Rose Colored Glasses

New Year- this time is so hard and it’s where I notice the most that I’ve lost my rose colored glasses for looking at this world. With rose colored glasses I could look at the new year and say “it’s a good time for a clean slate or fresh start. I’m hopeful and excited for what may come.” I would think of all the wonderful possibilities and all the goals I would love to reach.

Grief takes those rose colored glasses though and sets them out of view. The new year is one of the hardest holidays for me. I don’t want a clean slate because that feels like erasing the sweet boy that’s not going into 2026 with me. I’m excited but I’m also scared for all the possibilities of the year. I’ve seen some rough possibilities and I’m just not sure I want to move towards any of those yet. I have goals for sure but importance and urgency for things is on a different scale now.

I have to intentionally remember to put those rose colored glasses on every once in while. On the first day of the year especially. I need to remember that the possibilities are wildly endless in good ways too. That God gives good gifts and better ones than we can imagine for ourselves. His good for me is better than my best for me. So walking forward is a must because I must see what that goodness is. I just wish I didn’t go between seeing the worst and feeling guilty for wanting to see the best.

Maybe that’s the key. Taking the glasses off but looking straight to Him instead of the world. If I’m looking at God I don’t need rose colored glasses nor will I see all the negative in the could be’s of the world. That’s the goal this year. Breaking the glasses and not being bitter about it. God is too good for me to look through a false happy painted pink and He’s too good for me to stay in the dark shadows of life not allowing any light in.

Happy New Year. The year of Light without standing in the shadows and without rose colored glasses tainting the view of who He is and who he is having me become. This year will include joy, sorrow, peace, laughter, hardship, and beautiful blessings. Grief has taught me we can’t escape any of it. God has taught me, He will be there with me through it all.

Rejoicing Always

I was listening to a podcast today and the host said a quote from one of her books “M is for Mama” (also the name of the podcast) “ ‘rejoicing always’ isn’t the same as ‘enjoying always’ ”. I’ve touched on this idea before in previous posts but I just love the way she worded it. We can be content in our circumstances because our circumstances are not where we pull our joy from. Our joy comes from the Lord. I do not enjoy a lot of my circumstances but I certainly can be content in them and even rejoice in them. I don’t rejoice in the hard or sad or devastating thing… I can rejoice in having a Savior who will make all things right. I can rejoice that I have hope for the beauty to come from those ashes. I can rejoice that He holds my life and every thing about it in His hands. I can rejoice that He meets me there every time. So I can rejoice even when I don’t enjoy. I can rejoice in what He has and will do through life and loss… I know I can. He never fails me. I can rejoice because of who He is. Not because of who I am or what I’ve gone through.
Today is the “wave of light” a day people who have or know someone who has lost a baby from early pregnancy all the way into the infant months of life, light a candle on this day of remembrance at 7pm. The idea is that as each time zone does this and allows their light to burn for the designated hour and that light will be a wave over the globe as each new time zone reaches 7pm. It’s beautiful imagery. However, this day is heavy for most that know it exist. I feel most of the heaviness before 7. Everyone is different. For me it’s the lead up. Once I light that candle I’m at peace. I get so scared I’ll forget to light the candle as if that means I’ve forgotten my child. I get nervous I’m going to do or say too much about it. I wonder why I’m on edge all day. But then we light the candle and I rest. Each year I think I’ll get more comfortable in that awkward space of the day. Feel more at ease and that peace will be the larger part of the day instead of the smaller part. Today though, I’ll be content. I will rejoice in Who He Is. He will work right here where I am. He is doing something in me and I may not enjoy the heaviness or unease that comes with the day. I may need to unfollow the massive number of grieving accounts to help me. But I will rejoice because of who He is and what He is doing in this circumstance. My joy will never come from what I have but from whose I am.

Happy 2nd Birthday

Happy Birthday, Huxley! Today I am… existing. It’s your birthday and I wonder, do you celebrate birthdays in Heaven? Is there a reason to…eternity and all? Would the celebrations be bigger for the day you enter Heaven over the day you are born to Earth, in that case yesterday or possibly even the day before for you? Is it an “all March celebrations we celebrate you all now” or is it individual, detailed, and intimate? I have so many new questions. Would we celebrate us in Heaven at all when we have Jesus to celebrate and worship every day for everything. What does this look like in Heaven?

