3.16.17

As I look over my days I try to find those little things to be thankful for and be intentional about saying out loud to my heavenly Father. Some days its something as small as a wildflower discovered by a curious Audrey Nole. Some days its as big as me being willing to accept my sons life as a precious gift and not feel so focused on his death. Today, I’m thankful for spring weather; blue skies, buds on trees, singing birds, and bare shoulders. I very much enjoy His creation during these warmer months and I’m so glad that I’m not going through this grief in the middle of a snow storm. It sounds silly to even say that but I’m truly affected by the weather and so its a big deal in my little piece of life to have blue skies and warm weather. 

I’ve been listening to worship music, basically on repeat,  the last few weeks. I’m trying to fill my days with not so subtle reminders that my God is good. I’m sitting outside, enjoying this weather and listening to the words of humans, just like me, and their hearts for God, and its encouraging my broken heart. 

God give me a heart abandoned
Ever after You alone
Gold and silver, You can take it
All I want is You, my Lord

And when I’ve been a fool
and I hid from You
You still called out my name
And when my flesh is weak
will You help me see
You are all that I need?

Most days I would consider myself more in the category of that second set of lyrics. I don’t really feel like I’m hiding from my God, but I can honestly say that there are times when all I can do in His presence is cry. Today is not one of those days but it seems like without acknowledging those days and the challenge they present I can’t really appreciate the days that aren’t sad and tearful. I know that on those days He hears my cries, He hears the words that I can’t get out, and He loves me. How awesome is it to know that even in our worst and weak moments, He still calls us by name? He knows us, the deepest, darkest parts of us, and He still calls us to be closer to Him. He still comforts us. 

Lord, forgive me for not believing that all the time. Lord, let me long for only You. Fill my heart, my mind, and my body with You alone; You are the only thing that can heal the brokenness I feel and that is in this world. Today, Lord, let me celebrate my sweet George Mason and the work he did on this earth for God’s glory. Let me openly acknowledge the impact he has had on my life and my faith. Give me the words to share that impact with others, particularly Audrey Nole. And even in the moments when I’m quiet and overcome by the pain, let me feel that pain and weep but be able to get up and thank You for another day and the strength you gave me to get through it and enjoy it.

Today I’m remembering our son. His perfect little nose. His tiny little feet. His long fingers, just like his sister. His chubby baby cheeks. His ear folds, just like his daddy. The peaceful way he snuggled with us. The joy he brought us and the privilege we have of calling ourselves his parents. God entrusted him to us and today I’m shouting from the rooftops that I’m so very thankful for that.

"Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you." - Thessalonians 5:16-18

3.15.17

Jesus you are unfailing. These words showed up yesterday as I felt sad and needed to fill my cup with worship songs and dance parties in the kitchen.

This we know
We will see the enemy run
This we know
We will see the victory come
We hold on
To every promise You ever made
Jesus, you are unfailing

As each new day comes, I get one day closer to the day that this hurts less. I get one day closer to reuniting with my son in heaven. But I also get one day farther from the day I held him. One day farther from his beautiful and miraculous life. I have to remind myself daily that he was wonderful, perfect, and something to be celebrated. We had a baby. That's a huge thing and it deserves all the joy that comes with bringing new life into our family. Right now, it seems like the pain and sadness of losing George Mason is clouding that joy and celebration. It doesn’t seem possible to feel the good parts of this journey because the ugly parts are so very ugly. God gave me, us, more than we could ever possibly handle. He handed us this part of our lives, knowing it was more than we could deal with. Emotionally, physically, mentally, spiritually… if we try to get through this on our own, its too much and we will (and in small moments, we do) fail. Thankfully God didn’t just hand us these cards and say “good luck.” He walked us right up to the cliff and said, trust me, I’ve got this. I am who I say I am. I am going to be the strength that gets you through today and tomorrow, and every day until you come into glory and join your son in worship. I am going to be the reason you can, and will, celebrate your son in the midst of his death. This we know, we will see the enemy run. This we know, we will see the victory come. 

Most days I feel overwhelmed by the thought of our future. I think about all the plans that I had, the pictures I painted in my mind of what “The McGoughs” looked like; both now and 10, 15, 20 years from now. In one day, all of those pictures changed. My mom lost one of her brothers to cancer when she was 18. She had 18 whole years with him and yet I know very little about him. I know that she loved him. I know that she adored her big brother. I know that she missed him a lot after he was gone. I have seen a few pictures of him and I’ve heard a few stories. What does that mean for the future and remembering George Mason? We don’t have 18 years of stories to share with our future children - or even with Audrey - we have 16 hours of life outside the womb; most of which we didn’t even get to spend with him because the doctors were trying to save his life. Its the days like yesterday, when I’m full of sadness and overwhelmed by the fact that life is moving on, that I’m thankful for a God who makes promises that He intends to keep. I wasn’t able to get through yesterday on my own. I’m less sad today but still feeling the pain of this grief and I can’t get through today on my own either. God knows that and He gave me internet access and some very, very talented musicians to remind me that I’m not in this alone. That Jesus is unfailing. 

