that helped me get through some of those darker days.

For me, when Leyla came into our home, a light started shining in my heart.

It did not erase the pain of loss. It has not protected me from further loss or heartache.

But God used her little presence to start some healing in my heart.

Funny. I always thought it was the children themselves who were broken and we were supposed to fix. Turns out, I had the equation all wrong.

Stayed tuned for Part 3: The big reveal!

The one thought I can't escape

Along this 2-year-ish journey of awfulness, I mean, recurrent pregnancy loss, I've had many thoughts. (Most of which are recorded on this blog.)

But there is one very all-encompassing thought which has dominated my brain for a better part of the last 26 months. And I've remained mostly silent about it until today.

"Why me?"

When someone announces a pregnancy the same time I would have announced one of my own ... "Why me?"

When someone has a rainbow quickly after their first loss, and aren't made to go through recurrent loss or infertility ... "Why me?"
 

When someone reaches a top level in their company without having seasons of struggle or doubt ... "Why me?"

When someone can take the health of their unborn child for granted, I can't help it ... "Why me?"

 

Now if you're starting to think, "Wow, Rachel, this is a little depressing, a little 'glass half empty,' I will readily admit, "Yep, it absolutely is."

In spite of wanting to change my attitude, the "why me's" have continued. 

And yet ... They are not the same.

(Thank goodness.)

I'm laying here in my clean(ish) house (it's all relative, right?), while so many people this weekend have had theirs turn into rubble from a tornado ... "Why me?"
 

I have the blessing of raising two children, who are whole and healthy. She has none to raise ... "Why me?"

Amazing and dear people have come out of the woodwork to show us love and support during this challenging time. I've been blown away by generous and extravagant love ... She has received only platitudes and judgment. Or maybe worse, nothing but indifference to her heartache ... "Why me?"
 

My two living children are healthy, and for that matter, so are my husband and I. (Well, at least fertility issues excluded.) And yet, they are battling cancer ... "Why me?"
 

I grew up in a loving, caring environment where physically and emotionally, I was kept safe from abuse. Home was my haven. Her home was her hell ... "Why me?"
 

My two live-born children survived infancy. Many women in other countries are so used to having their babies die, they don't even name them until they are over a year old ... "Why me?"

 

I was born in America, a country where I can be anything I set out to be, and am protected from persecution from the government. Billions of others are born in unsafe, corrupt countries where food is scarce, they have no education, and are mercilessly persecuted ... "Why me?"

 

My 5-year-old is sleeping safely in bed. Her 5-year-old was kidnapped and turned into a child soldier ... "Why me?"

The adoption of our daughter was finalized. Theirs was disrupted ... "Why me?"
 

This could go on forever. 

It's not as though I'm saying pregnancy loss is not as hard as cancer, or losing your house, or being abused. 

It's not about comparing pain.

I'm just saying, pain is pain.

Just as I do not deserve to have 4 unborn babies die, neither do I deserve to have my health, raise my kids, have privilege and opportunity, or have reason to celebrate.

This is about recognizing that, for every hurt I've experienced, there are about 10 more blessings I need to be thankful for.

It's about acknowledging that everyone has a story.

And for me, I need my story to start having much more gratitude -- and much less "Why me?"

In the midst of it all

Several of you have been calling or texting to see how I've been. And maybe you've noticed I'm not responding super quick. (OR maybe you haven't noticed. After all, being slow at communicating is kinda my M.O.)

I'm honestly not sure where to start. I have so much to say, and yet how do I say it without making you worried about me?

So in no particular order . . .

I'm super struggling with failure.

I know it's not like I've purposefully failed in pregnancy. And yet, I have failed. My body has, and I'm made up of my body. Saying my body failed but I didn't is splitting hairs.

I have failed to keep this last pregnancy -- or any of the last 4 pregnancies -- going. I have failed to even create a baby with a heartbeat. I have failed my husband. I know we said for better or for worse. But neither of us thought "for worse" would be me becoming a "habitual aborter." Yep, folks, that's the technical phrase for what I am.

I kill my babies -- out of habit.