Here, we celebrated, remembered, and mourned. We had some big plans actually. Our “plan A” was to take a military space available flight to Hawaii and celebrate among some of the most beautiful views of God’s creation. I was excited to feel close through being in the wilds and greenery that is Hawaii. However, grief, work, and life stresses became too overwhelming, and that plan was put to an end about a week before departure. Instead, one of my best friends suggested a simpler time like all other birthdays we celebrate. It seems like I am always trying to make up for him not being here that I let go of what our regular and true to us traditions are. Simple birthdays, sometimes guests sometimes not. Always adventure. Always cake. Always love. She suggested making it special by doing something outside even if it isn’t Hawaii, it is still His creation and then she said, “go camping even if it’s just in the backyard”. Billy and I decided that would be perfect for the amount of overwhelm we were experiencing and the amount of time from work we had available, as well as the funds would allow. The kids loved it. We woke up on his birthday outside with it raining on our tent. Rain wasn’t expected but it was a lovely gift…the next part of our plan was a nearby hike- while the rain was welcome for the wake up it did thwart our hike plans as it continued all day. Fitting. With some more readjusting we stayed in, played games together, ate finger foods we thought would be a 2-year-olds favorites. We decorated the dining room with our usual Happy Birthday sign, two balloons on a highchair set out for Huxley, and a big ole cake.

It’s been a weird day, a slow day. I simultaneously want the day to be over so I can just not feel the pressure of “did we celebrate well enough” but I would also love for it to last for many more hours so I can soak up all the emotions as they come instead of shrugging them off. Maybe it’s that I know tonight’s feelings are where it will hit the heaviest and I don’t really want to get there but I also want that wave to be over. I’m ready to be alone and cry. Be alone and feel. Not that I don’t feel comfortable to do those things in front of any number of people, especially my family, but I am easily distracted or thrown into thoughts of “others first” when they are around. Besides they have their own thoughts and emotions piling up too. Being respectful and available to each other is of higher importance right now. Sitting by myself and just talking to God, it’s what moves the emotions through, and I want to do that, and I want to avoid that. It doesn’t make sense unless you’ve been there, and I get that.

Today I mourn, remember, and celebrate.

I MOURN that Hux isn’t here with us. I get sad looking at an empty highchair where he belongs sitting next to his siblings, I mourn the ideas we have of him toddling around this house and backyard. I remember the impact his life has had these last 2 years and 9 months. I REMEMBER the connections made, kindness shared, and compassion built. I CELEBRATE his life. I would choose him every single time over even knowing how life would be. I celebrate the lives he’s changed for the better. I celebrate the way God has used his life to the goodness of His kingdom. I celebrate being his mom.

We have other amazing friends came over to watch our older two. Billy and I wanted time for reflection this year. Time for quiet. We struggled asking for this because all we truly want is to be with all of our children. It feels weird to leave them on a day when we miss one and desire togetherness. However, our emotions are high, our fuses short, and they are still young children. We wanted to allow them to behave as such, but we also know our limitations and the need for us to quiet our minds. Our dear friends came with dinner for the kids, they brought gifts for us as well. Sweet treats, a gift card for Billy and I to grab dinner while we were out. They even cleaned our house and played with our kids. Such kind, out of the way gestures, some grand and some simple but ALL that make this hard day a little more bearable. We are so grateful for them as well as my friend who helped me come up with a plan B that actually felt worthy, we are grateful to our friends who are far and sent messages or gifts remembering Huxley and us today. Grateful for family and friends who messaged or called to share their longing and love for him and us and their kindness to also allow us space to be together on our own. It feels like we’ve had people go above and beyond for us this year. This empty day was made a little fuller. Thank you.

Two years is still considered early grief. I can understand why. I try to be hopeful. I really do. If not for me then for everyone else. For this all to be palatable to read and watch. Honestly, though… well that makes it sound like I am just now about to be honest when in reality it’s all honest. The hopeful parts too. However, it would be deceiving to not add the despairing parts too. It’s hard going to sleep hugging a stuffed animal meant to “represent” your child. It’s hard remembering how he felt in your arms and knowing you can’t have that again. It’s hard looking at your two kids enjoying cake made for your third while his chair sits empty with balloons tied to it. It’s hard to have plans and have them pulled out from underneath you when all you want is to get away. It’s hard to lose a child. It’s hard to write and tell you that. It’s hard to watch your kids put on baby carriers and bring their brothers stuffies with them so he can “go on a walk with us”. It’s hard. I have this difficult opportunity to love and worship Christ in the hard. We will not always have it hard. There will come a day when we worship Him and there will be no tears, no sickness, no sadness, no betrayal, no fear and we will worship Him. But right now, I have this strange and seemingly foreign opportunity to worship Him in the hard. I will try. The hope is real. So is the hurt.

We remember Huxley everyday but today we celebrate him too. Happy Birthday little Hux. We love you. We love you. Thank you, Lord for his life and for your Glory in it.

Tap Class Therapy?

I joined a tap class! I’m really excited about it. I haven’t tapped in probably 15 years and my knowledge of tap is lacking at best. I used to teach tap and while I took tap as a young girl, I was mostly self-taught at the teaching stage of my life because I stopped at a young age and even what I learned back then I had to relearn when I started teaching.