Our small group just started a new study and its on the book of Acts. Last night was our first night back since all of this happened and I laughed a little at God when we read the verses for the evening: “[Jesus] said to them, ‘It is not for you to know times or seasons that the Father has fixed by his own authority.’” I know that those words were in response to a very literal question that the apostles posed, but they are so fitting for today and for my reality. Its convicting and simultaneously comforting, to know that even the men who met Jesus face to face felt the need to ask why? and when? and how? They wanted the details of God’s timeline. I think as humans, and particularly for type A humans, knowing the details and the reasons for something make understanding it and processing it so much easier. I have no idea why things turned out this way and why God didn’t save my son’s life when I know with certainty that He could have. It would be so wonderful for me to know the reasons… to know the why or even to know when things are going to be wrapped up in a pretty little bow and made whole and good and right. But God hasn’t given me those details. He has just promised that things will work out for good for those that love him. That’s hard for me but its drawing me closer and closer to him as I have no choice but to trust Him. He reminds me each day that He loves me and that He’s bigger than my pain. He is working through my pain, through George Mason’s life, through my tears, through the little celebrations, and through the joy I find in each day, to keep His promises. We hold on, to every promise you ever made, Jesus you are unfailing. 

Thank you Jesus for being unfailing. “You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in you. Trust in the Lord forever, for the Lord God is an everlasting rock.” - Isaiah 26:3-4

3.12.17

Today is the 2 year anniversary of my mamas heavenly birthday. The grief I experience over her death seems clouded this year because of the more recent storm in my life but I miss her all the same. I know that her life, and then death, shaped the woman I am today. She was strong. Strong willed, strong in her faith, strong in accomplishing her desires, and strong in motherhood. I learned what it looks like to be unwavering in your faith as I watched her battle cancer. There was nothing that was going to defeat her God, my God. She knew that cancer would probably take her life here on earth, it's a nasty part of this broken world, and she knew that but she still claimed Jesus loud and honestly. She knew that even though cancer, in all of its horrible ways, was going to stop her beating heart, she also knew something so much more important: Christ defeated death so that she could live beyond the beats of her heart and beyond the air in her lungs.  

I watched my mama's relationship with her savior and how open she was about it. She made sure we could see through her actions that she served a good good Father. She made sure we could hear through her words that we are loved by the Wonderful Counselor. She made sure that we felt Gods faithfulness in our lives through her the prayers only a mother can pray for her children. I miss her today and everyday but I'm so thankful to be her daughter. She was a witness in my life of a steadfast God who is for us. 

As I process the life and death of my precious son, I can't help but think about what my mama would say. She would tell me this sucks. She would curse with me and cry with me. She would tell me she loves me and she hurts with me but that God loves me and hurts with me even more. She would remind me that God lost his Son and He has felt all the pain I'm feeling. She would also remind me that because of that sacrifice, the ultimate sacrifice, my George Mason is now in heaven and his body is no longer hurting. Instead of being hooked up to tubes and monitors, fighting for his life, he is worshipping his savior in a place where there is no pain. 

I miss my mama. I miss my son. Those two things seem too big and too painful to deal with. Thankfully, even though they seem enormous and overwhelming for me, they are not too big for my God. He will continue to comfort me and give me the strength I need to get through each day. I'm heartbroken today and everyday but my God is for me, with me, loves me, and continues to comfort me.  Happy Heavenly birthday, mama. Hold my sweet baby tight and give him a kiss from his mama. 

"The LORD is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit." - Psalm 34:17

One Month

Each month after Audrey was born I wrote her a letter. I have so enjoyed going back and rereading those letters this last year as she approaches 2 and seeing the things that she was doing and what particular things were the “big deal” moments in her interactions with Adam and me. I will forever cherish those letters and a part of me thinks she will too. 

Today, George Mason would have been one month old. March 10,2017 should have included taking pictures with a sticker on his chest and something for size reference stuffed gently next to him. Today should have been a reflection of the last 4 weeks; of our exhaustion and our joy, and all those moments with my precious baby that make those sleepless nights, sore body, and left over baby weight worth it. Instead, today I don’t have an update to write or a month to remember with fondness, I have a month of grief and tears and inexplicable pain. My son’s 1 month anniversary of his birthday is also the 1 month anniversary of his death. 

February 10, 2017, holds the place of two very, very special days. It was the day Adam and I met our son, his birthday, but it was also the day he entered into glory, his heavenly birthday. I wish those two occasions were 90 years apart from each other. I wish that he had grown up in our house, played sports on Saturday mornings and cheered on the ‘Noles & Mountaineers on Saturday afternoons. I wish that he could have met the love of his life. I wish that he could have experienced the joy of having children of his own. I wish he had grown to be a grumpy old man who loved his grandchildren. I wish so many things that sometimes I can barely breathe. So today, instead of writing a letter for my son to cherish as he grows old, I’m writing a letter about how much he is missed and how much he is still so very loved. 

