2 Months

George Mason would have been 2 months old today. 2 months. It’s been 2 whole months without my precious baby boy and I still can’t believe it wasn’t just yesterday that I was holding him in that hospital room. I’m so very sad. I spent most of yesterday afternoon in a funk and woke up this morning groggy from a night full of everything but sleep. I want so badly for my baby to be in my arms. I wish that my lack of sleep was from feeding a newborn. I wish that my physical and mental exhaustion was from the chaos of 2 tiny humans in my household. I wish that every day I didn’t wake up to a broken heart. 

Most days I can “hide” it a bit. I can move through my day by keeping busy and engaging myself and Audrey in fun activities. I can walk around the park. I can watch her conquer the slide. I can even watch TV with Adam over a glass of wine. I can mask the pain by just doing life. I can put a smile on my face at the appropriate times and laugh when the moment calls for it. I can do all the things that normal humans do and most times I’m not just “doing” but enjoying them. Yet, when I go to take a deep breath, I can’t. I can’t breathe. My heart hurts and I can’t breathe. And if it weren’t for a whole lotta grace from Jesus, I don’t think I could get out of bed. 

I keep thinking about those minutes in the NICU before the worst news was given to us. I remember how excited (and nervous) I was when they finally told us we could meet him. I remember feeling myself just beaming the whole ride from my hospital room to his bed in the NICU. I was such a proud mama and I couldn’t wait to meet my son. That NICU room was cold. Not temperature wise, but it was full of lights, monitors, tubes… basically little tiny hospitals within a hospital. There were about 6 beds in the room that George Mason was in. I remember the double doors opening for us to enter. There was a team of people off to the right working on a teeny little baby girl and at the far end of the room on the left was George Mason’s station. When we got there the first time there were several people attending to him. They had been working all morning to get all of his tubes in place and I don’t remember exactly but I think they still had a few more they needed to insert or whatever. He was lying in that bed, naked, and prepped for some kind of procedure but they knew that his parents needed to meet him. 

They pushed the wheel chair up as close as they could to his bed and then helped me stand up so I could hold his hand. His nurse was really sweet and offered to explain anything that we wanted to know about. She also offered to take a picture of the 3 of us. I was so excited to finally be in that NICU with my son but I was so overwhelmed by all of the things in that room and attached to my son. It was all I could do not to just sob. I leaned over George’s bed, kissed him on the head and told him I loved him. I rubbed his hand a million times and just prayed that maybe he would squeeze my finger. The nurse must’ve seen that desire in my eyes because she gently explained that he was really sedated; that he could hear us but wasn’t going to do much moving. 

I think we got to spend about 15 minutes with him. They had paused mid-procedure to let us meet him, so they needed to get back to work. Those 15 minutes were so incredibly hard. All I wanted to do was snuggle my son and all I was allowed to do was rub his hand and whisper to him. I don’t think I could have ever even imagined that situation. That’s definitely not how its supposed to be when you meet your child for the first time. As they wheeled me out of the NICU and back to my hospital bed for more medicine and checks, I remember thinking how big our son looked next to the other babies in that room. Surely his size was going to work in his favor?! I don’t remember much about the next 2 hours or so. I was exhausted from being awake for over 30 hours and the drugs from the c-section spinal were wearing off. I think I told Adam to go take a nap but I knew that neither of us was going to sleep. Instead, we would both just worry about the precious life we had just welcomed into the world. Instead, we would both grieve the differences in his first hours of life from his sister’s. 

Nothing about his day is particularly celebratory but his life, all 16 hours of it, are totally worth celebrating. Maybe that’s why milestones like the 10th of each month are so hard? Because if he were alive I would be celebrating another month. If he were alive I would be writing down all of the things he had accomplished in the last month. I would be documenting how much he had changed from one month to the next. On the 10th of every month, I’m reminded of the celebration that I’m missing out on but still very much have the desire for. I know today is hard, I’m crying as I type, but I’m so thankful for his day. I’m so thankful that on the 10th of every month I’m reminded to celebrate him and his perfect, God given, life. I’m so thankful that I have his day to remember, even if it makes me cry. I’m so thankful that he has a day because I know that many mother’s don’t even have that. I’m not in a good mood today and the swollen, red, tear filled eyes are more proof of the brokenness I’m feeling, but I’m still so very thankful. 

My God is good. I know that sounds so contradictory in this moment of sadness, but He really is good. He really does love me so very much. He really does provide the strength I need to get through each day as I live life after this loss. My heart is broken and I wish my son were here. God knows that and has felt this same pain. If He promises that things are going to be ok in the end, I trust that. In fact, I cling to that. Because this pain today, and each day is big and deep but God reaches into the depths of that pain and provides comfort. 

The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures.
He leads me beside still waters.
He restores my soul.
He leads me in paths of righteousness
for his name's sake.
Even though I walk through the valley
of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies;
you anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
all the days of my life,
and I shall dwell in the house of the LORD forever.

Palm Sunday

After George Mason died I was really dreading going back to church. I mean, really, really dreading it. I think I cried through every service for almost 6 months after my mom died and I just assumed that it would be the same or worse after saying see you in heaven to our son. I was wrong. That first Sunday back was really hard to convince myself to get to, but I left feeling glad we had gone and with a basically unmemorable experience; not in a bad way, but more so in a good way. In fact, every Sunday since that first Sunday has been pretty easy to get through. Until today. I woke up this morning and it felt like any other day. There was the obvious hole in our home/family but there was the typical coffee drinking, book reading, Audrey eat your eggs, morning activities that fill our house almost every morning. We watched monkeys in the jungle, whales in the shallow sea, and sang loud to one of the worship albums that I cycle through in preparation for Sunday morning service. It was so normal. 

Except normal is what hurts the most. Its Palm Sunday today so the service was full of the anticipatory shouts of Hosanna! that come with the kick off to Holy Week. It felt so hard to be singing Hosanna. It was hard to face the reality of what we are celebrating next Sunday. Death. And then more importantly the miraculous Resurrection. But still, we are about to go through the story of the ultimate sacrifice; the death of Jesus on the cross and his separation from God for 3 days before conquering death and rising to live again. That’s a huge thing. A wonderful thing. A celebratory thing! It’s such a critical part of the Christianity story, that Jesus died but his death wasn’t final. Except that my son’s death was final. Not in the sense that he’s not in eternity, but he’s not going to be alive tomorrow when I wake up. He’s never going to be alive on this earth again but he’s very much alive in heaven with his savior. Death f***ing sucks and Holy Week talks a lot about death because without the death, we couldn’t have the resurrection. Without the death, we couldn’t have the celebration knowing that we get to leave this earth and join Jesus in Heaven. 

One of the songs we sang is what triggered the tears… it triggered the fog that I’m now sitting in. What peace the Spirit of Jesus brings, Through the trials, He will carry me, One day in Heaven, our eyes will meet, Filled with Wonder, all the saints will sing. I can’t even type that without wiping the tears from my eyes. I know I have felt the peace to which those words are referring. I know that I have felt Him carry me over these last months and weeks. I know that one day I will be in Heaven and see Jesus face to face. All the saints will sing… my precious son is already singing and that’s so incredibly wonderful and so incredibly heartbreaking. 

Last night as I sat in bed, wide awake for no good reason, I stumbled upon a verse in Colossians. This morning, I was so thankful for that verse. 

“He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation. For by him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities—all things were created through him and for him. And he is before all things, and in him all things hold together.” - Colossians 1:15-17

This morning I couldn’t hold myself together and I was reminded that I don’t have to. That I have the freedom to weep at the feet of Jesus. That I have the freedom to praise His name as loud as I’m able or to whisper it through tears. I have the freedom to live my life knowing that Heaven is waiting when He calls me home. I have the freedom to know that even though my son never stood before a church and publicly confessed his love to Jesus and his assurance of his salvation through Him, my son is filled with wonder and singing along with the saints. My God is pretty awesome. Today my heart hurts, but even in the midst of that sorrow, I can sing Hosanna! for I know that He rose from the dead. This week might be hard or it might be unremarkable, but no matter what it is, He, my Savior, is before it all.

4.7.17

When I find the time to be still, I almost always cry. I wish that stillness wasn’t prompting so many tears… I wish that stillness could offer some sleep, or some wisdom, or just plain lack of thoughts some times. But instead, I find that when I’m able to sit still, and not just oh I have a moment to breathe kind of still, but the sitting in the presence of Jesus kind of still, I’m just so overcome with so many emotions that I cry. Its not always a sad cry. Sometimes its joy over the precious gift of Audrey Nole. Sometimes its gratitude for having been able to meet and hold my sweet son. Sometimes its frustration over feeling sad, yet again. 

