Pics on life, loss and love

Ryan and Maddy have been using Olivia's name more recently, and that is very nice.


Some of it might be because after the fallout from my FB note, Ryan and I have been talking more candidly with each other about our loss.


Whatever the reason, her name is really nice to hear.


Today I wore the necklace my friend Emily sent me.

Madelyn plays with that necklace more than with any of my other necklaces. Today, while fingering the "O" charm, she says, "Mommy, this is 'Livia's necklace." She held up the footprint charm. We compared her foot to the charm, and we both decided Maddy's footprint would never fit on a necklace.

I asked her who Olivia was. She answered, "My best friend." I told her Olivia was also her sister, but that we wouldn't get to know Olivia for a very long time.

The other day she told me, "Mommy, Audrey is my favorite friend. And 'Livia is my second favorite friend. And 'Livia has a special tree."

She sure does, baby.

On Sunday, Ryan, Madelyn and I planted the willow oak tree seedling my sister gave us in honor of baby Olivia.

Once we finished planting the tree, we looked up to see a deer pass through our yard. I don't think it's symbolic or anything . . . but it was peaceful.



It was a nice moment. I wish the rest of the day could have stayed peaceful.

It will be nice to watch her tree grow . . .even though I still wish I were watching her grow, and not just a tree.

One more thing I wanted to say . . .

I keep this blog mostly related to pregnancy loss. But I know most of you don't know much about my life outside of my loss. You don't know how I take care of Maddy, take care of my husband and take care of my business.

I still take care of important things in my life -- and Maddy and I still have fun together. So here's a glimpse into the rest of my life . . .

Maddy's favorite breakfast: Alphabet pancakes!

Maddy wanted to do spa night with the girls. Instead, I convinced her to do spa morning with Mommy. She was the perfect little client!



Maddy loves to take pictures around the house. Here's one she took of me:

Maddy's artwork on display in her room:

This was taken right before she dumped the flour in and turned the mixer to 10.
You can imagine the fallout . . .

Showing off her pretty nails . .

Snow time fun! (Sorry it's sideways! I don't know how to fix that!) :)

So, now you know. My blog is mostly about pregnancy loss. But my life is a mix of loss and love, grief and joy.  Sometimes the picture of my life is bright, cheery and happy. Other times, it is murky, dark and desperate. And sometimes, it's all of the above all at the same time.


P.S. I apologize if I brought anyone pain  by posting pics of my life with Maddy and Ryan. But I did want to give you a little bit of a bigger picture of who I am and why I write they way I do. I still do love those around me very much, even as I grieve the lifetime I lost with Olivia. Since I post so often about the hard times, I wanted to include a few of the good times we've had since our loss.

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.

Grief in a vacuum

¹vac·u·um

b: a state of isolation from outside influences

<people who live in a vacuum…so that the world outside them is of no moment  — W. S. Maugham>

As a business owner, a wife and a mom, I tend to juggle a lot. But there have been times that I have wished I could just live life in a vaccuum . . . 

Last April, I keenly remember wishing I could put life on hold for just a bit while I operated my business. Or maybe I wanted to put my business on hold while I operated my life.

I was juggling my normal schedule -- 2 full days of proofing at the advertising agency, 3 full days of being a stay-at-home mom, working to finish a promotion, laundry, cooking, cleaning, singing on the worship team -- you name it.

But then a dear friend of mine was getting married.

I was not only a bridesmaid in her April wedding, I also hosted out-of-town guests, was in charge of arranging all the flowers, did the bride's makeup, helped set up and tear down for the wedding, ironed the wedding dress 
(S-C-A-R-Y), and helped arrange and serve food for the reception. 

It was beautiful!

And exhausting.

After trying to balance everything that month, I wished I could just operate life in a vacuum. I would do really well at Arbonne -- if that's all I had to do. I'd be an awesome bridesmaid/flower arranger/makeup artist/friend -- if that's all I had to do. I'd make an excellent wife and mom -- if that's all I had to do.

But life doesn't operate in a vacuum.

That's what makes life beautiful.

That's also what makes it messy.

