I Am With You.

 I really wish I was mulling through these thoughts over a glass of red wine and a newborn baby at my side. But alas, we are still waiting. And in this waiting, I’m finding myself at a loss for what exactly this swarm of emotions is adding up to be. Add in the emotions (frail and often indescribable) of a confused almost 5 year old and then those of a husband who is trying to remain calm and protective of his ladies, its been a bit of a disaster around here. 

All of the various outlets for gathering information about this pandemic (from the CDC, to my OB, to the mass amounts of hysteria coming from the news media) leave my mind at odds with what to do and what exactly to be worried about/prepared for. As of now, our little family has isolated itself from the world - FaceTime playdates have been a welcomed reprieve from the monotony of daily isolation. The hospital and my OB’s office have converted my remaining prenatal appointments to virtual visits, were we talk over the phone and I guess just wait for a healthy baby to make his appearance; not exactly the most assuring of situations to this loss mama. We have also been given a new list of guidelines and protocols for when the time comes to deliver this boy and welcome him into the world. All of which have my heart breaking over all the things that I imagined and now won’t be. 

In all of this, its been hard to keep my anxiety at bay. Not because I am fearful of the outcome, but more so because I have lost so much control over the last few weeks of this pregnancy and the labor, delivery, and recovery of Harry Beau’s birth. I like to have control. And in the absence of control, I like to have a plan. Give me all the information. Except right now there’s not much planning and there’s definitely no control. Something that I find myself very often bringing to God with a big fat “WHY?!” Things like, “Why, after the circumstances surrounding my last two births, am I being asked to face this reality?” or “Why could I not have just enjoyed this last baby of ours, and spent the weeks leading up to his arrival in joyful nesting and anticipation?” or “Why, given all the infertility we dealt with, did the cycle that would lead to a delivery during this pandemic, end up being the one that made our sweet son?” 

If you’re wondering, I don’t have any answers to those questions. However, as I bring them to Jesus over and over, there is something that has finally struck me. {I can be slow at this…} God knew. Just like he knew 6 years ago that I would deliver my first baby in the aftermath of grief that comes with losing a parent. Just like he knew 4 years ago when he formed George, that I would deliver my second baby in a cloud of uncertainty that would end in so much sorrow. He knew, 9 months ago that this baby, our precious Harry Beau, would be welcome to the world during some of the most uncertain times we have faced in most people’s lifetimes. He knew. All those times, He knew, and His plan went forward with perfect precision. 

I remember thinking during my pregnancy with George how grateful I was to have learned how to grieve - even though it was in grieving my mother. That somehow saying goodbye to her had prepared me to say goodbye to my child, if and when it came to that. And as I tearfully brought all my why’s to Jesus the other day, I realized that in experiencing birth in the ways that I have previously, I have been prepared, by a Good Father, for whatever awaits me in that delivery room and in the days and weeks and months that follow. When I look at things that way, I am incredibly grateful for the ways that God has worked out those trials and sacrifices for my good; that in all the uncertainty, I can know that my God is with me in that delivery room and in all the anxiety and He will sustain me no matter what I face. 

Fear not, for I am with you;
be not dismayed, for I am your God;
I will strengthen you, I will help you,
I will uphold you with my righteous right hand
-Isaiah 41:10

Having a Baby During a Pandemic...

There are so many thoughts swirling around in my head. If you turn on the TV or open your newsfeed, or even simply walk into your doctor’s office, the news and often panic, of this covid19 virus is inescapable. It is certainly not the way that I imagined the last few weeks of this pregnancy going. There has been so much hope that this baby would come into our arms without the cloud of grief that was hanging low over our other two babies. And yet, I am finding myself grieving. Not because we’ve lost a loved one, but simply because this birth experience is going to be swallowed up in the hype and panic of this virus that even the experts know so little about.

This is serious. Our family is laying low and staying home, in an effort to protect those of us in our communities who need it most; I still can’t decide if that includes my own self or not. We have dry hands from the excessive amounts of washing and this otherwise care free when it comes to germs mama is wiping down everything. We don’t want to be sick when this baby comes home. We don’t even want to be sick before he comes home. Most importantly, we don’t want to focus on the panic, but instead on the opportunity to spend just a little more time together as a family while we wait for Harry’s arrival.

I suppose one of the things that is causing my heart the most anxiety, is the fact that this kid wants out. We spent Friday night in L&D as my body began to freak out. Despite my best efforts to slow contractions and calm my body, nothing was working. So we dropped our dogs at the boarder, took Audrey to a friend’s house for the night, and headed to the hospital. At not quite 37 weeks, they did everything they could to stop the onset of full active labor. We were all in agreement (except for perhaps this precious little boy) that this kid needed a few more days/weeks before he enters the world. After several hours of monitoring and lots of tests, things calmed down and they felt comfortable sending us home. And now we just wait. We wait for this kid to finish the development he needs and to make his entrance. All while we have lots of time on our hands. I might just go crazy in this waiting period.

I’m not panicked about this. I’m not overly worried about our family getting sick. But I am most definitely going to have to process all the ways this pandemic is going to change and impact this sweet boy’s entrance into the world. I guess its a bit of a gift to be stuck at home. To be intentional about family moments and making memories as we wait. To also be mandated the time to process, as there is not much left to busy my mind. This is a time for me to spend lots of time in prayer. Prayer for my heart. Prayer for my son. Prayer for my family. Prayer for the country. Prayer for the world. All this stuff is so crazy, and I know that there are so many ways that this virus is impacting people’s lives and livelihoods. I’m thankful that we have people around us who are working selflessly to make sure the the essential components to society are functioning and ready when needed… like Labor & Delivery.

Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice. Let your reasonableness be known to everyone. The Lord is at hand; do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. What you have learned and received and heard and seen in me—practice these things, and the God of peace will be with you.

I rejoiced in the Lord greatly that now at length you have revived your concern for me. You were indeed concerned for me, but you had no opportunity. Not that I am speaking of being in need, for I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content. I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need. I can do all things through him who strengthens me

Philippians 4:4-13

5 Years Without Her

Technology has so many wonderful things that it can do in our lives. It has become a way for our family to live in different states and still know one another and build deep and lasting relationships that can withstand the test of distance. But as equally wonderful as technology can be, it can also frustrate the heck out of me. I come here to this journal space when I’m having “big feelings” as we call them with Audrey. I open the text box and I just start typing. Sometimes that equals coherent thoughts and they get shared and sometime it equals a whole lot of rambling that eventually ends up deleted or filed away for another day when I can more easily access those big feelings and sort through them with some kind of articulation. Today, I opened my computer and started writing about my mama. It’s her 5 Heavenly birthday. I almost never know what to expect will come out of my brain and out to my fingers. But my goodness is it healing to see thoughts forming on the page as I type away. Today was an especially thought filled day. Paragraph after paragraph filled the blank white space on my screen, as tears rolled down my face. I was remembering, and in many ways I hope I was honoring. Because just as I finished those thoughts and dried my tears, I clicked save and everything was lost.

As I frantically searched all the “places” I could think of to find the words of my heart on this day, it became sadly clear that perhaps those words were just for me… because they were gone. So I went back and read a few of my thoughts from previous years. They were nothing like what was on my heart today. Isn’t it amazing how the weight of a day like today can look so different from year to year?

I make no attempt to recall those words from the raw and unedited yieldings of my heart. They were sweet and reminiscent but they cannot be duplicated. But as I stare at my computer screen, I remember that first anniversary of her death. Audrey Nole was almost 1 and it felt like the emotions of this day, on that year, were just too much to handle. It was the end of the infancy of my first child and it was blatantly clear that my mama would never celebrate any of her milestones. In many ways, March 12, 2015 felt much less hard than March 12, 2016. Because as a year had passed, we could just start to see and realize all the ways that we would miss her and all the things that she would miss the earthly side of. She would not be there for Audrey’s first birthday and she would never get to celebrate the milestones of her grandkids. She would miss out on two weddings and one college graduation. She would never meet the spouses of two of her kids and would never meet any of her future grandchildren. She wouldn’t grow old with my dad and experience all the bucket list things they had imagined would fill their senior years. There would be no more firsts WITH her, but there would be a lifetime of firsts WITHOUT her.

