5.6.17

Today was a very good day. Adam and I did some team work renovating and it felt good to just be us. We weren't grieving parents or individuals, we were just homeowners trying to be productive and work around nap time. We laughed, broke a sweat, grunted over concrete floors and carpet tacks, and let Audrey watch way too much Beauty and the Beast. It was so normal; so perfectly normal and it wasn't even sad. Audrey is still quick to remind us of George Mason and his love. Some days that's hard and I wish it wasn't her go to, but on busy days like today, I'm thankful for her innocent spirit and the precious little reminders of her baby brother.  

One of our friends welcomed a new baby girl this week. We are actually surrounded by growing families. Each of these little growing lives is so wonderfully loved and celebrated already. God put us here, in the middle of all of these growing families and I couldn't be more grateful. Some times it seems impossible to love these precious babes while mine is in heaven, but most times I'm just really thankful for the cries and the coos of new life. Babies are so helpless and trusting. They are such a tangible way of seeing how helpless I am but how trusting I can - and should - be of my God. 

We wrapped up the day with friends and there was such joy to be shared. The various sounds of what seems like a million little girls and the chatter of community. God has given us a wonderful group of people to call our friends. But friends doesn't quite describe what these relationships are. They are life giving, full of laughter, shoulders to cry on, ready to cry with us, and fully worthy of celebrating. Praise God from whom all blessings flow. I know there will always be hard days but I also know there will be so many more good days. Our future is God's. He has promised it to us. His gift to us through our community is such a blessing. Thank you, Lord, for this wonderful gift.

This is the day that the Lord has made. I will rejoice and be glad in it! 

5.5.17

I woke up this morning in tears. 5am and all I could think about was his day. My dreams last night were about his day. I kept jumping to all different memories from those long 48 hours in the hospital. I couldn’t escape them either because it was quiet and the only thing “on” was my brain. I just sat up in bed and cried. Adam rubbed my back - because of course I woke him up - and just let me cry. And when the tears subsided, life continued as if it never happened. A toddler singing voice through the monitor, the beep of the coffee machine, and the chirping of birds, all were telling me its a new day and its time to get moving. 

Every day is a new day and every day brings with it a very new set of challenges. This grief journey is hard, mostly because its so predictably unpredictable. I can have a string of very good days and then be hit upside the head by the pain or anger seemingly so randomly. I can be having a string of very bad days and suddenly wake up and feel ok. There is no pattern, no warning, just grief in all of its facets. I come back to Lamentations 3:22-23 so often. Because this season is so unpredictable and because every day is a different experience, it is wonderfully comforting to know that God’s mercies “never come to an end; they are new every morning” It’s wonderful to know that even though I have no idea what is facing me tomorrow morning when I wake up, God will be there. It doesn’t seem to make the grief any easier, but it helps to survive it. Yesterday I was angry with God and today I’m missing my son terribly. 

Fridays sneak up on me. I never expect that the day that marks another week without my baby is going to hit me so hard. I can barely keep track of the days of the week anyway, why would Friday’s be any harder than any other day? I don’t know if they are… but when I wake up at 5am in tears and realize its another Friday, its hard to be objective. Its been 12 weeks. I can’t believe it, really. 12 weeks seems like so very long and I can still smell my sweet son. How does that equal 12 weeks of that precious baby boy in heaven?? Audrey and I were baking cookies this morning - keeping busy is important these days - and as we were mixing the ingredients she decided to tell me that she loved cookies; oh, and George Mason. He is everywhere. She thinks of him in the most random, sweet, perfect, miserable, awkward times. She talks about him, wants to see pictures of him, and remembers the strangest details from his day. 

When Adam and I left for the hospital on Thursday night, she was already in bed. We had agreed and planned with my dad that if things went ok with George Mason, Audrey would come to the hospital on Saturday morning. We expected that Friday would be long and full of anxiety; we didn’t want to share that part of her brothers life with her just yet. When things didn’t go well, I called my dad and told him Audrey needed to come to the hospital to meet her brother before he went to be with Jesus. I don’t remember exactly what time she got there but I know that she probably only spent 20 or 30 minutes with him and with us. It was late, sort of during dinner, and sitting in a dark hospital room with crying parents isn’t really in any toddler’s capability for too long. I don’t know if she remembers my tears or if she has just seen enough tears in the pictures, but she tells me every day that I cried when I held George Mason. You’re so right, sweet girl, I cried. A lot. I laughed a little too… it wasn’t all bad. I was so thrilled to introduce her to her brother and I soaked up all of her interactions with him. They were innocent and loving. She was curious about all of his tiny little features. She touched him, kissed him, talked to him, and then ran away and colored. She had no idea in that moment how much she was experiencing. She wasn’t sad. She wasn’t saying good bye. She was just meeting her baby brother. 