I don’t enjoy crying; I’m not really sure anyone does, but I particularly hate it. I don’t have one of those dainty little tear drops and a hankie kind of cries. No, for me, tears are almost always ugly and snotty. I had one of those ugly cries the other night after Audrey went to bed. Poor Adam came up the stairs after tucking her in and I was a snotty mess. He really is so gracious though, and he just quietly snuck in beside me and let me weep. When I had recovered from the ugliness, he asked me what was wrong. This is kind of a silly question these days… both of us know whats wrong. We both so desperately wanted to be raising our sweet boy. We both so desperately wanted him to continue to beat the odds and be healthy. That day had been really long. I had been sad and Audrey had picked up on it. But something happened when he took her down to bed. I turned the monitor on and I heard them saying their goodnight prayers. It was the sweetest, most loving, most worshipful moment of my entire day. Audrey and her daddy were saying their prayers. Thank you God for my friends and for time at the park, etc, etc, etc, AMEN. There was nothing profound about the prayer. I don’t even remember the exact words because they were so normal but it was what she said after the prayer (what she says after almost every prayer) that left me sobbing. “Jesus loves you. George Mason loves you SO much.” 

Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heave belongs to such as these.” - Matthew 19:14

This small child, so innocent and so confident in what she knows. She knows what we’ve told her and out of all the things we’ve told her, those are the two most important, most concrete ideas for her to cling to. Yes, sweet girl! Jesus does love you! George Mason does love you! I know she’s too young to understand death and what it means. I know she’s too young to fully comprehend the words that she shouts with such conviction. I wish I could be more like her. I wish that I could say at all points of my day “Jesus loves you. George Mason loves you so much” They are so true and I pray that as she gets older and starts to understand more of this time in her life that she doesn’t lose that amazingly profound confidence in those words. 

Today its my prayer to be able to feel the assurance of Christ’s love for me in the same innocent and confident way as my Audrey Nole. I’m thankful for the innocence of children and the promise that God’s kingdom belongs to them. I’m so encouraged by what that means for George Mason. I will never get to hear my son tell me he loves me but my daughter reminds me daily of his love because she knows God’s love. I will never again get to tell my son I love him, but my whole life will be spent loving him just as much as I love Audrey. And when all of us are reunited in heaven for eternity, I know he will know that he was loved by the few people who knew him and the many who knew about him. And you better believe there will be the most amazing embrace between a mother and her son, as I whisper once again in his ear, “Mama loves you”

4.6.17

“The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make his face to shine upon you and be gracious to you; the Lord lift up his countenance upon you and give you peace.” -Numbers 6:24-26

I’ve heard those words probably a million times. Growing up in a PCA church, its a very standard benediction. I honestly never gave it much thought. The words are truly lovely though and I wish I had paid closer attention earlier. They showed up in one of the many grief books I’ve been thumbing through. It was offered as an encouragement for mothers and fathers who have lost a child and are facing the hallmark holidays of Mother’s & Father’s day. I’m not sure why today of all days I ended up that particular section of that particular book, but I’m thankful for such a beautiful reminder of God’s particular brand of awesome. 

I remember setting George’s delivery date. I was so anxious to meet this little man. He had made it to 36 weeks so my OB said it was time to schedule his c-section. After talking with the various doctors on George’s team, it was decided that since he had made it to 36 weeks, the odds were very good he could survive to 38 instead of the 37 we originally planned. This had me terrified. I think I even cried on the phone with my doctor… She was wise and kind and let me cry and then told me we were going to do extra monitoring to make sure nothing happened to my sweet boy. We settled on either Thursday, February 9, or Monday, February 13. She told me to discuss it with Adam and let her know. We decided Monday would be better for a whole slew of reasons. February 13, 2017, is when we would finally meet our precious George Mason. 

I hadn’t bought many clothes at that point for him. We knew at best he was going to be in the NICU and any clothes were likely just going to be a hassle for his team of care takers, and at worst he wasn’t going to come home at all. It was my way of protecting myself from the pain of having to go through an entire closet worth of clothes that would never be worn by the infant they had been intended for… Well, after we set his delivery date, I went to the store and bought a sweet little valentines outfit for him and a card for Adam that would be from his two precious children. I planned to fill out the card and have it in the hospital bag so that Audrey & George could give it to their daddy on Valentines Day. George was born in the wee hours of February 10th. He had plans of his own and came early. But then he died that very same day. I hadn’t filled out that card yet… as we left for the hospital in a terrible rush on February 9, I grabbed it and threw it in the bag. I just figured I could fill it out while Adam showered or something. I so wanted it to be the sweet surprise I intended. 

As February 10th closed out, I completely forgot about the card. It wasn’t until I went to unpack the hospital bag on the 11th that I saw it. I just remember being so heartbroken… I didn’t even know what to do with it. Should I fill it out as I had planned and sign both kid’s names? Should I have it be just from Audrey? Should I throw it out and just ignore Valentines Day?? I ended up doing nothing. I didn’t fill it out or sign it. Adam happened to stumble upon it later that day anyway and felt the same… What do we do with this? I don’t know what the right answer is to that question. The worst part though, is that stuff like that is going to happen every holiday and every special occasion. My son isn’t here to sign a card but he’s a part of our family; how should we include him? Just having to think about that breaks my heart. 

This is SO not how its supposed to be. Then I remember verses like the blessing in Numbers. No, this is NOT how it is supposed to be, but it is how it is. I have to live through the yuckiness of being in a broken world. I have to bring my pain, tears, anger, whatever to God. He knows. He feels the same pain about this broken world… that’s why He sent Jesus. I have a God that loves me so much that He sacrificed His own son so that this earth and all its crap isn’t the end or the way it will be forever. So many Sunday services have ended with those words from Numbers. Today, I’m going to ponder those words and feel them deeply in my heart. God is gracious. God will give me peace. He is light itself and He is going to shine so brightly into my life. He already does and continues to do so in ways that I could not have even imagined I needed.

4.5.17

Today is another day. Another morning started at the park with a walk and some playground time for Audrey. I know that it hasn’t been happening long enough to become a habit yet, but I’m enjoying it so far, and just like my writing, its becoming something I feel like I don’t want to live without. Most nights I have trouble sleeping. Its not for lack of being exhausted come bed time, but it seems like I’m incapable of turning my brain off in the quiet dark hours of the night. Some nights I toss and turn, wide awake and wishing I was sleeping. Some nights I toss because I’m dreaming… weird dreams that I often don’t remember in the morning. I know that is part of the postpartum/hormone stuff I have to deal with, but I also know its got a lot to do with grief and processing. When I wake up in the morning, I barely feel rested enough to crawl out of bed and find the coffee, let alone be a good parent to my living child… I think this is why I’m enjoying walking. 

As I set off on a journey around the park, Audrey has snacks and water, and I have worship music and time. I can clear my head and think about nothing. I can choose to sing loud along with the music and not care who might be listening. I can pray my way through the various verses of the songs as they come through my headphones. Sometimes I even curse my way around the circle. Its becoming a time for me to be alone with God and really hash out all of the things that seem to be keeping me awake. One of the biggest things that has come of the time I’m spending walking is that I’m realizing my God is really, really big. He’s big enough to take whatever emotions I’m throwing at him today. The last week or so has been rough. I’ve felt sad and lonely. I’ve missed my son so much I can’t even hardly breathe. And the only part that makes any kind of sense is that God is bigger than all of that. He is big enough to take my emotional punches. He is big enough to hold me while my heart weeps. He is big enough to hear me tell Him that I’m so mad, or frustrated, or angry with Him. He is big enough to hear my desperate curse words in an attempt to somehow respond to and explain all of this. He is that big and so much bigger. 

This morning we got started a little earlier than normal. It was chilly and the spring air was crisp. I didn’t curse my way around the park today. I didn’t even cry. I just enjoyed God’s creation. Audrey kept pointing out that she could “see the birds singing” and it would make my heart smile. I wasn’t alone with God this morning; Audrey, and her birds, were joining me. We could all worship Him through our walk and playtime. Even the birds were calling His name “tweet tweet tweet” … You Are Amazing, God … “chirp chirp chirp” … You Care For Me, God … Something about those familiar sounds was different today. I wasn’t saturated in sadness this morning and I wasn’t angry or frustrated. I was just simply happy to be outside and be enjoying the artistry of my Creator with my darling daughter. 

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the 1 Peter study that my small group was doing during my pregnancy. So many times through that study I felt like the words on the pages in that letter were written directly to me. The whole pregnancy felt like so much suffering. I didn’t even think about what it was going to feel like after George Mason was born; how much more these last weeks have felt like suffering. The letter ends with a challenge to the people reading it. He was reminding these early christians that their suffering was temporary and that the inheritance at the end of all of it was so very good. 

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

There is so much to digest from that passage but the biggest thing that jumps out me is the encouragement of knowing Christ’s promises are true and that all of this broken-world ugliness is going to be made right in the end. “casting all your anxieties on him because he cares for you” … What a powerful thought. I shouldn’t just give those things that cause me anxiety to God because He can fix them, but even more wonderfully, because He cares for me?!?! “after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace… will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you.” I don’t know how long this current suffering is going to last but my goodness am I glad to know that at the end of it all, God is going to restore me. I’m going to be reunited with my son one day in heaven; in eternal glory in Christ. 