This day doesn’t draw the heaviness of years past. While there have been and will be tears as I miss her deeply, I’m reminded today not necessarily of her absence, but more of the ways that her life - and this day in particular - continually point me to Jesus. Even in her worst fears, the ugliest parts of battling cancer, and even in her last moments with her family on earth, she was always pointing us to our Savior. She was the first to remind you that there was no survival without Christ; no hope without Jesus. On that night, as she took her final breaths and we all said our good byes, the sky was filled with the most beautiful sunset. My mama loved sunsets like I do, and while I don’t remember ever asking her why she loved them so much, it was such a sweet gift to turn from her empty body and see a sky full of life. Full to the brim of all the perfection of God’s design. It was a reminder that God was in this life with us. And as my mama walked hand in hand with Jesus toward the gates of Heaven, her legacy was one that would draw us closer and closer to God.

I miss our chats about life, sometimes over coffee and sometimes over the phone as we went about our daily tasks. I miss the champion of my dreams and the person who always took my side, even when I was wrong. Im thankful for the 28 years of memories that I have to draw on as I tell Audrey and soon Harry about the woman that loved me fiercely. Im thankful for the example of parenting that I can recall when I’m having a particularly rough day with Audrey - and I even am thankful for the ways that maybe she wasn’t so perfect, as I can learn and change. I’m thankful for the picture of marriage that she and my dad set for us. That 35 years together, as two sinful people, is completely possible because they both loved God first and each other next. Of course, I’m sad over the many ways that we will experience firsts without her, but I’m so thankful that the hope she believed in so deeply is not just make believe, but real and true. It makes living life this side of heaven that much easier to bear without her. And it also makes me long for heaven in a way I didn’t know was possible before she left this earth. Until we meet again, mama! Happy Heavenly Birthday. I love you so!

Mourning and Sentimentality

I’m not a particularly sentimental person. In fact, Adam might say that I’m not sentimental AT ALL. It is one of the biggest adjustments that we have had to make with one another as husband and wife. My lack of sentimentality made it hard for me to grieve my mom. I had to allow myself to be nostalgic. To sort through her memories and process the feelings that came through. It had to learn to let that untapped part of my psyche get active and help guide this grief journey. By the time we had to face the reality of saying goodbye to George Mason, I was a little better at this; but still had a long way to go. Especially given there weren’t memories and nostalgia to guide the process of grief. But I did it. I wrote, I cried, I dreamed. I cried a lot more. And suddenly there was light peaking through the clouds.

I knew that with this pregnancy, there would be all kinds of emotions to process; most of which I wouldn’t really be able to prepare for. In the beginning, there was a lot of anxiety over whether or not “lightning would strike twice” as we waited for that anatomy scan. Then, there was the initial processing of having another little boy. Imagining all the ways that a little boy would be harder than a girl. All the ways that it would remind us, so directly, of the little boy we didn’t get to bring home. Then we had to fight the anxiety and depression of waiting. To motivate ourselves to prepare for baby. To live life, knowing that the worst could always be a possibility - to organize and implement a nursery, to buy baby clothes, to talk with Audrey about her brother and not taint every conversation with the dark “what ifs” that would inevitably creep in.

Now that we have entered into the last few weeks of waiting, I’m struck by the mourning that I find myself doing. Mourning the last few weeks of Audrey as an only child. Mourning the fact that she is just now going to experience the role of big sister. Mourning the role that George would have played as big brother. Mourning the lack of pictures of my babies all together, and of my family as a whole and complete unit. Mourning the ways that Adam and I will change when there are two babies at home with us - but not three. And in all of this, I find myself being a bit sentimental. I’m holding Audrey a little longer when she gives me her goodnight hug. I’m reading that one more book that she wants before her nap. I’m sitting outside and watching her play, alone, in our yard, and engaging in those little moments as she passes by and includes me into her story. Even with a sore body, a tired mind, and an anxious heart, I’m doing this life with my biggest kiddo and I’m enjoying it while simultaneously missing what we’ve had for these last five years.

Over the last week or so, I can feel my body making the changes needed to deliver this sweet boy into the world. We are at 36 weeks today and Harry is measuring perfectly, yet my body is starting the eviction process. I know that it could be a full 4 more weeks before we meet this kid, but it could also be any day. So as I sit in the mourning and the sentimentality of our family’s changing dynamics, I’m also preparing for this baby to be home with us; an equally exciting and terrifying idea. As best I can, I’m laying all these big feelings at the feet of my Savior, but knowing that even when I’m incapable of handing over my worries Jesus has already taken them from me. He is here in this countdown. Settled deep in my heart and holding me tight.

“Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time he may exalt you, casting all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you. Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour. Resist him, firm in your faith, knowing that the same kinds of suffering are being experienced by your brotherhood throughout the world. And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you. To him be the dominion forever and ever. Amen.” -

1 Peter 5:6-11

Ready & Waiting

When I first got that positive pregnancy test (after all the months of infertility treatments), I took a deep sigh of relief. But then I realized that the easy part was actually already over. From that moment, all of the stuff we would face during this pregnancy would be hard. From the physical task of actually growing a human - my body doesn’t like being pregnant - to the large spectrum of emotions we would face and feel over the 9 months that we wait for this baby, the fertility issues were dwarfed in comparison to all of the unknowns of a pregnancy after loss. Thankfully, and by the grace of our Good God, we are surviving. In fact, we are thriving. As we close in on the day we meet this little boy, excitement is at the forefront of our minds.

There are to-do lists being checked off and all of my crazy nesting goals are rounding to their ends. This is a home and family that is very ready to welcome a little boy. At my latest OB appointment, I was asked about my mood and my anxiety; especially in light of the rib disaster and the lack of sleep and exercise that it is dictating. My honest, first thing out of my mouth answer was “I’m just so dang excited, I don’t even really care that I’m not sleeping” {Adam might debate that a little bit}

I’m a pretty type A person - I like to have plans and contingencies. When we found out that this baby was due exactly one week after Audrey Nole’s 5th birthday, I knew that our January - March were going to be busy. I wanted to be able to fully celebrate our oldest as she crosses the milestone of one whole hand old. I wanted to be able to sit with her in the emotions she would feel as she processes the changes happening in our family. I wanted to be able to be fully present in the discussions that would come from the inevitable fears of bringing home a baby after having said good bye to another. So we front loaded. We are ready and waiting. And wouldn’t you know it, there have been a few discussions of feelings. There will be a birthday celebration. There are lots of chats over all the things going on in her life and how best for her to work through them; shockingly, its not through temper tantrums, as she would like to believe.

I’m glad that we’re ready. I’m glad to know that these last few weeks we can just sit in the emotions and prepare our hearts and minds. Audrey told me the other day that she was having big feelings and wanted to talk about it. She told me that she was afraid. As I prepared myself for the hard conversation about what if this baby dies too, I asked her what she was afraid of. She told me that she’s afraid of meeting Harry because she doesn’t know what he’s going to look like and she doesn’t know him. …. She was likely very serious in this concern, but it brought perspective to this otherwise weighty waiting period. Of all the things that we could possibly be feeling and preparing for, our 5 year old is worried that she won’t know her brother. I laughed a bit under my breath and assured her that Harry Beau is no stranger. That he has been listening to her voice for 9 months. That she has been talking to him, hugging him, and loving him for 9 months. And that in all likelihood, he was going to look very much like her.

Her big feelings and her fear of the unknown actually made me more excited. Because this baby knows his sister just as she knows his kicks and has already built a wonderful foundation for their sibling relationship. I cannot wait to see those first moments when they meet each other. The already big eyes on our big girl will be wide with wonder and excitement. The tiny ears of baby brother will perk up as he hears her voice for the first time outside of the womb. Its going to be wonderful. It will probably be a little hard too… but God.

“Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.” Matthew 5:5

34 Weeks Together. 6 more to go.

Week 34. Harry Beau, you and I have been through the riggers these last few weeks. As my body helps you to grow bigger and stronger, it is also starting to crumble under the weight of the hormones that are feeding that growth. You are so active, and it’s so reassuring. You are presenting as the picture of a happy baby. All of these things are music to an anxious mama’s heart. I’m so glad to feel you and get to know your patterns and tendencies; too bad I can’t tell if it’s feet or elbows or hands or knees.