~

George Mason,

Today you would have been one month old. It hurts so much to think about that. It has been a month of sadness for us here on earth without you. Those of us who are still waiting to meet Jesus miss you incredibly. Your big sister talks about you all the time. We look at pictures and videos of our short time with you. We talk about all of your boo boos and how you don’t have them anymore. We blow kisses to heaven and say we love you each night at bedtime (and many more times throughout our days). Audrey makes sure that I know how soft your skin was and that you had fingers, eyes, and a mouth just like she has. 

I imagine that you would have been a very strong willed little man. You were such a fighter while I was pregnant with you, it seems fitting for that to have carried on into your life outside my womb. The doctors in the NICU even told us that you had a will of your own and they only knew you so very briefly. I can remember those first weeks after your sister was born and just how immediately and deeply our hearts were taken by her. It was the same for you, my dear son. From the minute we heard your sweet little cry as they passed you through the “McDonald’s” window (that’s what the NICU doctors called the passage window between the OR and the NICU), your daddy and I were smitten. We had been awake for over 30 hours when we first got to meet you and nothing about that mattered. You, George Mason, were worth all the waiting and unknown. We love you so very much. 

I know that you would have really really adored your big sister. She’s pretty cool, way cooler than your mama, and I know she would have been a pretty awesome big sister. She might have been a little rough with you at first, but you were a strong boy and would’ve been fine while y’all worked out your precious sibling relationship. I miss that relationship every minute of every day… 

George Mason, I know that you don’t know pain. That you aren’t feeling this loss like we are, and I’m so very thankful for that. As your mama, I never want to see you in pain and I know that Heaven is the perfect place for you. I hope that my mama is holding you tight until I can be with you one day and I hope that she teaches you all about worship since I didn’t get to share that with you. One day you can show me around and give me the ins and outs of living in the presence of our Great Father. 

I want you to know that you are a perfect miracle and I’m so thankful for your life. I loved getting to know you as I carried you in my belly and learned about who you were as a little man. You have an incredibly special place in my heart and I want you to know how loved you are by your family on this earth. I prayed that you would be God’s light on this earth, and son, you have been that and so much more. You were only with us for 16 short hours but you left an amazing mark on our lives in that time. Your daddy and I miss you every single day but we will love you until we are reunited one day at the feet of Jesus. 

As your daddy and I live out our time here on earth, we will take your story with us. You will never be forgotten. You will be celebrated and grieved. We will long for what life could have looked like and mourn those losses as they come. You are incredibly special to us and your short life, though not what we would have chosen, was exactly what God intended for you. We will forever be grateful that we met you, held you, cried with you. You made us a family of 4 and we will cherish that. We love you, George Mason.

Love, 
Mama & Daddy

3.9.17

When life hands you lemons, make lemonade… I keep thinking about that phrase. Sometimes I feel like if you don't "make lemonade" out of every situation you face, that somehow you're doing something wrong; or at least others might think that of me. I know deep down that's not true, but there is some truth in that cliche; it's a helpful reminder to not sit alone, isolating myself from everything that is good in my life, and just become an unhealthy mess of sadness. I've been racking my brain these last several weeks trying to figure out what our "lemonade" looks like... our new normal looks pretty crappy most days but some days it looks just fine and either way it is tinged with guilt over not feeling or doing the right thing. 

I think the biggest thing I keep trying to remember is that my God is for me and loves me deeply. He loves me so much that He gave up His son so that on February 10, 2017, my son could live. George Mason isn't alive on this earth, but he is very much alive in the presence of his Heavenly Father. A gracious God who loves him and who loves that sweet boy's mama. If I sit down and am intentional about remembering that, I don't have to be consumed with sadness. That doesn't mean I'm not sad, it just means that for me, it's ok to be happy when happiness is appropriate and I don’t have to feel guilty about it. I have a super sweet, independent, joy filled daughter that loves me so very much. I'm thankful for that. I have a husband who is hurting along side me and going through this life fully with me. I'm thankful for that. Each day I wake up with the intent to purposefully find the things to be thankful for and to take joy in. Every new morning I thank God for the mercies He has for me for this day. 

I'm really thankful for Gods grace in my grief. I'm so glad that I can be mad, sad, disappointed, frustrated, or any other emotion that shows up each day, and He doesn't change because of it. I'm human, imperfect, and I'm not ok most of the time, but He doesn't care about any of that. In fact, He knows exactly how I feel because He'sbeen through this same kind of loss, and He gives me exactly what I need, when I need it. Sometimes I didn't even know I needed it. 

