Grief is...

Grief is personal. Grief is ever-changing. Grief washes over you and nearly takes you with it. Grief subsides long enough for you to breathe. Grief is a happy weekend reminding me that you should be here. Grief is a sad, lonely visit to 'see' you. Grief is laughing and grief is tears.  Grief is inevitable when this human being that came from you is no longer on the same side of heaven as you. Grief shouldn't be happening right now. Grief is ugly, cruel, smothering... But it reminds me of the immense love we were blessed with for 8 months and 1 day. A perfect soul came into this world, made us mommy and daddy, and is now living perfectly with Jesus. We grieve... But we also rejoice.

Please forgive me...

I know I'm not the same person I was before May 3.  If we're being honest, I know I'm not the same person I was before December 29.  Before December 29, I was the happiest I have ever been in my entire life.  I was a mother to an almost 4 month old beautiful, funny, snuggly little girl with the bluest, most perfect eyes and widest, happiest smile.

Everyone always told me that our lives were going to be forever changed with a child and that we would feel a kind of love we've never felt before.  Every bit of that was spot on.  

We lost our girl, as we knew her, on December 29.  The amount of love that you have for this tiny human means the equivalent amount of pain and hurt that you feel when they are suffering.  The love is indescribable...The pain is indescribable.  Half of my baby's life was spent suffering.  That changes you, as a parent... As a person.  I am at a place in this journey right now that I can't even look at pictures or think about the things that she endured from December 29-May 3. It hurts so bad.  I hurt for her.  I hurt because there was nothing that I could do to take away her pain.  Literally all we could do was make the best decisions for her and love her.  And oh how we loved her.  It wasn't until Avery that I truly felt like I had a purpose.  She gave my life purpose.

She gave me so much.  She gave me strength that I never knew I had, she taught me a totally new kind of love, she showed us all what is truly important.  I know that Jesus was working through her.  I would choose my Avery Marie a million times over, if I had that chance.  You see, when someone comes into your life and makes such an impact, you become a different person, for the better.  When that same person leaves this life, you also become a different person.  It's inevitable.  Please forgive me for not being the same person I used to be...

I'm stronger, yet most of the time I feel weaker.  I'm more patient, yet at times I feel I have no patience.  I'm more giving, but find I don't have time for negativity.  I have a new focus on what's important and honestly get annoyed and offended by some people's issues.  I know, it's probably not right, but when you've had to watch your child fight for her life, someone complaining about silly, mundane things easily annoys you.  So please forgive me if I don't have the capacity to listen to these problems.  It's not you, I literally just don't have it in me.

Please forgive me for not being the same friend that was always laughing.  Yes, I am trying my absolute hardest to be happy, trust me.  I want to be happy.  Please forgive me for not reaching out to you the way I used to, the way I know I should be.  I am still here for you.  Please forgive me for not wanting to stay busy with (what should be) fun activities when the weekends come, I am mentally and physically exhausted.  All the time.  As much as I would love to change things, if I did then it would mean I also wouldn't have known all of the amazing blessings that came from Avery.  And please forgive me, but I wouldn't have traded her for the world.  

      

"When You don't give the answers as I cry out to You... I will trust, I will trust, I will trust in You."

I'm exhausted.

The past few weeks have felt like such a cloudy fog.  I've started back to work... I know God has put me exactly where I need to be and I pray every day that I can be a blessing to my students and that I can learn from them just as much as they learn from me.  

I've had several moments that I'm literally breathless because it hits me like a ton of bricks that life isn't as it should be.  I should have an almost 1 year old to go home to after work.. or better yet, I should still be at home with her.  I'm trying to go through these steps in this next phase of life as best I can but good grief (no pun intended) it's hard. 

I think 'bittersweet' could be the most felt feeling... EVERYTHING is bittersweet.  Everything.   I ache to the core missing my baby.  I hurt trying to find how to comfort Brad.  I want to carry on with friends like we used to, but its just not possible.  I literally don't have the capacity in me to care for much more than myself and Brad.  I hurt for our families though.  They are dealing with life without their granddaughter and niece.  She was a living, breathing human being and now she's gone.  I don't know if my head will ever wrap all the way around that.

The longer it goes, the harder its getting for me.  I could try to explain all the reasons why but I don't think I could put these feelings into words.  It just is.  There's something that doesn't settle right with me about stopping by the cemetery after a day with your students to visit your baby. Don't know if it ever will.  But I go and I talk to her and tell her how much I miss her and that "momma's here, sweet girl".   In a weird way, I don't ever want Avery to feel alone...I know she isn't, I know she is surrounded by so many beautiful angels and the most precious Lord and Savior but I'm her mommy.  She needs her mommy.  I need her.  

