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?

The pain of choosing joy

I'm at a crossroads right now.

No longer writhing in pain I feel like I am at a point where I have a choice in which direction I can go (there are people who will read this and say 'I told you so' but two years ago there was no choice there was only survival).

The pain now is not so all encompassing as it once was. There was a time when it physically felt like my skin had been flailed by many whips and was open and raw and bleeding and the whipping continued...there was a time when I honestly thought it would hurt less to stick a knife into my chest and carve out my heart than to breathe another day without Eva. I can honestly say I don't hurt like that anymore. Yes, there has been healing. I no longer want to carve my heart out, however nor is everything rainbows and unicorns either...so that leads us on...

I can go down the road of being angry all the time and descending into a pit of bitterness at the mighty loss of my daughter. Or, I can intentionally (and not without pain) choose joy every morning while embracing my daughter with my whole heart.  It is so hard to choose that. 

The truth is, it is easier to be sad than it is to be joyful. In normal land it is easier to be joyful than to be sad but in the mirror land where you live without your child and everything is the same and yet is backwards, sadness comes all by itself which is why I have to choose joy every morning. 

I have to choose it every single morning and even several times a day because I just miss my little girl so much and, even now, I'm weeping as I type a post about choosing joy. How backwards is that?

But. I need to get through this because I have been thinking about it for awhile now and even though I may not articulate it well I want to put these thoughts out there.  

I keep thinking about Jesus and the mighty gift of the cross that he has given to us and I know that my joy can only come through him. Eva has given me the gift of yearning and longing for heaven in a way I had no idea existed before she went there ahead of me. 

I can and will grieve Eva every day until I am blessed with death but until that anticipated day arrives I am trying to choose joy every morning.  I say trying because sometimes no matter how much I try to choose joy, the sadness is just there and I have to embrace it for a day or two and spend time fully grieving and weeping for my precious daughter who I long for so much.

And yet, I am reminded that His mercies are new every morning. And there is (at least some) joy every morning as well...

So if you see me around town smiling, know I still miss my girl so, so, so much and my joy has been chosen by me and bought with the blood of Jesus.  I have chosen joy in that moment even while pain bangs around in my heart.

I am not all better. I will never be all better but I am choosing joy. Don't judge me, and don't think I don't care about the empty spot where Eva should be anymore. Don't think that I don't know exactly where she would be sitting in our van. 

The pain of choosing joy is still better than the taste of bitterness.

The flowers Mike gave me for valentines because they were the closest he could get to sunflowers in February. Thank you Mike. I love you so much.

Scrabble

Playing scrabble with some friends yesterday and your name popped up. It felt like a little visit, a quick caress. Fleeting and precious, like your life. Missing you always, everyday. In the mundane and the exciting...you are always with me, carried in my heart.

Graceful and Compassionate.

Someone I respect has told me he stopped reading my blog quite awhile ago because he didn't agree with many things I wrote. 

Okay. Okay?

I wish I didn't respect him. It's easier to take criticism from those you don't respect to start with...

He also told me it would be nice if I offered the same amount of grace and compassion to those who haven't lost a child as I do to those who have.

Thing is...Losing Eva has shaped every single aspect of who I am now and I am able to offer bereaved parents grace and compassion BECAUSE of my journey of losing Eva, not in spite of it. 

Truth is, I have to admit that I, too,  sometimes wonder where my compassion has gone...

But the other truth is that there were so few people who came alongside Mike and I in our lonely black early days of grieving Eva and offered us grace and compassion. So few people who could empathize because the reality is that very few people experience the death of a child in our culture today. So few people...and now, if I am able to be that person who can offer grace and true compassion for another bereaved parent then that is where my priority is. 

If you've just had a baby, have a backache, a broken leg, relationship problems....there are likely many people who have walked that road before you and can bring you a meal, offer you a shoulder to cry on or clean your house. 

I am sorry I am not that person and that I am, perhaps, not graceful and compassionate enough. 

Truly. 

Family Camp...again.

This weekend we went to Family Camp with our church. Two years less one week ago we went to Family Camp with our church family as well. It was there that we first noticed Eva's laboured breathing. It was from there that we went to ER and were admitted to our local hospital. It was from there that Little J went to respite care for a couple of days (she did not come home to us until thanksgiving 2011, 2 months after Eva died).