Yesterday I came across a versefrom Jeremiah that made me stop in my tracks and just smile at God for a moment. "Your words were found, and I ate them, and your words became to me a joy and the delight of my heart, for I am called by your name, O Lord, God of hosts." (Jer 15:16) I needed that. Those words. I needed to hear that His words could be my joy in each day. That my heart could delight after them. I'm going to be ok today because my God loves me and because His word is like manna. And that's a heck of a lot better than the guilt filled lemonade I've been trying to make on my own.

3.7.17

“Your righteousness, O God, reaches the high heavens. You who have done great things, O God, who is like you?  You who have made me see many troubles and calamities will revive me again; from the depths of the earth you will bring me up again. You will increase my greatness and comfort me again.”  - Psalm 71:19-21

This verse seems perfectly fitting for today. I woke up this morning to Audrey’s sweet voice on the monitor and immediately welled up in tears. I calmed down and we went about our normal morning routine but as Adam packed up and left for work, I just couldn’t help but start crying again. I miss my son and I hate that I barely knew him. I miss the chaos that I envisioned when I found out I was going to be joining the 2 under 2 club. None of this journey has gone as expected but I really never thought it would take us down this path. Maybe that’s why this grief feels so exhausting? I’ve been grieving since October… not in the same way as now, but there is a lot to process and a lot that I wish was different. 

These last several months feel so much like the troubles and calamities in that Psalm. Instead of having a fun pregnancy, dreaming up the perfect nursery, and praying that I would be a good mother to this precious little boy, I prayed for his life. I literally prayed that he would even have the chance to be born. Yesterday, I kept remembering that day in November when the doctor told us our son was going to die and how I wished I could erase that day from my memory. But at the same time, without that day, the miracle of my son’s birth wouldn’t be. God worked a miracle during those 38 weeks. Our son was born, alive, at full term, when no one expected that and when medicine told us it was impossible. We poured our hearts out to the Great Physician and He heard us.  I know that God could have saved my son’s life and that things could have gone differently but that wasn’t the plan… Every doctor that read my file felt the impact of that miracle, even if they didn’t know it. Every day as I face my grief over all of this, I feel the impact of that miracle, and as I share these things with Audrey, the miracle of her brother’s life is going to shape her faith and understanding of her heavenly Father. It didn’t turn out how I had hoped but God is still at work. 

I don’t know how much Audrey really understands of all of this but she is being gracious and loving. She climbed up on my lap as we shared a bagel this morning and when the tears would fall down my face she would gently wipe them away. She kept asking “mama all done crying?” and when I would tell her that I was probably going to cry for a long time, she would say “I love you mama” … I would tell her that I miss George Mason and it makes me sad but that’s ok because I love her and Jesus loves all of us. Then the most amazing thing happened, she looked me square in the eye and said “George Mason had lots of boo boos. He’s with Jesus” You’re right kid. George Mason HAD lots of booboos but he doesn’t have them anymore. This is God reviving me for today. This is God bringing the comfort that He promised. Its amazing… He has the entire depth of creation at His fingertips to comfort me; even the mouths of babes can be used for His work and to show His love.

3.6.17

Those first few weeks after George’s diagnosis consisted of bad news piling on bad news and were really really hard to process. I felt completely overwhelmed by everything and it culminated in our ultrasound at 25 weeks. The doctor came in, sat down, and said "I really hate to be the one to have to tell you this" ... he was a complete stranger. He had no relationship with us and he was about to deliver the worst information I imagine a doctor can ever deliver. He very gently, but clinically, told us that what we knew was a bad situation had gotten worse in every aspect. Our son had no more amniotic fluid, his kidneys were failing, and he would likely not survive into the third trimester. I don't think I cried while the doctor was in with us. In fact, I think Adam and I both asked really good questions, gathering as much information as we could, knowing we would likely forget all of it as soon as we walked out of that exam room. 

I cried the whole way home. I think I cried the rest of that day and into the night. I don't think Adam and I exchanged more than a few sentences that day; mostly just checking in with each other and agreeing that everything sucked. 

I don't like to remember that day or the several days following. It's still a raw wound that I hate to even acknowledge is there but if I try to erase that day from my story, from our son's story, his life suddenly doesn't seem as miraculous. That day my whole world changed. I suddenly found myself lacking the ability to pray. I didn't even know what to pray. My pregnancy went from being a bit worrisome to very likely to end in a stillbirth. How do you pray for that? What could I say to God at that point?  My prayers for those days and weeks immediately after that awful day were tear filled and lacking in words. I simply cried in the presence of my Heavenly Father. 

I had many teary conversations with friends and family in those hours after hearing the news. We cursed, we cried, we prayed. I tried to talk my way into understanding all of this crappiness and somehow being ok with it all. Looking back, there wasn’t anything I could say to feel better or understand all of this but just talking about it was somehow helpful. I also think that even though I wasn’t intentionally praying, simply expressing my fears out loud was some form of conversation with the God who hears me and loves me, and that had to be good enough for that moment. Thankfully, I know for a fact that it was good enough. God promises us that even when we are too weak to be strong praying people, He intercedes for us. What a comfort it is to know that even when I can’t find the words, God hears them anyway. 

“Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groaning too deep for words. And he who searches hearts knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God. And we know that for those who love God all things work together for the good, for those who are called according to his purpose.” - Romans 8:26-28

It would be so easy for me to focus on those first two verses and leave out that last one. Why do I have to acknowledge that "all things work together for the good" ??? Why is my son not in his mama and daddy's arms if things work out for the good? It certainly doesn't seem good right now. My head understands but my heart still feels the pain. I understand that Gods timeline is not the same as mine and that maybe He has something very long term in store before we see "the good" in all of this but it doesn't help the pain right now. The honest answer today is that I don't know anything and that my pain, our family's pain, is real and present. The most beautiful part of that, however, is that even though I'm having a hard time with all of this God is still in control and he doesn't love me any less because I don't understand right now. He’s not any less capable of being God when I’m having a bad day. I guess that's why those verses are in context of each other. When I don't have the words to pray because I don't understand the good in all of this, He intercedes on my behalf. My tear filled, wordless conversations with Him are actually full of all the things I don't even know to say and all the things I wish I had the words to say. 

3.5.17

We went to church today. Even typing that out feels so weird because it's such a normal, we go every Sunday, thing to do. It's strange that it was such a big emotional step but I've honestly been dreading it. Thankfully God is gracious and loving. The call to worship made so much sense for me today, it was almost as if they had been written just for me to hear; and when I really think about it, it's amazing that God's word, written so many years ago, is so particularly wonderfully specific today. 

"Let your steadfast love comfort me according to your promise to your servant." - Psalm 119:76

"For all the promises of God find their Yes in him. That is why it is through him that we utter our Amen to God for his glory." - 2 Corinthians 1:20

Sunday worship is always an emotional experience for me but has gotten more so in the last couple years. I seriously love praising loud and pouring my heart out to God through song. My mama was the same way and I see it in Audrey too. That child gets wiggling when she hears the music and even though she doesn't know the words, she sings loud and proud. It makes me so happy to include her and share with her that part of my spiritual journey. It is also so so good to get back into the practice of worship; I haven't been especially interested in offering praises lately but I've been longing for that specific connection with my Savior. 

As we were singing today, I kept going back to February 10th. I don't know exactly why each song brought up memories and I don't even remember which things I was remembering, but I know that God was acknowledging my prayers to not forget and He was doing so through one of my most favorite actions of loving Him. - my chains are gone, I've been set free, my God my Savior has ransomed me - my precious son has been set free! He is no longer a sick baby in a broken world but instead has a new body in heaven because of the ransom that was paid for his life all those centuries ago. - and like a flood, His mercy reigns, Unending love, Amazing grace - Unending love... wow! What a God I serve, that even though I'm struggling with His goodness, His love is unending and His grace abounds beyond my comprehension. Thankfully, my son is not the only one who is set free. I’m also a recipient of that same freedom, mine just looks different today and until we are reunited at the feet of Jesus. My freedom today is loving my son even though he didn’t come home with me. My freedom today is knowing without a doubt that my son is in THE BEST hands possible and is loved way more by his savior than I could ever fathom loving. My freedom today is being able to rest in the words of 2 Corinthians, knowing that God’s promises will be fulfilled. My freedom today is being able to cry out in the pain of losing my son and knowing that I am never outside of the scope of my God’s unending love and amazing grace. 

3.3.17

Sometimes, when I least expect it, I well up in tears. They don't usually last very long and aren't the kind of sobbing, ugly cry that can often overwhelm me. No, these tears are different. It's like a pressure release valve for my emotions. Driving down the road, sitting at a stop light, brushing Audrey's teeth, watching "Friends" on Netflix; these are the moments when I feel like I'm doing ok, that life is moving on and I'm wrapping my head around that and I feel good.... those are the moments when the tears come and go without warning. 

It's almost like I prepare myself so much for the things that are supposed to be hard that I actually manage to get through those things without losing it. I made it out of the doctor office, phew. Or I met my friend's precious new baby and smiled and was excited, check. Those moments I expect to cry. Those moments where I am most overtly reminded that my son isn't here on this earth, those are the times I feel like it would be most appropriate to cry; ugly or not. But that's not how grief seems to work. Grief hits you when you least expect it. It is in the quiet minutes of your regular every day life that sadness creeps in and takes over; even if only briefly. 

This is hard for me. I want so badly for life to be normal. I want so badly to not have to face this sadness head on so often anymore. As long as we stay holed up in our house I don't have to talk about it. As long as I avoid those that care about me, I don't have to dig deep into the pain. Unless, of course, I want to (And those times of deep introspection have been very healing, so I have to not discount them). But the funny thing about avoidance, is that even total strangers have forced me to face all of this. I remember a very -too happy if you ask me- happy nurse in the cafeteria of the hospital the morning after George Mason died.... I was standing in line with Adam as he bought some lunch because I needed to get out of that hospital room. The woman behind us was the nurse and she very excitedly said "congratulations on your new baby!" ... in that moment I wanted to punch her for being nosy and assuming. I wanted to scream to everyone within earshot that my son had just died so that no unsuspecting poor soul would have to be the recipient of my raging hormones and painful sadness. 

