The Need to be Excited Again

I worry a little about posting this not because it's raw or painful, but because it's almost too hopeful. I'm afraid of a lot of things coming out of this... jynxing myself, having my beliefs challenged, causing concern over my coping mechanisms, getting flooded with conception advice, offending others who are still grieving... One of my biggest worries, though, is that others will assume this means I'm "okay" now. As much as I think we'd all like and might even expect that, it's not happening today. I'm not even sure what it means. Something I never understood before I lost Liam was just how present happiness and sadness can be in one heart at the same time. With all that said, I'm going to continue to be hopeful and post anyway.

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Sometimes I imagine my next baby. I like to try to be optimistic and most of me really does believe that I'll have one. And if I really am going to have another baby, I'd like to get excited about that prospect, like I used to be excited. I used to be excited about all of the babies I imagined having, not just Liam. But now it seems hard to be excited about anyone else. On a good day, a really cute onesie just makes me hope heaven will have witty onesies and matching outfits for Liam and Kam. On a bad day... I don't want to imagine ever having another baby at all; Liam's the only one that can fill my void. So while scrolling through pinterest looking for "cute baby things" seems to be a lost cause (I've tried it. I want it to work.), I still can't help but think about the other babies that I believe I will have.

I feel like I owe something to them. But I also feel guilty about getting excited over them instead of crying over Liam. It makes it nearly impossible to do. But when I'm fair with myself I acknowledge that Liam would want for me to be happy and excited over his siblings as much as anyone else would. He'd be excited too, if he were here. Maybe he is excited.

I am their mother just as much as I am Liam's. I just haven't met them yet. And in a way, they're all equally far away right now. I just miss the one I know the best, and I know I'll have to wait the longest to see again. That's fair. But these other babies do deserve something from me. Maybe it's ok not to be excited about them yet. I know it's ok to mourn. But when they do come, I'll want to be excited instead of worried or afraid or angry. I want them to get all the attention I gave Liam when I was still naive and giddy about pregnancy. But right now it almost sounds like a burden. As much as I really do want to feel that way, actually achieving it seems unattainable.

But there is one thing that makes me hopeful, and almost excited. When I imagine my next baby, I imagine a little girl. She's brass and energetic and rascally. She doesn't sit still, and it's difficult to have a serious conversation with her. She's a rebel without a cause. But she's extremely passionate about life, and she loves deeply. She demands attention.

Honestly, she scares me a little.

She sounds exactly like what I need right now. And I don't know if that's because she's out there and she is what I need right now, or if my brain just knows what I want to hear at this hard time. Either way, I like the thought of having a baby who makes her own excitement and demands my attention. She wouldn't allow me to miss out on the other experiences I have always wanted to have, just because I'm holding out for one very important one. I hope she is out there. She would stretch me farther than I think I can go, but I think I need the pull.

And maybe we're just what a little girl like that needs. We're learning patience, and probably a whole lot of other things I don't understand yet. And there's no doubt she'd be wanted. She'd be prayed and wished and worried into existence. She'd have the perfect older brother watching over her, and I sometimes think she'd desperately need that. The idea that this could all actually be what our whole family needs and was meant to be, that actually is exciting. I know I thought my plan was better. Sometimes I still think so. But I'm happy to be wrong. I'd be very very happy to find out this is better than it seems, and even better than I planned.

So, while images of tiny dresses and pinterest parenting tips don't do it for me anymore, I am excited. If she's out there... Come down, baby girl, because I want to meet you.

This isn't what I wanted.

I try not to think that too often, because I know it won't change anything. But sometimes it creeps in and refuses to leave. Today's been an emotional roller-coaster. Numbness to hope to numbness to anger to fatigue. My level of faith right now is this,

"God, this isn't what I wanted. I sure hope you know what you're doing, because I sure don't. "

I'm too tired and hurt to remember why I thought everything was going to be ok. So I give up. I'm just going to hope God really will make it ok, and leave it at that. And try not to think anymore for a while.

The First Moment My Life Changed Forever

I often think about a pivotal moment in my life when Kam and I were first getting to know each other. He and I had been on a few dates, and I really liked him, and I'd told him that. I also told him I was scared because I had just broken up with my last boyfriend less than 2 weeks before, and I wasn't planning on dating anyone seriously again any time soon. Kam was very supportive, and I remember he said, "Well, what do you want?" And I was surprised at the question and said I didn't know. He replied, "That's ok. Sometimes it's hard to know what you want. Just let me know." He made it sound so simple.