I got a cold back in January. Nothing serious, just a silly common cold. But I started coughing. And then more coughing. And still more coughing. And as the rest of the cold symptoms subsided, the cough lingered. As if pregnant mamas don’t have enough pressure in there abdomen and pelvis, this cough was making both you and me crazy. Abdominal muscles, or what’s left of them after 3 babies, were on fire and you were starting to protest the constant interruptions to your daily sleep/move routines. Well, over time, the coughing injured my ribs. And now, its cracked them. You and I have been stuck in bed for the last week, hoping and praying that this rib(s) will heal and delivery won’t be affected. I know those hours of contractions and the monitoring are going to be a big trigger for my heart. My brain will know that each contraction is one step closer to holding and snuggling you, but my heart will be dragged back to those moments of sorrow with your big brother - where I knew that every contraction meant your daddy and I were one step closer to handing him over to Jesus. I don’t really know what emotions will swell during your birth. I can prepare myself to feel all the hard things and I can walk through so many what if situations, but the reality is that you and your birth are going to be unique to you; and that’s not something I can really be ready for. It’s why I want this rib to heal. It’s why I wish I knew what day you were planning to arrive. For this anxious mind, the less unknowns the better. And yet, here we are. 6 weeks from your due date. Working to heal a broken rib. Stretching and rocking on a yoga ball to ease the pressure in my pelvis. Slathering every inch of my body with lotions and creams as they stretch to accommodate your growing little body. Drinking so much water that I think I’m spending more time walking to and from the bathroom than doing anything else. Praying for a healthy and easy delivery and for Gods providence to be felt by everyone in that delivery room.

You, my son, are going to be the very first baby in our family that doesn’t come into this world in a storm cloud of grief. That’s doesn’t mean there won’t be lots of heavy emotions as we miss your brother welcoming you into this world, it just means that your birth isn’t also intertwined with death. I can’t tell you how excited that makes me. To welcome you without the complicated emotions of good bye. But to simply say “hello my darling, welcome to the world. We are so filled with joy that God gave us you”

One day when you’re older, your daddy and I, and your big sister, will tell you all about your Grammy and how big she loved. We will tell you about your brother, and all the ways he has shaped who we are today. We will share all the stories and pictures. We will laugh and cry. You will know the people that came and went before you, and it makes me equally joyful and sorrowful to know that. But for now, I just can’t wait to give you all the kisses. Soak in all the snuggles, and commit to memory our many midnight chats and chest naps. There will be plenty of time for the tears that will come as we miss your brother and your Grammy in new ways, but the most anticipated emotions are those of bringing you home.

So keep on growing in there (but not too big, ok?) and I will continue to work towards and pray for healing of this rib. And pray for your health and for God to protect us all on the day you choose to make your entrance. Because your big sister can not wait to hold you and snuggle you! Your daddy and I are pretty excited too. 😘

But God... and Babymoons

Just over 3 years ago, Adam and I began planning a 5th anniversary trip. We thought it would be fun to get away from the stress of every day life, enjoy each other as a couple, and celebrate our newest expected family member. The trip, we thought, would be a celebration of our marriage and our growing family. Except in October of 2016, our plans got derailed and anything we had in the works got postponed indefinitely.

I wouldn’t trade those months of stress and doctors visits for a few days on the beach. Those are part of my son’s story, and the reality is that they make up a majority of that story. So when faced with the disappointment over a canceled trip to Hawaii and the opportunity to meet our son just a few months later, there is no question that we would do exactly the same thing over again.

This pregnancy is different. Its something I have told myself throughout the long days since the beginning. Different pregnancy. Different baby. Different outcome. And as this was an almost daily mantra, if you will, it made sense to jump on the opportunity to finally take that trip. So after my anatomy scan showed a perfectly healthy baby boy, I took no time before asking my OB if it would be ok for me to travel; specifically to Hawaii. She did everything but shout when she celebrated with me the good news we had received and the confidence she had that a trip of that kind - one of celebration - would be more than ok and actually recommended and necessary.

So we booked airplane tickets and hotel rooms, and counted down the long winter days until we could embark on the long journey to paradise; as husband and wife, and as care free as the parental part of our identities would allow. It was cold on the morning that our uber arrived to take us to the airport, but I wore a tank top. Perhaps it was in protest to the SLC winter, but I imagine it was more in excitement over all that this trip was going to represent. It was not without heavy emotion, but it was one way that we could tangibly live out that mantra - different pregnancy, different baby, different outcome. It was a leap of faith that all was well with this precious life growing in my womb. It was a whole lot of trust in the God we serve that Audrey wasn’t going to be left orphaned {I suppose that’s one of the many ways that my anxiety gets the best of me… imagining a plane crash over the Pacific; part of the shrapnel left behind by loss}. As we stepped onto the plane, I thanked God for all that He had provided over these last few difficult years. For all the support that I had found in Him. That despite my disappointment over the death of my son, I had found immense comfort in Him. And then I asked him to make sure our plane landed safely in Hawaii. I’m not perfect in my trust.

We spent 3 glorious days on the beach. Taking in the warm sun. Feeling those wonderfully numerous grains of sand between our toes. The warm misty rain that would come and go. Seeing the stunning display of rainbows in every direction. Soaking up every inch of the view - the turquoise blue water against the baby blue sky and the lush green of the Hawaiian mountains. The sunsets were incredible. Each one more spectacular than the next; each one more of a gift to my soul than I could even properly express. We laughed as we people watched. We read books, uninterrupted, and spent hours talking about Adam and Jillian things. Not mom and dad things. Not kid things. Not medical things - well, unless you count that pesky bruised rib that reared its ugly head on our 3rd day. Just plain old, ordinary, wonderful, husband and wife things. We joked about having taken Harry to Hawaii before Audrey. We laughed at the irony because my parents used to tell me that I had, in fact, been to Hawaii… while my mama was pregnant with me. Gee, thanks guys. So glad I got to experience the beauty from inside a uterus.

We slept for so many hours. We ate way too much. We laughed. It was almost as if we hadn’t been through hell and back in the last 5 years. It was comfortable. It was celebratory. It was perfectly what we needed, exactly when we needed it. It was an incredible gift for our marriage. It was restoring and refreshing. It breathed just the new life into our tired hearts and minds to face these last few exhausting weeks as we wait patiently for our boy. The days are long. The emotions are high. The what if’s are hard to stifle. But God provided and continues to provide.. I’m pretty sure I’ve said this before, but I am so tempted to tattoo those words on my wrist… But God. Thankfully, there were no mai tais consumed for this pregnant lady, or one of those local tattoo shops in Waikiki might have gotten a lesson in the gospel as I did something rather spontaneous. Also, thankfully I’m married to a less than spontaneous accountant who would have reigned me in… God really is in the details, y’all.

Hawaii was wonderful. But more importantly, my time with my husband and my Heavenly Father was wonderful. I know Hawaii had nothing to do with it. Not that God’s crazy gorgeous creation wasn’t an incredible backdrop to His work in refreshing my soul, but more so that choosing to spend time with Him, and prioritizing my relationship with my hubby was just the thing I needed in this season. 7 more weeks to ready myself for bringing home this baby. 7 more weeks of waiting and anticipation. And then a lifetime of emotions that I cannot even begin to prepare for. But God.

“I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.” John 16:33

Happy 3rd Birthday, George Mason!

February 10, 2017 was simultaneously one of the best and hardest days of my entire life. And every year, from then on, I will relive that day. I will relive all of the hope and then sorrow. I will see those emotional last breaths as we snuggled our son. I will remember the heartbreak when we were told there was nothing more they could do. I will feel that little spark of joy and hope as we heard him take his first breath and the little cry that came out along with it. I will remember how physically exhausted I was from a night full of labor as we waited for them to cut that sweet boy out. I will remember the intense desire to close my eyes and escape the world for just a few moments and the equal tug to stay awake; to be sure not to miss a moment. I will remember the picture that the neonatal doctor sent me from George Mason’s NICU layette: 5 hours after he was born and still we hadn’t met him. Another hour later and a gracious and kind doctor sent us an out of focus picture. A picture with all of the tubes and monitors, of a son who was barely alive, but who’s ear folds were perfectly shaped just like his daddy’s. I will remember the long hallway from my hospital room down to the NICU. My nurse carefully pushing the wheelchair - as I couldn’t walk yet. I will remember the excitement and the terror as they open those NICU doors. Wondering how it would feel to see our son so helpless. Asking myself if we would be able to even touch him. I will remember calling my dad to tell him it was time to bring Audrey Nole to meet her brother. And to let him know that we would also be saying goodbye. I remember so vividly his voice on the other end of the phone. “I’m so sorry” I will remember hanging up and through the tears just saying FUCK; over and over and over again. Because when you’re about to say goodbye to your child, what else is there to say?