As I think about his day, and particularly Audrey meeting George, I’m so thankful to serve a God who loves me as his child. I would, and do, do anything to make sure that her memories and experiences from that day stay with her but don’t hurt her. I will make sure that above all else, she knows that even though her mama and daddy are so sad and miss George Mason so much, we love her with every ounce of our hearts and here to protect her and talk whenever she is ready. Sometimes that’s really hard for me. Sometimes I’m in no place to talk to her about him, but I do. God is a great Father and He’s doing the same thing for me. Except when its God’s turn to talk, its never hard for Him. When it comes to protecting His children, listening to the cries of mourning, its never hard. He never doesn’t want to talk about George Mason with me. That’s comforting on days like today. That’s comforting on any day. God is so big. He is so much bigger than I’m even capable of giving Him credit for. So even though today started in tears and I’m sure there will be more as it goes on, I have a God whose mercies are new every morning and who is ready to listen when I want to talk and protecting me as I walk through this grief.

5.4.17

I’ve been tossing all these thoughts around in my head for the last week or so. I’m not content. I’m longing for the future but it seems futile. I’m grasping for joy and contentment in my today but it is so frustrating. I want God to give me a black and white answer. I want Him to say to me, “Jillian, THIS is what I have for you. Go and do it.” I want Him to lay out this perfect path for me to follow. I don’t even care where it leads me, I just want to know because I’m tired of the unknown. 

I went away last week. Just me. I spent wonderful time alone, wonderful time with God, and wonderful time with one of my oldest friends. By all accounts, it was a perfectly refreshing, much needed break from reality to reset and come back with my cup full; ready to tackle the life waiting for me back home. Except when I got back, I wasn’t full and satisfied. I was full and frustrated. I realized as I sat on that beach, enjoying God’s marvelous creation, that as much as I miss my son, I’m not angry that he’s in heaven. Heaven is a wonderful place. George Mason is in the most perfect hands. I’m not angry about that at all. Instead, I’m mad at God for allowing this horrible thing to happen. Why, if I am not going to be allowed to have two precious children at home did He give me a child and then take him away? Why, if I was going to go through an entire pregnancy and recovery, am I facing an empty cradle and empty arms?? 

As I ask myself - and God - those questions, I get mad at myself. I don’t want to be angry with God. I don’t want to be unhappy in my today or constantly looking to tomorrow. I want so desperately to know what is coming so I can relax into what He has for me today. So, as I angrily throw my “why??” at God, I simultaneously pray that He would rid me of my anger and fill me with His joy. I ask that as I battle the lies of my broken heart that He would sustain me not just to survive today, but to thrive and enjoy this place He has put me. 

The Son is the radiance of God’s glory and the exact representation of his being, sustaining all things by his powerful word. After he had provided purification for sins, he sat down at the right hand of the Majesty in heaven. -Hebrews 1:3
Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. -Hebrews 11:1

God will continue to lead me. He may or may not show me where I’m going (and that’s something that I have to give me heart to God about) but He will always be leading. He won’t stop. He will never stop being God; being the hand that holds me so that even if I stumble along the path, I won’t fall. He can choose to alleviate my anxieties over the future by giving me the answer I want or He can let His Spirit fill me with the joy and peace that only God can sustain. I hate that I’m angry with God today. I hate it but its where this grief journey has led me today. I read those verses in Hebrews and realize that even in my anger, in my anxiety over the whys and what nexts, God sustains all things. All things. His Word will continue to challenge me and comfort me. He will continue to be God while I wrestle with this stage of my grief. Who knows, maybe tomorrow I won’t be angry at all. I don’t know the plans that God has for me, but He does, and he’s going to complete His work in me despite me. 