I know that my girl couldn't be healed on this side of Heaven and she is where her soul needs to be.  I continue to learn so much from her and am so thankful that little chunky 8 month old left a remarkable imprint on our hearts the way only she could.  I have learned more about God's grace and love for us than I ever knew I needed to.

So while I'm completely exhausted in every way, I am so blessed.  

A letter to the bereaved parent with another new season upon them

I get it.  A new season (or chapter) now sucks.  It used to be a time of renewal, excitement, anticipation... A time that you looked forward to.  A new beginning.  Maybe it was a new job, a new relationship, a new home, a new opportunity, a new year, a new holiday season...these were all things that I would have been excited about 'before'.  It was kind of like starting over in a sense, in what ever area it was in.  And who doesn't like a fresh start?

Now, these new seasons and chapters are filled with anxiety. Anxiety about having to meet new people at your new job, to put on a happy face, to tell your story (because you know it's going to come out, as it should, your baby very much existed and gave your life purpose).  New seasons are also reminders for me that my baby isn't with me.  She isn't doing life with me on this side of Heaven.  She isn't going to be here to participate in our silly family Christmas festivities.  She won't be turning a year old here on Earth.

It just hurts.  It hurts to the core and I've realized it isn't a feeling that can be described.  It is an experience that we are living every single day.  I'm almost to the point that I don't want people to try to understand because they wont.  They can't.  All that they need to understand is that we need them now more than ever.  And maybe in a few months more than now.  We need people to cry for us when we can't cry another tear, pray for us when we can't catch our breath to pray, and just 'be'.  People don't understand the impact that their presence has on someone who couldn't feel more alone... All because this precious tiny human isn't here any more. We need people who will just listen... Listen to us talk about our child. Listen to our frustrations.  Listen to our questions.  If you've found someone who doesn't want to hear about it anymore, let them go.  There are so many precious souls who will listen to you.  We will never 'get over it'.  Ask them how many times a day they think about their living child and them ask them to not.  It's impossible.

I pray that any new season, chapter, or beginning will take on a new meaning for you.  I am wholeheartedly going to approach these times as a positive.  Yes, we will cry.  We are sad.  But we can also smile at the impact that our precious one has made.  I am realizing more and more every single day all the ways that my Avery blessed us and changed us and left us with things that we will have forever, until we see her again.  My heart grew 1,000 times when I met and loved her.  I now have so much love to give.  She made me see how brave I am.  I've done things in the last 8 months that I never ever thought I'd be able to do.  Imagine what I'm capable of now.  I pray that I will teach my students lessons that go way past the textbooks or curriculum.  Avery taught me so many.  I am realizing that there is a love, a happiness, a kind of joy that you can only experience after sorrow.  So I look at these new seasons in anticipation for that very joy.  I pray you can too.

I cry as I write this.  I cry at the fact that there are so many others hurting the way we hurt. Please remember your child in your new season and smile... Smile because there is so much beauty that is going to come.

I have to believe this.

"Tune my heart to sing thy Grace..."

Our counselor told us that this first year would be hard...all of the 'firsts' that we will have to encounter... First birthday, first Thanksgiving, first Christmas, first Easter....without you. But who are we kidding, no holiday is ever going to be easy.  Ever.  From here on out.  I'm sorry, family and friends.  I know you may also have a moment of sadness yourselves (and/or for us) but please don't ever underestimate the feeling of loneliness we will feel, even surrounded by so many that we love.  We are getting closer and closer to your first birthday.  I struggle every single month on the 2nd and the 3rd.  On the 2nds, you would be another month older.  In a few weeks, you would be 1 year old.  I still sit hear in disbelief that I would have a 1 year old.  On the 3rds, it is another month that you've been gone.  Sundays are hard too.  That's the day you took your last breath and went home.  It's bittersweet having all of these daily reminders and dates that mark another 'should've been' or 'would've been'.  I never want you far from my mind but I also hate the reminders that you aren't here, where you should be.  Avery lived to be 8 months and 1 day old.  She fought until the end.  She went until her little body knew it couldn't be healed on this side of Heaven. I rejoice every single day that she has won and she is whole and well and PERFECT but oh how I hurt.  I don't tell you all of this for pity or sadness, I tell you to 1) keep Avery as alive as I possibly can, 2) try to cope with an unfathomable loss, 3) help others understand, we all have a story to tell, and 4) continue rejoicing in the love that can only come from a Father who is holding my precious baby.  As Avery's mom, I prayed for her before she was born, I prayed for her every day she was with us, and I pray for her now.  As a mom, you are given this amazing strength to do things you never thought you could do and an even more amazing power to love so deeply that you know it comes straight from above.  We hurt so bad because we love so good.  We miss you, our Avery girl.