I will remember that long walk back to the NICU. This time in our private room. Down the hallway with the sickest of babies. I will remember how somber that hallway felt. How eery it was to be walking down to the very last room. Dimly lit, the only sounds coming from the various monitors that were hooked up to this baby that I had only spent a few hours with. I will remember sitting in the chair and waiting for the nurse to gently move that sweet boy from his bed to my arms. All of the tubes and cords and life lines carefully arranged so as not to pull and cause him more pain. I will remember holding Audrey Nole on the other side of my lap, letting her touch and feel her brother. Answering her questions and trying not to be scared. I will remember, and cherish, those brief moments with my two kids together. Where Audrey noticed none of the medical stuff, but cared more about his feet and how soft his skin was. I will forever be thankful for the nurse who quietly and without prompting picked up my camera and took as many pictures as the memory card would allow. The lighting was terrible and the pictures are mostly blurry, but they are treasures to Adam and myself. I will also remember how caring and loving my dear friend was as she watched over Audrey - the almost 2 year old who didn’t understand why everyone was sad. I’ve heard countless stories about them riding the escalator up and down and then again and again. I’m thankful for those escalators. I will remember watching my husband hold his first son. I will remember the tears that welled up as he examined and committed to memory all of the parts of this precious little boy. I will remember playing the song that was written him and the insane amount of tears that came as a result. I will remember feeding George Mason just a few drops of the colostrum that I had pumped for him.

I will never forget looking at Adam and knowing it was time to say goodbye. To give our sweet boy to Jesus. I will remember watching as the nurse and doctor gently removed all the tubes. How they delicately wrapped him up in that blue polka dot blanket and handed him back to me. I will remember how small he felt in my arms. How small I felt as his mama who couldn’t do anything to make him better. I remember standing in that room, with Adam, and just crying as we waited for his little heart to stop. I will remember that it was over an hour, when they told us it would be 15 minutes. I will remember the most darling little coughs - coughs that were actually his body falling him as he gasped for breath. I will remember silently telling Jesus that it was ok, He could take him now. I will remember the feeling of helplessness as the doctor listened for his heart. I will remember those emotions of wanting to hold him forever and also knowing he was no longer there. I will remember handing over his tiny little body to the nurse and looking at Adam with the most confused and naive face; wondering what happened now? Did we just go on with life? I will remember kissing Audrey goodnight as we walked back to the hospital room, telling her just how much I loved her. I will remember the conversation with my friend about needing to share our news. It was so important that I shared it right then. I will remember the fear of facing the text messages from caring friends and family, just wanting to know how things were going. I will remember lying down on that hospital bed, numb from the day. So exhausted I didn’t even feel the pain. Neither the physical nor the emotional. I will remember closing my eyes on that day, wondering what tomorrow would bring - what the rest of my life would bring - what that empty car ride home would bring.

Today, our sweet boy would have been 3 years old. And as I relive his day, I also have to plan a birthday celebration. It wasn’t all bad on that day. There wouldn’t be sorrow if there wasn’t first the joy of welcoming our son into the world. So Audrey wore her “special occasion” socks to school today, because it is her brother’s birthday. And we will spend the afternoon baking a cake - with yellow frosting, and probably sprinkles because she’s an almost 5 year old girl. We will gather around our dining room table tonight with a few friends and we will sing our loudest version of Happy Birthday; just to be sure George can hear us in heaven,

This is what tomorrow brought. This is our life. Equal parts joy and sorrow. Always together. Some days the joy feels bigger and more important than the sorrow. Some days, like today, we have to face them both equally. The tears that flow as I take myself back through all of the moments of his day and the laughter that will come as we gather around the cake. The bible verse of the day that popped up on my Bible app couldn’t have been more fitting for this day. Thank you Jesus for your care of the details. Happy Birthday, George Mason! We love you so!

“And God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that having all sufficiency in all things at all times, you may abound in every good work.” - 2 Corinthians 9:8

Another year has come and almost gone...

January was a very full month for our family. We got to spend lots of hours and days with friends and family who love us so deeply. It was a true refreshing, albeit tiring, month of fellowship - we filled out hearts to the brim. In the last month, we’ve basically completed the nursery. Spent countless hours agonizing over which stroller I want/need for this baby {if I’m being honest, I’m still not 100% certain that my choice is the right one… I’m going to blame it on hormones.}. I’m completely undecided on whether or not to buy an infant carseat or just place him straight into his big sister’s old convertible. And I’ve got a million things on the “to do” list that I irrationally (hormones again) believe with my entire soul NEED to be done before this precious boy arrives; because organizing the playroom and finishing the laundry room are most certainly needs when you’re 8 months pregnant and bringing home a baby for the first time in 5 years.

Because of the hustle and bustle of the last several weeks, I haven’t had much time to reflect on all the emotions that are bubbling under the surface as I keep myself busy with all the various nesting things. In just a few days, our sweet George would be celebrating his third, yes third, birthday. It isn’t as painful this year as it has been in the past, but as I reflect on the child that he could have been, I’m brought to tears over the hopes and dreams I had for him. Every parent imagines the futures of their kids… I’m sure I’m not the only one. I day dream about Audrey’s teenage years and what she will be when she grows up (for now, she’s firmly in the movie star category). I pray about her future husband and I wonder what his piece of our family puzzle will look like. I wonder all the same things about George Mason. Except, I don’t know him, so its all speculation and guessing. Which can be both fun and a punch to the gut at the exact same time. Would he be tall and skinny like his sister? Would be be a happy chub like his dad was as a kid? Would he like dinosaurs? or airplanes? or dump trucks? Would he be sweet and kind and gentle? Would he be a bull in a china shop? At 3, theres a lot of growing up happening. Would he have been a terrible twos kind of kid or would he be that much dreaded threenager like his sister?

I like to imagine him dressed as a super hero and fighting the bad guys with his big sister. I like to think of my version of boy mom as just loud enough to wake this new baby thats on its way, but not so loud that I’m driving myself insane. I like to imagine the conversations between him and Audrey. I think they would both be pretty excited about welcoming Harry into this family. I can just hear it now “I can’t wait until we can have a sleepover all THREE of us! Do you think we’ll fit into one bed? Maybe I’ll have to use my sleeping bag… no, its my bed, I’ve got princess sheets. You can use the sleeping bag, George, and Harry can snuggle with me on the bed. Maybe mom will let us watch a movie!?”

I don’t foresee these daydreams going away anytime soon. Though there are days where I *almost* forget that Audrey already has a brother, most of the time his absence is obvious. Those moments of contemplation about what parenting two kiddos would look like. What bringing home baby #3 would feel like? Those aren’t going to go away. And even as Harry comes into this family and takes his rightful place in the line up, even that identity will be skewed. You see, hes number #3. He’s also the baby. He’s also number two. He’s also going to be a lot like an only/first child. What will that look like as he grows and matures?! How will the death of his big brother impact his identity? I know it has made Audrey a lot more morbid than most people… especially her age. It has shaped the way she views life, because she knows death is a thing. A very real, very permanent thing. She talks about cremation and meeting people in heaven. She tells complete strangers that she has a dead brother. She’s not being brash, she’s just being honest. Death is real. And to her, its been a lot of what she’s known in her 5 years of life. Harry won’t know death in the same way, but it will most certainly have a lasting impact on his world view; just more of the things that those daydreams bring up. The rabbit trails and mental games that I play with myself as I imagine our family of 5 that’s only actually 4.

I asked Audrey yesterday what kind of cake we should make for George’s birthday on Monday - that has been our only lasting tradition: a birthday cake and candles for our precious son who was gone far too soon. She said she wanted a cranberry and raspberry cake. Ummm… how about a vanilla box cake, kid? I am, after all, 32 weeks pregnant… hahahaha Nonetheless, there will be cake and candles and singing. Her brother will get serenaded by his family that loves him oh so deeply. And while the angels hold their annual birthday celebration for him, I’m sure that his Grammy will be joining in on the fun. For now, we will debate over the color of the icing and the flavor of the cake mix… which I guarantee will be from a box, because I just don’t bake. We will spend the 2 hours mixing and baking. She will get her hands messy and help me put the frosting on. She will likely get said frosting on every surface in the kitchen. And that’s totally ok. Because if there were also a 3 year old helping out, the mess would increase infinitely. So in many ways, I will be thankful for the mess, because it will be a reminder of my two babies.

Photo by twinsfisch on Unsplash

Our God is Mighty

It’s been a while since I’ve sat down with this journal. The holidays are always busy in good and not so good ways, so it’s been hard to find the time of solitude that I need to really process all of the feelings and emotions that come with parenthood; or let’s be honest, life. We started working on the nursery space this last month. Moving slowly, but it’s beginning to feel like we are bringing a baby home. I’m actually wrapping my mind around that idea... it’s a big step. Poor Adam has had his desk and office stuff moved so many times in this house. We displace him as we work through a project and then set him ip somewhere else. For a while he was using the nursery space as his - but the reality is that when I designed the floor plan of this home, I intended to use the space for a nursery. And whenever we were done having children, we could turn it into a proper office/den space. It feels good to be finally putting nursery pieces in there. After 3 years of empty arms and 2 years of a limbo space right off my kitchen, there is finally a purpose, and a happy one at that, for this room. A room that was designed specifically for a baby. For this baby.