I spent the next few days trying to figure that out. I knew what I didn't want. I didn't want to have my heartbroken again. But I also didn't want to miss out on Kam. He was like no one else I'd ever met and I was sure he'd make some other girl happy if I didn't take this chance, and I really didn't like the idea of missing out on being that girl. But how could I know it wouldn't end the way my last relationship had? What I had just been through was the hardest, darkest part of my life up to that point (which almost makes me laugh now, but when I think back about the way I felt, it really was a big deal at the time). I couldn't imagine going through that again. I sometimes felt like I'd barely survived last time, literally. I was afraid I wouldn't be strong enough to handle it a second time.

But what if this was good? Would I always wonder what might have been if I didn't try this out? I could let him pass me by, and I'm sure I would survive. But how much would I have missed out on? Would I always regret that?

I remember where I was when I decided what I wanted. I remember walking to class, praying silently, "I'm going to try this. Stop me if it's wrong. And if it doesn't work out, and I'm just supposed to learn something from this, just please don't let anything really bad happen." Basically, I was just pleading that I would survive it. I know that doesn't sound like a very romantic way to feel about starting a relationship, but that's just how scared I was. And it took everything in me to decide I wanted the chance to be with him more than I wanted to feel safe. But that is what I wanted.

I honestly consider that the best decision of my life, not only because of how incredibly it worked out, but because of how much faith it took at the time. That moment changed a lot of the course of my life not only because it allowed Kam to be a part of it, but because it changed a piece of my character forever. It took a different kind of faith than I'd ever had before. I didn't have faith that everything would work out for the best. I just had faith that I could move forward without being afraid and that God would somehow allow me to survive whatever came next. That was all I asked for and all I expected. I remember asking Kam after we'd been dating for about a month whether he thought this was just a fling, because I honestly didn't know. (He was, of course, not very happy about that assumption.) I had decided to go for it even though I had no idea what was going to happen. And then God blessed me with more than I ever imagined. Because sometimes things do go right.

I've been thinking about this a lot today.

Thoughts on Blessings and Marriage

I realized today that losing Liam is a trial, but having him at all is a blessing. I don't believe there's any other version of the future where Liam would be born healthy in September like we planned. The trial and the blessing had to go together, and it's up to me to decide which I want to focus on more.

I also realized today that that trial and that blessing were picked especially for us. Kam and I have always wanted and worked hard to have a strong marriage. That was a priority to each of us before we even knew it would be with each other. I believe this experience is a testimony to us that we are doing a good job there. Though this trial has been painful, it hasn't harmed our marriage. In fact, it's made us stronger and closer. I believe this was the gravity of a trial that our marriage needed to be tested with, and to know God trusted us with something this huge is a privilege. But even more, I believe we were blessed to be chosen as Liam's family because we were ready to love him and parent him in our own way. That's an even greater privilege.

I saw an article today that I had shared on Facebook two years ago, shortly after we got married, that gave 3 points of advice surrounding marriage. The last was essentially, "The most important thing you can do as a parent is to love your spouse." Comforting words to someone looking for ways to parent beyond the veil. But also a reassurance that Kam and I are doing something right. That we were blessed with Liam because we're good parents, and not that he was taken away because we wouldn't have been.

28 Days

Yesterday I realized it was exactly 4 weeks since I gave birth to Liam. I've been worrying over when my period will come back, and I was noticing that would have been a normal cycle. 28 days. And I thought, how could it be 28 days? How could 28 days have passed already? Not just how could they, but how dare they? How dare time keep passing in a world without my son in it?

And I haven't been able to shake that feeling since.

Where have I been for the past 28 days? Now it's May and a whole month has passed since we got the bad news. And I don't even remember it passing. How can time move so slowly, and yet when it passes you, it's like it was never there at all?

I often wish I could just wake up. Find myself in my bed and turn to Kam and tell him about the terrible nightmare I just had, and he'd say, "It's ok. It was just a dream." And I'd look down at my belly, and Liam would be there, and it would all be ok. But I know I'm not dreaming.

The other night Kam and I were talking about how it's all really ok, even if it's hard to remember. We'll be with Liam again someday. And he's safe right now. Kam was saying it's like when you're little and you scrape your knee and at the time it hurts, but now we think back about being a kid and we aren't thinking about the pain of scraping a knee. It doesn't even matter now. That's what it'll be like when we're with him again. It won't even matter that we had to go through all this to get there. That'll all be healed, and it'll be ok again. And in that way, it almost is like waking up from a dream. I'll have my baby Liam back, and I'll get to pick up where I left off. I'll raise him like I always expected I would, and it'll suddenly all be ok.

But right now it's still hard. Your knee still hurts when you scrape it. And at least right now, this feels worse than a million scraped knees. And I'm going to be in this dream for a long time before it's ok. So what do I do until then?

