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.

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.

I write for me but I share for others

Gosh, I really never meant for this blog to become a journal of Huxley and our journey but I know that one day I’ll forget some of the details and one day when someone else is going through this I want to say YES, those feelings are valid and not just say it but 100% make them feel not alone and I want to remember the small strange things that were hard that I didn’t anticipate being hard. Often times it’s the small things you wouldn’t think of that are the hardest simply because you didn’t think of them. I want to remember those examples to hopefully help someone else before they get to those things and help prepare because there’s soooo many things you just can’t prepare for so a heads up in some of those areas would just be helpful. Also just to give insight to those who haven’t gone through this but may have a friend that has. My village or tribe or people (whatever you like to call the people you do life with) have been incredible more so than I would have known how to be in their position and I want to share some of things they taught me in how to respond. I also want you to have a glimpse of what life is looking like even when it looks okay (because it isn’t always), that’s the one thing I’ve heard a lot of, is appreciating the vulnerability to share that glimpse because not everyone will want to but it can help us all understand how to respond to those we love regardless of what they want or are able to share. Lastly, I hope this reaches some non believers and that God may use our story to speak to you. Of course, one day I anticipate writing about other things as well but for now… this is where I’m at.

Huxley part four: I am safe. L&D

One major fear I had after we lost Huxley that I hadn’t expressed yet was the thought of Billy walking out completely alone, without a child and without a wife. Now to fully explain this I need to go back to the night before. This is when everything was still okay for us. We didn’t know we’d lost Huxley at this point and I was going over my birthing affirmations. I didn’t do this with Samuel but I did with Molly and there was one affirmation that stuck out back then and I told Billy what it was and asked him to repeat it more often than the others. He did and it was great, calming and a good comfort during labor. So the night before I was going over my affirmations and I expected the same one to comfort me but instead it was a different one. One that made no sense to me either. It read “You are safe”. I found it weird because when I wrote it on a card… well I almost didn’t because it wasn’t like the others I lit I figured I might as well put all the ones I found. The others are phrases like “you are strong and every contraction brings you closer to your baby”. Some we’re scriptures that I found encouraging, etc so “you are safe” was a little out of place for me because it wasn’t really a major fear of mine at this point but God knew. I was reading these notecards with the affirmations on them and that one kept just relaxing me and bringing me comfort and peace. I told Billy and we chuckled as he asked “are you nervous or something” I said “actually, no but this is what’s comforting me so use it”! And we laughed some more.

Fast forward to after we lost Huxley and labor was getting stronger, everyone had left and it was just me, Billy, and Brooke. Billy stepped out to make a phone call or take a breather or maybe cry I’m not really sure but it was just me and Brooke in the room and she saw I looked either different or distressed or worried and asked what’s going on besides the obvious? I just told her I was nervous and mad and just wanting the rest of the day to “go my way” whatever that even means because I’d have taken anything not going my way to just have Huxley but anyways, she offered to pray with me and I don’t remember the whole prayer but she said “Lord, let Katina know she’s safe, she is safe with you…” after she finished I broke down and told her I was scared. Not really of losing my life but what it would mean if I did and that I didn’t want Billy walking out completely empty handed. Then I shared that the affirmation, that was so so comforting to me just the night before that I had completely forgotten about and even thought was silly at the time, she had just prayed for right then without even knowing it and a wave of peace surrounded me. I thought “Oh yeah, He sees me, He knows me and every fear and every moment of my life. He knew every moment of Huxleys life” and while I don’t believe losing Huxley was His will, I do believe that He is not surprised by that day or any day before it or any day since.
I asked if she’d spoken with Billy about that affirmation and she hadn’t. She had no idea that those words had a specific hold on me. I didn’t even know they had a hold on me. But God knew. He knew what I’d be going through and He knew what my fears would be and He prepared me to let me know He was there, He sees me and He loves me. I needed the reminder. I still struggle with the goodness of God some days. I know He is good. Sometimes I just have a little fight within and want to yell “but then why this”! Then I remember that’s not what faith looks like and he shows me day in and day out that He is indeed good.

Anyways, from there I felt safe to move forward. Labor felt like forever, I don’t think that’s specific to me though. All of my labors have felt like forever and anyone who has been pregnant probably feels the same. I worked really hard for a long time laboring in all the ways, Billy and Brooke doing all the things to help me. (Can I just say how amazing Billy is. He’s amazing always has been but especially during labor. I couldn’t ever have a better partner than the one I have in him. And Brooke was amazing too, I think very highly of her and will forever be bonded to her).

