Sick baby

Nathan got sick last night. 

3am in respiratory distress. ER. 10m24d. Same presentation as Eva. 

Suspected RSV. Chest x ray in the nasty clear tube that brought me to tears when it was used on my little Eva. 

Admitted. Room next door to Eva's room. RSV swab came back negative. Possible early pneumonia in right lobe according to our paediatrician in the city. However, no fever and no antibiotics here. Stay the course unless he becomes feverish. 

Ventalyn. Chest physio. Cardiac leads. Lovely sinus rhythm that brings peace to my mama's heart. 

Two nurses who remember Eva and mention her to me. A blessing. 

I don't want another sick child. I just want my sick little Eva back to me. 

Nathan is improving. Turning around. Thank God. 

But do I only thank him when my child lives?

Grief is Sad.

Grief is Sad. Sounds like a no-brainer doesn't it?

Well, I've come to a realization tonight. I've come to realize that there are people in my very close community who think that I'm going off the deep end. Who think I'm in some kind of downward death spiral. But I'm not. I'm bereaved. I'm grieving. And grief is sad.

I've also come to realize that people don't really know what a grieving mama looks like. Because, well, even I am getting put into a box. A box that's labelled too sad, downward spiral, shaking my fist at God, bitter, prickly, unpleasant, unloving...

And what I'm coming to see is actually how upsetting it is to me to be labelled that way because then I want to start pretending that I'm not as sad as I really am. Then, even I, as forthright as I am, want to start squirrelling my grief away into a safe corner where no one can see it. Where I can go and give it succour in private. Where I can let the tears come in the dark and in the quiet and alone. And then if I do these things...if I hide away in my corner to nurse my grief...then the rest of the world who only sees the public me will think that that is what grief looks like.

But that wouldn't be true. That is not how grief looks. Grief is sad. Grief is hard work. Grief is exhausting. Grief is uncomfortable. Grief is unpleasant. Grief is selfish. Grief is scary. Grief is lonely. And the only way to make amends with Grief. The only way to take Grief by the hand and learn to walk with this uninvited and undesirable companion is to give Grief it's due. To be sad. To work hard. To be exhausted. To be uncomfortable. To be unpleasant. To be selfish. To be scared.To be lonely. Only then can you and Grief be companions. And when you've learned to be a companion to Grief, then you can start to look outside yourself and begin to see others. Only then can you start to be comfortable with Grief. Only then can you sometimes put your feet up and have a cup of coffee with Grief. Only then can you start being generous again...with your time, with your abilities, with your emotions, with yourself.

I am learning that right now Grief and I are still getting to know each other. Sometimes I am so sick of Grief. I wish I could kick Grief to the curb and have it get picked up with the trash. Unfortunately Grief doesn't give in that easily. The only way to become companions with Grief is to go through it all until Grief is no longer an enemy but more of a friend. A friend who is always there but not sitting right on top of me. Grief is not my friend yet. Grief and I are still working alot of things out. And if you think that I (or anyone) can work through all the crap I've just talked about in 9 short months, you have no idea. And I'm not going to hide it away. Because if I start giving Grief suck in the dark and alone, then Grief is going to become a ravenous monster that will eat me up.

And, when, inevitably, one day there is another grieving mama, she won't be given liscense to grieve her child the way she needs to because at some point people will start labelling her. They will start whispering that she should be doing better...they will start nudging each other because well, they know another mama who lost her baby. And, well, Em started to be okay after awhile and this new mama....she's still crying...what's wrong with her? She should be getting over it by now...

There are people whom I love dearly and who love me too but who pretty much only see me on Sunday mornings. These people see me cry through Sunday after Sunday after Sunday. But what they don't realize is that there are six other days of the week and those six other days are not nearly as bad as Sunday is. Sunday I am surrounded surrounded by families who have all their children with them. Sunday I am surrounded by people who love me but who are also a little scared of me. Sunday I feel more alone than any other day of the week. Sunday I feel observed. Sunday I feel judged.