I know it's not true -- yet how do you NOT take that personally?

As a result of this so-called failure, I am seeing failure everywhere in my life. I'm not trying to look for it. It's just what I see when I open my eyes.

You know how they say, "OK, try NOT to think about green. Look around the room, and whatever you do, DON'T THINK ABOUT GREEN!" Well, what are you going to find? Suddenly, you realize your room is covered in green things.

So that's me -- but with failure. Looking around my life and noticing all the places that I've come up short.

My business has been at the top of the list. I know that I know that I know I'm not a failure, because I don't quit. BUT. That doesn't mean I don't feel like one.

I feel as though I have failed my friends. I have a lot of friends, a lot of people I thoroughly enjoy and care about. And yet, I can only think about the ones I've disappointed. The people I haven't stayed in touch with, or the friends I've hurt by not being as supportive (as they deserve) in their own pregnancies.

It's not just a notice of failure. It is a deep-seeded fear.

As I look around my house, I don't see all the places where I have kept the clutter out. I only see the clutter I've failed to clean.

I have struggled my entire life seeing the glass half-full. Being wracked by anxiety since I was a kid.

I have made major strides in growing personally to be more optimistic, hopeful and confident in myself. And yet each loss has just brought all those old feelings right up to the surface.

When the bleeding starts -- when the pregnancy test comes back lighter than before -- when the nurse calls, and the first words out of her mouth are "I'm sorry . . . ",  the wind is knocked completely out of my sails.

Depression sets in again, and again, and again.

The last two years feel like a roller coaster of completely the wrong kind. The one where as soon as you get on and are strapped in, claustrophobia claws at you, convincing you you'll never get off. And when you're at the scariest points, terrifyingly defying the vast space between you and the ground, you just know that those pesky straps you've secured your future on will prove to be weak and broken.

I'm on that roller-coaster now. And I don't know when, if or how I'll get off.

Sometimes when you are with me, I look to be just fine. When I am with family, that tends to be the easiest for me.

Ryan's grandpa (who will be 101 in a few weeks) is not doing well and was placed in hospice today. We've been visiting him almost every day for the last week, and I think seeing the kids really cheers him up.

So when we are around grandpa, or Ryan's family, I try try try not to think to much about Sophie. About the fact that I hate my body. I try to remind myself to just be present, to enjoy grandpa while we can, and to not burden anyone anymore with my feelings.

And so there, I can play "happy wife, happy mom" quite well.

But other times, actually almost ALL other times, not so much.

Today I went to a birthday party. I stuck by one women, pretty much the whole time, because she knew what was going on with me and she cared. As I sat on the couch, silently observing, I could see the old me flit about the room. "OOOH, a whole room full of people to get to know!," old me seemed to be thinking. She'd walk up to a stranger, start a conversation, and by the end of the day, they had a playdate or coffee date on the books.

She looked inviting to me. Beckoning me to come, just be like her. It's not so hard . . .

But I couldn't.

I sat glued to the couch, coffee cup cemented to my hand, silent and watching. And feeling my heart break.

I am not who I used to be. That person is a stranger to me. I wondered what it would be like for life to feel light again?

An acquaintance at church asked how I was today. I think I said "fair." (My usual answer when the more accurate -- less socially acceptable -- one is, "I'm tired of life.") She prodded gently a few times, and then it came out. Like vomit. All the stuff I'm worried about and, of course, the miscarriage.

Why? I think. Why do I even bother going to church when I just become socially awkward? Why can't I just keep my mouth shut, and stop wearing my heart on my sleeve?

And so today, and yesterday, and the day before that, the thought is heavy on my heart . . . How many more times can I endure this?

After Olivia, the doctor told me that I can't think about how many losses I might have. I just need to figure out if I can handle one more.

This whole journey, that's what I'm thinking. Can I just handle ONE more?

And today, my answer is, I don't think I can.