Before we even knew we were pregnant, I picked out a verse to pray over our child and his or her life. I’m a terrible prayer warrior, if I’m being honest. So often I get before God with a longing to talk to him and be intentional about things like life verses, but instead I end up a jumbled mess of words and tears. But this verse stuck out and it has been my theme for this baby boy of ours. “Mightier than the thunders of many waters, mightier than the waves of the sea, the Lord on high is mighty!” ‭‭Psalms‬ ‭93:4‬ I think the most important aspect of Gods character for our family the last several years has been His might. Not because His might saved my mama or my son, but because we can feel safe knowing He is capable of all things. All. Things. He didn’t save those loved ones. He rescued them to heaven and from their pain. But He didn’t choose to heal them on earth. What He did on earth was to save those of us left behind, to let us live on for His kingdom in a way that we would have never imagined. My baby boy won’t know his brother, but he will know that his God is mighty to save. And that salvation has many shapes.

As I started dreaming about this child’s nursery, I found the most beautiful art print with that verse from Psalms on it. It felt like the perfect starting point for a nursery. For a child who is coming after the loss of his own brother. A daily reminder of how much God is capable of, and how much He must (does) love us fragile humans. It’s an added bonus that the ocean waves are such a calming and peaceful giving image for me. As I rock this child for the next few years, I can stare at the crashing waters and reflect on those moments in my happy place, with sand in my toes and sun on my skin. I can remember all that God has done in my life and how He saved me from the wreckage of life in grief. It will make all the sleepless nights and heavy emotions of a baby born after loss so much easier to bear. I don’t think Adam minds being displaced all that much. He’s adaptable in that way, much more than I am. But I know that the child that will fill that room with tears and giggles will be the ultimate reason for giving up his office. 3 more months, my dear Harry Beau.

We Bought a Crib!

Well, the holiday season is officially upon us, whether I’m ready for it or not. It’s always hard to set my thanksgiving table and know there are people missing. It’s hard to decorate the tree with Audrey and not miss the terrible twos that should be adding to the chaos of this season. And most of all, it’s hard to admit that this baby might actually come home. So with a little help (push) from Adam’s mom, who was visiting for Thanksgiving, we went to the store and indulged in one of the more fun parts of being pregnant again: designing and implementing a nursery. First step, a place for this precious babe to sleep. Crib, check.

This baby boy of ours is growing and thriving in his womb home. His tiny little kicks are both adorable and horrible at the same time. {Why does he always kick my bladder?!} I’m thankful for the reassurance of his life in those tiny movements. I’m thankful for the easing of my anxiety in these last few weeks since our ultrasound. I still have days where I can’t fully imagine a reality where we bring home another baby, but overall the joy and anticipation of welcoming Harry Beau home is at the forefront. I’m thankful for the immense gift of optimism from those around me; those who aren’t in the depths of PAL and can remind me that this baby is a different baby, a different pregnancy, and can (will) have a different outcome.

I remember asking God about his timing in all of this. After all, it took us a long time to conceive this precious babe, and his due date is so near to his big sister’s birthday, that there’s a real possibility they could share one. I wondered what the possible best was for me when I would be pregnant through my son’s should be third birthday. I still don’t quite know or understand why this was the timeline he laid out for me and for Harry Beau, but what I can say I’ve learned is this: Advent hit with absolute perfection. Reflecting on the waiting and the anticipation of Christmas and all that we have to celebrate because of Jesus’ life, has been such a gift as I find myself in the waiting and anticipation of bringing this new baby home.

I know we still have about half of this pregnancy to go, but I’m looking forward to the bits and pieces that make up these final months. Working out the nursery details. Buying baby gear. Readying our home (to match our hearts) to house a baby - its been a long time since we were in that stage. Its going to go by in the blink of an eye. Even if the days are long, the weeks and months will be fast, and this precious baby of ours will be snuggled up in our arms before we know it. My little corn cob will be a full size baby so very soon!

Photo by Eric Prouzet on Unsplash

Perfect Love & A Hope for Normal

Anxiety is a tricky mistress. There are moments when its pull is crippling. Where I cannot even take a deep breath because my mind is in overdrive. Then there are moments where I barely recognize that anxiety is a thing; life feels normal and goes on as usual. No over drive, no back of the brain thoughts, no worst case scenarios. In managing all the emotions of this pregnancy, I certainly have my fair share of the crippling moments, but thankfully there is relief. Disney was one of those moments of relief. Watching my living child adore the magic that surrounds you when you’re in that place was perfection. 

God has shown His love for me so many times since this pregnancy started. He has had specific gifts for each stage and for each of the particular moments on the swing of an anxiety ridden brain. From those initial weeks of peace and excitement to the sweetest ultrasound tech who could sense our stress and eased our fears with a gentle kindness. God has been in this every step of the way. I like to try and acknowledge those little kisses from God so that I am not so easy to forget them when my mind starts to wander into those dark places of what if. I’m so thankful for sweet gifts that are so perfectly timed that all I can see is God’s hand at work and all I can feel is the calm that comes from resting in His love and trusting His timing; which, let’s be honest, has not seemed so perfect at times. 

One of the things that I keep longing for is to be able to truly enjoy these final months of pregnancy and those first weeks and months with Harry. Both of my older children have had their pregnancies clouded by stress and trauma. I don’t know what it feels like to come home from the hospital and just bask in those sweet newborn snuggles. I don’t know how to walk into labor and delivery with sweet anticipation and excitement. Both of the times I’ve done this before, I was grieving. I didn’t really want those babies to come, because there were other things on my mind and breaking my heart. 

I remember when they placed Audrey Nole on my chest. She was so beautiful. I was so thankful for her precious life, yet all I could do was cry. Not happy tears, but ones of sadness. Intense, overwhelming sadness that I would never introduce this precious child to her Grammy. I cried. And while they measured her and did all the newborn tests, I cried. And then I couldn’t wait to get out of that hospital - because the recent loss of my mama had meant too many hours on a stuffy hospital room. On a wing where people were dying. We came home from the hospital and started to think maybe we could get excited about this adventure we were starting. When just a few days later I got a strange phone call from my dad... one that shook my world and lead to even more tears. He had had a stroke. And it was too much to bear. 

The day that I went into labor with George, I did everything I could to convince myself this baby wasn’t coming. We weren’t ready for him. His scheduled c-section was just days away. His team of doctors wouldn’t be there if we spontaneously showed up in active labor. I couldn’t even breathe through my contractions when a dear friend told me I needed to call the hospital. Even after several conversations with the nurses in labor and delivery, I took a bath. And then a shower. And then I packed a bag. And then I called my dad to come and watch Audrey. Because this baby couldn’t come. We weren’t ready. I cried the entire drive to the hospital. I cried every time a nurse came in the triage room. I cried through every contraction. And I prayed that this baby would be our miracle. His birth meant his death. I knew that deep in my heart, and it was too much to bear. 

This time, things have a chance to be different. I know that there is still grief, the very same grief that was there 4 and 2 years ago. But this time I’m enough removed from the initial trauma, that I have hope of some kind of normalcy. It feels weird to say this, but I feel like a first time mama. I’m preparing to have my third baby and yet this entire experience - particularly the birth and postpartum months - feels brand new. And scary. And at the same time, totally exciting and wonderful. All because of God’s specific love for me during each of these pregnancies. During each of the losses I’ve experienced. During the grief. During the mourning. During the survival. During every breath and through every thought. His love for me isn’t generic. It is perfectly tailored to me. To the specific and exact needs that I had and continue to have as I live out life as His child. So even in the unknown of what has the possibility of being a “normal” birth, God’s perfect love will be known and seen and felt. No matter how scary it might seem. 

“And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.” – Ephesians 3:17-19

Photo by Simon Launay on Unsplash

Oh Boy!

I’ve spent the last several days staring at my computer screen, trying to get out words that make some sort of sense; that match in some way, the huge spectrum of emotions I am feeling since our anatomy scan last week. I start a sentence and then another. I jump to a different emotion and wonder if I need to finish that last thought? Or at least sort of try to complete it? It seems a bullet list might resonate more with the jumble of thoughts and feelings swirling around in my head. I think what I’ve landed on, is a letter to my second son. 

