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.

Perspective

I came across these words today on the comment section of a different blog.

"I don’t like the fact that every little issue along life’s path, from miscarriages to spats with family, are glorified these days. Blogged about. FB statuses, galore. Sometimes, just for extra annoyingness, cryptic FB statuses. People spending hours whining about what used to be commonplace events.

I’ve had two miscarriages. I have two lovely, healthy girls.

Was I sad about my miscarriages? Yes, very much so. Did I name them, or write a memorial to post online, or turn the conversation back to myself every time anyone spoke about loss or bad luck? No. Because I have perspective.

And I’m counting my blessings. What I actually have more than makes up for the loss of a beautiful idea. And don’t even get me started on people who say they found it hard to care for existing children because of a miscarriage …. Talk about not seeing the forest for the trees."

Well, I guess if she knew me, she'd disapprove of just about everything I've done since we lost Olivia.

I left cryptic FB posts when I really wanted to share with everyone that we were pregnant, but that we might lose the baby. I wanted to beg for the prayers of those who love me so that together we could flood God's throne on behalf of my baby. But my husband and I weren't on the same page about how and when our news should be shared. So cryptic message it was.

I do spend hours thinking, talking and writing about Olivia. Whining? Well. I don't know. Maybe sometimes I whine.

Did I name my child, write a memorial post online, and occasionally turn the conversation back on to my loss when I talk with my friends. Yep.

Do I struggle at times to meet my daughter's every demand on a particularly difficult day? Guilty as charged.

The commenter above does not approve of my actions because she admittedly has "perspective."

But I have done all of these things for the exact same reason. I have perspective.

I've shared in previous posts about how we almost lost Madelyn during my pregnancy twice. Once to threatened miscarriage at 12 weeks. I had hemmorhaged, and after going to the ER, found out I had a 50/50 chance to keep her.

My whole family was prepared to lose her. And we were all very happily surprised when she clung to life.

I named her "Madelyn Jane" in part because of this experience.

Madelyn means "strong woman." She was one strong little girl to hold on even while my body made it so hard for her to do so! Jane means "believer in a gracious God." What a gracious God we serve to let me keep my little girl!

Often -- especially now that I've lost Olivia -- I look at her deep hazel eyes and think, "I almost missed this." I came this close to never knowing the feeling of her arms when she "squeezes the words out of me." I came this close to never snuggling with her in bed, her soft sweaty body squeezed as close to me as possible. I came this close to never hearing the sweetest words ever spoken: "You're my best friend, Mommy. I love you sooooooooooooo much."

I came this close to losing 3 years of precious, beautiful moments with my daughter. I came this close to losing a lifetime more.

And THAT is my perspective.

With Olivia, we too went to the ER early in my pregnancy. The doctor gave us hope. He said he would not give up on our baby. He wasn't willing to call it a miscarriage, or ectopic. He was choosing to believe our little one could make it.

The nurse who called to inform me my hcg numbers had risen also had hope. She hoped everything would be fine, and that our baby would live.

I had hope. Ryan had hope. Our families had hope.

We all had so much hope, and so much love for this little tiny creature we knew would be Maddy's best friend and our beloved child.

The morning we had the final blood draw, I had read in scripture that "With God, all things are possible." I clung to that hope and to the faith that God would do the impossible, and give us Olivia too.

But God's not that predictable. He was strong enough. Her life was possible. But for some reason, He chose to take her straight to heaven.

God had a purpose for Olivia's life. I don't like it and some days, I simply don't approve. But He had numbered her days. Her purpose was not to love on me and let me love on her. Her purpose was not to whisper sweet words, give big hugs, and bless us most amazingly with her adorable presence.

But she DID have a purpose.

And that's why I'm on this journey. That's why I blog, I write, I cry, I talk, I think, I post messages on FB and attend support groups.

Because I have the perspective of a women who almost lost a lifetime with a child . . . but didn't.