I wound up using some narcotics to help me space out some. I wouldn’t have used them if Huxley were alive and I don’t think my (also very amazing) doctor would have let me either but they were doing all things to help me get through this. At 9 cm I had been laboring for quite some time and got the epidural. This was a question in the room amongst staff as to why I wouldn’t get one sooner in a situation like this. The answer is simple: I have bad reactions to them and didn’t want it. But I was tired and had been at it for a long time, had pitocin which amped up the contractions, and was starting to fall apart at the idea of meeting my sweet baby boy. I got the epidural, I think I took a nap, at some point my cervix started swelling and was given Benadryl to help that but it in turn also made me sleepy. Finally I was complete and ready to push. I pushed for over 3 hours. I remember asking strange questions like peoples favorite states to visit, and I’m pretty sure I was passing out from exhaustion. Then the time came when he was getting close and he was crowning and this vbac was seemingly successful. I birthed his entire head and then he got stuck. I begged the doctor to just pull him out. I was done being pregnant. I was done pushing. I was done with this whole worst day ever. I hadn’t really grieved much yet and I was ready to start but I needed to be done and holding him now. I begged and she couldn’t. She did everything. My doctor was incredible and kind and compassionate the entire time and every day I’ve seen her since. She cried the entire time with each new thing that failed to get him all the way out. She tried hooking his shoulder to get him in a better position to finish his delivery. But it didn’t work. She looked at Brooke and said “he’s not coming out vaginally, I can’t get his shoulder. He’s stuck” over hearing her I said “what does that mean? His head is already out can’t you just pull him the rest of the way”? “no” and with tears streaming down her face she said “I have to push him back in”

Push him back in? I’m pretty sure I looked at every person in the room to see if this was some kind of joke because I didn’t know that was possible. No one was laughing. Everyone had the same look on their face as I did mine. Wide eyes, jaw dropped, and a confusion as to what this would actually look like. I stopped feeling all things in this moment and asked “what is that even going to feel like”? With the sound of heartbreak in her voice she said “just like it sounds” and she was right. That’s exactly how it felt. Horrible. Terrified, I screamed while she cried and Billy held onto me. They readied the operating room and then we had Huxley. I had a vaginal tear, abdominal surgery, a hematoma on my bladder, bruised ribs that I would feel later on, and a broken heart. I was asleep soon after or maybe even during. I woke up to the sobs of my sweet husband much later and fell back out of reality not ready to take on what being awake held. I wish I could have been there better for him in that moment. But I was safe and Huxley was next to me with Billy on my other side and he wouldn’t leave empty handed. We’d get through this together hand in hand someday.

The next week in the hospital would be full of high blood pressure and preeclampsia scare, grief, and lots of amazing friends and family coming to cry along side us.
It’s fair to say that it was the worst week of my life but even with that I have to mention how much I have been blessed with the most amazing community throughout all of this. I don’t write these blogs to have anyone feel sorry for me but to show the grace of God which I will be focusing more on as I get the story out. But to understand the depth of His grace I have to show the depth of this pain for us, all of this, all of our lives are what we use to glorify Him so I have to share the tragic times to show His grace and love and peace for me and I have to share Huxleys name and his life. He matters. His life matters no matter how short he does have purpose. God blessed us with the best team and me with the best partner in Billy and with the most amazing church who are the hands and feet of Christ and stopped their lives to grieve with us and to love on us and to help us in ALL of the ways. I’m so in awe when I think about my family and the church and our friends, that even though I am full of sorrow I am also filled with joy to be a part of what they are doing. Of who HE has called us to be and a part of His kingdom with them.

Huxley Part 3: Getting ready for labor and delivery

The next few hours were really long. Most of the nurses left to let us be for a while. We called our doula, Brooke, and she headed straight over. She cried with us and held space for us. Helped us understand what was most likely to come next and didn’t leave our side for the next 24+ hours. I’m so grateful for her support not only through labor and delivery but also through our loss and everyday since. After she got there the nurses came and asked questions and filled us in on the steps we were required to take before Huxley was born. She helped us get info for a funeral home, set up someone to come take pictures and then we had to make a bunch of decisions for Huxley that we weren’t prepared for. I just remember the list of questions being quite long but don’t remember the actual questions themselves. The nurses were amazing and said at any moment we could take a break and come back to the questions but it was almost easier to just plow through them. If I stopped and started too many times it would have just broken me down through my core and I still needed the strength and energy to birth Huxley. Not to mention some sort of mindset that said “I can do this” even though every fiber of me said I can’t.