Family Camp feels like the beginning of the end...even though the dates are different this year...We left Family Camp and did not come home until August 3rd 2011. 11 days later, Eva would be dead.

Family Camp is the beginning of summer. The beginning of the season of pain. Family Camp...where my whole family will never be again...

Altogether, last year was the ultimate worst Family Camp ever. No Eva. Not pregnant, and wishing I was. Bereft and empty. Lonely in the ultimate sense of the word.

This year Family Camp was exponentially better. With Nathan. With Samuel. With Vincent. With Theodore. With Little J. With my Mike. With Eva in our hearts, always (love you so much sweet girl).

The Birthday Gift

Today is Mike's birthday.

Little J gave him a gift in the manner of little girls and boys...one of her own toys.

She wrapped her only (and very loved) doll in a blanket she has just received and laid it on our bed.

She says it's a gift for Daddy and Mommy together. Her baby. Her treasured possession.

The gift of her baby, though impermanent in nature, spoke volumes to my heart from Little J's heart.

She must know how much we miss our little girl...and, in her way, is trying to give her to us.

I may be reading more into it than there really is, but that's okay.

Cause it's only the love that matters.

The sucky truth.

I walked into a store in my small town today. I am known there but not really  known. I was greeted with a 'hello' and then 'how's your baby girl?'.  I was so shocked I just answered the question with the reality of 'Dead'. I thought...is it really possible that this person really doesn't know that Eva is dead. Is it really possible?

Turns out she meant How's Nathan? Guess she heard we had a baby but the gender got mixed up in there somehow...then she backtracked and said didn't we have a little girl though...well, yes, sort of. Little J is not yet legally adopted nor is she , at three and a half, a baby either.

The thing that annoys me the most is that I know I've been called abrasive, too-sensitive, and callous in relation to Eva. And I hate how with that one word answer there is now more fodder...

I've just started being comfortable in my own skin again, when this happens. And I feel like I'm right back at the beginning again, but with more experience. And now I feel like I need to apologize or something for saying the truth about my baby girl. My baby girl is dead. And it sucks. Every day it sucks. But it's the truth. The sucky truth!

And now I'm exhausted with a headache. I've put a movie on for my earthly kids and Nathan is in the swing...if I'm lucky I'll get 15 minutes to recoup from this blow.

How would you have answered that question?

Hearts (here and in heaven).

I have been following a local blog for the past few months. A blog I have followed with fear, pain, trepidation,  some jealousy (to be honest), and hope. Today my heart is broken open for another mama. Another family now entering the darkest road. Walking the loneliest path.

I can just about hear the mama screaming and wailing on the kitchen floor. The sleepless nights to come. The hopelessness of the darkest grief. The regrets and the rage. The excruciating pain and the bottomless pit of despair. My heart breaks open for this mama.

Today is also Theodore's fourth birthday. How can he be four? A boy with a fresh haircut and an attitude. A preschooler in the fall. May 21st. May 21st. A day of celebration in our family and the darkest day for others. The juxtaposition never fails to rend my heart. How joy and pain can be so intertwined.

Someone smiled at me in town today. I remember that I wondered how people could possibly smile in the weeks following Eva's death. Didn't they know the most precious girl in the world was dead. How could they possibly smile? How? And today I smiled back at the kind smile coming my way. Who knows what pain this woman carried too...and she smiled at me.

My heart is broken open for this family. All this pain and still death. But in death there is life too. Life with the Father. And Eva is welcoming Hope home. Eva's and Hope's heart are both perfectly whole and beating in a perfect rhythm. Hearts breaking here and hearts healing in heaven.

Ah little girls, little girls...why did you have to go so soon...

Like dry bones

A cheerful heart is like good medicine. A crushed spirit is like dry bones. (Proverbs 17:22)

Pastor Brian brought a mouse skeleton to church for children's story today and talked about this verse. (For you city readers, may I clarify that we go to a very rural church and there's not a kid in the congregation who has not seen a dead mouse, deer, chicken, cow etc... and every single kid was completely fascinated by these mouse bones)
A cheerful heart. Nope, don't have one of those.

Is like good medicine. Guess I'm pretty sick, and tired, and sad, and angry.

A crushed spirit. This is an excellent analogy for exactly how I feel. Run over by a tractor. Crushed. Empty. Weak. Sad. Crushed.