Peter probably had no idea how much of a comfort his words would and could be to generations of believers throughout history but he was writing because God is worth living for. He was writing because he knew that if those early christians could just slightly better understand what was waiting for them because of the cross, they would be fired up to continue through their suffering. I know that this grief journey over my precious son isn’t going to be easy. I know there are going to be stormy days/weeks and there will be easier ones. I know that I’m not just grieving his death but also the life he should have had. I know that today isn’t as hard as yesterday but I have no promise that tomorrow won’t be even harder. I’m so incredibly thankful for the ways God is revealing his presence to me as each day reveals its challenges. The words in 1 Peter speak to me with so much comfort and encouragement. This will get better. I don’t know when, but I know my God will hold true to his promise of redemption.

I’m going to keep walking. I’m going to keep praying, worshipping, and cursing my way around the park. I’m going to keep living my life for Christ because knowing He cares for me is a pretty incredible thing. I’m going to pray that I can be the best mama to Audrey as is possible. I don’t know when the sleepless nights will end or my energy levels will pick up, but I’m going to continue to trust that God is going to sustain me day after day with exactly what I need to get through until I’m restored, confirmed, strengthened, and established in eternity.

4.4.17

The very first Facebook post that I made about George Mason was incredibly hard to write. I didn’t know at that point how bad things were going to get for our son, but I knew something was wrong and there was nothing that either Adam or I could do to fix it. I wanted to get the news out to as many people as would listen so that as many people could pray… prayer was all I knew to do. These are the words I used to close out that first post:

Would you please join with us as we pray for this child? For his doctors, that they would have the wisdom only our Heavenly Father can give them to direct their decisions about how best to care for George Mason. For Adam and I as we prepare our hearts and minds for whatever lies ahead. For Audrey as she begins to navigate her coming role of big sister and that her mind, though young, would be able to understand in her own way whatever changes are thrown at us and when. 
We remain hopeful and strong in knowing our son is in the best hands possible. Our God is mighty and He is guiding this process and holding our hands as we walk through this. It doesn't mean we are without fear and sadness, but we are thankful for a God who is the ultimate hope and source of strength.

 I think back on that day (sometime in late October) and can remember sitting there trying to find the words to tell people what was going on. I remember crying as I typed. I remember feeling so overwhelmed and terrified of what was coming next. I remember thinking that there was nothing my God couldn’t do but also wondering if this was going to end with a precious baby in my arms. When I read over that list of specific requests, every single one of them was answered with a resounding YES! We asked for wisdom for his doctors and I fully believe they were granted that. We asked that our hearts would be prepared to face whatever was thrown at us and even though these last 7 weeks, and the 18 before that, have been miserably hard, I know they could be so much worse. God prepared our hearts for this. We asked that Audrey would be able to understand all of this in whatever capacity she was able as an almost 2 year old and I’m amazed daily by how much she gets. 

Something inside me know on that day that I needed protection for my heart over the coming weeks and months. We were terrifed. We were sad. We had nothing we could do but trust in God, pray for a miracle, and have a hope that only God could give us in that circumstance. It was the hope that gave me the strength to get out of bed everyday and carry my child to his day. It was God who made me seek him first before looking for happiness from an earthly source. 

Many times over the last weeks, as people check in with us, I’m asked if I’m praying… or how my relationship with Jesus looks these days. If I’m being honest, my relationship with Jesus is a necessary part of waking up everyday but I very rarely find that I have words beyond “Dearest Heavenly Father” before I start sobbing. I still know all of the things I knew back in October; God is mighty. He held our hands through the pregnancy and hasn’t let go since George’s day. He is still the ultimate source of strength. None of those things has changed. The only thing that has changed is that I had a living, breathing baby and now I don’t and thats incredibly sad. On the days when I can’t find the words, I know its ok to sob in His presence. In fact, that’s THE BEST place to sob… 

I included a verse in that first Facebook post. Its another verse that I wrote in my journal multiple times. It is so encouraging to know that God doesn’t grow weary. That no matter what I’m facing and how weak or faint my heart may feel, God is not only not going to grow tired but He’s going to give me the power to get through today and tomorrow and the rest of the days. God created my son and he was perfect. He gave that sweet little boy to Adam and me. God has created and ordained every bit of this human life all the way to the ends of the earth. If He is capable of that, how much more capable must He be to comfort me and get me through these dark days?

"Have you not known? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He does not faint or grow weary; his understanding is unsearchable. He gives power to the faint, and to him who has no might he increases strength." - Isaiah 40:28-29

Audrey and I have been spending a lot of time outside lately. We walk, a lot, and then she plays at the park on the playground or in the swings. She LOVES when we go to the park and I love to watch her grow and explore and get more brave each day. A friend sent me the words of Psalm 23 from the Jesus Storybook Bible. Even when I walk through the dark, scary, lonely places I won’t be afraid because my shepherd knows where I am. He is here with me. He keeps me safe. He rescues me. He makes me strong and brave. As I watch Audrey grow into a very independent toddler, I’m reminded how similar I am in my relationship with God. I’m walking in a pretty dark, scary, and lonely place right now but how wonderful to know God knows exactly where I am and I don’t need to be afraid. He is going to make me strong and brave. The joy I find in watching Audrey get more brave by the day is profound. Today I’m going to relish in her bravery and ponder my own. What I have is the Lord’s, He has provided it. He has given me what I need for today and I don’t need to be afraid because He’s my shepherd and He will give me the strength to face the challenges in my path. 

4.3.17

Lately I've been engulfed in this cloud of sadness. It's a feeling that I can't shake, no matter the occasion or my overall mood. I've had a blast planning and prepping for Audrey Nole's birthday party; something I hadn't even considered having until after all of this happened. I assumed I would be too busy back and forth from the NICU with George and still being Audrey's mama, so a birthday party was off the books.  When he died (unexpectedly is the word that comes to mind, but the truth is that it was entirely unexpected) we decided it was necessary to have a celebration this year and for me to have something to do during the postpartum recovery period. It was the perfect little tea party for her and her girlfriends and since I love all things party related, it's been a seriously fun event to plan. 

Yesterday was the big day. I stayed up late the night before finishing all the little details and busily cleaned and put together the final elements on Sunday morning. Then I went upstairs to get dressed for the day and it was all I could do not to sob. This day wasn't going at all like I imagined and I couldn't help but feel it. George Mason would've been, at the best a very sick baby, and at the worst tied to monitors and tubes for the early weeks of his life. There wasn't even a guarantee that if he hadn't died that he would have been able to join us for this party - hence why we didn't think we would even have one - but I still felt so sad that he wasn't here. Maybe because he died I can imagine him as a healthy baby and really miss all of the things that he should have been here for? Maybe because he died there is still that inexplicable feeling of unknown? Almost as if because he's not here, I'm prone to imagine what it would have been like for him to be here, in the only capacity I'm capable of imagining, and that's as a healthy baby boy? 

George Mason would have made planning that day difficult but he would have been such a sweet addition of baby boy testosterone in the sea of girliness that is a tea party. There were pearls and hats, teacups, flowers, cake, and so much laughter. The only thing missing was sweet George Mason.  I guess that's an explanation for this sadness that is looming. As life moves on and I am getting back into a routine of normalcy, I'm feeling the loss in multiple ways every day. It's not just the pain of not bringing a baby home. It's not just the pain of realizing that the ashes of a baby fit into a container the size of diaper cream. It's not just the pain of death. Nowadays it's the pain of all the should have beens... and that's going to last a lot longer than those initial pains. 

Today we were at the playground and there was a sweet set of siblings playing in the distance. The big sister was helping and protecting the little sister. There was also a younger, not-quite-baby-not-quite-toddler that had attracted Audrey's attention and she was being the pseudo big sister. It was beautiful and it breaks my heart. I have such a longing for her to be able to be the big sister. I have the longing for the chaos of siblings. If we have more children, it won't be the same chaos I imagined. It will be so sweet to see Audrey with her baby sibling one day, but it won't be the same as if George had come home. 

I haven't been really able to reminisce with much fondness about my pregnancy but today I found myself looking back through my journal from those months of unknown. This new season seems so similar to that time... so much unknown about our future. 

"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

I must have written that verse down at least four different times. Its as if I had written it, just so much more eloquently than I’m capable of these days. The truth is though, that He really has been my refuge. I have found so much hope, peace, and encouragement in His words and His presence. There have been, and still are, so many things that I, we, don’t know lately that when I’m able to step back and think about these last few months, weeks, and days, I’m so glad that if we could only know ONE thing, its that God hears, listens, and is our refuge. I so wish that the death of my son wasn’t a reason that God needed to be my refuge, but it is. Thankfully though, God is there in those moments where my heart is faint but He’s also there in the mundane moments of life. Every day that I spend with Him, every day that I learn more about Him, the more I’m blown away by all of the things He is to me. Hear my cry, O God! … from the end of the earth I call to you when my heart is faint … My heart is so faint right now but Christ is the solid rock on which I can stand. The foundation of my hope and my future. 