For I know the plans I have for you, declares the LORD, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope. -Jeremiah 29:11
And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ. -Phillipians 1:6

 

5.2.17

Yesterday I was taking Audrey to the doctor. Her pediatrician's office is in the hospital. We parked the car, just like we do every time she has a doctor appointment, and started walking to the entrance. Hand in hand and full of conversation, this was just like any other day. Until it wasn't. Seemingly out of nowhere, she stopped mid sentence and asked me if we were going to see George Mason. My heart sunk. 

I wish I could say that I didn't know what to say but she talks about him so much that I have some pretty standard responses tucked away for most of the questions or things she brings up. This was new though. She's always told me things that are true. Things that I can refute or even really correct her on. Butthis time she asked a question that I had to correct. "No, we can't go see George Mason. He's in heaven with Jesus, remember?" 

I feel like if she had asked me this even 2 weeks ago I would have lost it. If I'm being honest, I almost did. I kept waiting for the tears to well up as we walked into the hospital and down the halls to the pediatrician's clinic. They never came. Instead there was just this weight; inexplicable and tender yet exhausting. I lost focus on the task at hand. I was thinking about this turn that Audrey's mind had taken. I wondered if this meant her brain is understanding something new about this thing, about her brother. I worried that just as I'm turning a corner in this grief journey that this open wound is going to be poked again. And then her doctor walked in and I had to snap back to reality. 

I'm dreading the cycles and seasons of Audrey's grief. I'm worried about how to help her process this big thing that even the most mature and seasoned of adults have trouble working through. How do I help her in her journey when I'm struggling through my own? The wonderful thing about all of this is that I don't have to. The very same God who has comforted me, sustained me, provided new mercies every single morning, He is going to help Audrey. He is going to take the lead and guide her through her grief as her young mind matures and begins to better understand that she has a brother in heaven and what that means. The Spirit is going to give me the words when they are necessary and His grace is going to get me through those heart stopping moments.

So just like Audrey and I walk hand in hand, God is holding our hands and speaking to our hearts. He is who He says He is and who He says He is is pretty dang great. 

5.1.17

“She is clothed with strength and dignity, and she laughs without fear of the future.”
-
Proverbs 31:25 

This verse is really convicting me. As I read those words to myself out loud, I realize that I’m terrified of the future. Not so much because there is something coming that seems horrifying (losing my son was and has been horrifying enough) but because I truly don’t know what comes next. I’m scared to look past today because there has been so much unknown in my life these last months - and years, really - that has led to heartbreak, that I don’t want to think about the future yet I also feel stuck not being able to fully enjoy today. How can I honestly be content in this place? How can I fully pour my heart into the place God has led me and be joyful? Is it really possible to be content here, in the shadow of loss? 

I hate unknown. I’m a planner. I’m not strict and set on one way of achieving a goal or sticking to a specific plan, but I’m a planner. I’m happiest and most comfortable when I can control the what ifs and manage the possibilities. I like to think ahead and work through scenarios and have a plan A, B, C, and even D. I don’t always know how exactly I’m going to follow through, but I try my best to stick to the plan and eliminate as much unknown as is possible. I know that’s probably how so many other people feel… does anyone really enjoy unknown? Even so, its one of the things that I find myself fighting God on the most. I want Him to learn my love language already. If He really loves me, He’ll fill me in on the gist, right? If I’ve learned anything about myself and my relationship with God through all of this, its that I have to trust Him in EVERYTHING. I have to relinquish control and follow his lead. I have to know that He has clothed me strength and dignity as a woman of His kingdom so that I can laugh without fear of the future. 

As I get through my days, so often pained by the reality of my son’s absence, I have to remind myself that God has provided through every step of my journey on this earth. He has always given me exactly what I need to survive - and so often thrive - in the situation and circumstance that I find myself in. He has given me strength. He has showed me His love in countless ways. He has never ceased to follow through on His promises to be my shepherd. So why do I fight Him so much? Why do I find myself dreading tomorrow and feeling frustrated by today? Is there a part of my life that I am content in? 

I saw a quote on my instagram feed while I was waiting in airports yesterday. It said, “Our hearts were never designed to be followed, but to be led. Our hearts were never designed to be gods in whom we believe; they were designed to believe in God.” (John Bloom) It linked to an article that I gave a half glance as I was boarding my plane. The words struck me though, and one of the verses used really got me thinking. 