Harry Beau McGough,

What a gift it is to know you! Even after only a few months with you, you fit perfectly into our family; even with all of the unknowns of how that plays out once you join us on the outside of that comfy womb you call home. Last week, honestly the last few months, was long and terrifying. Your daddy and I couldn’t shake the feelings of what might happen if you too, like your big brother, didn’t get to come home with us. Thankfully, we have a good God who has ordained your every breath - of which I pray you have many! He saw to it that we all, you included, were and are covered in prayer. Prayers for your healthy and perfect body. Prayers for our anxious hearts. Prayers for the emotions that encircle us as we prepare to bring home a baby boy. Prayers that you would feel God’s love as deeply as possible and that you would know how much we have longed for you, prayed for you, and cannot wait for you. 

You, my son, are perfectly formed. The Bible tells us that we are made in Gods image and those blurry gray pictures on the ultrasound screen couldn’t have been more assuring of that fact about you. It was such a relief to see healthy kidneys, a vibrantly beating heart, and perfect little fingers and toes. Your little squished face was the sweetest, too. You’ve got about 20 more weeks of growing to do, and right now that seems like forever, but the wait for you will seem non existent when the doctor places you on my chest. We still have lots of praying to do over these next few weeks and months, but our first milestone has been passed and we are so excited about your future. 

Your big brother didn’t get to experience our love in the way we had hoped. It was so hard to hold him and say good bye. I’m having a rough time processing the fact that you’ll never meet him. I’m sure you would have just adored him. Not that you won’t feel the same about your big sister (who by the way, has 20 weeks to come to terms with you being a brother and not a sister), but she isn’t the same as a big brother. She will be a great big sister though! Maybe a little bossy... but overall she is going to smother you with all of the love that she’s been holding onto for so long. I hope you’re ready for that; all that love. Because it’s big and loud and wonderful. And she’s been waiting a long time to hug you and tickle you and play peek-a-boo. {she promises not to scare you} You, my dear Harry, are no normal baby brother, and Audrey Nole is no normal big sister. Your brother changed things with his life, and now your sister and you get to live in this story with a brother in heaven. I can’t wait to listen to your conversations about him... because Audrey Nole has lots to say about her middle brother. 

So, my boy, here is to the final half of our journey to meeting you. May you continue to grow stronger and healthier. May your lungs get big and your heart beat perfectly. May you feel and know the love of your family and the unconditional, reckless, perfect love of your Father in heaven. 20 more weeks, sweet boy. 20 more weeks. 

We love you so, 

Mama & Daddy (and your big siblings, Audrey & George) 

The Sixth Day

And God said, “Let the earth bring forth living creatures according to their kinds: livestock, land crawlers, and beasts of the earth according to their kinds.” And it was so. God made the beasts of the earth according to their kinds, the livestock according to their kinds, and everything that crawls upon the earth according to its kind. And God saw that it was good.

Then God said, “Let Us make man in Our image, after Our likeness, to rule over the fish of the sea and the birds of the air, over the livestock, and over all the earth itself and every creature that crawls upon it.”

So God created man in His own image; in the image of God He created him; male and female He created them.

God blessed them and said to them, “Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth and subdue it; rule over the fish of the sea and the birds of the air and every creature that crawls upon the earth.”

Then God said, “Behold, I have given you every seed-bearing plant on the face of all the earth, and every tree whose fruit contains seed. They will be yours for food. And to every beast of the earth and every bird of the air and every creature that crawls upon the earth—everything that has the breath of life in it—I have given every green plant for food.” And it was so.

And God looked upon all that He had made, and indeed, it was very good. 

And there was evening, and there was morning—the sixth day.

Photo by Jordan Whitfield on Unsplash

The Eclipse of Anxiety & My Good Father

We made it safely back from Disney and what an amazing trip.  I promise to share more details later, but for now, there’s something eclipsing everything else in my mind. That crazy overdrive of anxiety, that hits you like a semi truck and simultaneously feels like subliminal messaging that you have to decode. Because panic attacks are known and noticeable, but the all consuming thoughts of what if and what now  come on with more gentleness and invisibility. 

Tomorrow we meet this baby. We see for the first real time what’s going on in this womb. Healthy baby? I hope so! But imagining and playing through the memories of our last anatomy scan can’t help but take precedence. Chances are really good this baby is totally, 100% fine. But I can’t just sit in that, because our last baby wasn’t. Blissful ignorance is gone, and in its place is recognition that this world is deeply broken. And that means that sometimes babies aren’t healthy. Sometimes expectant mamas and daddies have to face the worst case scenario. Would you please pray with us? Cover this overly anxious mind and longing heart with the protection that can only come from God? 

Tomorrow will be hard. The waiting leading up to the appointment. The long, likely breathless moments in that cold dark ultrasound room, as we wait for the news; while the technician meticulously records all the precious parts of this baby. The tense minutes as we wait for the tech to return from speaking to the doctor. The hopeful sigh of relief when we get the all clear. And the hours after when we process the thought of actually bringing this baby home, while mourning and grieving the baby that never did come home. 

But until then, I wait in this nervous state. I get to wonder what it will be like if we have to tell our almost 5 year old that this baby won’t be coming home either. I tell myself this is a different pregnancy, a different baby, a different outcome. I pray. I cry. I give it to God. I try to sleep. If I weren’t pregnant I’d have a glass of wine. Or two.

I know that because of my God, we will survive whatever is thrown at us tomorrow. I know it. I’ve lived it. He really is as kind and sustaining as He says He is. I’m honestly not worried about that at all. But goodness, am I ready to have answers and information. And with a deep sincerity, I’ve longingly prayed for a healthy baby and an easy pregnancy - free of anxiety, but alas, here we are - where I can try to enjoy this process and not dread the next appointment or the possibility of bad news. As I prepare my heart for what tomorrow holds, I want to just sit in the lap of my Father; and not worry today about tomorrow. Would you join me in praying for that peace that only comes from being in the very real presence of God?

I cannot wait to share this baby with each of you. And I will get to that. Eventually. For now, I’m just happy to get through tomorrow and take the space I, we, need in learning about and loving this baby. There is always hope, and even in the darkness of anxiety, we can rejoice because of our Good Father.

Matthew 10:29-31 (NCV)
Two sparrows cost only a penny, but not even one of them can die without your Father’s knowing it. God even knows how many hairs are on your head. So don’t be afraid. You are worth much more than many sparrows. 

Romans 8:15 (NIV)
The Spirit you received does not make you slaves, so that you live in fear again; rather, the Spirit you received brought about your adoption to sonship. And by him we cry, “Abba, Father.”

Photo by Taylor Smith on Unsplash

Halloween & the Gates of Heaven

Today is Halloween and its hard not to miss our sweet George. It feels weird to say that… but sometimes, I almost have to remind myself that those 9 months and 16 hours weren’t just a bad dream. Because as we get further from his day, those memories fade. But on days like today, his absence in our family is obvious. It makes me wonder what kind of crazy costume his big sister would have dreamed up for him. At 2.5, would he like the experience of trick or treating? Would he be ok going along with whatever his sister said? Or would he break the mold and be his own man?! Audrey has chosen to be Ariel this year. She’s even (still, day of) trying to convince me to dress our dogs up as Sebastian and Prince Eric. I’m pretty sure she would have jumped at the opportunity to make her little brother the perfectly striped flounder to accompany her frigid candy walk this evening. And wouldn’t he have been the cutest little fish you ever did see?!

I think that’s where days like today are so hard. When George died, we lost his entire lifetime of experiences. Mostly, just our dreams for his life - at least in those first days and weeks - because he was too little to have his own plans. But now, now that we are living forward without him, each new experience gets imagined and mourned because he is not here. This year, we mourn our little flounder (or spiderman, or paw patrol, or dinosaur… or whatever a 2.5 year old McGough boy would be interested in). When Audrey gets her costume on she will be missing the sweetest side kick. Those are the moments that this pain of his loss hurts the most.

To add to the complicated emotions of today, we are leaving tomorrow morning for a family trip to Disneyland. Something that I have dreamed of sharing with my kids since before I even had children. I’m a Disney kid through and through. Growing up only an hour away from Disney World in Orlando, we went ALL THE TIME. It really is the most magical place on the planet. And so, as I imagined my life as mama, it most certainly included some wonderfully magical experiences with Mickey Mouse and all his sidekicks. Well, Audrey is finally big enough that I think her experience is going to be perfect. So we are going. And yet, I can’t help but feel the sadness of only bringing one child with us. I know George would probably be a little too young to really appreciate all that Disney has to offer, but man, kids love Disney, and I think George Mason would have found his own little niche of Disneyland magic.