With Brooke there and some time to comprehend what was happening we called our parents. Phone calls I will never forget. I didn’t want to tell them because I didn’t want to be the person to break their hearts. But it had to come from us. We didn’t want anyone else doing it. I remember every word and how each word sounded and felt coming out for each call. I covered my face as I told each of them as if I were ashamed to have lost my baby. I knew it wasn’t my fault and they weren’t going to blame me but still there was shame in having to admit our loss. Then we text or called a few close friends, our pastor, and Billy informed his boss what was happening.

Then we waited for my doctor to make it in after they informed her too. It took some time but when she walked in she immediately cried with us. She hugged us and then my doctor, our doula, and both Billy and I talked about what was next. I still had to birth him. My original plan was as natural as possible and since I needed to be induced we would try other options before pitocin and move from there. But after you lose your baby full term, the pull for going in for a cesarean is really strong. She assured me the choice was mine and she’d help me in any way I requested. So the four of us laid out the options and everyone was truthfully on my side and reminding me I could do this any which way and I would be strong enough to handle it and no way meant I was weak. So I went ahead with my normal plan. Natural birth as a vbac trial and the fewest interventions we could manage with the exception of going ahead with pitocin to move things along. I was torn between starting and waiting. At this point it had been a few hours, they were just waiting for me to say go. I wasn’t quite ready yet.

How is a mother suppose to labor and deliver her sleeping baby with strength, dignity, and courage when every affirmation I practiced told me I could do this because it would bring my baby into my arms. Every pain would bring him closer. I would soon meet him and hear him and get to take him home with me. I would get to start my life with him in it. The reality was, every pain took him further away from me. It was one pain closer to him being gone forever. It was a moment closer to accepting this new reality. I was in this difficult place of wanting to keep him in my womb and as close to me as possible. Not having to share him or leave him. I could keep him “safe” and away from this world or maybe it was to keep ME safe from the reality of this day. But the other part of me wanted to see him fully and wanted to give Billy the chance to hold his son and share all the moments we could together with Huxley and our older two as best we could. Then there was this third part of me that said I can’t hold this death in me any longer. It’s killing me. Spiritually and emotionally and mentally it was overwhelming me. Thankfully natural labor took progression and I didn’t have to make the decision of when. This allowed me to give the go everyone needed to start their part in delivering Huxley and we started the official induction without much other choice.

Before I labored too intensely my mom, step dad, and dad all came to see us, many nurses stopped by to give their condolences and gifts even, our pastor came to pray, and even my husbands boss and the base chaplain came to pray as well. A bereavement doula dropped off a gift and some extra information for us to help with everything we would encounter later as well. And honestly I’m not sure if others came by. I can’t remember everything in this period of time, I’ve ask for Billy and others to fill in gaps for my memory but I was quite occupied with many emotions and a lot of work ahead of me so just know if I didn’t mention you and you came- I appreciate it and if you came but weren’t allowed in to see us until later please know that I asked for some peace and it seemed as though I would need it with what was to come. They stopped allowing people in at my request and now just kept it at the intended limit of people in the room for delivery. At this point labor was strong and constant but I was doing well. Surprisingly, I was holding it together. Billy was holding it together. Brooke was there at our side praying and encouraging us and helping keep visitors updated and explaining some of the medical terminology to us all. My doctor was around more often than expected and working with us every step and keeping us informed with what the action steps could look like at every turn. There were many turns too. It felt like we were being thrown about back and forth in a terrible storm.

Huxley- Part Two: Finding out

We showed up to the hospital early and I had been a little worried because I hadn’t felt Huxley move in a little while but nothing that should actually be too concerning or that was out of the ordinary for him. He usually spent some time not moving much- he was big and really cozy and I knew he was getting cramped. But also I was heading into the hospital anyways so if something was wrong they would surely catch it since I was just getting to the point of worry.

They called us back and started to get us set up. We were placed in one of the newest rooms. You could even say it was one of the BEST rooms. It was large, clean, updated, and had an amazing spot for Billy to rest. After oohing and ahhing at the blessing that would be, I got changed, Billy settled in and we started to get monitors on. Since I’ve done this before, I knew to ask for the wireless monitors because the other ones usually drive me crazy! The nurse was nice and said she’d track them down for me. While we waited we laughed and talked about what games we’d play while I waited for labor to get intense. The nurse came back enthused that they weren’t already being used and was happy to make me happy. With that we got started and I was happy. I had accepted the fact of having an induction, God had been so good to help me through the entire pregnancy and give me an amazing care team to guide me through, I was happy and we were ready.