In a recent post I mentioned how everything is touched by grief, and this is no different. I have always loved dance and as an adult after having kids I have looked for classes. I had never found one that would work for me. After I had Molly, I was really busy and honestly just loved being home with my family and loved being home when Billly was home so we can all be together. With that, I stopped trying to find one. After Huxley died, I picked up watercolor painting and I still enjoy that. I also started writing which has been so good for my emotions. Getting words down whether it be in the blog for people to read, for the book written in a hidden document online, or with pen and paper in a journal this helps me process all the things I feel. One thing I wish people understood about grief though is that it is so much more complex than “being sad for a season”. It is sad and happy and confusing and in every conversation. It is in every decision. It’s intrusive thoughts and worries and wanting to make others comfortable but feeling incapable of that and being confused/angry that the burden falls on you to do so. It is growth. It is hope. It’s everything wrapped up into every moment because our brains are changed and we have a new filter on all of life. The good, the bad, ugly, fun, uneventful and fully big and huge events.

After I signed up, I immediately felt bad about it because if Hux was here, I wouldn’t be doing this. How could I be happy about something that wouldn’t exist if he was here? Then reality again. He isn’t here and you are allowed to be happy. He isn’t here. You are allowed to be happy. Allowed to take a silly tap class and have fun. I have a few new mottos in this season. Some being “you can have fun” “you can do hard things” “their happy isn’t your sad”(that one comes in handy when jealousy sets in) and always “God, help me”. That last one I have said in a million different ways for a million different reasons. He always comes back with “you are safe”. I am safe even if everything in me and around me fails I am His and I am safe.

While I am excited just as a girl taking a new class should be, I absolutely did sign up for this because my brain is in need of some help. I said writing helps with my emotions and it does, but it doesn’t help with the brain fog or the motivation. Watercolor helps clear my mind, but it doesn’t really use my brain in a way that stretches it. My brain feels stagnant and it’s wreaking havoc on me. When I saw this tap class at the studio where my daughter dances, I started to think how fun it would be. Then I started to remember steps. Then I realized that if I joined the class, I could challenge myself in a fun way and in an old and familiar way. I need my brain to be used and I need my body to be moving. I know this doesn’t matter to really anyone except me, but I still look about 6 months pregnant and it kills me to look at myself. Not because I wish I didn’t look the way I do (although…sure I would love to shed some weight for health and feeling/looking better) but it kills me because I wish I WAS still pregnant. I would love to go back to 6 months pregnant and have him for 3 more months. He would be alive and with me. I feel a pang of guilt and shame and hurt every time I see myself in a mirror. It is failure wrapped up in me. I need my body to let go of all of this even though my heart never will. I need to challenge my brain. I need my brain to tell my body that it is okay. That I won’t forget him even if my body doesn’t look like it’s still holding him.

I don’t need a brain break I need a break from my brain.

This is going to distract me in a good way that uses my brain and keeps me working it while also stepping out of it a little. These next few months leading up to Huxley’s 2nd birthday really send me in a tizzy with questions like: am I doing enough? Is there ever enough to do? How can I make a difference while remembering him? Will I hate this idea or that one? What is the right way to celebrate? Should we be celebrating? I need a little bit of a distraction from the constant of it all.

I’ll say it again; I am so excited about going to this class. Thankful that I can move my body and use my brain and use it in a way that will help me heal a little. I am thankful for a place to share what real grief looks like because it isn’t just sad and sorrow. It isn’t just a season. It is in everything. It’s life. It’s hopeful and useful and refining. It’s in happy and joyful moments. It’s hard but can also come without trying. I will never heal from the actual “grief” of missing Huxley, but I CAN heal from physical symptoms of grief; for me its weight gain, sore muscles, sleepiness, hormones being out of whack, and brain fog. I can heal some things, and this is going to help. I have LOOKED lazy for the last year and a half but I have been anything but. Grief takes every ounce of your mind, body, and soul to get through the bare minimum of things. But now my minimum is more. I’m growing and it’s good. It is time to change some of those symptoms of grief and use them for fuel to create memories, create love, create community, and to be well. SO, I am excited for my first tap class tonight.

Grief shapes us

It’s weird, the number of drafts for blogs I have that I don’t share is probably more than you would think. I tend to share a lot, and it would seem like I share it all, but I promise there are definitely hard moments, intimate moments, and downright too sad to share moments (even though I share sad things here too). Those extra hard moments I like to keep between me and God. I share this little bit just to say, even if we don’t see eye to eye on all the things I write or just because I look like a “positive griever” whatever that actually means… it doesn’t mean I don’t fall or fail or get negative sometimes too. I get completely rage-y sometimes and it’s a whole scene. So, if you also have some things going on and you see one of my happier posts please try to remember that it’s a post and while I generally post a mixture of emotions, I tend to write with a more hopeful disposition. I absolutely have hope in God for all things to work out for His Glory. Maybe this wasn’t “His plan” but He has a plan for it. Even so, I have full on mental wrestle mania with God too. I still cry in the car listening to certain songs. I still get jealous of those around me having a third baby and getting to bring them home. I still give a little scowl at the stranger with a baby about a year and half now, almost 2. I breakdown in the middle of very long lines while waiting to get pictures with the winter wonderland set up at Christmas time because I saw a kid chasing behind Samuel and Molly and for a minute I said, “those are MY three” and realized they aren’t. They aren’t all mine.

