I bit the bullet

I read from the fabulous Mel at Stirrup Queens that you should finish a draft before you start another post.

As I have about 5 drafts recently started (in addition to the 20 someodd that have accumulated through the years) ... And about 50 more stories to edit and post ...

I'm blatantly ignoring her advice.

(Although, Mel, it really IS good writing advice. I promise I do take you up on it most days.)

So you might be thinking there must be some news, or something blatantly pressing on my heart that I'm writing on my phone while I should be sleeping. 

And the answer is No. Or, at least, not really. 

I started a pill. Actually, make that 2 pills.

Here is my new nightly cocktail:

It's somewhat humbling to even post this, or acknowledge that I'm back on all this medicine after weaning myself off all meds for so long. 

 

First, it was the anti-depressant. 

Then, it was the baby aspirin. 

Last week, I bit the bullet and started birth control. 

And tonight, I add anti-nausea pills to the mix.

So far, birth control has been OK in every other area except one really really big one.... Nausea. 

The first time I took it, I woke up halfway through the night and I couldn't sleep because I felt so bad. 

The other days I managed to sleep in at least till 6 before getting up feeling sick. Saturday, I laid in bed till 2 pm. (Thank you Ryan!) This morning, I was up at 4:30, ready to hurl, trying to munch down some ginger cookies in case they'll help. They did, or something worked, and I fell back asleep at 7. 

Thank goodness for Maddy who got herself and Leyla cereal and turned on the TV. (Well, a few min later she came running in telling me that Leyla was sitting ON the table. Of course, that got me up for a bit.)

In spite of her help (and Trader Joe's ginger cat cookies -- which really is people food), we missed Leyla's play group. I MADE myself exercise, but had to stop a lot to make sure I kept everything down. 

I decided today that this nausea was interfering with life enough. Time to call the doctor.

The nurse said that the nausea should go away in a month. I asked for tips coping with the unhappy side effect, and she one-upped me: got me a prescription for anti-nausea meds. When I was preggers with Maddy, I lived off this stuff. Literally.

So tonight, I start. And hope I sleep in till at least 7. And hopefully, I am not super sick. But in case I am ... The bucket and ginger crackers are conveniently an arm's reach away. 

 

As for other things ... Life in blogging has been interesting since my blog went viral. 

And here's what I mean by that. 

First, when your stats start going crazy, you kinda freak out ... In a good way. Then you get overwhelmed (over 1,000 comments in a few days' time will do that. And that's a 1,000 very personal stories of peoples' babies.)

Then you start getting some recognition, people start liking you on Facebook, and then you (ok, really me) start to feel like , YES -- I am a writer and I could totally write a book. 

Except, even during that time, I had to remind myself that the slump was coming. 

You see, viral isn't sustainable. I don't want to be a one-post wonder. 

I want to have content that is readable, thought-provoking, tear-producing, straight-from-my-heart share-worthy stuff. 

But here's the thing. Blogging is really a partnership. I write for me and for you. I hope you like what you read. And I hope you share. 

Sometimes it's hard to see numbers dwindle. It's hard to come off that high.  I have to make myself remember that every single one of you are NOT a number -- even though that's all the comes on my dashboard. It's so much better when I make myself remember that you are a NAME, a person, a friend, a loved one, someone I haven't met yet but I have the privilege of sharing with.

Honestly, YOU reading my blog is super cool. Thanks so much for taking some of your precious time to care about me, my words, my thoughts, and my family. I super appreciate you.

If you take time to comment -- extra super cool. I feel so loved by a thoughtful comment. Or even just one that acknowledges, "hey, I read your stuff."

If you take time to share my blog -- that is like the biggest, biggest hug ever. I think for anyone who is an artist of any kind (music, words, painting, etc), the biggest compliment you could ever give them is to share their work.

So for all of you who have shared whenever a post speaks to you, thanks from the bottom of my heart. And for all of you for whom I see a number, and not a name, know that I really appreciate you sticking around. <3

 

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?"

Kim's Story: meeting her baby who was miscarried 20 years ago

I miscarried a baby in 1984. I was in my first trimester. I too heard all of the "at least" comforts.

I did have two more children, but never got rid of the little white dress with
purple flowers I had hanging in the closet. I didn't know the gender of my
baby.

I was in prayer one night, twenty-two years later, grieving the loss.
In that moment, I was able to take the little dress out of my closet. As I was
praying, The Lord (in the Spirit) laid my baby in my arms. I wept. I rocked
my baby.