We have a lifetime of vacations and experiences without our George. Thats a reality that will never get easier to face. From first trips to Disney to college graduations to weddings and grand babies - George Mason will forever be missed. Its hard to think about this new baby joining our family and never having met it’s big brother. So many people in our lives only know George through our stories; stories that are few and not very full of detail to begin with; our third child is going to be one of those people. I’m sure they will know their brother, because Audrey will make sure of it (not to mention Adam and I’s stories and sharing of love), but it won’t be the same. Especially 20 years from now. See, I told you today was a hard day. A day full of all the what could have beens and what will bes. I’m sure Disney will be a wonderful distraction, while being equally triggering, of our reality. This family of ours is made up of 4 people and a little one on the way. But the pictures only show 3. And outsiders wouldn’t know the difference.

George Mason, sweet boy, we miss you. That’s all there is to say. And all that we can do is rest in the peace of God, as we move forward without that precious little life. Knowing and trusting in God’s goodness as we finish out our earth-side work until we meet again at the gates of heaven.

He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away. - Revelation 21:4

Counting Down To Anatomy Scan

Today marks 17 weeks. Almost halfway through this PAL. Honestly, it hasn’t been nearly as hard as I was expecting for it to be, but it has definitely not been without its challenges. With each passing week we grow more attached to the tiny, pomegranate-sized, human in my womb. We plan a little further into the future. We imagine life with 2 kiddos at home. Yet, we also grow more weary of all the things that might be wrong in there… When people ask how I’m feeling or how baby is doing, I have no choice but to answer something like this: “we have no reason to believe anything is wrong, but we also had no reason to worry about George either…. so, there’s a lot of desire, and honest need, to get to that anatomy scan. Simply so we can know. Something”

Most often, the response is along the lines of “don’t worry about it, everything is going to be fine” and while I don’t take that to be offensive, its not very helpful. I can’t just tell my nervous mind to stop being nervous. I can’t rewrite our history. Our son was perfectly fine until he wasn’t. And in one 45 minute sonogram, our baby went from healthy and happy to dying. I can’t erase that experience. I can’t void that transaction and just forget that our baby was healthy until he wasn’t. So for now, the two or so weeks that we have left before we take a good look at the baby growing inside me, seems like forever away. Because at this point, this baby is both healthy and not. There are so many things that can be going right. There are also so many things that can be going wrong. The difference this time, is that no matter what news we get on November 7th (and I truly pray that its all good news), we KNOW that we can and will survive. Because no matter what happens in that ultrasound room on that day, God is with us and we have already lived through the worst and survived.

All of that being said, this baby is so very likely healthy. And we are hoping and praying and believing that this baby is healthy. When Audrey expresses her desire for this baby to come live us, we agree with her. Because we have loved and lost. And now we are cautious in our assumptions. Not because we don’t trust our great Father, but simply because trauma has touched our lives and it cannot be forgotten as we experience this new pregnancy. We are acutely aware of the brokenness of this earth since Adam and Even took those bites of that fruit. We are also intimately aware of the presence of our God in this brokenness. That is the hope we can carry with us each day. That is the source of our optimism when we find ourselves in those fleeting moments; moments where we briefly forget that the worst is always possible, and just cling to that hope that comes only from our Father in heaven.

I love that worship song, “Reckless Love” and how it talks about all the places that God will go to fight for us and show us His infinite love.

There's no shadow You won't light up
Mountain You won't climb up
Coming after me
There's no wall You won't kick down
Lie You won't tear down
Coming after me

It reminds me that even when I don’t trust perfectly, God still loves me. He still wants me. It points me to those moments when I’ve been so so broken and felt that totally reckless love that comes completely over me and fills those cracks and soothes those scars, because He is so GOOD and so good to me. I try to be very diligent and intentional about bringing all of these fears and worries to His feet. I can say without question that I’m pretty good at laying them there for Him to take up. Its the next step that gets me: leaving them there and not trying to pick them back up. Often it feels like telling Audrey to pick up her shoes and then picking them up for her because I’m tired of waiting for them to get put away. Its so easy to fall into the routine of just trying to do it myself, because that seems so much easier than resting in His timing. So I’m going to keep reminding myself that His timing is actually perfect, whether it makes sense to me or not. And in those times when I have to remind myself of that, I’m going to give that lack of trust right back to God and tell myself that no Jillian, you don’t NEED to pick those things back up, you simply WANT to. But who actually wants to carry all those burdens on their own? Not me. So why do I try over and over?? Because I’m not perfect. But I am deeply loved and fought for. And that’s all I need. Every day He is my portion.

Two weeks…

“The LORD is my portion,” says my soul, “therefore I will hope in him.” Lamentations 3:24

Reckless Love - Cory Ashbury

Photo by Laura on Unsplash

Trusting; Timing.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about family pictures. There are many reasons for that, some are good and others are just dark and awful. But most recently, I’ve taken my critical eye to every picture our family had taken in the last 3 years. Why do I hate them so much? Why do I force myself into them even though I’m just going to stare at them and notice the flaws? Well it dawned on me, as I’ve been praying through pregnancy and infant loss month, that the biggest reason I don’t like our pictures is because there’s a critical member missing. Even though his absence isn’t totally obvious (we haven’t included teddy bears or pictures or any other items in memoriam) to outsiders, my arms are empty. So it’s not that I hate myself, the hormonal weight gain, the awkward smiles, the crazy faces of our living child... I notice and mourn the empty arms. The awkward ways that our family of 4 takes pictures as a family of 3. When I look at pictures from when Audrey was little, there’s a comfort there. An ease in our body language. There is nothing I would trade to have that ease back, because it would mean we wouldn’t have George Mason, but it also means that even in the invisible, our grief is visible; at least to us.

We have family pictures scheduled for later this year. It feels important to document this pregnancy. To celebrate all of the many facets that make it special to this baby. When I was pregnant with George Mason, I was so torn about how to handle pictures. Would I want to look back on a pregnant belly when there was no baby to show for it? Would I look back on that time with misery or fondness? I didn’t know what to do. And when I couldn’t push it off any longer, I asked a friend to snap a quick photo so I could continue our tradition of sending a Christmas card. That year, the card felt more important for its normalcy than it did as an update to those we love who are near and far. It was only a few weeks later that we welcomed our sweet boy and it is one of the only pictures we have of those months he spent nurtured inside my womb. It’s still hard to look at those few snap shots of our family, but I’m glad we have them; and honestly wish there were more. If there’s anything I can share with a mama’s heart who is facing the same question: take the pictures. You can hide them when it’s hard, but you’ll be so glad you have them.

I think that’s why it feels especially important this time. Even though we have no reason to suspect a similar outcome to the last time, we need to celebrate this little life. And we will. And I’ll also try not to be so critical of the invisible. But man, it will feel so good to place a baby in those arms this spring. It won’t take away the pain of not being outnumbered by our tiny humans, but it will give these mama arms a purpose - even for a short time - and that will feel so good. To hold a baby and not cry over the good bye that is coming, but instead to long for the years of experiences this baby will have, will be wonderfully healing; and I imagine equally difficult. I suppose our family pictures will forever be tainted by the missing person that should be in them. Perhaps with time the awkward body language will dissipate, and the smiles will reflect more joy than sorrow, but I want to document all of it. The entire journey of our family. The very depths of our pain - those black and white hospital NICU pictures - to the very height of our joy - when we meet our Savior, and our son - at the gates of Heaven, and every moment in between.

Farmers who wait for perfect weather never plant. If they watch every cloud, they never harvest. – Ecclesiastes 11:4

Avocados & Oceans

Sweet Babe,

We’ve made it to 15 weeks! It feels so special to start thinking about who you are and actually planning on bringing you home. I’m thankful for that optimism, especially in light of all the various nerves that come with the lack of knowledge about you in early pregnancy. I’m still pretty nauseous and would greatly appreciate the energy to get up and do more than the absolute necessities each day. But you, my dear, are now the size of an avocado, and that means in that in no time at all I will be feeling your sweet kicks and punches; I say sweet now, but I’m sure I’ll be thinking otherwise as we close in on bringing you home. If you’re anything like your big siblings, you’re going to be pretty active in there. Lets just hope you sleep more than your sister did!

We’ve scheduled our anatomy scan, which is the first time that we get to take a good look at you. November 6th can’t come fast enough… although Daddy and I are still having a difference of opinion over your name, so maybe 11/6 really isn’t all that far away! The last few weeks have seemed to go by so slowly, but I know that time is going to speed up as we enter the busy holiday season and then it will be time to start gathering things for you and putting together a nursery.