While writing that other draft though I was talking to Billy about not sharing it and I was telling him how it more than ever feels like people are moved on. I feel like we should actually be at a check mark. So often before we were told NOT to feel that way, and I haven’t up until now. There is no right time to be “healed” or time frame for wellness. I know. We were told not to compare ourselves to others journeys and for so long we were like “yeah, right on. We’re not gonna do that. There is NO timeline. Got it”. Why could I so easily follow those directions earlier but now I feel like as I write this, I should be “better”. I find myself comparing us to others which is just about always a bad idea. Especially here in grief though, I don’t need more guilt and shame on this. On me. I know that I shouldn’t compare. So why do I feel like talking about this now is me being a crybaby. How could I even call myself that because of course I’m a crybaby! I didn’t think I would ever hold a lifeless body much less my own child’s. Why do I have terrible, recently the worst, of dreams that have me questioning if I should even be grieving. Why do I ask myself if this was even real and then hate myself for the thought of abandoning Huxley as if leaving my grief means I’m leaving him. But does it? Grief is love, right? If I’m not grieving him, am I not loving him? No. These are rhetorical questions, and I promise I find my way to the answers. God shows up every time, leads me to where I need to be-answers or not. He is with me and I will learn.

No one here has given me even an inkling of hate for sharing. Thank you by the way. So why do I feel like this. I know I shouldn’t, but grief doesn’t really follow logic. My brain is forever changed and I see everything through this new lens now. Billy and I were talking about how grief shapes us. All of our thoughts. Every action. Every relationship-new and old. Every single thing in our lives is changed by grief. The good things, bad things, insignificant things, and huge things. Do you really mean EVERYTHING Katina? Yes, everything. Laughing too hard. Yep. Crying about something non-related. Yes. Meeting new people today. Yes. Starting a new fun class. Yep, that does it too. Want to call an old friend. Mm hmm. Going literally anywhere. Yea. Trying to talk about anything and not have a piece of him come through is almost impossible.

It is all changed by this brain, this life, that is “tainted”. That’s the word that feels right but I know it’s so very wrong. I am not tainted from knowing grief. Quite the opposite. I am blessed. I can see now that there have been good changes, I’ve talked about them before. Compassion, lives literally coming to Christ through the loss of Huxley, being pushed out of my comfort zone in many areas in many different ways. Some good has happened and I can’t even begin to tell you how guilty I feel for saying that. Anyway, it feels like I bring this layer of thought to everything I’m involved in, and I find myself apologizing or overthinking it and wondering why in the world I said that or thought about it that way and I realize that it is because I am being shaped by grief. God is using it to make me, well, me.

We were at church yesterday-having a week of prayer- and was a day of thanksgiving. A day to pray our thanksgiving to God. I was thankful. Then I wasn’t. I was mad all over again and I had to ask God to help me be thankful. You know what though, I am. I am thankful. He continues to chase me. He is exactly who He says He is and never changes. He has walked with me every step in the fire. Guided me when the smoke was too much. Filled my lungs with fresh air when I need reprieve. I am so thankful. More than ever actually. He is so so good. I may still need help to be thankful, but man am I ever. So be it for you too. I pray for thankfulness to come in full force no matter who you are or what you’ve been through or what you are currently going through because we have all been through some stuff. Let it be. Thank you all so much again for reading my gibberish. I write it out here and hopefully I have a full and more rounded thought by the time it makes it to the book. I certainly gain more insight after writing these short blogs. Really, thank you. You being here means the world to me.

Victim Mentality

The days leading up to the wave of light and most of October has been hard for me and us. I’ve mentioned this already in a previous post. I wanted to write something on October 15th, the wave of light, but I was angry and sad and quite honestly, everything I wrote very much reflected that in the worst ways. I don’t want pity for saying all of this. That’s never the goal in any of my writing. Even though I’m human and know I sound pitiful sometimes. It’s not pity I’m working towards. I would argue that most people don’t want pity in any situation, especially grief. We want understanding. We all have hard things in life and talking about them, for me at least, is a good way to get through the day. No, pity is not our end goal. What we’re looking for at the end of the day, what I’m looking for is to be known. There’s good news to that.

I want those who have experienced similar loss or maybe not so similar loss to feel known in reading these posts and I want for those that can’t fully understand (I would never wish for you to actually fully understand) to feel like they have a better grasp of what it looks like without having to experience heartbreak themselves so they can know better those around them feeling deep sorrow.