Today, I’m thankful for my daughter’s precious life and the joy (even in her terrible twos way) she brings to my own life. Today, I’m also sad about the life my son won’t have and for all the things that I’m going to miss of him and about him. I’m going to pray the words of Psalm 61 and I’m going to believe them with all my heart. I don’t know when this sadness will go away, if it will ever really go away, but I know God is with me through it all. For you, God, have been my refuge!

4.1.17

Its been 7 weeks since George Mason’s day and most days it feels like all of this happened yesterday. I can hardly believe that its already April. The pain and the hurt and the raw emotion of all of it are so vivid that it doesn’t seem real when I look at the calendar and realize its been 7 full weeks. I remember thinking that my pregnancy was never going to end; that 38 weeks to meet my son felt like an eternity and I just wanted to be done. I wanted to have my son here, in my arms, and be done with all of the unknown of his pregnancy. We knew he was sick but no one knew just how sick. When I went into labor I just wept because I was terrified of what the last 38 weeks of unknown had brought us to. I was terrified that our lives were going to take a drastic turn for the worst. I didn’t know that for a fact, but here I am 7 weeks later, living through that worst. 

Yesterday was a not so good day and I was so happy to go to bed because I hoped it would mean waking up to a better day, a better mood, and less repentance over my attitude. I was wrong. Today has been full of many good things but it’s also been full of attitude from my toddler and too much frustration from her emotional mama. As I sat on the stairs listening to Audrey cry during our third attempt at a nap, the words to one of my favorite worship songs filled my head. I cried, along with Audrey, out of the exhaustion of fighting her toddler will, but also out of the comfort of God meeting me where I am. Right there, on those stairs, in my moment of mommy desperation, God met me. 

Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders
Let me walk upon the waters
Wherever you have called me. 
Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander
And my faith will be made stronger
In the presence of my Savior

Those words are extremely powerful and loaded with all kinds of craziness. Have I every really, honestly wanted God to take me to the place where my trust is without borders? Wherever that may be? That’s a huge thing… Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander, and my faith will be made stronger.. what?! I remember when the weight of those words first hit me. Audrey Nole was only about 5 or 6 weeks old and I was in desperate need of a hot shower. She refused to sleep, so I put on some music, strapped her into the bouncer, and got in the shower. I was barely through the shampoo rinse when she started crying but that song came on and I prayed along. Then I realized what I was praying and stopped myself. Wherever you have called me, Jesus… that was a lot to ask. I didn’t like where He had called me at that moment and I don’t like where He’s called me in this moment either. 

All the grief counseling in the world would probably tell me that’s ok. That its ok to have a bad day or even a string of bad days. That there is no timeline to grief and I have to just let it play out as it happens; as I experience each moment and each feeling or emotion. The problem with that is the “doer” in me. I want to “do” this away and fix it. I want to check the boxes of whatever needs to happen to get to a point where I don’t have bad days anymore. I feel silly even saying that out loud. I know that this isn’t going to be made better until eternity. That doesn’t make it any less painful right now, but it is comforting when I’m willing to take my pain to my Savior and rest in His presence. 

Today I’m not doing a very good job of living out the words to that song. I’m pouty and sad. I’m grumpy and have little patience for Audrey. I’m really, really upset about where God has me right now. I’m also 100% sure that God’s character isn’t going to be shaped or influenced by my bad attitude today (or any day for that matter). Thank you, Jesus, for being you. For being constant and unchanging. For being unfailing in your love. Unfailing in loving me and meeting me on the stairs. Thank you, Jesus, for not turning your back on me when I’m having a bad day. Thank you, Jesus, for your life on this earth and what that means for me today, tomorrow, and everyday. And for what it means for my precious son. Thank you, Jesus, for your grace and for your mercies that are new every morning. Lord Jesus, today is not a good day but you are still perfect. Lead me out of my pout and into your presence.

For when God made a promise to Abraham, since he had no one greater by whom to swear, he swore by himself, saying, “Surely I will bless you and multiply you.” And thus Abraham, having patiently waited, obtained the promise. For people swear by something greater than themselves, and in all their disputes an oath is final for confirmation. So when God desired to show more convincingly to the heirs of the promise the unchangeable character of his purpose, he guaranteed it with an oath, so that by two unchangeable things, in which it is impossible for God to lie, we who have fled for refuge might have strong encouragement to hold fast to the hope set before us. We have this as a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope that enters into the inner place behind the curtain, where Jesus has gone as a forerunner on our behalf, having become a high priest forever after the order of Melchizedek. -Hebrews 6:13-20

3.31.17

Today feels like one of those days where you want to curl up and hide from life. Its nasty outside, again, and Audrey is driving me crazy. She hasn’t stopped whining since she woke up this morning. I keep telling myself, only x more hours until bedtime; likely for both of us. Part of that desire for bedtime is a result of the swell of emotions that seem to come tumbling after me when I’m having a hard day. Its hard enough to get through a day when I’m in a bad mood, but to add the weight of missing my son on top of it makes it seem impossible. A hormonal mama, terrible two year old, and grey skies is the perfect recipe for a bad day… 

I don’t know what it is about a toddler, but they can always sense when you’re at the brink of your emotional capacity. I’ve almost cried at least once an hour today. Some times because she’s being so defiant, but other times because she’s being so sweet and talking about her brother. Its days like today that make me so very aware of my need for Jesus. Days when all I’d like to do is hide from the world, I know without a doubt that I won’t make it through without God’s capacity for loving my hot-mess, hormonal, emotional self. Audrey has reminded me about 10 times already this morning that George Mason is out of my belly and that he’s in heaven with Jesus. I can barely type that through the tears that it brings with it. I want my son to be here today. I want to hold him. I want to give him sweet kisses. I can’t do any of those things, and so on this particularly weird day, I would rather curl up and hide. 

When I think about hiding, I’m reminded of how Audrey will hide her face in mine or Adam’s chests when she’s having a rough day. She cries out, usually without words, and we scoop her up in our arms and hold her close. She will nuzzle into the safety of our arms and hide her face while she takes a deep breath and life gets better. What does that look like for me? Will I take this opportunity to be swooped up into my heavenly father’s arms? The security of being deep in His presence, hiding my face while I take a breath and calm down? Listening to the sweet words of assurance that its all going to be alright… that’s what I need to do today. I can’t hide from the world and all of the hurt that I’m experiencing these days, but I can run into the deep embrace of a God who loves so incredibly deeply. 

When I’m feeling particularly weary, I’m drawn into the psalms. I’ve spent so much time there, praying through them, yelling through them, crying through them, and ultimately being extremely comforted through them. The words of David are so true today. God should be my hiding place when I’m feeling overwhelmed. God should be my hiding place when I need comfort or to be encouraged that it will all be alright. There is so much hurt poured out but it is resolved in the end by God’s amazing grace and ability to heal our wounds and dry our tears. 

“You are my hiding place. you will protect me from trouble and surround me with songs of deliverance.” - Psalm 32:7
“He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the former things have passed away." - Revelation 21:4

I don’t know why some days the pain of missing George Mason hits harder than others. I don’t know why Audrey can sense that and it seems like she makes it worse… but what I do know is that God is the perfect hiding place. God is going to make it all better in the end, and until then, he wants me to run to him. So today, I’m going to let my Father scoop me up into His perfect embrace while I do the same for Audrey Nole and we’ll all make it through today; and every day after that. 

Happy Birthday, Audrey Nole!

Today is Audrey Nole’s birthday. My goodness time flies. It really seems like yesterday we were bringing her home from the hospital. And now, we have not only managed to keep our tiny human alive for 2 birthdays, but we welcomed our second child and became of a family of 4. I feel so incredibly overwhelmed by the amount of love I am capable of knowing for my children and from my Audrey. She has truly been a light in the darkness that has shadowed the last couple years. I was worried that it would be hard to celebrate her birthday this year. Something doesn’t seem quite right or normal about celebration given our current circumstances. But when I think about it, our current circumstances are our forever circumstances. There is no time in our future that we will not have lost our precious son to death. He is gone and that isn’t going to change. What will change though, is the time distance from his day and the surrounding picture of our lives. So as I reflect on this day, March 30, I realize that celebration is the most fitting thing we can do. We can outwardly praise our Savior for the wonderful light He so graciously dropped into our world to be His face to us on the hard days but also just every day. Audrey doesn’t know today that she is God’s face to me and her daddy, but I pray that she will one day understand how much joy she brings us and how grateful we our to God that He entrusted us to her. 

So today, even though I’m sad that I won’t be making birthday cake with George Mason each February, I’m going to wholeheartedly celebrate my beautiful little girl as she turns 2. Thank you, dear Lord, for this blessing we call Audrey Nole. 