I. Am. Not. Strong. Enough.

When we shared the news that we were pregnant with Olivia, it was met with great excitement and joy. Now when we share the news, I often must share it with tears. And there are very few congratulations. Mostly people look at me with trepidation, wondering whether to say "I'm sorry" or "I have hope for you." Sympathy describes the looks I receive --- not joy. Very rarely does anyone take my pregnancy announcements to mean "We're having a baby." Mostly, I feel it with a sigh, "Here she goes again . . ."

How many more of these announcements can I get through?

How many more due dates? We have enough. 8/4, 5/14, 1/15, and 11/12. All empty. Do I really want to fill the whole calendar?

How many more shoes do I want to buy? The one and only thing I have bought for my last 4 babies.

How many more kids do I want to name? I have named 6. Madelyn Jane, Olivia Joy, Caleb Michael, Elliott James, *little miss*, and now Sophie Grace. I will likely run out of names before I run out of room in my house for my kids.

How many more times will I ask my friends and family to support me through a loss? Through the subsequent depression/grief/general suckiness?

How many more times can I fight to get on top of these feelings of failure and hopelessness, just to find myself drowning in them again?

How many times can I hole myself up at home because I don't have the energy to make others around me feel good?

How many times can I put my Arbonne team and business through a leader who is inconsistent at best?

How many times can I ask our finances to pay one more medical bill? Cover one more test? Endure one more month of me not working?

How many times can I ask my body to try so hard to get pregnant, watch my boobs swell, feel my abdomen bloat, and feel the exhaustion of making a baby -- only to fail? To watch my body quickly become un-pregnant?

Today, even one more time feels like one time too many.

One baby too many.

One "You were not far along at all" too many.

One "I'm so sorry" too many.

And yet, I still can't tell myself I'm really done.



To make myself not TOTALLY be a downer on this post, I'm going to write a few things I AM thankful for. I have to. I have to remember that I don't own the rights to misery, and that my life really IS good, even if I'm struggling to see it.

-I'm thankful for a beautiful piece of art that a then stranger, now friend, has created for me:

Miss You Memorials, by Rachel Davis

-For a gift card to one of my favorite places ever, Trader Joes, from a dear friend. (And for the yummy flourless cake said gift card bought me today.) :)

-For a family day yesterday to Mount Rainier:

-For my friends and family who keep calling and texting, even when I don't respond. Or being kind to me when I respond with how I'm really feeling, and I know that's not what they want to hear.

-For my mother-in-law, who fully believes in retail therapy, and is happy to share some of her therapy with me. (Yay for cute, new clothes!)

-For my mom, who brought me snacks from Trader Joes (catch a theme here??), made my family dinner, has talked to me almost every day, and has folded clothes and washed my dishes. Love you, mom.

-For my sister Judy who just knew I was sad by the say I said "OK." For her wrapping her arms around me, tears down her face, when I wept for the little baby I desperately wanted. For her taking me to the doctors, and sitting in the waiting room for an hour, without complaining. For making me feel not so alone.

- For my sister Sarah who has called to chat. But mostly for her sending me this beautiful song that helps me to cry. (Wait, do I really need help in that area?) Still, it's a beautiful song, and it helps me know that she gets how I feel:

-For my two precious girls that DO call me mommy. They may keep me on my toes, and sometimes I'm not the mommy I wish I was. But they love me all the same. And I'm forever grateful for my two miracle kids.

-For Ryan, who holds my hand when I cry, and doesn't blame me when I blame my body and blame myself for each loss. Who has also lost so much of his family -- but he still takes care of me and doesn't complain. (At least, not usually.)

-For Stacy, Joanna and Katherine for holding me and letting me cry after our last MEND meeting.

-For Anna, for reading and editing some of the guest stories that I can post on here.

-For the encouragement of Mel at Stirrup-Queens, for encouraging me to start my book.

-For Randy Alcorn reposting my blog. I'm thankful for Crosswalk, iBelieve, Life News, Eternal Perspective Ministries, Live Action News, and every.single.one. of you bloggers/facebook people that shared my post.

-For every comment I receive on this blog -- and all those thoughts and well wishes I know so many of you have, even if I never hear them. I read them all. I know that none of us wish we could relate. And as much as I wish none of you knew my heartache -- I'm so thankful I'm not alone in it.