Lately, I've found myself wishing I could just grieve in a vacuum.

I have a history of depression and anxiety. I have used, and weaned myself off of, medicine for both issues. Last year, when I felt the cool shadow of depression darken my soul, I chose to enter counseling so I could address the root of my depression and not just treat the symptoms.

After almost a full year of counseling, I felt so much better -- that is, until I had my ectopic pregnancy and lost my baby.

Grief awakened the demons of depression and anxiety, and they preyed upon me at whim. (I am not claiming spiritual warfare -- nor am I precluding it -- but no other descriptor fits my feelings. At times I truly felt possessed by my overwhelming feelings).

In one last effort to address my depression without medication, my counselor suggested I take a week off. She instructed me to get rid of all outside distractors as much as possible, listen to my feelings, and do whatever the heck I felt like doing (within reason, of course) in order to express my grief and deal with the emotions it brought.

Enter -- the vacuum.

A week off? Sounds awesome. Except I'm kinda a workaholic -- or, as I like to think of it -- I'm productive. And I don't know HOW to take a week off.

Clearly I still had responsibilities. My daughter still needed diapers changed. (Ick.)  And we still had to eat. Besides taking care of the input -- and output -- and general hygiene, the rest was really filler: stuff I could delegate to my husband, or put off for a week.

I usually cannot relax unless it is in a clean room -- so you can imagine my dilemma. Relax -- but don't clean. Sounded counter-intuitive to me.

It took me 4 days of trying to NOT work -- all the while, thinking of what must be done and combatting the associated guilt -- before I was finally able to relax.

7 days off = 4 days of doing what I wanted and feeling miserable about it + 3 days of doing what I wanted and feeling good about it.

Did it completely heal me? No. Might I still need to consider medicine? Maybe.

But I learned some pretty valuable lessons about myself in the process.

I learned that I can let go of some of the pressure I put on myself, and still be valuable (and productive!). I learned about some really unhealthy thought habits I had formed.

I learned that I am still very, very sad for the daughter I will never know this side of heaven.

I learned that I was hiding behind a busy schedule, behind a smile, behind a facade that I was all OK because the grief and sadness felt just too scary to handle. I learned that I have to fuel my soul, and not just make myself push harder while on "empty." I learned that I really need to take care of myself so I can be a good example to Maddy.

Enter -- life outside of the vacuum.

So, the vacuum is over and done with. I have found myself wondering, "Now what?"  How do I deal with the mess of grieving while juggling everything else?

And grieving while doing life is really messy.

The other day, I went on a playdate that had all of the makings for being an amazing time for me and Maddy. Valentine's Day, delicious cookies to decorate, cute elephant valentines to make and pass out, and an amazing hostess I love very much . . . All good, right?

Except I wasn't planning on everyone attending being either 1) Pregnant. 2) Have a newborn with them. 3) A practicing midwife. Or 4) Nursing. 

One lady came late -- bless her -- that did not seem interested at all in having another baby.

But still, for 2 hours the talk was about babies, nursing, babies, birth stories, babies, gift registries, B-A-B-I-E-S.

So, how exactly do I handle this when everything in me wants to run away and burst into tears? How do I act polite and courteous to these people who I don't even know, while everything about them at that time brings pain to me?

And it's not just hard when I'm around babies or pregnant people. My grief can be triggered at the most obnoxious times.

What about when I get blurry-eyed as I walk past the vitamin aisle, remembering that this is where I got my prenatals? Who cries at the vitamin aisle?

What about crying while getting my favorite coffee because I am so sad I can drink it without having to worry about protecting a baby in me? Pretty awkward for everyone else, right? Really, is coffee something to get THAT worked up about?

What about when a close friend is pregnant, and I love them with all my heart, and I am so HAPPY for their growing baby, but I am so SAD for my loss, that I don't even know how to act without hurting their feelings?

How am I supposed to react when my dad starts counting his grandchildren -- and Olivia doesn't make the list?