Is like dry bones. Like death. There is not much useful in me it seems. I am like dry bones. Why am I even here sometimes I wonder? I am like dry bones. No nourishment or succour to anyone. Dry bones. Dry Dry Dry bones.

I don't feel like it is my choice to have a crushed spirit. I feel like it has been crushed for me. I feel like the mighty hand of God reached down and scooped me up then closed his fist and crushed me. Crushed my flesh, my bones, my organs. Crushed. Yes this is exactly right.

And now I know. A crushed spirit is like dry bones. Why am I crushed? Why am I crushed when I know of others who have gone through far worse and lost so much more but who still manage to stand firmly on the Rock, while all I can do is struggle to hang on as I slog through yet another day without my daughter.

As unencouraging as it is, this verse fits so well for me. Can I actually choose to have a cheerful heart. I know some of you dear readers, and some of you will say, yes, absolutely. Choose it now, Em. Claim it. But the reality is that even when I try to choose to be joyful the sadness and the tears come sneaking back in. How did Job praise God when all his children died? I do not know. His faith is stronger than mine.

My  faith seems like a weak shell of what it once was but, if I am honest ,it also feels alot more like a rock. Albeit a rock that has been crushed and powdered. Some days the only thing that keeps me believing in God is the hope of seeing Eva again. Just slogging through this life to get to the end of it so I can hold my darling again.

Someone asked me today if I'm enjoying the sunshine. The answer is yes. Yes ,the sun feels good on my living skin. The answer is also no. No, no, no. How can it be spring with the promise of new life when my darling, sweet baby is ashes. Ashes, ashes, ashes. How can I enjoy anything ever again? The sweetness of life is like dry bones in my mouth. Like ashes. Like death.

Someone else today asked me if there is something wrong with my eyes because I'm always wearing sunglasses in church. The answer to that is again: yes, and no. No, my eyes are healthy. Yes, there is something wrong, they are always red and leaking when I'm in church and, to be honest, as wonderful as my church family is, do I really want to be the one sitting there crying in church every.single.Sunday. I'm also tired of looking at my red eyes. They do nothing for me. My cheeks are chapped from the tears running down them all the time. I have aged 10 years since Eva died. I'm just plain tired, lonely, sad, empty, crushed, like dry bones. There simply feels like there is nothing left.

We are coming up on 9 months. 9 months of hell. With no end in sight. Sometimes I long for death to take me. Take me to Eva. But no, I don't think I'll be granted that reprieve. That fast-forward to the end. Also, I know it wouldn't be fair to all of my boys. They need a wife and mama. And, as long as I am here on earth I need them. Oh, I need them. I need their laughter, their joy, their hugs, their cuddles, their earthiness, their little bodies filled with potential and with mischief. Oh, I need them.

I usually try to wrap up my post somehow, and bring it together, but today this is all there is. A crushed spirit like dry bones.

Shopping with my girl.

I took you shopping today, my sweet.

First we dropped off your brothers with a friend. You didn't mind being left alone in the truck for a few minutes while I brought them inside. Then we went to the second-hand store the church runs on Friday mornings. My heart was heavy within me as I caressed you in my pocket while I drank coffee with another mum. The other children there were so demanding. Not you, my sweet. You were quiet as a mouse. I saw a pair of shoes on the shelf. Little shoes that should be just your size. I wanted them. I ached for them. I left them there.  Actually I had donated them to the store a few weeks earlier. They were to have been yours, my dear.

Then we went to pick up some photos. Photos of you, my sweet. It's amazing how good a deal photographers will give you  when the child in the photographs has died. They couldn't find them. Never mind, I'll pick them up another time.  We went on to the grocery store. I bought milk, tomatoes, yogurt, cucumbers... I didn't buy any baby food. We don't need any in our house. You don't eat it anymore, my darling.

Next stop, the mall. This special stop is why I brought you with me, my treasure. This is why you accompanied me shopping today. We stopped in at the little booth that does engraving. The lady there commented on how cute the little rocking horse was that I wanted engraved. She held it up and looked at it. She asked what I wanted engraved on it. I told her it was you she was so casually holding in her hand. You, my sweet, encased in a rocking horse that should have been a piggy bank for a living girl, not an urn for a dead one. You never should have been able to fit inside that little horse. We engraved your name Eva Ruby Christine-October 15 2010 to August 15 2011. Beloved Daughter, Sister, and Granddaughter. There are so few things I can buy for you, so few ways I can mother you.  So, I get your urn engraved. I caress your name etched into the pewter and the tears stream down my face at how beautiful it looks. How beautiful you are, my sweet.