But still, I want to go to church on Sundays. I want to be there and be with God because my relationship with God is bigger than singing songs that choke me. God can handle my pain. God can handle my mourning. God can handle my tears. God can handle my anger. God has big shoulders and He can handle it even if people can't. So, I'm still going to go to church on Sunday. I'm still going to sit there and cry Sunday after Sunday after Sunday. I'm still going to go and feel misunderstood and alone on Sunday. I'm still going to go home on Sunday afternoon utterly spent and exhausted.

And if I'm a little prickly towards you. If I get my back up. If I'm aloof or withdrawn or not pleasant. Well, please, give me a little grace. Grief and I are still duking it out. And it's hard work. The hardest I've ever done in my life. But if I don't do the work I will get eaten up and that's not what I want. I want to come out on the other side of this. I want to be able to help others get through this kind of searing pain. But it's not going to happen if I give Grief succour in the dark. It will only happen if Grief and I become companions. And that is still going to be awhile. A long while. And Grief will always be in the room with me. And Grief is sad.

On treeplanters and baby girls and Jesus.

Many years ago, in another lifetime, I was a treeplanter. I planted trees by the thousands at about 10 cents apiece.  It was back-breaking physical labour that I shall not soon forget. More importantly though are the people that were also treeplanters with me. Sarah, Shannon,  Joel, Mike...and many others of whom I remember fondly and not-so-fondly. In the summer of 2001, I treeplanted in Northern Alberta. This summer was particularly memorable. Not only did I meet my future husband that summer but I also planted with several Christians, all at a different crossing on the road of their walk with Christ. First was Sarah, a believer struggling with questions. Second was Shannon, fallen away from Christ at that time but full of wisdom, knowledge and un-judgementat answers to all my questions. Third was Joel, he shared the gospel through his life and showing his commitment to God in ways that appeared foolish to my eyes at the time. Fourth was Mike, Mike gave me a bible, gave me some scripture references that were both helpful and not. All of these people have ebbed and flowed in my life in the last years.  I am grateful to all of them for the role they played in bringing me to Christ.  On Septembe 9, 2001, I gave my life to Jesus with trembling hands and a trembling heart. I remember that day at St. Stephen's Anglican Church in Montreal so clearly.  Then, two days later was September 11, 2001. I remember thinking that if this was the end of the world, that I was glad I had given my life to Jesus.
 On September 9th 2011, still reeling and blinded by the grief of losing my baby girl, I didn't remember that it was 10 years. 10 years of following the Lord as best I could. These past months, (where a new 10 years has began) I am no longer following the Lord as best I can.  Now I am letting Him lead me, I am letting Him hold me.  To Him, I commit my body, my spirit, my soul, my broken heart.  I am broken and only in Him is there rest and healing for the broken.  He calls the broken to Him, the broken-hearted, the weak, the meek, the suffering. No longer can I make it through the day on my own strength. No longer can I say that I made right choices to be where I am. No longer can I say I have succeeded in anything through my own strength. No longer am I following the Lord as best I can. I have joined the ranks of the broken...and His banner over me is love.


Remember Joel? A couple of months ago I received a large rock in the mail. Yes, a rock...and even the rocks will cry out You are God. This rock had been collected on the shores of Lake Superior by Joel and his wife, Renee. They got it sand-blasted with Eva's name and a butterfly.  They could not have known that butterflies are our special little connection to our special little girl.  It was one of the most meaningful gifts we have been given.  This family has seen their share of heart-break.  Their little girl, Emily Grace, lived from June 2nd to June 11th 2008. Emily also had a heart defect. Emily also has a rock from the shores of Lake Superior. Emily is also in glory with our Eva. In earthly years Emily is only 2 years and 3 months older than Eva. Today Emily would be 3 years 8 months old. Eva would be 16 1/2 months old. They never met on earth, and yet, somehow, they are probably friends in Heaven.