-For the meals that our foster care director has brought to our house the last two losses.

-For Cari and Deb who have watched/offered to watch my kids so I could have some time to take care of myself.

-For Elizabeth for meeting me for coffee when I just needed out of the house, and needed a good cry.

-For strangers who care. And for friends who care.

-I'm thankful to God that death does not have the final say. That he has some sort of redemption in all of this. “As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts." (Isa. 55:8-10)

-I'm thankful for Robin. You stick with me through thick and thin, and chase after me just like I should chase you. Love you.

-I'm thankful this life is not all there is. I'm thankful that I will one day meet all my precious babes, and all tears will be gone.

-I'm thankful for heaven.

-I'm thankful my babies will never know pain or heartbreak.

-I'm thankful that the first face my babies saw was Jesus'. I'm thankful that they will never know anything less than love.

So I guess, in the midst of it all -- there is still good.

Rachel

Facebook -- I love you, and hate you. Sometimes, I really really hate you.

So -- I kinda have a love/hate relationship with Facebook.

I love it because I have connected with past friends, and seriously love some of those renewed friendships. I love seeing pictures of my nephew. I love my 2 support groups I have where I can post in the middle of the night, and I receive prayers and encouragement right then! I love having a platform to share my blog, and a way for it to spread around the world.

But then again, I also hate Facebook.

Mostly because of it's uncanny ability to set my emotions reeling so quickly and unexpectedly.

Those of you who have gone through a loss or have struggled with infertility probably know what I'm talking about . . .

The unexpected announcement of a pregnancy. Or belly pictures. Or ultrasound pictures.

I get that I'm in the stage of life where this is normal. And when I was pregnant with Olivia, I was innocently wracking my brain to figure out a fun, creative way to announce our pregnancy. (I was going to take a picture of a Starbucks' cup with our baby "order" on the side. Never quite figured out what to write -- but being in the NW, I thought it would be appropriate.)

Now, though, I am not sure  how I'll announce another pregnancy (if we have one). However I treat it, it certainly won't be the same.

Because now I know that my announcement can hurt other people.

I know that pregnancy should be innocent. That announcing a new little life should be a celebration. (As my mom said, Every life should be celebrated. No matter how long they are with us.)  But I also can't ignore this horrible feeling in my gut every time I come across a pregnancy-related post. I WANT to feel happy for that person. And no matter whether I'm happy or not, I still get this sadness that comes from deep within every single time.

I'm not asking everyone to stop posting about their pregnancies. I'm not even trying to complain. And I'm not saying that your FB life should revolve around sensitive people like me.

But I do have at least one suggestion to help those of us that are hurting . . .

Before you begin posting about your pregnancy, and you know someone who has recently gone through a loss or struggles with infertility, please let them know privately about your news before sharing on your main page.

My sister and a few friends have done this for me. And allowing me to process those feelings before it's all "public" has been very helpful for me to not get that sadness in my gut whenever they do make that big announcement ... or subsequent posts about their pregnancy.

And please give your friend your blessing if they choose not to "like," "comment" or even view your posts.

Your sensitivity and understanding will go a long way in helping those women for whom checking Facebook is akin to walking through an emotional minefield. You can really help your friend navigate those mines with just a little forethought, respect and sensitivity.

P.S. A friend who has also gone through a loss commented on Facebook that she agreed, but she has added two feelings that I want to include here because I also feel the exact same way, and wish I had included them in my original post:

1. MY pain does not and should not negate HER joy.
2. I feel awful that her blessed event evokes a reaction of extreme sadness in myself.

3 rays of light in an impossible day . . .

Yesterday was a very good day to open my mail box.

Mixed in with ads, bills and insurance letters claiming to save me $100 a month on my coverage, I found 3 very sweet pieces of mail.

The first was a thank-you letter for attending a friend's baby shower. It was my first shower after my loss. And it didn't go without a complete breakdown from me, followed by my inability to read a blesssing to the baby, and tears for the rest of the day.