I've always tried really hard to do everything exactly right, and thought that meant it would all be ok. But we did everything right in this pregnancy. And it didn't make any difference. And I find myself worrying now over things like getting my period back, and I haven't changed. I'm still trying to control everything, only now I know I can't. So the only thing left to do is just trust in God, but it is so hard to do. I can't just sit here twiddling my thumbs, waiting for God to work things out. It's not that I don't think He can. It's just-- what am I supposed to do while I'm waiting? What can I even do that will make a difference if I'm not in control anyway?

The only thing I can imagine doing is trying to make the world aware that my baby isn't dead forever. My baby isn't dammed or stuck or frozen in time. My baby isn't waiting as a helpless infant for me to come back to him. My baby isn't suddenly an adult in heaven whose life I've missed out on. My baby isn't waiting to be born to a different family or until I can just get this or that right.

My baby is a handsome, mature spirit. When I picture him, I imagine a young man. He's in heaven, but heaven isn't as far as I used to think. Sometimes I feel like he's nearby. I believe he's busy working hard, making his mama proud. I imagine he's probably helping our other family members we miss. I picture him smiling, all the time. A smile unique to him that I can't describe. I see him as calm and comforting like his father. And he's like me, too. I'm not sure exactly what it is, but I feel like my voice is in there. It's somewhat surprising to think any parts of Kam and I could get put together to make a perfect little boy. But I know he is, and I also know he's ours. And then he's just unique him. I feel like he has a special energy that's all his own that I started to see on his 16 week ultrasound, and I still imagine him with it. Vivacious is the best word for it. He knows we love him, and he loves us back. He's eager to be reunited with his body so he can grow up in our arms like he was always meant to do. But he's not lonely or impatient. He doesn't feel the aching that we feel. He understands this whole thing better than we do. He's with our Heavenly Father. How could he not be ok?

So I might be sad and angry and hurt and confused. But I take comfort in knowing he's not.

When I got pregnant I often prayed, thanking the Lord and promising I'd love whatever baby I got. I imagined that might mean a baby with down syndrome or autism or just a really rebellious personality. But instead I got a baby whose life on earth was meant to be very short. There was no other way. Before he ever came to us, God knew that was what his life would be. I asked for a baby and told God I would love whatever baby I got, and Liam needed love. I am blessed that God trusted me with that responsibility. Loving him is easy. But missing him is hard.

Gratitude After Stillbirth

Noticing one of the blankets from the hospital in my closet, I shocked myself with the sudden thought, "I want to do that again."

Of course I don't want to lose a baby again. But there was a sweetness in the hospital despite all of our pain. I still ache for the future I was planning, but I know that was never Heavenly Father's plan for Liam, so I try not to dwell on "would have beens." This is the only way it was ever going to be. With that perspective, it's easier to be grateful for this experience, rather than feeling robbed.

I'm grateful God answered my prayer for a baby. I know He knows how important this is to me.

I'm grateful God always gave me just the right answers at the right times. I used to pray over how I would afford to pay the mortgage if I had to take time off work to take care of a baby, and the only feeling I ever got was that I didn't need to worry about it right then, which was always frustrating at the time. But now I'm just grateful that God never gave me a misleading answer. He always knew this was what Liam's life would be.

I'm grateful I got to keep Liam as long as I did. We got to find out his gender and have a party celebrating his life once before he left. This allowed us to name him before we went into the hospital to be induced. I even got to feel him kick just once, and I treasure that.

I'm grateful I got to give birth to Liam. I'm even grateful I got to feel the contractions. I got to do one normal thing that mothers do for their children, and in that moment I felt so much closer to him.

I'm grateful I got to have my best friend by my side. I have never felt so much love for Kam as in those first few days after we got the bad news. He was an incredible support in grief and labor, and even more impressive was the strength of his faith. He was my rock when I questioned the eternal outcome for our little family.

I'm grateful I got to hold Liam and see my and my sweet husband's features in his face. It is such a testimony of how real he was and is.

I am grateful I have a faith in my Heavenly Father and in His plan for His children. I know He loves each of us, and because of that I have faith that we can all be together again, and that we will have an opportunity to raise Liam in a much better world than this one.

I am grateful Liam is safe. I know he is taken care of by our Heavenly Father, and I feel that he is happy. He is strong and busy. I don't know exactly what he's doing, but I'm sure it's something important to helping our family to be together again in heaven.

I'm grateful for my love for Liam. The cliche about having love and lost is actually quite profound when you've been through it.

I'm grateful I have a son. It may not have happened how I planned or even how I wanted, but I would never wish to go back to before I was pregnant with him. The heartache is worth knowing he's mine.

William Knightley

Still trying to gather the courage to post actual words about this experience, but I wanted to share some pictures of Liam for those who would like to see them.

(13 weeks)

I also came across this song by Ed Sheeran today. I've always loved Ed Sheeran, so it was touching to hear a song from him about an experience almost identical to ours.