I’m not opposed to showing those moments of hard and I’m not ashamed for having them either. They’re necessary and helpful in processing. They are a very real part of life and grief in general. However, when the feelings are put into words either on a page or in my head they become more solidified in me and I don’t want to solidify those moments. At least not until I’m through them with Truth in hand and heart. I want the ones where my mind and soul and heart agree upon Jesus. I want those to be the moments that define me and surround my grief. The words that glorify and honor. Not breakdown and give up, which are very real moments that I definitely have. The moments when I’m looking to God and saying I don’t understand but I trust in you Lord. These are the moments I want to become rock solid in my heart. They are the moments that I need to be my heartbeat, because sadness would have taken that beat long ago if I’d solidified the lies I was telling myself.

The truth is God didn’t need Huxley here to use his life mightily. Even if just MY life is being changed- although I believe many more will be changed.
I’m under pressure and God is going to be glorified.

Through Huxley, God has taught me compassion beyond compare. I’ve never known, experienced and given so much compassion in my empathy.
I’ve learned to love my life and to strife for the things I want but to be content with where and who I am and the change I am to be in this world.
I’ve learned true leaning on and surrendering to Christ.
I’ve learned how deep and high my prayers can go. How deep and far and wide His love goes. Especially in tragedy.
I’ve been given the honor to walk alongside old and new friends in their trials, troubles, and sorrow. While some of it is hard, it’s one of the most important things I believe I’ll do in this life. God wastes nothing and I want to be used. I don’t want my suffering to go unused. I’ve learned that I have a lot of learning to do yet. My living children teach me so much too. They teach me in their living, in their grieving, and in their testing of my abilities. God has been equipping me for the days ahead all along through all of my children. It was hard to see before but now it seems mostly clear and I can only imagine He will give me more insight as I need it.

Yet again, I will tell you I wish I could draw. I’ve seen this image a few times in the last few weeks and every time it changes me a little more. It goes like this, there’s a person being pressed in the center. They’re under immense pressure and there are people surrounding the one, walking around “doing their life” in the vicinity. But because of the pressure there’s heat. Because of the heat there is light coming out almost like a glow. Because of the light or glow coming off of them the people passing by can see and because they can see they draw closer.
The first time I just saw the person under pressure. That’s the person I related to most the first time. They’re being refined. God uses pressure to refine us like a diamond making us more and more beautiful in our spirit and walk. We are more precious than a diamond though of course. The heat that is created from the pressure and friction is molding and smoothing over the flaws making them perfect…sanctification. The light coming from the heat is His glory shining through. Others see the light and become changed by witnessing this process. Then because of that witness the people walking around are drawn into the love of God wanting what he so freely gives and by getting closer they start to be refined by the heat as well. The longer I sit with the image I see that I’m also one of the by passers. Then the longer still I see many people under pressure not just one. But the picture is large- it’s the world. We all have troubles and IF we let God, He will use what this broken world has to our good. To our refinement. He is the Good News. He knows us even when no one else can.

It will always be my honor to carry what I’ve been given to lift up my voice and be a witness for Christ. No matter how that looks whether it be writing these blogs, a book, a charity, fundraiser or walking through loss of friends and friends of friends and strangers. I will go where He leads not because I’m a victim but because I am a warrior.

Hypocrite

It’s weird to be here again. “Here” being my big emotions. Not because I didn’t think I’d never have hard days again but because this has been a whole hard month. It’s been weeks of toiling, and doubts, and going back to those early questions. This is a big wave and I think our whole family is feeling this one. There are a few things that may be contributing, either individually or combined efforts, I guess it doesn’t really matter. The wave is here and it doesn’t seem like it’ll be passing anytime soon. We were warned that year 2 would be harder than year 1. We have had a few big life changes aside from it being year 2 so I haven’t been able to tell where the line is. It’s been a hard year, sure, but it’s hard to pinpoint exactly what from at any given moment. So in a sense it’s making the second year of losing Hux… easier. I say that with a LOT of hesitation. Easier isn’t a word I would use to describe anything, really. Just that it’s hard on a lot of levels so when I pull the Huxley parts out from the rest of the hard stuff and into their own category…it seems “easier”. Honestly, I don’t know.

One thing that is different this year is a project I am trying to get off the ground that comes from losing and loving Huxley. I am revisiting all of those hard and terrible moments. It happens so quick too. I will look back on those days and those posts and journal entries and think “wow, look at what God has done” and “whoa, I’m doing okay” and then like a switch I’m bawling, a crumbling mess, having trouble catching a breath and unsure how I got there. There is so much prayer going in to this project in hoping to see fruit from it. Whether it be in myself, in my family, or in others… I may not know for a while but I do hope to see growth somewhere.