We left the mall and carried on. We had many stops to do today. You didn't cry or fuss about your car seat. I took you out of my pocket when I was driving. Let you get some sunshine. We went out for lunch together. I put you on the table in front of me and I ignored all the people who looked at the tears washing down my face as I ate my lunch with you. I thought about how different it would have been  to have lunch with you if you were breathing. I wouldn't linger over coffee, and what would you be eating my darling? Would you want to hold a french fry in your chubby hand?

We drove back together, along the road we had come. I caressed you again in my pocket, rubbing my thumb along your newly engraved name, and we went to pick up your brothers.  They came tumbling out of the house. Full of joy. I gently showed your little rocking horse to my friend who babysat your brothers.  She didn't know what she was holding as she commented on how surprisingly heavy it was. That's when I told her it was heavy because it was full of ashes. Full of you, my treasure.

I didn't let her hold you long. I jealously reached back for you, and safely ensconced you in my pocket once again.

Eva's slippers

When Eva was born my friend Holly gave me some things for Eva to use. One was a little pair of burgundy slippers with tulips on them. They were the cutest things. Eva wore them alot. I loved them. 

When Eva died I kept every.single.thing she ever wore. They're packed in a box but they're there...waiting...for what, I do not know. However this little pair of leather slippers I gave back to Holly. They were hers and I have many things.

Some time ago I stopped in at Holly's house. I helped her kids with their coats. I was rooting around the coat closet and I saw the little slippers on the shelf. I was surprised by their presence and I softly touched them, remembering the little feet that once wore them. I mentioned them to Holly later and she told me her sister (who recently had a baby girl) had asked to borrow them. She told her sister 'no, those are Eva's slippers'.

There are no words to describe how special it is to me that Holly keeps those slippers on the shelf, that Holly loves Eva. There are no words to say how much it means to me that I don't need to remind Holly to remember Eva. Holly knows the special dates and moments without me having to fill in the blanks. I am so grateful to have a friend like Holly who has seen me through my darkest moments.

Eva's slippers

Nonetheless, thankful

I read most of the book One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp quite some time ago (thanks Karen and Marjie).  I began a thankful journal sometime before Christmas.It helped me to see the small things that I am thankful for rather than focussing all the time on my great loss.

Today I stopped by Fawne's blog  She inspired me to share with all of you some of the things I am thankful for. Even in the midst of my sorrow, there is joy.

• Thankful for a warm little boy snuggled up in bed with me.
• Thankful that losing Eva has made heaven such a real place for my sons and that they talk about it and desire to go there.
• Thankful for sharing the gift of an AMAZING winter sunset sky with two small sons clinging to me; holding them up to keep their bare feet off the snow.
• Thankful for a husband that is a source of strength and comfort.
• Thankful for pumpkin seeds hot out of the oven.
• Thankful for paper plates when needed.
• Thankful for Theodore's squeaky little voice.
• Thankful for Oma reading stories
• Thankful for Theodore who said "God made that" as he pointed to a star.
• Thankful for the joy of getting a Christmas tree amidst the pain of December 15th and four months without Eva.
• Thankful for Vincent who hugged me so tight the whole Christmas Eve service, and who just wanted Eva to come home for Christmas.
• Thankful for Samuel who was so happy to get a framed photo of himself and his sister for Christmas Eve.
• Thankful for Theodore who totes his 'Baby Eva' around and was so excited for all the pictures of Eva on Christmas Eve.
• Thankful that 2011 is over.
• Thankful for the hope of a New Year.
• Thankful for the laughter shared with Paul and Manuela.
• Thankful for coffee.
• Thankful for Elliott and Tess playing with my boys.
• Thankful that I yearn for heaven more than I ever have before.
• Thankful for the assurance of Jesus and the hope I have of seeing Eva again.
• Thankful for 3 breathing sons.
• Thankful for Josie.
• Thankful for a warm house.

Above is just a small excerpt from my journal.