The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately sick; who can understand it?
- Jeremiah 17:9

My heart is broken right now and its lying to me. It’s telling me that because its broken, I can’t enjoy today and I must fret over tomorrow. But that’s not what God says at all. In fact, He says (and shows over and over) that He’s got this. That tomorrow will take care of itself because He’s in control. That He has led me to this place and He’s going to sustain me through it. That I don’t need to dread the future or hurry through the present or forget the past. He has orchestrated all of it and is with me through it. 

I have a hard time relinquishing control but God has never failed me. I’ve been disappointed and I’ve been mad, but He has never failed me. Today I’m going to pray for the strength and dignity displayed in Proverbs. I’m going to pray that I would laugh without fear of the future. I’m going to pray that I would not follow my heart but instead have my heart follow God. I’m going to pray that I wouldn’t listen to the lies I’m telling myself about future worries and discontent in today, but instead look to God’s Word as my encouragement and sustainment for today and every day.

4.29.17

I keep thinking about that John Piper quote about infant loss. He presented this idea that George Mason's life, his precious life, was all for the glory of God and that his work on earth, even though completed in only 16 hours, was bigger and more impactful than any person can even imagine. And that if I think otherwise, I'm being foolish. I certainly don't think my sons life was anything but for Gods glory. I know that. The part that really strikes me and calms me is that his work was complete. That even though this beautiful infant little boy only lived for 16 hours, he worked for Gods glory and finished what God had for him here. 

"Gods designs for [George Mason] were decided before he was born. [16 hours] of that work were on the earth; the rest will be in heaven. None of us can even begin to estimate the magnitude of either. Who knows what has been set in motion on earth by the birth, and death, and life of [George Mason]. It would be wild and unwarranted folly to think he has not changed the world." - John Piper on infant loss

As I think more about those bittersweet 16 hours, I realize that George Mason has really changed my life forever. Not only is he my son and loved as such, but he has changed and shaped my interactions, my relationship with God. I will never be the same because of his life. My love for my Savior has grown bigger because my son lived. Not because he died, because that really sucks. No, because he lived when he shouldn't have. Because when all of the doctors were scratching their heads that this little fighter was going to be born, God knew. He was doing it all. God promises throughout the Bible that He is going to be true to His Word and he will be steadfast and faithful. He also shows us that He is going to finish what He starts. For my son, that was 16 hours on this earth, hooked to tubes and fighting for his life. It was witnessing to the doctors and nurses of that NICU through his miraculous life. 

I don't know what God has started with and for me or how He plans to finish it but I know it's there. That He's working. He's working through this grief. He's working through this clouded lens of sorrow. He's working through the pain I feel when I think about my son. He's working in spite of and despite all the things the broken world throws at Him. He is working in and through my life and one day that work is going to be complete. Then I will go and be with my Savior,and my son, in eternity. Until then, I'm going to keep digging deeper into the character of my Savior. I'm going to savor His promises and love others the way I see He loves me. I'm going to need help. I'm not going to be perfect. I'm probably not even going to be good at it but I'm going to do it. Gods love has been overwhelming and I want to share it. 

Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful. -Hebrews 10:23

And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion
at the day of Jesus Christ. -Philippians 1:6

4.27.17

I slept last night. For the first time in months, I went to bed and woke up refreshed. It really is amazing what a good night’s sleep can do for your overall state of mind. I didn’t have nightmares or toss and turn through memories and tears. I just slept. Hard, deep, wonderful sleep. Thank you, Jesus, for that. 

I’m at the beach with an old and dear friend. A much needed trip outside of my life at home and all of the reminders of my precious son. That’s not to say that I don’t still miss him (or Adam & Audrey for that matter) while I’m here. I do. I always do. I certainly wish that George Mason were living over a girls’ beach trip… There is no question. But there is something about inserting myself into the untamed way of the ocean that has always been so peaceful and healing to me. The sounds of the waves are inescapable. You hear them all the time. The smell of the salt water and the gentle (and sometimes not so) way the breeze kisses your skin, are not things you can get away from. They are, to me, such a wonderfully tangible reminder that God is everywhere. He is in the tides, in the wind, in the sunshine over the horizon. God’s craftsmanship is all over this thing we call the beach. You cannot escape Him and that’s a really, really good thing to be reminded of. 