The Lord spoke to my heart and said, "Her name is Anna Elizabeth, and
she has raven hair."

He allowed me to love on her for a while and then I lifted her to Him and
had a peace I hadn't known. It wasn't until many years later that I learned
my great-grandmothers names on one side was “Elizabeth” and on the
other side was “Cinncianna” (Anna).

Wow! I know I will see her one day.

I hope this comforts someone.

Love, Kim

Thanks, Kim, for sharing this beautiful story. And for reminding us that God has not forgotten us or our babies. Much love. Rachel

Am I over it?

Yesterday was weird for me.

It was a good day mostly -- I had a friend come by for a few hours for lunch before we both headed off for our support group. We stopped by wal-mart on our way to group and picked up ovulation predictor kits . . . laughing because it would be clear to the check-out girl that we both just wanted to get "knocked up." It felt good to be carefree for a little bit, to laugh and to think about getting pregnant again without sheer panic.

I told her, "Wouldn't it be fun if we got pregnant at the same time?!" We both agreed that it would be fun, but deep inside, we knew the potential for how painful that could be. What if one of us loses our baby, and the other goes on to have a healthy baby? A pretend innocence can only last so long. I had to add, "Well, it would be fun anyway if we both had healthy pregnancies, and healthy babies that we could keep."

Yesterday was also good because I was able to figure out our vegan meal plan and go grocery shopping, as well as run some other errands in the morning/early afternoon. It was nice to be productive earlier in the day. The check-out girl at Fred Meyer told me she wanted to come eat at my house because we eat healthy. I laughed -- but honestly, I take a certain amount of pride in filling a grocery cart with produce and very little else.

Overall, it felt like a very good day.

But I also felt kinda weird yesterday.

My friend and I talked about our losses a lot. It's weird that your baby's death can become normal and natural conversation. But as we talked -- and later at our support group -- I felt like I was talking about Olivia and our loss in a very cerebral way. I just couldn't feel emotional about it. I actually felt far more emotion for my friend's experience yesterday than I could for my own.

As we drove to wal-mart, I thought, I just wish I could put this whole experience in a box, shelve it and forget about it. Just move on, and completely forget this chapter in my life. I want to pretend again that the idea of getting pregnant isn't terrifying. I want to pretend like I'd never experienced a loss, and that life was normal. And not a "new normal." Just NORMAL.

At our group, this was the first meeting where I just didn't feel like I belonged. I was feeling very disconnected from my own feelings. In the past groups, I always could relate to the feelings others shared. But this time, I really just felt like a spectator.

I saw people there that I really cared about. I saw girls that I now consider friends. And one that I have "talked" with over FB and our blogs, but hadn't officially met yet. But deep inside I wondered . . . Does this lack of emotion mean I'm over it? Is this part of an early loss . . . feeling this way after only 3 months? How long will I come to this support group? When will I be moving on?

When I got home, I found Ryan working on his post to tell his side of Olivia's story. I curled up next to him, tried not to read over his shoulder, and eventually fell asleep to the sound of his fingers tapping across the keyboard.

As I lay there in my almost asleep state, I realized that I could never box my loss up -- tempting as it had seemed earlier in the day. To forget my loss meant to forget my love. And the truth is, I had loved Olivia with all my heart from the moment I knew she existed.

The problem is that thinking of my love for her hurts. It's easier for me to be intellectual about my loss. It's a lot harder when I think about my love for her.

Even as I know I couldn't do it -- boxing up everything and pretending to be the old me still sounds pretty tempting.

I got up early this morning and read Ryan's post (which is still just a draft, in case you try to look for it). Reading his side was very eye-opening for me, and yet, very hard. Our loss of Olivia has impacted our marriage and family in such a huge way. I felt yet again that I just can't deny that we had this experience. If I did, I would not just be denying my love for her, but I would be denying my husband's grief too. He grieves for a lost baby, but even more, for his family that would never, ever be the same.

Have you ever felt like boxing it all away, and pretending your loss, and your grief, didn't exist? If you did box it away, what was it like?

A big lesson from a little potty

Sometimes God chooses weird times to talk to us.

Mine happened to be while Mommy and Maddy were having Mommy/Maddy pee time. (Now that she's potty training, that's what we call it!)

I was struck by how often I complain these days -- at least mentally. Complain that I'm not pregnant with Olivia. That babies die. That I'll never know my daughter this side of heaven.