What about going on Facebook and feeling jarred every time an ultrasound photo is posted, or a BOY/GIRL announcement is made, or a newborn photo is proudly displayed? I often will myself to "like" their status, even when the truth is, it was really hard for me to see.

What about dealing with the hundred billion reminders out there of the baby I lost, all while trying desperately to not offend or hurt everyone around me, and still, somehow, care for myself at the same time?

I still don't know how to juggle it all.

But I'm starting to think I need to tell my counselor that I need another week in the vacuum . . .

. . . just for good measure.

My story -- Baby O's life and legacy

This post has been the hardest to write.

But my story, and my healing, will not be complete until I visit this place of pain. It is the place where I have treasured the memories of my daughter, however brief and few they are. In this place, Baby O is still alive. She is bringing me hope, and deep joy.

Writing about loss in and of itself is easier for me. But this secret place in my heart is what gives meaning to the loss, pain and grief. Here, grief is no longer just a feeling to discuss, dissect and divulge . . .

Joy makes the grief

Real.

Living.

Breathing.

Consuming.

In the last 3 years of processing Madelyn's birth and pregnancy . . . I had pretty much resigned myself to the fact that we would probably never get pregnant again. I WANTED to get pregnant again . . . and I felt inklings of sadness when other people announced pregnancies. I wished I had a reason to wear my maternity clothes again. I wish I had showers.  I thought about how wonderful it would be to share my body with a squirmy little girl or boy. I wanted to breastfeed again. I daydreamed of the ways we would tell people we were pregnant again. Of how I would announce it on FB. I longed for a baby.

But I couldn't give myself permission to do it. How would I handle 9 long months of nausea? How could I care for my family? What if I have to go on bedrest again? If those were the only considerations -- I would've gotten pregnant in a heartbeat.

But then -- there's the whole "I could lose my life" thing. Or I could go 20 weeks, get preeclampsia and HELLP and lose the baby. Could I live with losing a baby? Could I willingly put myself at risk? Put Maddy at risk for growing up without a mother? Put Ryan at risk of losing his wife at a young age?

I was at a stalemate -- and so we chose the adoption route.

Perhaps because I never thought I would see 2 lines on a pregnancy test again, that they brought me so much surprise, hope and JOY the Saturday morning that they appeared and changed my life forever.

I knew it was possible that I could have gotten pregnant when we did, but I didn't think it was likely based on my cycle. I casually told my mom (and only my mom) that we were in the 2-week wait, and that I could potentially be pregnant. She was excited, and I guess, I was a little. But I didn't feel pregnant at all, and like I said, I had given up any hope that I would see those 2 little lines again.

After a week went by without any sign of a period, I got suspicious. I took a test, and it was negative. I called my mom who was disappointed, and I moved on. Everytime I thought I might be pregnant, I felt dumb because I had no symptoms -- minus a late period.

At work one day, I just was fed up with the wait. It felt like a cruel joke to be 1.5 weeks late but not be pregnant. I told a coworker friend that I was late and that I thought I might be pregnant, but that I had a negative a few days before. She got excited and told me to try again this weekend, and to text her when I found out.

I pretty much forgot about our conversation that day, and thought I'd give it 2 full weeks before testing again. But that night I had the most precious, beautiful dream in the world. I dreamt that I was pregnant, and there was the sweetest little baby in me, all squirmy and everything. I was blissfully happy, with my hand on my swollen stomach feeling my child move and kick with life.

I woke up, and just knew I had to take a pregnancy test right then. I peed on the stick -- and to my shock, 2 lines showed up right away!!  Any idea of a creative way to tell my hubby (or anyone else for that matter) flew out the window. I got my pants up as fast as I could, ran to the office, and said breathlessly . . . "I think you need to see something!" . . . proudly holding out the positive test.

Ryan was much less surprised than I was, but still super happy. We had to get ready to travel for an Arbonne party together, and I was so happy he was going with me cause we had time to talk in the car. He would tell you I pretty much didn't lose the smile on my face the whole 4 hours there.