I guess that as hard as it is to have life go on, it's better than avoiding it or denying it ever happened. I had prints made of the few pictures we got of our sweet son. I spent an enormous amount of mind space deciding on the details of size, frame style, placement, etc. It was really hard. It seemed so final. But it was so good. George Mason, our beautiful little boy, never came home. It would be so easy to pretend or forget that he was even alive. 16 hours isn't very long at all. So I did it. The do-er and designer in me made the decisions and did it. I'm faced with the sadness every day because he's not here but I want to also celebrate his life, his impact on our lives, and his presence in our family. While there are only 3 of us at home today, there are 4 in our family and I'm forever changed by that. So every time I walk up or down my stairs, I see our family picture and smile. Sometimes I cry, but those pictures aren't there to be a painful reminder. Instead, they are a celebration of our family, our son, our children, and our deep love for both of them. 

"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." - 1 Peter 5:6-7

3.1.17

I had my two week incision check yesterday afternoon. It seemed like a fitting way to close out the longest month of my life. It was also a milestone to cross off my list of hard things over the next year. I’ve spent the last week in anticipation of this silly little appointment. On one hand I was looking forward to getting the all clear for doing more than sitting in a chair with my ice pack. I’ve wanted to be able to really snuggle Audrey and not feel like I’m breaking some kind of “rule” as I pick her up to console her from a fall. On the other hand, I’ve been remembering my postpartum appointment after Audrey was born… all the emotions I felt going into that office two years ago came rushing back and I realized this appointment was going to be very very different. I was so excited to show off my beautiful baby girl and slightly terrified that she would scream the entire time the doctor was in the room with us. I remember pulling back the carseat cover to let my doctor see how big the little baby that she delivered had gotten and how much she looked like me. I remember her asking how our nursing journey was going, if I was sleeping, how I was handling being a new mama. All of those questions, no matter their answers, were things that I had been waiting to experience for the 9 months of my pregnancy. This appointment wasn’t going to be like that. I wasn’t going to have a baby to bring with me and show off.  I don’t have a nursing journey. Instead I have a scar on my abdomen and an even bigger one on my heart. 

I think if I had any other doctor, yesterday’s appointment would have been the perfect occasion for a good old fashioned ugly cry. There is something special about her though. When I called almost 3 years ago, as a brand new resident of Utah and 9 weeks pregnant, I needed the first available doctor for my 12 week appointment. She happened to be accepting new patients and so began my prenatal care. God knew on that random day in August, 2014, all that my life had waiting for me and He gave me the perfect doctor. She is kind, honest, and eager to answer the million questions that a worried mama has lingering in her head. I am so very thankful for her. 

I keep thinking about the verse in Lamentations where we are told that God’s faithfulness is great and that His mercies are new every morning. I have a post it note on my computer that reads “He will give you the strength to get through today” and its been and will continue to be my motto for this season. I don’t know what each day has in store for me and our little family but I’m trusting in God’s comfort and guidance to get through it all. Yesterday He gave me the kind heart of my doctor and a sweet text from my sister, reminding me that even the darkness, God named. Today, Audrey pooped in the potty and we cheered for a solid 20 minutes. This is our new normal, the stage of life we are in with our toddler, and I'm going to find joy in that. 

“The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. ‘The Lord is my portion,’ says my soul, ‘therefore I will hope in him.” -Lamentations 3:22-24

2.28.17

The season of life that Adam and I are in is one of growing families, lots of pregnancies, and adorable bundles of joy. There are literally babies everywhere. This is something I’m very aware of and has two sides: I’m genuinely excited and happy for my dear friends and their precious babes but I’m also going to watch these babes grow up and be reminded of my son and my daughter and how different I thought our lives would look today. 

I went through my pregnancy with George Mason relating to my other pregnant friends about back pains, braxton hicks contractions, lack of sleep, multiple trips the bathroom, and all of the other oh so familiar “symptoms” of carrying a baby. On the outside, the baby bump didn’t look any different from any other growing baby in the world. The checkout lady at the grocery store or the clerk at the post office wouldn’t have known the heavy burden I was carrying along side my growing baby. Often times I would get asked the obvious (and joy filled) questions “When are you due?”, or “Girl or boy?” Before October 4, 2016, my answers were simple. I could tell them with deeply excited anticipation that I was due in late February and we didn’t know if it was a boy or a girl yet. To me and Adam, and to those around us, this was a pregnancy like any other; morning sickness, exhaustion, and the whole slew of emotions that the increase in hormones brings on. 