I talked with a friend earlier, well it was text but still, she just said “Hey, thinking of you” and I responded “Thanks, I’ve been having a rough few days” I immediately felt so guilty. The thoughts started swirling again “how long will I put my sorrows on others? How long, God, do I have to rely on You and on others to lift me up? Will I ever have talked enough about him, about this, about loss? When will I be better? I want to tell my friends I’m good and I want to carry their burdens with them how they have done for me in carrying my burdens to the cross and laying them at His feet” I’m ready to be a part of my village again. A part of the village that is useful, impactful, inspiring even. I want to be the help, the hands and feet. Not the wound. I don’t want to be the wound anymore. I don’t want to be the disruption to His work or the thing that slows us down. It’s not my time yet, still. I will wait. Every time I try to pick up the sorrows of someone near and dear to me I stumble…but I’m getting stronger. You know the old saying 3 steps forward 1 step back. I may be going backwards sometimes but I am making progress. Anyways, I think we’re all feeling this wave. Samuel told me today that he loves his little brother but he really would like a little brother he could see, touch, and grow up with. He wants someone to play with. Molly keeps saying she’s a big sister and she is, she absolutely is. But I can’t help but think she also wants what Samuel wants. Something I can’t change or give them. At least not for now. That doesn’t make me a failure, I know. I sure do feel like one though. I would give my kids anything in this world… Huxley isn’t in this world though and I can’t make him be no matter what I do. No matter how good I am or how strong or how proper, kind, intelligent. It’s not a card I have in my hand.

I’ve been trying to encourage friends who have lost their babies recently because somehow when you become a part of this “club” you are now in a front seat position to see others enter it as well, and while I have lied about nothing…these last few days have made me feel like maybe I did. Maybe it doesn’t get better. That’s not true though. There has been joy and love and fun and happiness. God has revealed himself over and over again to show me His presence. I’m just stubborn I guess. Why do I feel like a hypocrite for having a hard day, though? The truth is, this way of life is for the rest of my life whether I like it or not. So I’m trying to make the most of it. Not waste any bit of the hurt. It’s why I share. It’s why I talk to others who have lost their babies. It’s why I write. It’s hard to say that sometimes I think I feel okay and that’s the best I’ll ever feel and to look back at pictures where I was truly happy and in these big waves think nope, that wasn’t happy. It’s just a picture, then I see it, the sad eyes in me and Billy, but it’s a lie and I need to stop it right where it’s at. Sure we have sorrow in our eyes because we have sorrow in our hearts but I can be happy and sad. Joyful and sorrowful. I can and absolutely do feel joy and happiness. Those pictures ARE joyful and REAL and there is happiness in our eyes too. Right? I felt it, I’m not imagining that? It does get…better? Another hesitation. Mostly because it does and will always suck that Hux isn’t here. It will always suck that every picture even the lot joyful of ones has an empty space where Huxley would fit perfectly and that spot is just blinding. But life can be good. It has been good. I’m struggling through month this you guys but this wave will pass. Words are hard right now and I’m having to convince myself of what I believe. I’m having to convince myself of what I already know, what I’ve already witnessed is true. Why is it so hard? I have actually seen Him work and He will do it again! It’s time to give it back to Him. To give Huxley back. To give my thoughts and my “what ifs” and my old dreams back. Time to hand it over and remember He is good, He is taking care of me. Listen, this isn’t the most encouraging thing I’ve ever written. I am beyond aware of that. This is the fight that happens in my brain though. It is a roller coaster. Ultimately though, I am so blessed with the kids I have here on Earth, I’m honored to be my husbands wife, and honored to be the mom to Huxley that I get to be. God is working incredible things in me and in my family. Our lives are changed because of every blessing, every ash turned into beauty and every single thing He has done in between. Thank you Jesus.

Humbled and Honored to be His.

I share a lot of sad and heavy stuff here but I want to share of happy (even if still heavy) times too.

I have mentioned before that church is one of the hardest places for me to be. It’s also the place I’ve wanted to go most during all hours and all emotions through out this past, nearly, year and a half. It’s a place where I’m sad and cry and get angry. A place where I am loved and not alone or asked to hide my grief or, often, what feels like shame. A place I grow closer to Jesus and closer to understanding my purpose that is to come from Huxley not living life on earth with us and a place where I wrestle with my faith. I’ve had bad days at church, days of pure rage during a church service, I’ve had not totally sad days at church, and even some good ish days there. But I don’t think I’d say I’ve had a fully happy day since before Huxley at church. I’ve laughed and had fun but to say that I wasn’t sad or that I had clarity or was just simply joyful would be a lie. Which I miss by the way. It’s one part of ME I mourn. And a part of Billy too.