I called my mom as soon as we got in the car to leave. "Mom, I'm pregnant!!!" At first, I thought I had lost connection, because she was shocked and didn't say anything for what felt like a few minutes. Then she said, "Are you sure? Because you just called the other day to say you weren't pregnant." I said yes, I was sure . . . and she started crying because she was so happy! I cried, too, and I was just so happy inside.

Then I called Sarah. She didn't answer. I called 15 minutes later. She didn't answer. I called 15 minutes later, and she finally answered. "Sorry for calling so much," I gushed. "But I just couldn't wait to tell you . . . you are going to have a new niece or nephew August 4th!" She was excited, and asked when we found out. I explained about my period being late, and she said . . . "What do you mean, your period was late?" I was like, "My period was late. I'm pregnant!" Again -- silence. I asked if she was still there. She was crying and I could just make out that she thought I had been telling her we were going to have a foster child in August. . . not that we were going to have our very own baby! I made her cry in the middle of Walmart. That was the best.

Telling other family members didn't go quite as expected or as hoped -- many of them assumed that the pregnancy wasn't viable due to my lack of symptoms and didn't seem to be as excited. Others were simply afraid. When they heard, "I'm pregnant . . . " they heard, "Me and my baby might die." In the midst of my happiness and joy, it was hard to see others who were unable to celebrate with us. But I do understand where they were coming from.

Ryan and I agreed that I could tell close friends and family -- but I don't think he knows how many "close" friends I have. :) I told all my friends at work, and that was so much fun! I dreamed of how fun it would be for them to see me grow a big belly. I thought about how fun it would be to bring my baby in to show off.

I had just promoted with Arbonne, and everything felt perfect. I was leaving work to stay home with Maddy, and now we had this new little one on the way!

Several times a day, I found myself with my hand on my belly . . . praising God for this most amazing blessing, and thanking Him for this new life growing in me. I already loved that little baby so much. I imagined how she would be with Madelyn, and how they would be best friends. I just knew this pregnancy would be different.

One of the things that surprised me was the instant peace I had about this pregnancy. I used to imagine that if I were pregnant again, I would be consumed by fear and anxiety. Instead, with Baby O, I was full of the most amazing peace I had ever felt.

Maddy was convinced it was a girl. One day, she lifted up my shirt to see my belly (that was still pretty flat) and said, "Mommy. The baby is so cute! She's so cute, mommy!"

She was so cute. I knew she was. I loved how my daughter already loved her sibling . . . even when all she saw was a belly at the time.

Someone close recently wondered if I had regretted telling people our news. Nothing could be further from the truth. If anything, I wished I would have told everybody. If I hadn't told anyone, I would hardly have ANY memories of my daughter's life. I cling to the memories of celebrating her unexpected yet precious life with friends and family. Besides the picture of the positive test, those memories are all I have of her.

After losing the baby, we chose to name her. It only took a few minutes for me to come up with her name  . . .

Olivia Joy Lewis.

Olivia stems from "Olive". The olive branch is a universal symbol of peace. After the great flood, when God wiped out the world (except those on Noah's ark, of course), hope for a new life came in the form of an olive branch.

Her middle name is Joy because her life brought me more joy inside than I thought I could ever contain.

Olivia was my olive branch. She was the hope that came after a storm. I had despaired that there would never be any other life in me. She gave me that hope. She was (and is) God's gift to me. Peace and Joy are exactly the way I want to remember my daughter.

Perhaps Olivia's legacy won't be her own . . . perhaps her legacy will be that she has given me the courage to have her sisters or brothers.  She has made me stronger. She has made me more compassionate. She has brought me closer to God. She makes me cherish each day with Maddy more. Her little life has already reached hundreds of other women -- and I hope -- has brought them some measure of healing and comfort in Christ.

Baby Olivia,

I miss you more than words could ever express. Thank you for being a fighter. For holding on for as long as you could. I am so sorry that I could not provide a safe place for you to grow. I am so sorry, sweet girl. Thank you for opening my eyes to death, and in that, to the beauty and miracle of life. Thank you for drawing my eyes to Jesus. Thank you for helping me see the beauty and joy to be found in heaven. Thank you for giving me courage.

I love you so much,

Mommy