Audrey Nole,

Today, you are two years old. I honestly don’t know what your daddy and I would do without you in our lives. Not a day goes by that we don’t thank God for you and your wonderful spirit. You are the most sassy, determined, matter of fact, silly little girl and you bring so many smiles to the people around you. 

You march to the beat of your own drum. You think you are capable of anything and you make sure that your daddy and I know that on the daily. You have the most precious way of speaking in the third person, and as much I hope you learn to use proper pronouns, part of me hopes that you never stop referring to yourself as Audrey. “Audrey do it. Audrey drink milk. Audrey be right back. Audrey get blanket. Audrey play toys.” 

You are smart as a whip and sometimes that drives us crazy. You never stop talking and repeat everything you hear. Thank goodness mama doesn’t suffer from road rage… ha! I’m learning to control my temper because of you. I’m also learning that there is nothing in life I should take as seriously as my relationship with my savior, because at the very least you are learning from my example and at the very most, you are repeating everything I say. 

In the last few months I have so enjoyed watching you discover this great big world through your imagination. It knows no limitations and that’s a really cool thing to experience. You have become quite the little mommy to your many babies (Lella, Belle, Baby, Woofi, Minnie, kitty cat, & Baby Rory). You feed them milk and change their diapers. You also make sure they are well rested and get plenty of sleep. You read them books and tell them stories when you’re supposed to be sleeping. You are just so precious and we are so thankful for you. 

You became a big sister this year. Your brother, George Mason, was born on February 10. Sweet girl, I’m so sorry that he didn’t get to come home and live with us, because you would have been the most amazing big sister. We are so thankful that you got to meet him and hold him. You were so curious about his tiny little features; you examined his fingers and toes, touched his soft skin, gave him the most darling kisses. You talk about him all the time. You tell me that he’s with “Jesus in heaven” and that he “doesn’t need carseat anymore”. You tell me every day how much he loves me and I tell you how much he loves you. You tell me he had lots of boo boos and that he was your brother. 

Audrey Nole, all of those things are absolutely true and I’m so thankful you constantly remind me of them. You are truly a gift from God and daddy and I are so happy to have the privilege of raising you. We pray that you will continue to be God’s light in this broken world. We pray that because you’ve had to experience this brokenness so early on in your life that you would be even more excited to share God’s love with others as you grow older. I hate that death has touched our family like it has, but sweet girl, these experiences are shaping your faith in such a deep way at such a young age that I know God has great plans for you. Know that we are cheering for you, praying that we can best equip you, and encouraging you to love Jesus with all of your being. 

It is finally “maach phurtieph” so we are so excited to say HAPPY BIRTHDAY to our most precious baby girl. You are no longer a baby but will always be our baby. Mama and Daddy love you so much and cannot wait to see what year 3 has in store for us. 

All Our Love,
Mama & Daddy

3.29.17

My head is full of so many thoughts today. We met with the palliative care team that has been helping us through this whole process. They’ve known George since my 25 week ultrasound. They followed my chart, had multiple meetings with us to just hear how we are, tracked down any additional information we may have felt was necessary to our process, and walked us through step-by-step what to expect of each part of this journey; including what would happen if the worst happened. 

When the worst actually happened, they were my first call. I just literally cried on the phone with one of the team members. She very graciously let me cry and then gave me some things to think about and do as we started the process of saying good bye to our son. When we sat down today in their meeting room, the first thing they asked was how we are doing, but its the second thing they asked that makes this team so particularly wonderful. They asked if we would be willing to share George’s story with them. OF COURSE! I will always, with so muchenthusiasm, share George’s story. I may cry my way through it (like I did today), but I am so in love with my son, that just like any other proud parent, I will gush with joy if asked about him and his life. It was too short. It was full of pain and medical interventions. It was also so amazing. As I sat at that meeting table, I cried a lot, but I shared George Mason’s last earthly story. It honestly brings so much joy to know that other people want to know about that precious life of his. Tears or no tears, I hope people ask me to share his story for the rest of my life. 

The rest of my life is the hardest part of all of this. My son is in heaven with his Savior. He’s not experiencing any pain. He’s not being stung by loss. He’s singing Holy, Holy, Holy alongside the angels, glorifying his great God with every fiber of his being. But I’m still here on earth. I’m in the middle of whatever my life story is. The rest of my life is what pains me the most. I will never understand why this happened, and I have the rest of my life to remember it. I will never be able to hold my son again, but I have the rest of my life to wish I could. I won’t see him grow up and be able to cherish those memories, but I have the rest of my life to think about that loss. I will never be able to introduce him to his future siblings and I have the rest of my life to face that reality. 

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. I will be found by you.” - Jeremiah 29: 11-14

I’m so thankful on the days that seem weighted down by my gloomy outlook on life that God shows me there is a future. He knows the final outcome in all of this. He knows that I have the rest of my life and He’s going to give me hope for that overwhelming thought. He also promises that I will find him when I call, because especially on my worst days, I’m going to want to call. Its probably not often enough in my prayers, but today I’m going to be mindful and intentional of seeking him with all my heart. Because on the most emotional of days, I need that comfort of my savior. I may not be in heaven singing Holy, Holy, Holy, but I can certainly glorify my great God, alongside my son, in whatever pathetic way my humanity allows today and every day. So, thank you Lord for your comforting Word. Thank you for meeting me where I am and letting me see that there is HOPE and a future. Thank you for the grace that allows me to know that your scriptures are true. And thank you for instilling in me a desire for you; that I might dig deeper, cling tighter, and find comfort in all that you are. Because you are great and good, and the most loving Father. 

3.28.17

Facebook brought up the most darling memory from this day two years ago. It was a letter, in some sense, to Miss Audrey Nole, two days before she was born. It was all the feelings of anticipation and readiness that two soon-to-be first time parents could be feeling. Our home was clean, our hearts were ready, and my baby belly was at capacity. All that was left was to deliver that precious new life and hold her in our arms. We couldn't wait to bring her home to our little apartment and the nursery we had put together for her. There was so much anticipation for the day she would choose to make her birthday and for all the sleepless nights to follow. We had no idea what we were getting into, but we knew our hearts were ready. 

George Mason's life started so differently from Audrey's. We didn't have the same waiting period month after month for a positive pregnancy test. He surprised us all when I finally broke down and decided I should probably take a pregnancy test. I was so excited, and slightly in denial, when I saw that second line. Our "plan" for having our children 2 years apart had actually gone well. We were having another baby and I was beyond excited. 

Almost nothing about George Mason's life was the same as Audrey. I was less sick and for a shorter amount of time. I was way more exhausted and I had less heartburn. There was one thing though, that was exactly the same: the anticipation and readiness. I remember hearing his heartbeat for the first time. I remember feeling the first little flutters. I remember his first hiccups. They were the signs of the little human growing inside me. All the same feelings of joy, excitement, dreading sleeplessness, worry about being a good parent, all of those things were a part of his life. All of those things changed our life. George Mason changed our lives and wrote his name on our hearts. 

I had all the same anticipation and readiness with George, but he didn't come home. Now I'm living through the pain of those lost expectations as well as the real loss of my precious son. I’m so thankful for memories like the one about Audrey's imminent arrival. It put a smile on my face this morning. I had forgotten I had written that and I had almost forgotten those last days before she came and how excited and ready we were. I won't have the same kinds of memories pop up about George Mason, but even if I didn't get to bring him home, I want to remember how excited I was to meet him. How amazing it felt when I finally got him into my arms. The moments I got to spend with him were filled with exactly the same wonder as those first moments with Audrey. I was in awe of his precious little being. He was Gods creation and he was absolutely perfect. 

It's important to me to remember the good parts of the memories with my son. It's so easy to only recall the bad stuff. The hard stuff. Probably because most of the stuff was hard. Probably because for every happy little baby kick, there was an equally unhappy shadow of sickness. I want to be able to sit down and really remember the good stuff, because there was so much good stuff. George Mason was feisty. He kicked a lot. And hard. He got the hiccups every night after dinner, just as I was lying down for bed. He fought hard to meet his parents and his big sister. In the end, this broken world and his body failed him, but he was such a precious little boy with a strong and fierce personality. It would be so easy to forget the good and the beauty of his life but I'm going to make sure those parts of my memories are shared with as many as will listen. And even though death took him from us way too early, there is still a sweet life to celebrate. I thank God for that sweet life every day and pray that I'll always remember him and that wonderful joy and anticipation. 

“Give me you lantern and compass, give me a map, so I can find my way to the sacred mountain, to the place of your presence. To enter the place of worship, meet my exuberant God, sing my thanks with a harp, magnificent God, my God. Why are you down in the dumps, dear soul? Why are you crying the blues? Fix my eyes on God - soon I’ll be praising again. He puts a smile on my face. He’s my God.“ - Psalm 43:3-5 msg

Thank you Jesus for putting a smile on my face this morning and for being the ultimate source of smiles each and every day.