And I have the perspective of a woman who almost lost a lifetime with a child . . . and did.



Baby Olivia,

I'm missing you so much today. I hope you are having fun today playing at Jesus' feet. I hope you have become friends with some of my friends' babies. Let me tell you, their moms are amazing. I wish we all could have had playdates together here on earth.

Can't wait to meet you in heaven.

Until then . . . all my love.

Mommy

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.

Taking on the elephant in the room.

Well . . . hello.

I guess I need to break the ice again . . . but I'm not sure how.

I hate to say it, but for the first time, I think this blog has become a bit awkward for me. It's kind of feels like the social equivalent of getting drunk, totally humiliating yourself, and then having to go face the crowd when you're sober and embarrassed.

(Not that I have been drunk before. Well, OK, I got drunk when I was 3 years old. But that's another story . . .)

There feels like a big elephant in the room. And I wanted to ignore it -- but I think I'm just going to have to address it head on. I shared on my last note much more personally than I ever have before, and that is embarrassing and scary.

But I can't decide if sharing so intimately with what I am struggling with is a good thing or a bad thing. It's not really socially normal, I do know that. But does that make it wrong?

That's where I'm fuzzy.

My husband encouraged me to keep the note up because it is a truthful account of what I'm dealing with. It's totally ugly, but it's true. I felt like my counselor recommended I get more honest on this blog as a way to get out of that need to control my image. To really be upfront, and grieve.

My sister, on the other hand, recommended I take it down. I don't need to socially martyr myself, and I don't need to be 100% transparent. Some things are personal, and they don't need to be public for anybody and everybody to see. When I received LOTS of concerned phone calls the day after my post -- well, I think I started to agree with my sister.

I'm struggling because I can't decide if it's good or bad that I'm uncomfortable. It could be GOOD because I'm being proactive in breaking that pretty box . . . but it's BAD if I crossed a line, or have inadvertantly pushed people away.

While there's much I'm debating, I did decide to edit my post ever so slightly to temper it down.

I've also decided that I'm definitely going through a depression. Which also brings up more questions . . . If I am blogging about pregnancy loss, but I'm also depressed, doesn't that mean that less women will be able to relate? Will this blog be now about depression after loss -- or can it still serve those who are going through a loss without having succumbed to depression?

I wish I knew the answers . . . .

Even as I question my content, my voice, and my level of transparency, I still stand strong in my purpose.

I am writing through my grief because in hard times, sometimes the only thing that helps is someone who has been there, done that, and is brave enough to share their story. I want to be brave with my story.

I am writing because it gives me an outlet for my feelings and grief.

I blog because I need Olivia's life to have meaning.

I share because, the first day after my loss, I had an intense need to share Olivia's "birth" story -- just like other women do who have gone through labor and had healthy babies. I assume other women have this need, and I want to provide a safe place to share our stories.

I write because I was once the girl that said all the wrong things and was a very unhelpful support person to my friends and acquaintances dealing with pregnancy loss. I want to help break the silence, help others understand what it's like to lose a baby (no matter the gestation), and give them the words and tools they need to truly support their loved one in the best way possible.

I write because I do believe that God has gifted me with a love for the written word, and I want to use that to His glory.

I continue to write because more than 4,000 people have viewed this blog in 3 months . . .  and that tells me that somehow, in some way, my writing is helping others . . . even though I can't always see it or know the outcome.

I pour out my heart on this thing because I need my friends and family to know what I'm going through -- but I have a hard time communicating that in person.

I long to know that I'm not alone in my feelings. I long to feel connected, because I so often feel lost in myself and unconnected when I am physically around others. I long to feel hope.

If you have viewed this blog, I'm going to ask a favor. Will you please let me know if and what you have found helpful in my writing? As I wrestle with where to take this blog, your suggestions and feedback will really help me.

As much as this started out being about Olivia -- it's now really about you, my readers. And helping you, while helping me, is Olivia's legacy.

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