Today I am specifically:

• Thankful Mike is working.
• Thankful the Tyler kids and their mom came over this morning.
• Thankful for the sun, and children playing outside.
• Thankful for coffee.
• Thankful for the 9 months Eva spent in my belly.
• Thankful for the 10 months I had to hold her and love her outside of my belly.
• Thankful that I threw sleep training out the window and slept with Eva on the hospital cot as much as possible while I had the chance.
• Thankful that Eva continues to touch our lives, despite being physically absent from us.
• Thankful for tears. (Can you imagine not being able to release that kind of emotion).

It is amazing how many little things there are to be thankful for and, all together, they are not that little. They are just taken for granted so much that it is not till we look for them that they appear, like mountains coming out of the mist. The mountains were always there and never left, but the mist obscured them. As these things are always there but the mist of oblivion obscures them.

• Nonetheless, thankful, in the mist of my huge sorrow.

Weeping May Endure For A Night

Weeping may endure for a night but joy comes in the morning (Psalm 30:5)

Today we remember that Christ died on the cross so that we may enter into the kingdom of God. In the here and now, over 2000 years since Christ sacrificed Himself for me, you, us, we know the 'end' of the story. We know that joy comes in the morning. We know that there is joy to come when He rises from the dead and goes to prepare a place for us in His Father's house. But for the first century disciples, today was the end. There was no joy to come. Jesus was dead. How could this happen? It was the beginning of the darkest days of their lives...but on the third day He rose again. Joy comes in the morning.

I can't help but compare this to my life right now. I am lost and alone. I am suffocating...trying to breathe while I sometimes feel that I have been forsaken...Weeping may endure for a night...I am in the midst of the darkest time of my life right now. I see no hope from the loss of my child. But this I know and in this I rest my faith. I know that God knows the end of my story and He can see it as clearly as we can look back all those centuries and see that joy comes in the morning. He can see the joy that is to come, even to me. Even when I can't see it coming...even when it's all I can do to scrape myself off the kitchen floor and mop up my tears...even when I am so hurt I can barely see in front of me...even when the wound in my heart and soul is so jagged and severe it hurts simply to breathe...even now...He knows that joy comes in the morning...and I don't know how or when that sweet morning will come. But I do know that one day, one fine day, there will be morning.

I hate.

Something I hate is that by virtue of my suffering I am inadvertently, yet unceremoniously, kicked out of the places I thought were mine.

I am so angry that people with living children can just go obliviously about their business. I hate that this pain is sometimes eating me alive. I hate that I hate all of this. I just wish Eva was here and that I could participate in the growing-up of my daughter.

My treasure, my sweet...

My dearest Eva, my treasure, my sweet,

It's coming on the 15th again. The anniversary of your birth and your death all rolled into one for this sad mama. How I miss you my darling. You are ever-present in my heart and mind. I may appear to be engaged with others but you are always there with me, dancing in my peripheral vision. What would you be doing if you were here? It is the question I ask myself every day...the question without an answer.

On Friday I was shopping and I bought a little something for all the kids...I had to buy you something too. I bought you blue butterfly hairbows. They would have looked so amazing with your beautiful blue eyes. Of course, you can't wear them, and nothing can bring them to you. But they are yours. I just had to buy you something. Had to carry that little bitty card with the hair bows home wishing all the while that you were here and I could put them in your hair.

Some may think my mind is cracking, but the truth is much worse than that. The truth is that it is my heart that is not only cracked, but completely broken open. One can live with a cracked mind but what I don't understand is how I have managed and continue to manage to live with this broken heart.  Every evening I am surprised I have lived through another day without you. Every day I miss you but as the 15th draws closer, so do you, and I miss you even more. The 15th is for you. Always.  How I wish you could have stayed longer with us. How I wish I never knew this depth of pain and you were here in my arms...or trying to squirm away and go play. How I wish the 15th was only a happy day. A day where you were another month older. A day that could go by, scarcely noticed until it was your birthday again.

Eva darling, your mama misses you so. Every night I pray to dream of you and I never do. Maybe it would be too painful to wake up without you but what I wouldn't do to hold you in my arms again, even if only in my dreams.

I love you my sweet. Good night my darling, my love.
Your mama.

Miracles Still Happen?

Do miracles still happen?

So many people talk about babies that make it as fighters, oh, and if you pray hard enough, with enough faith, then your child will live. And let`s not forget positive thinking. You know, if you fight, pray, and know without a doubt you will have a positive outcome then, of course, you will.