Really, I could go on forever about these complaints, but you get the gist.

As I was thinking about my complaints, I realized that I was missing out on everything God WAS doing in my life.  Maybe I have been physically there for it -- but I certainly haven't been recognizing it, or even praising Him for it.

I focus on being terrified of when God will take Maddy . . . instead of thanking Him for her life and health for this day.

I stress about when I will get pregnant next and how that will go . . . instead of trusting that He will be in control, and that His will is always best.

As I grieve the loss of a relationship with my little girl . . . I've failed to recognize the many beautiful, and, I hope, lasting friendships I've created since starting this journey.

In everything around me, I've been focusing on what I don't have or what I'm afraid to lose . . . instead of seeing God's providential hand still working on my behalf, even when I'm angry and bitter at Him.

As I was thinking about this, I thought about how much I do for Maddy, and she has no idea. She complains to me when she doesn't get ice cream or when she doesn't get an extra bed-time book . . . but she doesn't realize how much I do for her, and how much time I give her every day to make sure she's as healthy and as happy as a 3-year-old should be.

I guess God does that with me, too. Works on my behalf, while I don't recognize the half of it, and only tell him the things I'm mad at Him for doing.

I struggled with this idea earlier this week in small group. We talked about giving thanks in all circumstances, and I just didn't know how I could do that. The examples the author of our study gave were too petty, I felt. What about when your child dies?? How do you thank God in THAT circumstance?

But still . . . the idea of giving thanks in ALL things in scripture.

". . . give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus. "

1Thessalonians 5:18 (NIV)

I have a feeling this idea of giving thanks in a loss is going to be a lesson I'm going to have to learn over, and over, and over again. Because, for those of you who don't know, I've been really struggling with anger toward God. And it's really easy for me to focus ONLY on what I've lost.

Seeing glimpses of God's hand does not negate my need to "focus" on my loss through grief. And I think this day is more of a respite, but that the anger, hurt and feelings of betrayal will all come again. But I think having His gentle reminder today really helped me trust, even just a little, more in Him.

And that little bit of trust is giving me some peace and comfort tonight. And for this moment, I am very grateful for the things and people He has given me. And I'm grateful for a God who doesn't give up on us, even when we give up on Him.

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!

Sweet gifts!

I have received a few very special, very thoughtful gifts in honor of our Baby Olivia.

Here are some of my favorites:

We received this kit containing an oak tree seedling to plant in honor of Baby Olivia, from my sister Sarah.

We've been faithfully taking care of it -- but we haven't seen any signs of growth until this week. More than two months of watering, and finally, new life sprouts!

This new sapling reminds me of my grief a bit -- weeks and weeks of feeling like there's not "progress" and feeling like you'll be stuck in a rut forever . . . only to have a little bit of hope burst forth unexpectedly.

Today I received this lovely necklace from a friend. It is PERFECT. I have wanted a necklace to remember Olivia by, but never found the right one. I love how tiny the footprint is because I imagine that's how tiny her feet might have been. I love that it's just a little bit longer than I normally wear my necklaces, so it falls close to my heart.

                                                         

My friend Meredith sent me this book, and it came right when I was starting to get angry at God for losing our baby. It was perfect timing. I loved reading about how Jesus also heard God tell him "no." How he, too, knew the unspeakable grief and sorrow in separation and death. How he has also felt the loneliness in grief. This book helped open my eyes to a new side of Jesus and his Father that I hadn't really seen before. And it helped me trust my Savior, and love him, even more.



Last, another favorite gift of mine was the gift of time and hard work that my sister Judy gave me. (Unfortunately, I don't have any pictures of this!)

A week after our surgery, she and her family "moved in" for a few days to take care of housework, laundry, cooking and planning Maddy's birthday party. Although I felt guilty watching her slave away at my house, it was so nice to have a clean home to recuperate in! Also, Maddy's birthday might have been a complete flop if it hadn't of been for her.

Thank you all, for the sweet, thoughtful gifts over the last 2 months!


 Here are links in case you are wanting to purchase these gifts for yourself or a friend:


Tree:  http://ww10.1800flowers.com/product.do?baseCode=4867&cm_cid=SEARCH#readmore

 Necklace:  http://www.etsy.com/listing/86335916/baby-foot-necklace-sterling-silver

Book: http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_0_14?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=hearing+jesus+speak+into+your+sorrow+by+nancy+guthrie&sprefix=hearing+Jesus+%2Caps%2C196