For some reason, today I went to Joel and Renee's blog http://www.joelrenee.blogspot.com/ and searched out all the posts about Emily.  I found the letter below on one of the entries. I felt like it had been written to me...and yet, I also know the pain in which the recipient of the letter must have read some of those words. I was gently reminded a couple of times today to seek joy, and it is difficult to hear and difficult to do. 


This letter is full of truth, comfort, hope, pain...and, almost 400 years after it was written I am receiving it.


To a Christian Gentlewoman [23 April 1628]:

My love in Christ remembered to you. I was indeed sorrowful when I left you, especially since you were in such heaviness after your daughter's death; yet I am sure you know that the weightiest end of the cross of Christ that is laid upon you, lies on your strong Saviour. For Isaiah said that in all your afflictions He is afflicted (Is. 63:9). O blessed Saviour, who suffers with you! Your soul may be glad, even to walk in the fiery furnace, with the Son of Man, who is also the Son of God. Take courage. When you tire, he will bear both you and your burden (Ps. 55:22). In a little while you shall see the salvation of God.
Your lease on your daughter has run out; and you can no more quarrel against your great Superior for taking what He owns, than a poor tenant can complain when the landowner takes back his own land when the lease is expired. Do you think she is lost, when she is only sleeping in the bosom of the Almighty? If she were with a dear friend, your concern for her would be small, even though you would never see her again. Oh now, is she not with a dear friend, and gone higher, upon a certain hope that you shall see her again in the resurrection? Your daughter was a part of yourself; and, therefore, being as it were cut in half, you will be grieved. But you have to rejoice; though a part of you is on earth, a great part of you is glorified in heaven.
Follow her, but do not envy her; for indeed it is self-love that makes us mourn for them that die in the Lord. Why? Because we cannot mourn for them since they are happy; therefore, we mourn on our own private account. Be careful then, that in showing your affection in mourning for your daughter that you are not, out of self-affection, mourning for yourself.
Consider what the Lord is doing. Your daughter has been plucked out of the fire, and she rests from her labours. Your Lord is testing you by casting you in the fire. Go through all fires to your rest. And now remember, that the eye of God is upon the burning bush, and it is not consumed; and He is gladly content that such a weak woman as you should send Satan away frustrated. Honour God now, and shame the strong roaring lion, when you seem the weakest.
Should you faint in the day of adversity? Recall the days of old! The Lord still lives; trust in Him. Faith is exceedingly charitable and believes no evil of God. The Lord has placed in the balance your submission to His will and your affection for your daughter. Which of the two will you choose? Be wise; and as I trust you love Christ better, pass by your daughter, and kiss the Son. Men lop the branches off their trees so they may grow up high and tall. The Lord has lopped your branch off by taking from you many children, so that you would grow upwards, setting your heart above, where Christ is at the right hand of the Father.
Prepare yourself; you are nearer your daughter this day than you were yesterday. Run your race with patience; let God have what belongs to Him. Do not ask Him for the daughter who has been taken from you, the daughter of faith; but ask Him for patience; and in patience possess your soul. Lift up your head; your redemption draws near.

Your affectionate and loving
friend in the Lord Jesus,
Samuel Rutherford
('From Grief to Glory' by James W. Bruce III p. 147)


I cannot help but think, how happy the letter's recipient is now. She is with her children in heaven.  She is singing praises to God.  The truth will set you free and she is free.  How fleeting our lives here on earth are.  How momentary. How long eternity is. In heaven or not, our free choice.  I am so glad I gave my life to Christ on that September day, over 10 years ago now.  I am so glad every day that passes is one day closer to holding Eva again.  I know not whether she will be a baby, or a young girl, or a young lady when I see her again in Glory but I know that when I see her I will hold her and I will sing praises to God because I will have eternity with my God and my daughter. Sounds like heaven to me.

Thank you, Joel, for the testimony of your life in the summer of 2001, and your prayers in the summer of 2011...and to Renee, a sister in Christ and in heart break.