We came home with Eva for 11 glorious days before she died. We had no clue she would die on August 15th. We just lived, loved and took way too few pictures. If I had known that these would be the last days with our girl I would have video recorded every moment.

I made thank you cards for all the people who had supported us so much during her hospitalization.  The card had 6 pictures of Eva on it and in the middle...

Miracles Still Happen. Many thanks for being part of our journey. Love from Eva and family.

We had about 100 made. I have over 50 of them still sitting in the box from costco. They taunt me and mock me sitting there on the shelf with no one to give them to...I feel so dumb to have made those cards, so dumb to think we had our miracle.  I never had time to give them all out...instead I ended up writing an obituary and making bookmarks out of them...we have plenty of time to make sure everyone has one of those.

We thought we had our miracle. When we were first admitted to the Stollery she had a 1/3 chance of surviving. Her odds increased as she didn't need ECMO. Her odds increased as the rhythm was taken under control. Her odds increased as she was discharged from PICU. Her odds increased as she was allowed off the floor (but stay in the hospital), her odds increased as she was allowed to Ronald McDonald House in the city (but don`t go home), her odds were at an all-time high when we were sent home (5 hours from the hospital).  She would only need to come in for check-ups now. Nobody could believe this laughing, healthy-looking child came with the very thick chart!

On August 15th, a beautiful summer day I will never forget, we drove into the city for her first check-up with the pediatric cardiologist. The check-up was for Tuesday the 16th. We never made it. Scars from her heart surgery ruptured and her heart stopped at 8:30 that night, in her daddy's hands. Medical teams were unable to resuscitate her and she was declared dead in the ER at 9:15pm. She never even made it back to the PICU. My heart breaks with missing her...

There were thousands, literally thousands, of people praying for Eva. People were praying across 2 continents. Great prayer warriors with more faith than my meager share. There were prayer vigils in churches around the clock. Oh, and she was a fighter too...she didn`t go into cardiac arrest in PICU, not even under anesthesia when they had the whole ECMO team on stand-by as they did the cardiac catheterization. She had the highest doses of multiple toxic drugs and tolerated them better than many adults. She had no food for over a week, and was tiny to start with. She lost 2 pounds in the PICU. If you think that`s not much, she was only 14 pounds to start with. Now, on to positive thinking. We had made cards saying she `made it`. Many thanks for being part of our journey.  On the morning of the day she died, I don`t think you could find a family anywhere who thought more positively than we did. We had made it! We still had our little girl!

So, next time you talk to someone about their kids making it through something because they were fighters, or they had enough faith, or they had positive thoughts, remember Eva. Eva wasn`t any less of a fighter, our faith isn`t worthless because God had other plans than the road we wanted, and positive thoughts...well...I think I`ve summed it up.

Remember Georgina, who was born at 23 weeks and lived for 3 days...she tried to take 3 breaths on her own. Remember Molly, who fought for 3 hours. Remember Mira, who lived and died in her mother's arms. Remember Auggie, who fought so hard to get out of NICU but died suddenly at 5 months old...joining his sister, Bea, in heaven. Remember Gabriel, whose lungs were not developed enough to breathe outside the womb, and suffocated in his mother's arms after fighting valiantly for half an hour. Remember Wyatt, who was only supposed to live 10 months but survived for 3 years. Remember Marlo, who had a heart defect but lived for 4 days without medical intervention. Remember Nathaniel, who had a chromosonal defect, incompatible with life, but still lived for half an hour and died in his mother's arms. Remember Frazier who was born with a heart defect, was on the transplant list but had a stroke at 2 weeks old. Remember Nathan who was so strong he showed no effects of being sick until, at 6 years old, he collapsed at church, and died 72 hours later. Remember Thomas, who valiantly fought cancer for years, finally to be declared cancer-free, and died less than 6 months later. Remember Faith, who survived for 2 months in utero with no amniotic fluid. Remember Nolan, who fought cancer for months and finally died on his terms. Remember Kelly, who had a chromosomal defect but defied all odds and lived for 9 weeks. Remember Ariadne, who was born too early and too sick because her mom had appendicitis, she fought for almost a month in NICU before she died.  Remember  Bryce, who had every chemo side-effect under the sun for months before ascending to heaven.  Remember Grace. Remember Joseph. Remember Danny. Remember Eden. Remember Emily. Remember Jonah. Remember Freddie. Remember Casey. Remember Charlotte. Remember Ellis. Remember Ryder-Lee, Remember Kaleb. Remember Simone. Remember.