3.27.17

The idea of daily habits keeps creeping into my thoughts. Its showing up everywhere I look. As I’ve been writing lately, I’m finding myself creating a habit that I honestly don’t want to skip or live without. It has been so helpful in finding those deep layers of emotion as I process all of George Mason’s story. I’m not a very emotional person, in the sense of being “in touch” with how or what I’m feeling. So often in my life I just bottle up whatever hurts, or is too complicated, and don’t deal with it or place an imaginary “to do” sticker on it for another time. I learned after my mom died that grief doesn’t allow that to happen. And on the rare occasion that you are able to stuff it away, you end up being so much worse off when it finally comes to the surface. 

This loss, this horrible loss of my infant son, is so much harder than 2 years ago with my mom. Not that grieving my mom wasn’t hard (or grieving any loved one for that matter), but I had memories, wonderful memories to dive into on the days that it was just so hard. Somehow, that made the process of my grief over her a little easier to manage. It felt like on the worst days, where I just wanted so badly to sit in her house and chat, or to have her be present for some milestone of mine or Audrey’s, I could dig through all of the memories of her life and find something that comforted me on that day. I was so very grateful for the 28 years that I spent with her, and in those moments of intense pain, I was thankful for the memories of those 28 years. On the worst days with this grief, I don’t have very many memories and those I do have are riddled with stress, anxiety, and worry. I carried a miracle little boy for 38 weeks and 18 of those were spent wondering if he would still be alive tomorrow. I delivered him and had 16 hours, out of which we spent about 4 with him. There just aren’t many memories but there are SO many things I thought I would have and now don’t. 

At church yesterday, the children did our call to worship and they memorized and presented the first few verses from Psalm 100. 

"Make a joyful noise to the LORD, all the earth! Serve the LORD with gladness! Come into his presence with singing! Know that the LORD, he is God! It is he who made us, and we are his; we are his people, and the sheep of his pasture." v 1-3

Those words are wonderful. They are comforting in knowing that just like a good shepherd will take care of his flock, God is doing that for us. He is taking care of my every need, on a daily basis. I’ve been harping on the idea of joy lately (thankful for a God who sends not so subtle hints). I want so badly for my life to be filled with joy even though there’s this heavy thing weighing on my heart; on all of our hearts. As I think about daily habits and how beneficial they can be, I want to make a habit out of joy. I want to make a joyful noise in everything I do. Whether I’m full of sad tears, anger and frustration with this outcome, or happily baking “happy cake” with Audrey Nole, I want to serve the Lord with gladness. I understand that right now, this particular moment in my life, joy and gladness are going to have to be intentional parts of my day but I also know that this too shall pass. That this season of my life is serving a purpose for the kingdom of God and is shaping me and my relationship with Him. Perhaps as I examine my daily habits, I will find that there are ones I can change or throw out that aren’t beneficial, and that others, like the daily act of clinging to Jesus as the source of my joy, will grow ever stronger. 

I’m missing my son today, and every day, but I’m also missing all of the things that could have been. As I’m planning Audrey’s birthday party, I’m sad that I won’t have one to plan for him next year. As I box up out of season clothes to save for any future little girls, I’m reminded of the clothes he never wore. As I work on organizing Adam’s office, I wish that it was still a nursery. I’m going to miss a lot of things over the course of what would have been his life but I’m thankful for a God who calls us his own and who cares for us. Because if He really does care for me like a sheep in his flock, I’m going to be ok. I’m going to be given all the things that I need to be able to flourish in the place that He’s put me. I don’t understand all of the reasons why I’m in this place, but I am glad to know without a doubt that He’s here with me, guiding me, comforting me, and ultimately, delivering me from the sting of death. 

“Enter his gates with thanksgiving, and his courts with praise! Give thanks to him; bless his name! For the LORD is good; his steadfast love endures forever, and his faithfulness to all generations.” - Psalm 100:4-5

3.26.17

It is absolutely gorgeous outside today. A much appreciated break from the otherwise gloomy and grey last couple days. After getting Audrey down for her post-church nap, I went for a walk. I’ve been trying to walk as much as I can lately. Its serving multiple purposes. 1) I’m getting to get out of the house and enjoy the warmer spring weather, 2) its nice exercise, and 3) It gives me time to clear my head. I was thinking about how after Audrey was born I was so focused on what I may or may not be doing right or wrong as a parent, that I never thought much about what I was doing or feeling as a person. I was just surviving motherhood and grieving my mom. Oh, and making sure my dad didn’t have another stroke. Those first probably 3 months after Audrey Nole made her debut are a blur. I think that’s God’s gift to new parents… otherwise we might never do it again. This time around, I’m not in a daze from the newborn hours and stress. I’m certainly feeling in a bit of a fog most days, but its not the same. I think that because I’m finally starting to feel like a person again and not a surgery patient, I’m thankful for the opportunity to get out and get moving. 

So I left the house, music blaring, dog on leash, and headed up to the capitol. Its the place that Audrey and I go almost every day in the warmer months. Its the place that is the landmark that tells us we’re home. Its the place in this city that lets me see all of God’s beautiful, raw, wild creation, while sitting in the immaculately groomed tamer version of nature. It is the place that we held George Mason’s memorial service and celebration. 

I hadn’t really given it much thought before this afternoon, but it is the place that I planned to take George to whenever he was healthy enough to leave the NICU. I imagined packing up a wagon with lunch supplies and a blanket, wrapping my sweet son in a carrier, and holding Audrey’s hand as we walked up to picnic under the cherry trees and admire the beautiful mountains in the distance. Adam and I don’t love the wild west and its plethora of outdoor activities to do, but those capitol grounds are about as close to my happy place as I can get in this city. It has become one of Audrey’s favorite places (she asks to go there by name) and I always assumed it would be the same for George Mason. 

As I rounded the first corner of the circle I saw the place where we gathered to celebrate George Mason on February 17. On that day it was raining and cold. We had picked that place because watching sunset from that particular place is really, truly, life giving. On that day, there was no sunset. As I walked by that particular place today, I felt all these things that I hadn’t even thought about before right then. There was a man with a large, DIY looking, bubble maker and there were kids running from every direction chasing these gigantic floating bubbles. The sun was hitting them in just the right way and they looked like floating rainbows; such a symbol of God’s love. That place was full of life. It was full of children laughing and playing. 

Adam and I have walked by that place with Audrey so many times in the last 6 weeks but for some reason today it struck me and I was sad. There were people all over the capitol grounds today. So many families with their littles dressed in their Easter best, laughing, playing, and not-so-gracefully posing for the pictures their parents will deeply cherish for years to come. Maybe it hit me today, instead of any of the other days we’ve been there, because of the precious hustle and bustle of life that had overtaken those otherwise quiet grounds? Maybe today the levity of all those families juxtaposed with the solemn memories from February 17 were so stark that it touched my heart in a way I hadn’t experienced it before now? Whatever it was, it made me think about the words shared during that service.  “God’s love is so great, that it conquered death. God’s love is so great that he sent Jesus to become an infant, to experience the pain of our world, to die on a cross, and be raised from the dead so that death could no longer claim supremacy in this world.” (Thomas Warmath)

I needed to hear those words on February 17, as hard as that day and that service was, and apparently I needed to be reminded of them again today. As I finished my walk, I thanked God for that place, those grounds. I thanked Him for the wonderful memories that my little family has there. I thanked Him for the person who tamed His creation in such a way that speaks so beautifully to my soul. I thanked Him for George Mason’s life. I thanked Him for giving me the privilege of being George Mason’s mama, for those 16 hours on earth, but for the rest of my life. I thanked Him for sending His son to conquer death so that nothing can separate me from His love.

“For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” - Romans 8:38-39

Six Weeks

George Mason would have been 6 weeks old today. That’s incredibly hard to believe and feels just as hard to experience. I got an email this morning from one of those “my baby this week” sites that I had used with Audrey Nole. The subject of the email said “Your 6-Week-old” and the preview part of the email said “Has your baby smiled at you yet?” … I don’t even remember signing up for these emails or even inputting George’s birthday. However it got the information, it was a not so delicate reminder that today is an interesting milestone and one that I have to live without my son. Today would have been one of those days where things started to even out. I’m guessing that by now, NICU baby or not, we would have had some kind of routine in place. Those pump sessions every 3 hours would have become habit and the bags under my eyes would very likely have become less pronounced as my postpartum body adjusted to the needs and expectations of motherhood round 2. 6 weeks is when you go back and see your OB. You get told you’re healing ok or on track and you exchange brief pleasantries about life as a new mommy. 

The salt-in-the-wound part of all of this, is that even though my baby didn’t come home, I still have to deal with all of the postpartum stuff. I’m still being watched for postpartum depression. I’m still dealing with ridding myself of George’s milk. I’m still sore and healing from surgery. I still have to go see my OB next week. Except her and I won’t be exchanging pleasantries about mom life to newborn #2. We will be talking about the signs of ppd and how long before Adam and I can try again. 