However, I love my friend and her sweet baby-on-the-way. And I'm glad I went. The act of going was more of a gift than the onesies and baby wash. I guess, in my own way, my presence (albeit, broken and teary-eyed) was the best gift I could give.

My second piece of mail was from my best friend, Robin. There was no letter, no note. Nothing but a ring.

She didn't need to have words. The ring was enough. The pearls stand for Maddy and Olivia. The diamonds are for Ryan and I, hemming in our precious little ones.

She doesn't know this, but my promise ring my grandparents gave me when I was 16 was a white gold ring, with a pearl and 2 diamonds on the side, just a little askew like this one. I love that my first ring symbolized my commitment to my husband. And this one symbolizes our love and commitment to our girls.

I have the best, best friend ever.

My third piece of mail is from my second mom in Jr. High -- Robin's mom, Judy. She wrote me the sweetest letter, and since there is no way to sum up her words, I'm just going to let you read her words yourself . . .

Mar. 24, 2012

Dear Rachel,

As you know, our beloved Robin can be sort of urgent, at times. "MOM!" she says. "You have to read Rachel's blog so we can PRAY!!" Rachel has a blog? I didn't know that . . .

So now I am reading your blog. And Rachel, it is amazing. You are so coherently and beautfiully expressing your season of grief. I am drawn into it because I know and love you, but that is not the only reason. Your writing is powerful. Someday, when it all doesn't hurt quite so badly, you could publish it.

So my mind and heart have been occupied this week with the "story" Rachel and Olivia. It so happens that Bob and I attend the annual Gideons Banquet. It comes to me that I could donate Bibles in Olivia's name. Anyway, that someone could find Jesus through her seems so fitting to me.  I love imagining a scene in heaven when you and me and Olivia and some Gideon who handed out Bibles in India are gathered around a woman with an amazing testimony of coming to faith through a Gideon Bible. This whole scenario delights and comforts me and I offer it to you in the hope that you will find comfort in it, too!

One last thing. When Bob is talking to someone who has just lost a loved one, he tells them, "Expect that people will say the wrong thing. Your friends and family do not intend to hurt you, but they will. This also is part of the grief process." Being in the ministry for so long, Bob and I have developed sort of a macabre sense of humor about the well-intentioned-but-awful things people can say sometimes!! Laugh them off whenever you can!

We love you, Rachel. Carry on. There's light up ahead!

Judy

I love that while I'm struggling with my faith, others who are stronger are carrying that faith for me, and are creating a spiritual legacy for my daughter.

Needless to say, I cried a lot yesterday. It was a really hard day full of anxiety and fear. I think God knew I needed these precious gifts of support yesterday to help carry me through.

To those of you who are supporting someone through a loss, please don't EVER question the impact you can have on a grieving mom! Your gifts and letters might seem like so little to you in light of the loss -- but trust me when I say they can make a difference between an impossible day, and a day where a little light and hope burst forth.

To everyone of you who has ever given a note of encouragement, a gift of rememberance, a thoughtful word, prayer or a hug to a woman with empty arms . . .

THANK YOU!

Gratitude

Dear God,

Today, I caught myself feeling anxious, stressed . . . and well, grumpy.

I don't believe that's how you want me to feel or act. Especially when those feelings are over insignificant things like feeling frustrated with potty training, Madelyn being uncooperative, etc.

I need a change in perspective. A new attitude. A new heart.

Lord, I ask that you please change my heart, and forgive me for giving in to fears and anxiety, when that is not your plan for me. Please give me a gracious, calm and caring spirit -- especially in relation to Madelyn.

Today, instead of being grumpy -- I want to be grateful.

Thank you for . . .

• The health and wellbeing of my family.
• The knowledge that you are in control of all things, and that I can trust you.
• A naping girl.
• The fact that I even have difficult days with Madelyn. Having difficult days means that I actually have days with her -- and that in itself is the greatest blessing, even when it's hard.
• The delicious coffee I'm drinking right now.
• A business to run, and the people on my team. Thank you for their lives and the work they put into Arbonne. Thank you for the encouragement they give me. Thank you for what you will accomplish in and through each of them.
• A loving, understanding husband.
• Your provision.
• Our minivan.
• Your Spirit that leads us, heals us, reminds us when we are not following your plan, and guides us back to you.
• Friends that have been so supportive during this time.
• Church and small group.
• Your promises in your word.
• Hope.
• Freedom from fear.
• Victory in you.
• Life.