Eva, until I see you in Heaven, I am learning patience, as there is no other choice.
 I love you sweet girl, your mama.

These are the days of hurt and anger and faith.

I am so angry. I know that anger stems from hurt and I know from whence the hurt comes.  I hate that people have to be careful around me and I hate when they aren't careful and say stupid stuff. I am trying, trying, trying to grow from losing Eva but it seems that everywhere I turn I am not good enough for somebody.  Why I care is beyond me, but there you go, I do care. But, and this is a big but...I have grown more in my relationship with the Lord in the last 6 months than I did the whole of my walk with Jesus before losing Eva...I have learned to place my trust in Him and Him alone and He holds me in the palm of His hand no matter where I am.

I went to church on Sunday and before I left I took 2 books out from our church library. One is Where is God When it Hurts by Philip Yancey. I am not really in that space...I know that God is here with me and He knows the tears I cry...the day is coming when every tear will be wiped away, and in that hope I live and put my trust.  I also took another book out that I am reading now it is 'The Heavenly Man: The remarkable true story of Chinese Christian Brother Yun.  The faith of this man is truly inspiring in the face of torture, imprisonment, starvation and so many more hardships that you or I cannot even possibly imagine.  It has helped me to get outside of myself and look at the sufferings of others and to let the Lord grow me through this trial knowing that tribulation produces perseverance; and perseverance, character; and character, hope.  Now hope does not dissapoint because the love of God has been poured out in our hearts by the Holy Spirit who was given to us (Romans 5:3-5).  I am learning to lean on the Lord through it all, even in this incomprehensibly hard heartache and hurt and anger.

Still, I am human and I am angry and hurt and it is easy to talk the talk about leaning on the Lord it but it is harder to really live it.  I still find myself sucker-punched by people who I had trusted with my grief.  Through it all I am learning and growing as I walk on this long, difficult, lonely road...and, yes, there are fellow travellers on the road of grief but they bear their own burdens and while we may wave to each other along the way, each must walk their journey alone.  That said, I often think about that footprints poem and where there is only one set of footprints that is when Jesus is carrying me.  He must be carrying me now because there is no way I could be making it on my own during these dark, dark days.

This has been a rather rambling post but it is where I am at right now: trusting in my Saviour, hurt by people, angry at so much, living in faith that the days will get brighter somehow....though I can scarcely see it now.

Love, Pain and Hope.

I have been spending some time re-reading the posts I put on carepages before Eva died.  It is heart-wrenching to read the hope in my tone when I know the outcome.  I will never get over losing my little girl. I will never be the same person I was before August 15th 2011.  The post below is an excerpt from a post I wrote on carepages on July 7th 2011. 

Today I learned how to give my daughter injections of enoxeperrin (blood thinner). She needs the blood thinner because she has a blood clot in her leg that was caused by the cardiac catheterization. It's hard to cause my own child pain and yet I do it because I love her. If I didn't love her I wouldn't have to cause her this pain and it grieves my heart for this to happen to her and yet, as a loving parent, if I didn't cause her this pain I would actually be causing her more harm. I have never really thought about the relationship of love and pain so closely intertwined before and the relationship of love and pain that God has with us, His children.

I look at this post of me as a mother causing my daughter pain because I love her.  I think of God, my Father who loves me, causing me pain because He loves me.  While I will always hurt for Eva I also know that there must be a reason for this pain.  I'm sure Eva could never understand the reason for the pain of injections twice a day.  Why would her mom, who holds her, loves her, cuddles her, give her pain.  But I, as her mother, knew what I was giving her was helping her.  God must know that what He is giving me is helping me, however murky and unclear it is to me today.  There can be no other way.

My grief for Eva knows no bounds.  She is my ever-present, yet unreachable daughter.  God how I miss her and what I wouldn't do to just hold her again, and again, and again.

I don't post too often on this blog because it is always so hard and I always end up being a teary, bleary, snotty mess at the end of a post but this has been rolling around in my mind for some time and I had to get it out.