She prepped me for getting the monitors on and then tried to find a good reading on Huxley. She couldn’t but we weren’t worried. We thought his antics were silly and right on par for him. She assured us that those monitors can sometimes be difficult. She grabbed another nurse to help find his heartbeat. She couldn’t and assured us that as babies move lower it can be difficult to find the heartbeat and he was quite low. They grabbed another tool to search, then another nurse. Billy and I were starting to wonder as we sat there with so many nurses touching and moving me but still unable to secure that beautiful sound of a heartbeat. They were asking which way he was positioned at my last visit and when the last time I felt him move was and the last time I heard his heartbeat, which place on my stomach they usually found his heartbeat. Billy and I gave reassuring glances at one another as we answered the questions that everything WAS fine. But we began to pray, just in case.

Finally the nurses said they were going to get the doctor who was on call to do an ultrasound while we waited on an ultrasound tech because that would be best. The group of nurses stood staring as the doctor said with little to no emotion “your human isn’t moving. The only movement I see is when you breathe.” And she repeated it over and over again. It didn’t register to Billy or me that she was telling us Huxley had passed. We just thought she just wasn’t as skilled with ultrasounds and was telling us to wait patiently for the ultrasound technician to come. After all, the doctor was only saying “your human isn’t moving” not that he wasn’t breathing or his heart wasn’t beating. She was wrong. She had to be. He would move as soon as we got to the highest limit of our worry. Then all the nurses and the doctor stepped back and watched as the technician came in. She started to look and said “I’m so sorry but do you want to see his face. I got a picture of his face for you” to which Billy and I looked in disbelief at each other and back at her and I said “wait, so he has no heartbeat”? She said “no, he doesn’t. I’m so sorry” immediately Billy and I started crying he hugged me and quickly said “it’s not your fault. This is not your fault” he kept hugging me while we both sobbed and the tech got as many sonogram pictures as she could. Every person in the room that morning witnessed one of my worst moments up to that point in life (many more moments like it were to come in the next 24hours) and they were sobbing with us. Not a trickle of tears but full streams of tears from each of them as they watched us break.

Huxley-Part One: The background

It’s time again to put thoughts down on paper- figuratively, at least. I have to recount that day all of the events, the looks, the labor, the physical side of this story. It’s one of only one story that I have with Huxley and even though it’s traumatic… it’s tangible. And beautiful. And raw too. So I’m going to tell it.

For background, my pregnancies are generally quite fine but I have pretty hard labor and deliveries. With Samuel, I had an easy pregnancy but ended with gallstones and gallbladder attack in labor, postpartum preeclampsia, and a c section. With Molly I had an okay pregnancy with preeclampsia towards the end, high blood pressure before and after delivery, but a vbac after a failed/scary experience with an epidural. So because my blood pressure likes to be wonky and labor and delivery are generally quite hard and scary we decided to hire a doula as well as have our care team at the hospital. This was going to offer us the best scenario for birthing in the way we wanted and gave us many options and knowledge from our OB and doula for anything that might come up.

With all of that, my pregnancy with Huxley wasn’t easy. It was probably the hardest actually. In terms of pains and incidents at least. I got sick with a stomach bug and passed out and knocked my head on our tiled tub, had round ligament pains and heartburn that wouldn’t budge and not for lack of trying EVERYTHING. Even though it was my hardest, it was also my healthiest pregnancy in terms of controlling my blood pressure, taking good care of my diet and taking the right supplements and having enough nutrients for me and Huxley all the way through. It was also the best in terms of readying my body to birth. I had all the tools I needed. My doula made sure of it. And my doctor saw all the benefits.

On Tuesday I went for a normal check up I was 39 weeks and my blood pressure had just started to creep up. It wasn’t anything too bad but based on a prior ultrasound the week before saying baby was estimated about 9.6 lbs and my history of high blood pressure in pregnancy, and the fact that this was another attempt at a vbac, my doctor wanted to induce. Something I absolutely did not want but agreed to do Thursday to give myself a chance to go into spontaneous labor over the next 36 hours. She checked Huxley and his heart rate was strong and steady. The following day was normal. I tried all the exercises, drank all the tea, walked all the miles and also did normal life like take my big little guy to a morning class and I went to get adjusted with my chiropractor and drank my water and ate good and spicy foods. With no luck in starting labor… I rested. The next morning we headed to the hospital to be induced. We were sad about being induced but excited to know we were on our way to bringing our baby boy into our arms.