God is so good. This trip was kind of last minute. It was a desperate attempt to fill my time with something fun and out of the ordinary. It was meant as a celebration of my dear friend with hope of offering some healing to my broken heart. I'm having such a good time, reminiscing and catching up. Old memories and new life stories are being shared. Friendship is such a wonderful gift. It is a place where the goings on of life can be shared and pondered through lenses of perspective. We sat on the balcony last night and talked about my son. Not because she wanted to know how I'm doing but because she knows how I'm doing and wanted to talk about George Mason. I didn't cry or choke up, I just talked about my son and his precious life over a soundscape of ocean waves. 

It feels good to just be. To talk about my son because I want to and because someone wants to hear because they love me. So much like God does. He wants me to come talk to Him. I don't always feel like He's listening, but then I realize I've been sitting on the balcony with him more times than I count. I don't have to talk to him in some crazy formal, predetermined time and space, kind of way. God just wants me to talk because he knows how I'm doing. 

Let your steadfast love come to me, O LORD, your salvation according to your promise; then shall I have an answer for him who taunts me, for I trust in your word.  -Psalm 119:41

I've been so preoccupied by George Mason's death. All of the things about his short life fill my mind when I'm quiet and still. I want to be better about praying those words from Psalm 119. I know that God's love is real and awesome and me asking for it has nothing to do with its existence but I still want to ask for it to come to me. He has proven time and again that He meets me where I am. That He is there in the quiet and still when my heart hurts the most. That He is there in the joy and the sorrow. Gods word is the answer to the things that are taunting me. The quiet and still are taunting me. Gods Word is the answer. He is the answer. If I fill my head with the things my heart already knows, then what can truly taunt me? 

I don't know if or when the quiet moments of my day will ever be free of missing my son or of the sadness that comes from that. But I do know that God mourns alongside me. He is heartbroken with me that this world is broken and that death even exists. Today, I'm thankful for the ocean. For its vast, awe inspiring, comfort and calming. As I breathe the salt air and feel the wind on my face, I feel God all around me. The beach touches all of your senses. You can see, touch, taste, hear, and smell it. It is my prayer that even after I leave this place, even after I go back to the normalcy of my life, that I would remember that God is all around. That He is the architect of all creation and the answer to the things that taunt me.

 

4.25.17

I was reading an article this morning while Audrey played with her baby dolls called Talk to Your Tears. “So here’s the lesson: When there are simple, straightforward jobs to be done, and you are full of sadness, and tears are flowing easily, go ahead and do the jobs with tears. Be realistic. Say to your tears ‘Tears, I feel you. You make me want to quit life. But there is a field to be sown (dishes to be washed, car to be fixed, sermon to be written).’”

Those words struck me. They are so perfectly descriptive of grief and living through it. I’ve been feeling less sad most days but that doesn’t mean I’m never going to cry again. It doesn’t mean that when those sharp pains (though fewer and farther between) hit me and I’m a sobbing mess I need to just stop my life. I can’t stop my life. Time doesn’t stop. My goodness, if it did, I would certainly be tempted to stop it on February 10, 2017, so I could continue holding, loving, and learning my sweet son. I would stop time on his day so that his family could get to know him. So that no one had to deal with the pain of saying good bye. So that I wouldn’t have to live through this grief. If time could stop, that’s where I would stop it. But time can’t stop and my life has moved forward. “Go ahead and do the jobs with tears. Be realistic.” Its such a comfort to hear someone put that so bluntly.  

Those who sow in tears shall reap with shouts of joy! He who goes out weeping, bearing the seed for sowing, shall come home with shouts of joy, bringing his sheaves with him. -Psalm 126:5-6

The premise of the article was those verses from Psalm 126. Everyday I search my life for the things that I can be thankful for and the things that I can find joy in. Everyday, whether through tears or anger, or motivation, or happiness, God has given me something to be thankful for. I don’t always feel the joy in the entirety of my day, but even having a glimpse of it makes the very worst day seem bearable. Those words from the Psalm are so encouraging. One day, I don’t know when, but one day, I will reap with shouts of joy! I don’t know what the time frame is for understanding all of this or for reaping the product of these current tears, but God promises there will be shouts of joy. He promises that even though life is hard right now I need to keep doing the work put before me. Many days I don’t even really know what that is (beyond the obvious: Audrey) but I don’t have to. God knows. God is doing. God is loving. God is working things out for the good of those who love him (Romans 8:28). 