That is, until recently. We went to church as usual. We were late and the band was already playing as we got to our seats. As usual for what my hard days look like, we make it until the second to last song and I say to myself, “if we don’t wrap up worship with THIS song right now I’m going to lose it. I’m going to cry today”. I can usually tell the song before if a wave of extreme grief or uncontrollable tears are coming on. This day wasn’t any different except that it was at our new church. We recently moved as most of you know and we have settled into a church here that honestly feels like home already but we’re still new and know maybe 4 peoples names. Needless to say, crying was going to feel real awkward here.
As the Lord would have it there was one more song to go. The band started in on the song and immediately the words started to hurt and the tears started to burn. As I cried I felt the nudge to lean into it and really find out what God wanted me to see from this wave of emotions and what it was meant to show me. Knowing that He wastes nothing, I wanted to listen.
I felt a change in the way I was viewing the lyrics of the song. The song said something like “I will praise you in my darkest valleys” and “From the gravest valleys come the pastures of grace” and I thought I feel like I’m doing that! It feels like I’m doing the right thing and still getting it wrong where’s the grace! And while I am grateful and maybe even a little proud for where we are because families break under the pressure of grief regularly- I can’t tell you how many warnings we’ve been given over the last year and a half because of the statistics, I couldn’t help but also be honored and humbled to praise Him in the darkest valleys and my gaze shifted a little to see the grace part. I’m not doing it wrong. He is with me and He is strong and gracious. Scripture tells us He is close to the broken-hearted. Scripture tells us blessed are those who mourn. Scripture is clear. And I stood there bawling. For the first time it wasn’t for us not having Huxley here. Though I would do just about anything to have him here with us. And believe me, I don’t want anymore heartache but I could honestly say God you are good and and gracious and I am blessed and more so I am blessed in my suffering. I’m humbled to be broken hearted and praising Him. To be allowed the honor to shout His name in our brokenness. To be a tool of His and to bring Him glory. I’m honored in my suffering and that’s where the grace is. I’m not saying I feel honored to have lost Hux but honored that God would use my hurt and make something beautiful. To have been comforted by Him and used for His glory. Billy asked how I was and if I needed to leave and I just said with elation “these aren’t sad tears, I’ll explain in the car”! When I turned around to greet and say hello because of course it was time to meet the people around us when I would have a tear streaked face-the sweet lady behind me had tissues in hand and ready for me. You would think that after a year and a half I would be smart enough to bring my own tissues… I am not. But He knows that and there is always someone near that has those little purse tissues waiting and I’m so thankful she stood there behind me ready.

I know this feeling won’t last forever. Feelings never do. I don’t expect it to. It’s moments like this that remind me to etch His words into my heart and into my whole being because hard, big and heavy waves will come again and it will be then that I stand firm on His word.

I share this moment of light with you because as you have let me share so many moments of grief and sorrow, it means so much that you would read and encourage and learn more about our God and about our little family. Also, I write this as a reminder to myself for when I inevitably do have dark days with longer stretches of “storm” that He makes beauty from ashes and He will not waste my tears, my sorrow, or our story. He will be there time and time again. He always is. Always will be.

Moving with grief

We recently moved states and the move has been great, honestly. That’s what you’ll keep seeing me post about on SM bc it’s true. It is great. The scenery is amazing and the weather is fantastic. We’re exploring and actually having fun. It’s not an act. But this blog is for those inner most thoughts and feelings and I’d be lying if I didn’t say it was really emotionally hard too. The feelings that pop in and out real quick. The twinges of pain. The moments of realization. While the former part of this is all true…so is this latter part. It’s been hard. I’ve cried many nights. Had many hard days. Moving after losing a child is… it’s like losing them again. Differently though. This time I’m losing anywhere that he was. I’m losing all the people that held us through it and the ones that held him (now obviously I’m not losing those people as friends but I’m losing close proximity to them). I’m losing the places and reminders of him and where he was and those he touched. Now I have this whole new area of newness (better words will come later) that he’s never been a part of, it feels like I’ve left him behind. People that don’t even know he existed. (Do I like that or hate it… hate it- I want people to know him. But I don’t know maybe like it? I don’t want them to fully know ME the part of me that grieves. The part of me that hates this place bc he’s not here. The part of me that is sort of sometimes putting on a smile bc “I’m new and don’t want to look so needy”). Traveling and being in a new place I often found myself counting my children to be sure we were all together. Considering Huxley was never alive earthside with us you’d be amazed at how many times I counted to three and went wait where’s three! He’s missing! Where’d he go? Oh…yeah. He’s not here. He won’t be here. Dang okay. One two. Who even counts two? You can look and say “both boom done”. No counting really required. Unless you think you’re counting to three. One two thr… eee. Because he counts. He matters. My brain kept the third count and instead of counting a child in view I counted “and three” to Jesus, sometimes looking at my memorial ring I had made from the flowers at his funeral. Weird? Maybe. I can’t not count him though.

We traveled with his ashes in our backseat bc we didn’t trust any moving company to touch them. We traveled with his blankets bc we didn’t want to risk losing them. We traveled with almost everything of his because how could we not. It made for a lot of checking the car and bringing in a lot of “extra” bags into each hotel every night. It was a reminder in a new way that we’re not whole.