As I get further away from George’s day (I’ve grown very fond of that name for February 10… He only had one day and it doesn’t seem fair to simply call it his birthday) the pain changes. People are asking how we are doing, how I am doing, and I know that I can probably get through answering that question without becoming a hot sobbing mess. I also know that I don’t really have an answer to that question. We are doing. That’s all I can seem to say. Life is moving on and we are going with it. As part of this process, I’ve been trying to look through pictures from his day and edit them as I have the emotional capacity. - its really hard to work in photoshop when you’re crying - Today’s picture was the perfect example of how I feel today, and most days, as it captures very raw emotion in a brief moment. 

As we walked into the room where they had moved George Mason, I think they called it the family room, I remember feeling overwhelmed by everything. There was so much emotion. We were going to hold our son for the first time and it was also going to be the last time. The nurses asked me to sit in the chair and they had brought it so close to his bed that I could barely maneuver around them. They set a pillow on my lap with a blanket on it and then they very carefully moved him from his hospital bed to that pillow; taking great care not to pull too hard on any of the many tubes and drains that were attached to him. I don’t remember exactly what was going through my mind as I sat there waiting for my son to finally be in my arms. My eyes are all puffy from crying. I’m not smiling. That was supposed to be such a joyful moment and instead it was heart wrenching and really, really hard. They set him down on that pillow and then spent what seemed like forever trying to rig the ventilator tubes in such a way as to make him and me comfortable without detaching them. They were literally sustaining his life. My heart was overwhelmed in that moment.

The time stamp on the picture says 5:44pm. 13 hours after he was born, we got to hold him. It was the most precious moment. It was so greatly anticipated. He was our first son, our second baby, and the person who made us a famlly of 4. He was Audrey’s first sibling. He looked JUST like his daddy. He was perfect. He was ours. He was God’s. 

“So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them.” -Genesis 1:27

3.23.17

I don’t have any beautiful or painful memories flooding my thoughts today. Nor do I have any pieces of wisdom that I’ve gleaned from thoughtful tears or much needed laughter. But as I open my eyes each morning, I do realize that there is a choice I have to make for the day: I must choose joy. It was something my mom always, always said. It was particularly frustrating in my teenage years when I was having a hormonal day but it has stuck with me as I’ve grown into adulthood. It was my mantra through the early newborn days with Audrey Nole… she was a frustrating and difficult baby. I would hold her tight while rocking her and repeat to myself, “choose joy, Jillian. choose joy.”

Today, its raining. Its raining in the desert, something that very rarely happens, and its gloomy. It makes me want to find a reason to be sad because that’s the tone of mood the weather is setting. But for some reason, today I’m not particularly sad and I’m thankful for that. As I sit here though, in the gray light of this yucky day, I can hear the rain drops in my chimney and I’m reminded to choose joy. Its been a theme, when I look over my journal from the last 6 months, to find the things in my day that I can be grateful for and find joy in. Often they are small and seemingly inconsequential. Things like Audrey not pushing her friends, or being able to enjoy some alone time with Adam, or just not having to do the dishes. Those are the things that I’ve had to desperately search for as bringing joy into my day.  But as I really think about it, ultimately the source of my joy despite this deeply sorrowful place I’m currently living in, has to be and has always been, Christ. 

I don’t have a frustrated newborn to rock. I don’t have numerous poopy diapers to change and cross my fingers stay contained. I don’t have the precious baby coos and giggles of those early months that make the sleepless nights fade into the background because you’re just so in love. I don’t have an outward and tangible reason to be joyful, what I have is so much more complicated {and equally not at all complicated} but also really wonderful.

I AM just so in love. I truly, genuinely, love my son. I am captivated by his beauty. I am enamored by his strength. I am honored to be his mama. I adore the sweet innocence of Audrey’s love for him. I am just SO in love. I also don’t have him here to snuggle and that’s when I’m reminded that I must choose joy to get through each day. So today, even though its gloomy and gray, my heart isn’t as sad as it could be and I’m going to be thankful for that. I’m also going to give God all the credit. And today, even though the world that I’m living in is broken and painful, I’m choosing joy by clinging to Jesus. I’m thankful for the scriptures that show me God’s character. I’m thankful for the people who study those scriptures so deeply and point me to the places where I can find the most comfort on days like today and seasons like this one. I know that I can’t and won’t always find tangible things in my day that bring me joy but I have a wonderful God who is joy itself and HE is my joy. So especially on the worst days, but even on the better days, I don’t have to choose joy over sorrow because my God is the ultimate source of all of my joy and He is unfailing, holy, and gives life abundantly. 

“…I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.” - John 10:10
“But the Lord is faithful. He will establish you and guard you against the evil one.” - 2 Thessalonians 3:3

3.22.17

The day my daughter met her sibling was a scenario that I had played in my mind for months. Ever since the first positive pregnancy test I wondered what that day would look like and how Audrey would respond/react/feel. I imagined her coming to the hospital after delivery and navigating the halls until she found our room. I imagined her wanting to snuggle in bed with me. I imagined her being very curious of the baby but likely wanting the attention to be on her. I often asked (and answered) the question, “what is she going to do when she has a brother at home?” … She would have been a really awesome big sister. 

Audrey is a super sweet, independent, and fierce little girl who would not have taken kindly, at first anyway, to having someone to share her mama and daddy with. But she would have loved having a playmate and eventually, when the dust settled from the new baby coming home and things got back to normal, she would have loved on and snuggled her brother with the amazing capacity of love that only a toddler can express. 

The day that Audrey met her brother didn’t look very much like I had imagined and somehow it looked an awful lot like I had imagined. She did come to the hospital the same day we delivered. She did walk the halls of the hospital looking for our room. She did want to snuggle with me and she was very curious about George Mason. All of the things I envisioned for the first time she met her sibling, happened, they just didn’t have the same joy and celebration linked to them that I had always thought they would. Instead of meeting her brother in my postpartum room and dressed in the outfit she helped me pick out, she met him in a NICU room. One of the ones reserved for the sickest of kids and one that she was only allowed into because he was not going to survive the night. 

Adam and I didn’t plan to be at the hospital on February 10, so our hospital bag was hastily packed and our “game plan” for the various scenarios was all kinds of thrown off. When the doctors came and told us they would be moving George Mason into a private room so that his sister could come meet him I just cried. It was some of the hardest information I’ve ever had to hear. Adam needed to process it all and someone needed to get Audrey… so he left to grab our daughter, and my camera, and come back to say hello and see you in eternity to our son. I had hoped that someone would document our last moments with George Mason, but I honestly didn’t really care, I just wanted to enjoy whatever amount of time God had given us with him. I just wanted to hold him. I took one picture. It was of Adam introducing Audrey to her brother. She looked at him with big, curious, and loving eyes and very sweetly told her daddy that was “Jooje Mason”. After that I sat my camera down. 

I will forever be thankful for the nurse from that night. She was so good. She stayed out of the way but she got pictures of everything. Some of them aren’t the best of quality, but I have them. I only have 16 hours to remember of my son but I will have the pictures to help me never forget those precious hours. That was a pretty awful day but God was good. He gave us time to say good bye to our son. He gave us respectful doctors and nurses who let us weep without interruption. He gave us a nurse with an amazing heart who picked up a camera and just started clicking. Most importantly, He gave us ultimate confidence that our son is with Him and is so very loved. 

“At that time Jesus declared, ‘I thank you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that you have hidden these things from the wise and understanding and revealed them to little children; yes, Father, for such was your gracious will. All things have been handed over to me by my Father, and no one knows the Son except the Father, and no one knows the Father except the Son and anyone to whom the Son chooses to reveal him. Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.’” -Matthew 11:25-30

3.21.17

I realized this morning as I sat with Jesus, that I had to literally check my selfishness at the door as we walked out of that sonogram back in October. I had to lay my heart, and body, into the palm of God’s hand.  It was a really terrible feeling, not knowing what the outcome of our pregnancy was going to be. We didn’t know how sick, or how well, our son was in that moment. We didn’t know how sick, or how well, he was going to be in 3 weeks, or 3 months, or after delivery. We didn’t know anything except that we were terrified and we didn’t know anything. 

I think as I look back I clung to Jesus because I literally didn’t know what else to do in that moment. I ask myself often if there were anything I would change or do differently given the outcome and all that we know. There is nothing. I would change nothing. Well, I certainly would have scripted a different ending; one where I was still holding my precious baby boy. But knowing the outcome, I would do exactly the same thing. We prayed unceasingly for wisdom for our team of doctors and then we trusted their opinions. We prayed unceasingly for a miracle and God delivered. He handed us a beautiful, living, 7lb 3oz, 19in long baby boy with curly blond hair and the sweetest little cry. I clung to Jesus because I didn't know what else to do and He delivered my son through a miserable pregnancy and right into my arms. There is absolutely nothing I would change about that. 

I’m thankful that I can say that. That my God loves me enough to give me the grace to be able to see that miracle for what it is and not just wallow in the pain and sadness and be bitter. Because there are certainly days where that is how I feel, but He always gives me a glimpse of the good, despite the yuck. So that on every day, not just the good ones, I can claim boldly His promises and celebrate and be thankful for the miracle of George Mason. 