I’ve been thinking about your nursery for a long time. After your brother died, I spent a lot of time in the Psalms and one stuck out to me, as a perfect place to start the nursery planning: Mightier than the thunder of the great waters, mightier than the breakers of the sea - the Lord on high is mighty! Psalm 93:4 You see, no matter what happens, no matter the outcome of any experience or season in our lives, God is mighty. And you, sweet babe, are proof of that. Because when your brother died we were broken. Deeply and forever broken. But the amazing thing about God is that He took those broken pieces and He put them back together. The scars of the wounds are still there, but we are together and living and excited for what our future holds; for what your future holds. I honestly can’t think of a better inspiration for the place where you will come home and call your own. Plus, its all about oceans and you know your mama has a strong love of that wonderful salty water.

We cannot wait for you to turn our lives upside down, precious little one. So keep on cookin’ and we’ll see your tiny little face in just a few weeks!

Photo by Ilyuza Mingazova on Unsplash

Mental Health & Motherhood

Yesterday was mental health awareness day. Before George Mason died, I knew that things like depression and anxiety existed but I had no real idea what they actually looked and felt like. Until in July of 2017, I had a panic attack. Because our insurance was changing. I told Adam over the phone that he needed to quit his job and find one that carried our doctors, because that’s how panicked I was over this random happening in our life. Except it wasn’t random in my head. It felt earth shattering. To the point of needing to remind myself to breathe. 

I didn’t know until that moment that I needed help. I didn’t realize that the edginess I felt every moment of every day actually had a name. It came on so slowly that the odd manifestations of my anxiety just became part of my daily routine and eventually felt normal. But that panic attack jolted me. And Adam. We both agreed that it was time for help. But what did that mean? Who did we call? I started with my OB. At this point, whatever I was feeling was likely in part due to those pesky post-partum hormones. She was a safe face for me to talk to, and man was she a gift. Because when she called me back, after my frantic message during/post panic attack, she listened to me cry, and obsess, and freak out over insurance. And then she got me on her schedule. 

I walked into that appointment and wasn’t even sure why I was there. I was functioning. I was living a normal life. My so called anxiety wasn’t keeping me from doing life. Except it was touching every part of every day, and I didn’t know it. I had gotten to the point where I couldn’t go to bed at night without checking on Audrey; feeling her chest to make sure she was breathing. I was holding her hand a little tighter when we crossed the street and I was extra cautious when driving anywhere. Because I couldn’t handle losing another child. Not long after the insurance attack, I couldn’t get ahold of Adam. He was at work and I knew he was in meetings but I sent him a text with a random question. He didn’t respond. Which wasn’t abnormal for a day full of meetings. I let the first hour go. But after that hour I texted again, same type of question, this time pushing for a response. And when another hour went by, I convinced myself he was dead on the side of the road somewhere; so I packed Audrey into the car and was going to drive to his office. All because 2 or 3 text messages had gone unanswered. He finally answered as I was pulling out of our driveway. Anxiety was wreaking havoc on my mind and body.

These are the things I brought up to the doctor. These are the things that had become my norm. And it didn’t matter how much time I spent in the Bible or talking to wise counsel, or journaling through my emotions: these overreactions to normal life were becoming my every day. My grief counseling had been so helpful in guiding me through those hard weeks and months immediately after George died. I had so many outlets for those emotions and yet it completely went unnoticed that I was struggling to just do life. Those closest to me didn’t even know, and even Adam - who had talked me through my panic attacks - was taking my word for it that it was time for help. I was otherwise functioning.

It would take another several months of one-off counseling sessions and at least one more panic attack before I agreed I needed more than talking. My brain needed a chemical reset, and so I reluctantly started taking a daily low dose of Zoloft.

Reluctantly?! Why was it so hard for me to admit that there was something wrong with my brain? I don’t have a depressive personality. In a time when I should’ve been deeply depressed, I wasn’t. But man, was my mind out of control. The stigma of anti-depressants and mental health made me feel weird and icky about taking that daily Zoloft. I even remember telling the doctor that if this was something I was going to need for the rest of my life I wanted a different route. She basically assured me that the type of anxiety I was feeling/deaing with was acute and related to my trauma. And that I desperately needed chemical help with resetting those firings in my brain. She was right. 8 months later, when I was finally emotionally and mentally healthy enough to start trying for another baby, I began the process of weaning off my daily meds. And do you know what? I couldn’t tell a difference. My brain was working normally again. I wasn’t freaking out over text messages going unanswered and I wasn’t checking on Audrey’s breathing. I was even starting to sleep again. All because I asked for help.

I knew that going into this pregnancy I might start to feel those same edgy emotions. I was warned by my OB, my PCP, and just about every book I could get my hands on about grief and subsequent pregnancies. I’m thankful for my experience, because now I know what to look for. I know what anxiety looks like in my life and I can proactively battle it. It doesn’t have to get to the point of loading up in the car to search for my dead husband - because now that those reactions have a name, I can face them head on if they begin to creep in. And while I feel certain nerves when I think about this baby and all the ways that things could be wrong or perfect at the same time, I know it’s different right now. And that doesn’t mean it won’t always be true anxiety, but for now its just mama’s love in a period of waiting. My brain is functioning fine. Its my heart that is longing for answers and its got a pretty great guard at its door. When I feel those moments of worry and anticipation, I can run to the feathers of my Good Father’s wings, and take refuge in their warm embrace.

“He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.” -Psalm 91:4

Photo by Ray Hennessy on Unsplash

A Beet & An Anxious Heart

14 weeks today baby is the size of a beet. We are inching closer to the anatomy scan and I cannot wait until we get to call this little guy or gal by their name. Its my favorite part, if there is such a thing, of pregnancy…. that turning point where this tiny human takes on an identity. I didn’t realize before we lost George how special it was to call him by name for 5 whole months before meeting him. There aren’t many opportunities anymore to hear his name; not unless I bring him up in a conversation. Usually stemming from comparing these three pregnancies. And so I cherish those months where people asked about him by name. Where they prayed for him by name. Where I talked to him, we talked to him, by name. Baby Jooge, as Audrey would say, was so very loved, and his name filled our home. I can’t wait to get to that point again.

I’d by lying if I told you anxiety wasn’t creeping in on my thoughts. I suppose as I get closer to the moment where we really see this baby on that ultrasound screen I expected to be nervous. Everything was picture perfect with George until it wasn’t. I pray that this baby is fine. That we won’t face another tragic diagnosis come 20 weeks. I tell those little inklings towards fear and anxiety to go away and I fill them with Scripture mediations and prayers. But even in my most diligent attempts to fill the available mind space with good things, pointed towards my Father, those fears - from loss of ignorance I suppose - still bubble up. Its not near as bad as I expected it to be. I was really worried about the unknown of what a PAL looked and felt like. I’m thankful that I’m not consumed by anxiety, worry, or fear, but I’m also aware that this journey to meeting this little life is going to be hard. Its going to take work. Its going to mean intentional time with Jesus. Its going to mean telling my OB about the thoughts and fears. Its going to mean asking for lots and lots and lots of prayer. Prayer for this baby and it’s life as it forms in my womb. Prayers for my heart, that it not be overcome by all the what ifs and could be’s, but that it would be filled with love and be comforted by the only One who can. Prayers for Adam as goes through this PAL with me, supports me, loves me, and faces his own fears and anxieties as this child’s daddy. Prayers for Audrey, that her dedicated prayers that this baby gets to come live with us would be answered in a big way. So many prayers.

That’s what got us through those months with George. That’s what’s going to get us through to the end of the pregnancy. And while I know this baby is different, the pregnancy is different, the outcome is different, the love I already have for this tiny human is enormous - and that means I’m going to worry. And then I’m going to remind myself to give that worry to God; and try not to pick it back up after laying it at His feet.

There’s a lot of unknown in this life we live. Nothing is certain. Well, except death and taxes. We’ve already faced death. Too many times recently. It is my prayer that we don’t face it again. And that the joys of carrying a child and anticipating its introduction into our little family will outweigh and shine brighter than the shadows of the valley of death. Dear friends, I covet your prayers. Your hugs. Your generous ways of loving us from both near and far. Help me to celebrate each step of this sweet pregnancy and in the nervous countdown to that moment that baby #3 becomes a he or a she with a name and an everlasting identity in this family.

“The heart is deceitful about all things, and desperately wicked; - who can understand it?” Jeremiah 17:9

Father, examine my heart and throw out its lies. Let me lean deeply into your embrace as we navigate these next few weeks and months. Let your Joy fill this home, this family, my heart, and wipe away every ounce of darkness that might creep in.

Photo by FOODISM360 on Unsplash