I’ve been sick for three days. Everyone else only had it one. I think bc I’ve been sad it’s lasted longer. Allowed me to sleep away in bed the way I did in those early days. Every night I pray for health for our family and tonight I realized that’s what I prayed for for Huxley. Health. He had health though. The doctors said he was one of the healthiest looking babies. He didn’t have a heartbeat. This helped me remember once more that He, not I, is in control. I guess it’s a good thing to realize but it also made me feel a little defeated. Sort of like, what are all my efforts for? I’ve really “grieved” my way into being physically unhealthy this last year. My blood work wasn’t great and it’s absolutely due to me not “taking care of me” but I was. I was taking care of me- the mental parts of me anyways. The physical really fell far and I’ve been working to fix and take care of myself in that way. But that moment of realization I felt- at the same time- at ease in my worry and defeated in my efforts. How do I battle that? Anyways the move is great- not a lie

the move is also really hard- not a lie

we’re going to really love it here- to be determined. My expert (on me) opinion… not a lie.

How could I be so angry

It’s a new year. When the new year hit it felt surprisingly harder than Christmas. Christmas is sacred in a way that our savior redeems any sorrowful feelings but the New Year… I actually despised it. It kind of felt like we were leaving Huxley behind. Like he couldn’t come with us into this year or something. I may have said this in a previous post (I honestly can’t remember what I wrote here and what I wrote in my journal) but he was a part of 2022 with us finding out we were pregnant and all the memories of finding out his gender and just all the things, then he was born in 2023 and died in 2023 and this whole year has been what feels like a whirlwind. It came and it went but somehow it feels like a whole lifetime and while I have Huxley to show for it, I don’t have him. 2024 is just the next year. Are we really expected to just keep going in life?

Yes. The answer is yes. Of course it is and of course we will keep going on but it’s a different path and at a different pace. It’s wild.

Some things I’m noticing about myself particularly (I try to keep the blog in my voice and don’t want to speak of anyone else’s perspective/experience-that’s their story to tell) is that I’m still very forgetful. Sensory overload comes so much faster these days. Even cooking a meal flusters me to the point of takeout quite often. We had friends over not too long ago and I offered to make dinner for us all and they accepted, even though they know my cooking is mediocre at best 😆and so I started to grab some food to cook and I stopped at least four times before even turning the oven on because I couldn’t get my thoughts together. All I was trying to do is bake some chicken, heat up some veggies, and make some easy Mac n cheese. Not the best but certainly not the worst but clearly very easy. They watched me fumble and so politely shifted and said “hey, chicken takes forever to cook why don’t the guys get dinner and bring it back. It’ll be faster and the kids will enjoy it”. I’m so thankful for friends who don’t judge my inability even at almost a year later.

I’m also moving into the “anger” stage. I’m not angry at the things I should be or thought I would be though. I’m angry at sweet people just trying to be kind or things like people breathing next to me. I even got flustered with the nicest people at my church serving our fellowship meal the other day. Man, I hope they didn’t notice. And if they did notice, I really hope they have some spare grace for me and my big attitude. It seemed so effortless to me in the beginning to cling to God, lately though I’ve stepped back. Someone recently asked me why I thought that was and I didn’t have an answer. Then she asked what can you do or what are you doing to change that. My answer with a chuckle was “well, I should probably start praying again” and she seriously agreed. So that night or the next I prayed. I realized how horribly angry at God I am. Which I’m aware is normal with grief but I don’t like it. The thing is, sure I’m mad He allowed Huxley home and in His arms instead of mine, but I’m also overjoyed for Huxley for that part. What I’m really mad at is that He took Huxley from Billy, the most kind and loyal husband and father. I’m mad He took Huxley from Samuel who loved Huxley more than anything. He gave him kisses daily and baby talked him and spoke of wonderful hopes and dreams to share with him. He took him from Molly who is just now starting to understand that we don’t get to have Huxley here even though other friends are having little babies that they do get to have and hold here. I’m mad that some of their innocence has been taken. I’m mad. I am generally not an angry person so it feels strange. If I am angry, I fix it. I can’t fix this. Any of it! I can’t fix it for anyone else either. It feels like I’m infuriatingly useless right now.

My brain and my heart are competing too. Also a weird feeling. My emotions suck but I know the truth. I know God is good. I know He loves Billy and the kids and me. I know He’s strong enough to handle my anger. I know he’s strong enough to handle it when I pray out with that anger that “I just want a break from [Him])” I know He knows my heart. My anguish. Sorrow. Fear. He knows. And I don’t really want a break from Him…how could I? He’s my Creator and my Savior. I feel ashamed that I even thought those words not to mention that I actually said them out loud but I think what I want a break from is the sadness. I know there is forgiveness and I’m standing firm on the knowledge I have. I know He has walked through every step of this with us and I won’t turn away. I will keep my eyes on Him and push through. Or let Him drag me through-who knows what’s actually happening anymore.
Okay- enough of the dramatic Katina- I’m fine. I don’t have to live angry. I don’t have to live sad. There is joy for me still. There are joyful days ahead. I’m hopeful of that much. If this last year has taught me anything- it’s to hold on loosely, love really big and trust God. So I will.

We’re coming up on his birthday soon. It’ll be on Easter this year. I can’t think of a better way to celebrate Huxleys first birthday than with the hope I have in Christ because of His resurrection.