It is my prayer in this process of grief that I would continue to check my selfishness and cling to Jesus. In times of great stress I am ready to call on my Lord but I find my faith is less on fire in times of comfort. I know this next season of our lives isn’t going to be comfortable, there’s going to be a lot of firsts to get through. We will have a lot of pain to walk through and I know that’s going to be something that points me continually back to Jesus. But its when the pain fades and it seems less abundantly clear that I need my savior to get me through each day, THAT is when I want to remember to cling to Jesus. 

“Cast your burden on the LORD, and he will sustain you;” -Psalm 55:22a

3.20.17

I don’t know why some days are harder than others. I wish that I could pinpoint the reason behind the particularly sad days or find the source of the tears on days like today. I certainly know the root of the pain on all days but I feel like it would be helpful to understand why today brings more tears than yesterday, etc. I guess though, if I’m really honest with myself, knowing why some days are worse than others would cause more problems than it would solve. I’m only human and I can almost certainly say that I would choose to not feel the pain rather than deal with it if I were given the choice. I suppose that not knowing why today (or any of the hard days) is more sad than others makes me face it, feel it, and process all the feels and things. 

“Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let the steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.” - James 1:2-4

Count it all joy… I feel like I need to say that to myself about 30 times and then write it out over and over. Count it all joy…  the trials that test my faith, and the faith of christians all over the planet and throughout history, I am to count as joy. Not because they are something to rejoice in - my pain through this particular trial is very real - but because I KNOW that it is going to produce something wonderful. When I read verses like the one in James, I feel this conflict in my head and my heart. I know on one level that God isn’t testing me because I did something wrong and so He’s punishing me, and I also know that He doesn’t take pleasure in the trials that result from being a human after the fall. I know these things but I don’t always believe them. I don’t always even want to believe them. It can make sense in my head, on some level, to say that this horribly tragic thing happened in my life because (insert terrible thing I have done: didn’t pray enough. didn’t believe in a miracle enough. wasn’t good enough. etc.)… because then I could fix it so it never has to happen again and I could explain it away. Because it certainly doesn’t make sense for a tiny baby to have died for no reason at all. 

Thankfully, Jesus paid the ultimate price so that I don’t have to negotiate with my God over how good or righteous I am in order to keep my precious son alive. Thankfully, my God loves me so much that He sacrificed His son in order that the brokenness of this world would be defeated and my goodness, or lack there of, would have no influence on His promise to make this world whole. Thankfully, despite this world's brokenness and my lack of perfection, my son is in heaven glorifying his great Father and singing Holy, Holy, Holy with the angels. 

This quote came across my social media yesterday:

“It is the most liberating idea possible and it ultimately enables you to face all suffering, knowing that because of the cross, God is absolutely for you and that because of the resurrection, everything will be all right in the end.” -Timothy Keller in Walking with God through Pain and Suffering

I am so grateful for people who have been through suffering before me and have shared their experiences with God through them. God’s character is never shaken. He is always the same. He comforts, loves, gives strength to, mourns with, and is steadfast to the end. He conquered death so that we don’t have to be perfect or carry the burden of wondering what we could have done better or differently to change the outcome of our tragedies. He is for us. 

The passage in James goes on to say,“If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask God, who gives generously to all without reproach, and it will be given him. But let him ask in faith, with no doubting, for the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea that is driven and tossed by the wind.” 

Today as I process through the tears and sadness, I want to remember this. I want to not be the doubter, who is like a wave of the sea. On the hard days I don’t want to be swayed by whatever might feel most comfortable - throwing out all reminders of my son, as an example - but instead be rooted in the steadfastness of my Father and continue to rely on His generosity without a doubt in my head or my heart. So today I will cherish the pictures hanging on the wall, despite my tears. I will hug and snuggle with Audrey. I will love my husband even more deeply as we navigate this new normal together. I will praise my great God who gives me the grace I don’t deserve and thank Him for his endless new mercies.

3.18.17

Last night when I laid down to go to bed I was flooded with the memories and emotions of that OR on February 10. It was as if I was there all over again. 

It's been five weeks since then and it still feels like yesterday. The days seem so long, from wake up to sleep, it just drags and feels huge and ominous but it doesn't feel like it's been 5 weeks either. Each day brings with it a different set of memories for me to sort through and process. Some of them I will always cherish so deeply. Some of them I will forever know and feel but will wish I could forget. I guess that's why writing feels so good. I can actually hash out the good from the bad. I can identify, through the beauty of hind sight, the ways in which God was at work in our lives even in the midst of the fears and frustrations. 

When the doctors told us at 25 weeks that our son would very likely not survive the 3 weeks until our next ultrasound, we were devastated. We faced a decision that no parent should ever have to make. Do we go ahead and deliver this baby so we can meet him, hold him, and know him, knowing that the outcome would be his death? Or did we continue the pregnancy, not knowing if we would ever get to hold our living child? I was terrified of a still birth. I was terrified of never meeting my son as a living and breathing person. I was equally as terrified that if I chose to deliver him simply so I could meet him before he died, was I limiting the ability of my God to provide us a miracle? 

In the end, regardless of the stress or fear we felt, we chose to pray for a miracle. I will never second guess that decision. I carried my son for 38 weeks. That was a full 10 weeks longer than any of the doctors thought was possible. And not only did I carry him for 38 weeks, I got to meet him; hold him, kiss him, take pictures and document his short but precious life. I'm so very glad we decided to do nothing medically and to just pray. (Just pray seems silly too... that was a huge thing that we did and that so many people across or lives did as well) Our amazing God got us to that OR with a living baby. At my 34 week OB appointment, we finally started talking about a plan beyond pregnancy. We scheduled a delivery date. A scheduled c-section was how the doctors agreed would be the best way to introduce George Mason to this world. February 13, 2017. It seemed so far away on that day, but it also seemed so attainable. We marked it on our calendars. People booked flights. All the details were arranged and life seemed to finally be rounding out to some sort of manageable normal instead of the chaos of the unknown we had been experiencing since October. 

George Mason had his own plans. I went into labor on February 9th, just four days before the calm of our scheduled c-section and just one day before my sister arrived from back east to help us prepare for the hospital stay and to care for and love on Audrey. I woke up that morning like normal. We had coffee and breakfast as a family. It was like any other day. After adam left for work I got out the paint and worked on finishing our bedroom. I went to the chiropractor. Life was going as normal and then suddenly it wasn't. As I drove home from the chiropractor I felt contractions. They were more painful than the Braxton hicks I had been feeling throughout the pregnancy but I didn't think much of it because they were random. I had lunch with a friend, like every Thursday, and she noticed me pausing to breath through the pain; about every 10 minutes. I knew something was wrong but I didn't want to admit it. I called my OBs office, despite wanting to just ignore it and hope they went away, and they said to put my feet up and drink lots of water. 

The pain got worse and the contractions got closer together. I made Adam come home from work. I didn't want to admit that labor had started... if I went into labor it meant my son, our beautiful miracle, was coming early, and early was the worst word in the vocabulary of my pregnancy. I laid in bed for the rest of the afternoon. I took a bath. I prayed these contractions would stop. I took a shower. I cried. I even contemplated going to ladies night with my girlfriends hoping that the company and some laughter would calm things down. I didn't make it to ladies night. We left for the hospital after we put Audrey to bed. My contractions were 5 minutes apart. If I thought I was terrified before that moment, I was truly terrified in that car ride to the hospital. I couldn't explain it, but I knew that this early arrival meant my son wasn't going to come home. I cried every time a nurse came in the room. I cried when they finally made the decision to stop monitoring me and get me to the OR. 

As they walked me into the OR and I climbed on the table, I was overwhelmed by everything. I don't remember exactly what I was feeling or thinking but I know I was exhausted. It was just after 4am on February 10th. I'd been awake since 5:30am the morning before. I had been given a sleeping pill around 10:45pm but the contractions were strong and close together. I couldn't relax between them and I certainly couldn't sleep. I remembering lying down on the operating table and listening to the anesthesiologist tell me what to expect: pressure but no pain, some possible dizziness, and nausea. He wanted me to let him know if I felt nauseous because there was something he could give me to help with that. 

I was so overwhelmed in that moment that I couldn't even form the words for a prayer. I just squeezed Adam's hand and listened for the cries of a newborn baby. 

It's in the moments like that one on the operating table that I'm thankful for our community. I'm thankful for the body of believers that went through this journey with us. Even though I was incapable of crying out to my God in that moment, He had been listening over the last several months and He was listening to the prayers lifted on our behalf in that particular moment by those that love us. 5 minutes later we heard our son cry. It was small and meek, but he cried and we praised our great God. That delivery was a miracle and we will never forget that or take it for granted. George Mason lived to meet his parents despite what the best of modern medicine had to say about it.

"But now thus says the Lord, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: “Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you." - Isaiah 43:1-2