All of that changed in one 50 min sonogram. We walked into the office with such an eagerness to know if our little one was going to be little brother or little sister. I remember so vividly sitting in the waiting room and then in the ultrasound room… Hurry up and get to the good stuff already! Then it happened, the tech looked at us and said with certainty that baby McGough was indeed a boy. I think my heart may have skipped a beat when I turned to look at Adam and saw his cheesy boyish grin. He and I were so excited. It feels like that is the day we met George Mason. Then suddenly things weren’t ok anymore. The tech left to get our pictures and told us she would be right back. I remembered this from when I was pregnant with Audrey… they came right back and said the doctor thought things looked fine and would let us know if anything presented otherwise upon further examination. I think it was maybe 5 minutes total and they sent us on our way. But this was different. We kept watching the clock, Adam had to get to work, but the minute hand just kept moving. That was a very long 25 minutes and my mom gut started to get worried.

When that doctor walked in the room, the look on her face said it all. There was a problem. She told us that she was “very concerned” {words that Adam to this day can’t stand to hear} about our baby boy. That he had all the indications of a very rare blockage in his urinary track and that she was going to schedule an immediate consult with a pediatric urologist and wanted to see us back in ultrasound in 3 weeks. Then she left. Maybe there was more to the conversation, maybe there wasn’t, I honestly don’t remember much after those 2 words came out of her mouth. What did very concerned mean? What were they going to do about it? We had so many questions and yet nothing came out of our mouths. That ultrasound room had given us so much joy and excitement and then had immediately taken it away. I left not knowing if I should cry… we were supposed to be celebrating a baby boy but in the span of an hour or less, we found out this pregnancy wasn’t going to be like my first. This was going to be much different, much harder, and looking back, felt so much longer. 

I didn’t know on October 4, just how difficult or hard this pregnancy was going to be, but I’m thankful for the community that faithfully prayed, supported, encouraged, and loved on us even before that day. I think even now I haven’t really been able to process all of the things, the feels, the grief that started on that day. It feels good to write it down; to put those raw and somewhat unprocessed emotions down to paper in a tangible way. I started this grief journey long before I realized it and I want to remember all of it. I want to remember the ways that God comforted me through it. I want to remember that even when I was in the middle of the ugliest of ugly cries, that God loves me and He loves George Mason. I don’t know what the future holds for our family but I know that it doesn’t look anything like we had planned. Most days I’m really not ok with that. Most days I want to just cry out “Why??” andbe angry, or sad, or disappointed. Thankfully, ALL days, God loves me, even through those feelings and my doubt. Thankfully, God’s unfailing love is inescapable, unwavering, and my belief in its truth offers no disturbance to its truth. Thankfully, today I’m sad and that’s ok. My God loves me and is for me. 

This next season of our lives is very likely going to be hard and if hard isn’t the right word I’m sure I’ll find it as live through it and look back. For now though, I’m going to cling to God’s promises and know that He will grant me hope for each new day. I’m also going to snuggle all these new babes and love them with my whole heart just like I love Audrey and George. 

“Hear my cry, O God, listen to my prayer; from the end of the earth I call to you when my heart is faint. Lead me to the rock that is higher than I, for you have been my refuge, a strong tower against the enemy.” - Psalm 61:1-3

2.27.17

"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."
- Phil 4:4-7

Today I put pigtails in Audrey's hair and the look in her eyes when I told her how pretty they looked... my goodness am I thankful for her! I have been having a hard time with the idea of rejoicing lately but even on the very worst days I find myself raising these words up in prayer: THANK YOU JESUS FOR THIS SWEET GIRL.  

I may not be in the most joyful of moods these days and I may not feel like praising my God with all my heart, but I cannot escape His love; and I'm so very thankful for that. His scripture has been a gift and a blessing on the good days and the bad days. Little tidbits have comforted me and while I'm terrible at committing those words to memory and even worse at remembering where to find them, I'm always reminded at just the right moment or in just the right way, of exactly what I need to hear. 

That verse in Philippians is convicting and comforting all at the same time. How can I rejoice in the Lord always? How can I not be anxious about anything? That's the convenient part for me to struggle with but the harder part is the next part. It is acknowledging that God is asking for me to submit my requests to Him through prayer (and with thanksgiving...) but He isn't promising to answer those prayers exactly the way I want. Instead, His promise is to give me the peace that surpasses all understanding.

I wish every day that He had answered my prayers, and the prayers of so many people around me, with the answer we all wanted. The answer that gave me a sweet baby to hold and snuggle, even if it was in a NICU. The answer that gave Audrey a baby brother to love on and boss around. The answer that allowed George Mason to live a full and long life on this earth. That's what I wish but God answered differently. Instead of giving me those things that I had imagined when I got the first positive pregnancy test, He took my sweet son to heaven to be with Him after only 16 hours and gave me the promise that I would be given God's peace to guard my heart. 

I guess today that was the excited and proud smile of my almost 2 year old as she admired her "beautiful oinks" in the mirror. Thank you Jesus for this sweet girl. 