So, while, I still do believe that miracles still happen...and I saw one yesterday in our bathroom...and I saw 3 little boy ones running through the house today. I also know that sometimes God has a different plan than the one I wanted more than anything on the earth...my little Eva, my little Breath of Life.

Our prayer has always been and continues to be that Eva`s sick heart would bring many hearts to True Life. Maybe that`s her legacy...her breath of life...her miracle. Miracles still happen. Yes, maybe even to us.

In my heart are many rooms...

Shortly after losing Eva I read a book, among many. But, Somewhere More Holy by Tony Woodlief gave me some new language. Some of this language comes out now when my sons ask who I love best.  Now I tell them that in my heart are many rooms and each one of them has their very own room.  Eva also has a room...is it an empty room now? No,  it is not empty. It is full. Full of love for the little princess I could only lavish love on for 10 short months.

I have 3 sons on earth who bless me daily. I have 1 daughter in heaven and am constantly amazed how many people have been touched through her brief life...but there is one more. One more child I have been keeping a secret from you. A child who is a significant part of our lives. A little girl. A little girl 8 months older than Eva would have been. A little girl who loves girly things, shoes, strollers, kisses, hugs, and 'pretties' in her hair.  My heart is torn with this little girl . I want to lavish love on her but my heart is often heavy.  When she does cute things I imagine my little Eva doing those things very soon...and it hurts. I want to admire Eva as she makes new discoveries and toddles around her world and my heart. What is she doing in heaven right now? Is she toddling around? Does an angel tuck her in for naps? 

 And butterflies. Butterflies are for Eva...when this other little girl has butterflies on her clothes (as girls often do)...I see my little Eva there...and somehow she is with us (it's amazing the straws we grasp at, really). My heart yearns for Eva, but this other girl, this little blond pumpkin, is building herself a room in my heart. 

This post isn't much today but it's been in my heart...

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.

Mike, among other men.

I have been thinking alot about Mike lately.  I read awhile ago on another blog http://www.mrsspit.ca/ about how a dad feels after losing a child and he compares it to losing a leg.  After awhile, he learns to use a prosthetic pretty well. If he's wearing pants no one can see his leg is missing. He can function and walk around.  Some people who have only ever seen him wear pants don't even know he's missing a leg. But still it hurts and he's always missing a limb.

Some people ask me how Mike is doing but really I don't know.  If someone asks how I'm doing I can honestly say 'not too bad'.  I guess I'm learning how to use my leg too. Sometimes the truth is more 'well, awful, but functioning'...you know, everyone ate supper tonight, got their jammies on, a story (because heaven forbid anyone can go to sleep in this house without a story-including me really as the bible is a great comfort and I read it almost every night); but I digress.  How is Mike? I don't really know. A better question might be: How is Mike managing? He's managing all right.  He's getting work done, he's playing with the children we have left, he's putting drywall in the basement, he's hugging his wife and even remembering flowers for Valentine's...and that's managing if you're a guy, right? You get your work done, you take care of your family.  I guess Mike is managing...but has anyone asked Mike lately?  I know he tears up when he reads my posts on this blog.  I know he misses his little princess like crazy.  I wish I could do something for him like he's done so much for me...but I think the only thing that will fix either of us is holding our little princess again on that glorious day that is coming...I can see it in the distance...not too far away...there's a wedding and a feast...

Today I came across another blog http://fathersgrievinginfantloss.blogspot.com/ and the poem below was posted there.

It must be very difficult

To be a man in grief,
Since "men don't cry"
and "men are strong"
No tears can bring relief.

It must be very difficult
To stand up to the test,
And field the calls and visitors
So she can get some rest.

They always ask if she's all right
And what she's going through.
But seldom take his hand and ask,
"My friend, but how are you?"

He hears her crying in the night
And thinks his heart will break.
He dries her tears and comforts her,
But "stays strong" for her sake.

It must be very difficult
To start each day anew.
And try to be so very brave-
He lost his baby too.

Eileen Knight Hagemeister

If you're a grieving dad, how are you managing? coping? surviving?