Father, as I continue through my day, please remind me of your word. Help me to trust deeply in you, have a firm foundation, and live out the rest of my day in glory to you. May you be pleased with the work of my hands -- but more important, with the attitude of my heart.

Love always,

Your daughter

Offering grace when others can't relate.

I would never, never wish the loss of a baby on anyone. However, I have been thinking lately that it would be nice if someone could borrow my pain, just for a day.

If everyone could just feel what we feel after losing a baby, just for a bit, they would be so much more understanding and compassionate to their friends who have experienced pregnancy loss. Considering 1 out of 4 women is in the pregnancy loss club -- that's a lot of woman that could be potentially be helped if their friends "got" their pain and responded appropriately.

As nice as it might be in theory, my wish is completely implausible.

In spite of it's impracticality, I've wondered how many other women have wished their friends could just borrow their pain, just for a day? How often have I been completely unaware of their particular situation, and have said painful words to them out of ignorance?

What about . . .

The woman who is fighting cancer and wishes the world understood what it's like to have to fight for every single day of life. Who longs to be there to watch her children grow, but must plan for her death. Who must give her husband permission to love and marry again if she passes away, but would give everything for the chance to grow old with him.

The woman who was molested as a child and carries with her shame, anger, and loathing for her body. She suffers in silence. She doesn't know anyone that suffered as she did . . . and doesn't know how to cross the chasm of shame to reach out for help or understanding. There never seems to be a socially acceptable time to bring up her history of sexual abuse. What would her friends think?

The woman who who politely listens to us complain how your husband never helps around the house. She wishes she could tell you how lucky you are. She's been enduring emotional abuse for years from her husband, and now has recently discovered he is having an affair. As she grapples with how to confront him, she wishes all she had to talk to him about was taking out the garbage. Everyone on the outside thinks they are the perfect couple -- how would her church and closest friends respond if they knew the truth?

The woman who struggles to hear about our pregancy loss. Our loss means we were once pregnant -- and creating and protecting the beautiful life of a baby will be something that she will never experience. She wishes she could even GET pregnant.  Since she was 5, she dreamed of becoming a mother. Her future should have been full of kids and all the joys and responsibilities they bring. Instead, every day she faces an empty house. The room that was perfect for the nursery when they bought the house all those years ago has since become a graveyard of boxes, old clothes and her husband's tools. Like her body, that room will never be a home to a beautiful, cherished little boy or girl. Her arms and heart are empty. And there is no hope for either her arms or heart to be full again.

Pregnancy loss is a very real pain that changes our life. And of course, we want everyone to understand what we are going through. But the truth is that pregnancy loss is not the ONLY pain. As we long for compassion and understanding, our friends may also be dealing with feelings they wish we could "borrow, just for a day," too.

As hard as it is when I know friends cannot relate to my loss . . . I have to realize there are other circumstances out there that are equally valid and need my compassionate response. Yes, they look and feel different than losing a baby. But that doesn't make them any less real or painful.

I hope that those of us who are now oh-so familiar with feelings of grief, loss, helplessness, anger and pain will be able to reach out with more grace, more compassion, and more understanding to those who cannot relate to our loss. Because, chances are, they might be dealing with their own hurt and pain wrapped tightly in a shroud of silence. And whether they verbalize it our not, they need our words of comfort and understanding, too.

Oh, and before you start to think that I've got this feeling compassion and offering grace thing under control, I just want you to know that I DON'T. I am a work in progress.

When the situation is what I might view as really difficult (i.e., the cancer in my first example), it is easier to feel compassionate. But when I really struggle to relate to a situation that I don't see as particularly something to get upset about, it is hard for me not to compare situations and think, "Well, at least she didn't lose a baby at the end."

I write this post mostly as a reminder to myself because I want to always choose grace, not bitterness.