2.26.17

Last night Adam and I went on a date. It feels like the right thing to say is that it was much needed, and in a way I can wrap my head around that perspective, but to borrow a line from "Madeline" (I think Audrey and I have read that book a million times in the last 2 weeks) - something is not right... Yes, we needed the alone time. Yes, we needed to laugh, to get out of the house, to do something completely unrelated to our current reality. Yes, it was a brief respite from the sadness and the emptiness of a nursery without a baby.   And yes, I had a really good time with my husband. But even in the laughter, even inthe enjoyment of beautiful ballerinas, it felt weird to just go about life. Sitting in the dark of the theater, I was aware that I should've been nursing a newborn, exhausted from little sleep, and covered in spit up wondering when was the last time I had changed my shirt. 

I know that our newborn experience with George Mason was going to be very different from the one 2 years ago with Audrey. I have been stressing for months about the unknown of parenting a NICU child and a toddler at home. Instead of nursing on demand every couple hours I was planning on being tied to my pump; a rigid schedule of every 3 hours in order to give our little man the best possible fighting chance by providing God's perfect food.  I was anxious about how different parenting was going to look for our second child and I even sometimes felt guilty about that. Talk about brutal honestly with myself. But I would give anything for that to be our reality and not be missing our son. Why did a God who is so good, so faithful, so loving, take our son from us after giving us the miracle we'd prayed for all along? I just knew that my God wasn't going to make me grieve my son after getting him to full term despite all the odds being against him. I just knew that if I carried my sweet baby boy to that 37/38 week threshold that all the doctors kept touting, that God was going to let me take a breather and enjoy that newborn. I just knew He was going to relieve my anxieties and give me the strength to get through each day as a NICU mommy. I just knew all these things to be true. 

As I look back on the last several months, God really did give me the strength to get through each day. He gave me hope each morning when I woke up. He gave me hope with each baby kick. He gave me hope every time those doctors scratched their head at the simple existence of my son. He gave me exactly what I needed to be able to continue carrying that baby. He knew that I wasn't going to have very long with my gorgeous little boy after delivery, but He gave me hope to enjoy those kicks and get to know my stubborn little fighter. God knew that what I needed to be the best mama to that sweet boy was hope because the alternative was fear and living in fear is exhausting and depressing. 

So even though I just knew that George Mason was going to live a long and wonderful life on this earth, God knew something different and He gave me what I needed to get through each day. And looking back, I am able to understand that. I'm also able to rest in that Good News... because God was good to me and Adam these last few months and even though our outcome is not at all what we would have scripted or hoped for, God will continue to be good to us and give us exactly what we need to get through each day. 

Yesterday, He gave us tickets to the ballet, alone time with each other over red wine flights, and that was just what we needed to get through that day. I don't know yet what He will give us today, but I know that I can count on Him to deliver. 

A verse from Hebrews popped up on my Instagram feed and I think it might just be what I need for today. 

"...be content with what you have, for he has said, 'I will never leave you nor forsake you.' So we can confidently say, 'The Lord is my helper; I will not fear; what can man do to me?'"
- Hebrews 13:5b-6

2.25.17

Yesterday was a day full of tears. I spent the previous days on the brink of sobbing but never quite actually cried. Little things would set off a well of tears and then real life would call and on I would go with my day. It's been 2 weeks {yesterday} since we met and held our sweet little man. Today was his due date. I don't know if all of those things just subconsciously crept up on me, but as I sit here today, I'm very aware of those landmarks. I'm weird about dates and numbers, and though I never expected - well I guess never isn't quite fair because at the beginning of this pregnancy I completely expected to make it to our due date - to give any special value to
February 25, it still is on the front of my mind. 

As I sat here yesterday with an ice pack on my incision and a flood of tears just waiting to break the dam, I realized that the most helpful thing I've done to process all of these emotions the last weeks/months has been to write; to be brutally honest with myself in the notes section of my iPhone. It has helped me focus on what I'm really feeling and allow myself to grieve, or to cry, or remember those 16 hours. I'm so afraid of forgetting. I want to always remember what he smelled like, or what his skin felt like. I never want to forget his delicate little face or those precious fingers. I want to hold closely the events of that day: from basically emergency surgery in the wee hours of the morning to the raw and chilling emotions of waiting for reports from the NICU. I don't want to forget the moment when I heard him cry as they passed him through the window in the OR. And as hard as it is to recall, I honestly will forever treasure those moments of quiet snuggles before he went to be with Jesus; and I absolutely don't want to forget. 

So as I sobbed during nap time, I realized I want to write it all down. I want to share this terribly wonderful story of a sweet boy who has completely changed my life and my faith. I don't know exactly what that is going to look like and how long it will take me to tell the whole story, but I'm eager to go through this next part of my journey. This raw, unfiltered, good days and bad days, joy in the midst of sorrow, life goes on even though it doesn't seem like it should, journey. 

~

"Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.”  Joshua 1:9