We aren't alone.

Last night was big... We met other couples who have also lost a child.. We grieved together. We remembered together. We were honest and transparent together. We shared pictures. We saw the precious faces of our babies in a different way. It felt so good. Our angel's death was the most recent, but only by a few months. All six of us could almost finish the others' sentences. To be members of this 'bereaved parents' club is the worst possible club to be in but to have these other people as support is amazing. We can all learn a lot from one another because it's going to be a lifelong change that's should really be called a lifelong nightmare. I won't go into details of our time together last night but I highly encourage anyone who is grieving to find others who can support you and truly understand you. For people who are trying to be the supporters, just be patient and please understand that literally every minute, every hour, every day is a struggle. Nothing will ever be the same. We smile and try to carry on because that's what we need to do. But know that inside we are empty, breathless, and feeling swallowed by the overwhelming feeling of sadness that comes with your child being in Heaven and you being left here on Earth. I am the most grateful for the hugs, genuine prayers, and simple calls and text messages just letting me know they're thinking about me and sharing a thought about Avery.

I also just want to add... Please don't forget the families of the lost children. They also lost a piece of themselves.. A neice or nephew, a grandchild, a cousin. Pray for them and support them as well.

My hope is that we can create a community that truly and genuinely supports, encourages, prays for, and is patient with the families of people hurting. It's a scary place to be. It's traumatic. We have felt so much love but please don't stop. You can't stop. You've literally carried us through days that we can't even recall details of because of being swept under by the waves.

"Love the Lord your God with all your soul, with all your strength, with all your might. The second is  this: Love your neighbor as yourself. There is no greater commandment than these." Mark 12:30-31

It's not our plan, but His. (right?)

Oh man, if I had a nickle every time I had a thought similar to "What? Where is Avery?" or "How is this real life?" or "Am I really visiting my baby in a cemetary?" I'd be rich. It is still unreal. I think more unreal now than it was two months ago. Now, time has started to pass and day to day life doesn't consist of medicines being drawn up and given, feeding pump beeps, diapers, a heart-wrenching cry, and more than any of this, our Avery. How can a parent ever stop missing their child? How am I supposed to not think about her? How am I going to get through her birthday every year? How can I not look at Paisley and see Avery?

As a fresh college graduate, you don't see these things in your future. You don't plan on losing your first born after a terrible 3 month hospital stay. I say 'as a fresh college graduate' because that's who I think of when I think of really starting to "plan for the future". You've got the world at your fingertips. Friends are starting to get married and vacations are happening. New jobs are being found, new houses are being bought. I can remember as a new graduate, Brad and I talking about our futures... We would live at the farm house for a little while to save some money, we would start working our grown up jobs, and one day when we were ready and things were just right, we would start a family. A boy first, because then he could protect the younger sister. (As if we have ANY control over what we have...) The boy would have bleach blond hair just like Brad did when he was a kid. We were going to do so many fun things as a family... Beach trips were going to be the best.

So to say that life hasn't gone as planned is quite an understatement. But something I've learned is that there are few things that we can really plan. I've heard more times than I would've cared to that "it's all part of God's plan..." No. No, I'm sorry but I don't agree with you there. I have a hard time believing that God wanted my baby to suffer. I have a hard time believing that God wanted her life to be cut entirely too short. I have a hard time believing that He wanted us to hurt and experience the worst thing parents can experience. I absolutely believe miracles happen. And I also believe that as human beings living in a imperfect world, bad things happen. Never have I once thought that God made Avery die. I believe God knew the path Avery's life was going to take and He hurts right along with us. He understands our hurt. What I believe is that through our hurt and Avery's suffering, an amazing testament can be told. I know that without our Avery, we would've never known this kind of love. We wouldn't be able to share the goodness and graciousness and comfort that our Father gives us daily and gave us during our time of need. I don't know what I would've done without the love of Jesus surrounding us. He showed us this love through family, friends, the medical community, and even strangers. My life has new meaning... All because of God's love shining so brightly through Avery. I know that He is making something beautiful from these ashes.