What a gift it is to have people who have gone before me in journeys through grief. To have their experiences written down or shared with me in whatever form they come, has been such a blessing. It has been tremendously helpful in giving me a bar with which to know when my grief is not just grief. Am I suffering from postpartum depression? Is today’s sadness something to be processed because I’m grieving or because of the hormones? There are so many questions I ask myself about this journey and having the experiences of others at my fingertips is great. I know that no one’s grief is the same. I know that my journey is mine, and mine alone, and won’t look like anyone else’s. I also know that grief follows certain patterns and even though those patterns reveal themselves differently - and are dealt with and processed differently - its nice to know what those patterns are. God has shown himself to so many people through their grief and hearing those stories is so encouraging. He really does love us. He really does care for and sustain us. Not just me, not just Adam, not just the people in our small little circle on this earth. God sustains all of His kingdom. Today I’m finding my sense of gratitude abundant toward those who have shared their own experiences of grief. Who have studied God’s word and left pieces of the wisdom and comfort He gave to them for others to glean. 

4.24.17

As I get further away from George Mason’s day, the sadness gets cloudy. I miss him, tons, all the time. I don’t go a minute without wishing he was here. I don’t go a minute without hearing Audrey talk about her life (she talks non stop) and wish that George Mason was here listening with me. Audrey also often reminds me that he isn’t here. I know she doesn’t understand what she is saying - if she did, I don’t think she would say it as much - but it still stings to hear that “George Mason no carseat more” or that he’s “out mama’s belly” or “George Mason heaven with Grammy”. All that to be said, the super painful tugs at my heart are becoming clouded by the distance from February 10. Very rarely do I just have a horrible, tear filled, terrible day. More often than not, most of my day is pleasant and even happy. I can daydream about house projects or trips to take with Audrey. I can get through my house work without stopping for a good cry. Most days, most of the day seems so normal. 

I guess this is the part of grief where people tell you “it will get better with time”… I get it. It does, sort of, get better with time. The stings are less often and less intense. Even though I miss him its not the only thing on my mind all day, every day. Some times I feel a little guilty about that. I don’t want to forget him and I feel guilty if a day passes and I didn’t cry about him or picture him here. I know that’s silly. I’m not going to forget my son. I’ve also got nothing to feel guilty about. My life has to move forward. For the health of myself, my daughter, my marriage, my life has to keep going. The days will come and go and I have to fill them with healthy life. Not just getting through each day (though there are certainly days that’s all I’m doing), but actually enjoying and doing life with purpose. 

In the first weeks after George’s day, I lamented over what our new normal would be. It looks so similar to the way it looked on February 9. I still haven’t really come to terms with this. I have all these big things that I’m processing from February 10 and it feels like I have nothing to show for it. I had a baby but random strangers don’t know that. I’m dealing with postpartum hormones and recovery but an outsider wouldn’t even be able to tell. I welcomed a beautiful son and on the very same day watched him take his last breaths and only a handful of people even met him. I think that’s where I am now. The pain of his loss is getting less intense - it will never go away… he should be here - but the reality of his life and how short it was is staring me in the face. The reality that I had expected to spend x amount of time caring for my son, parenting my daughter, and learning what it meant to be mama of 2 littles, is now so very different. I’m still parenting my daughter, I’m still learning what it means to be the mama of 2 littles, but instead of them both living under my roof, I have one in heaven, and the time I expected to spend with him is now… well free. 

What does this mean for my life moving forward? Will there be some big thing I’m called to do with all the time I expected to be spending in a NICU and caring for George Mason? I don’t know. I wish that there was a real clear cut answer to the “what now?” question I so often ask myself. There isn’t. For now, I’m just learning more about patience than I ever cared to know. I’m processing and grieving the loss of my son and trusting God to provide “my daily bread” to allow me to move forward and enjoy this life in a healthy way. Things certainly don't look like I expected them to, but God is good and He is in control. I don't know what is next but as I live this life and move forward through this experience, I will praise God because He is my strength and the source of my joy. 

Though the fig tree should not blossom,
nor fruit be on the vines,
the produce of the olive fail
and the fields yield no food,
the flock be cut off from the fold
and there be no herd in the stalls,
yet I will rejoice in the Lord;
I will take joy in the God of my salvation.
God, the Lord, is my strength;
he makes my feet like the deer's;
he makes me tread on my high places.
- Habakkuk 3:17-18

4.23.17

When I first started out on this journey of journalling, I figured it would be a place for me to get all my “whining” out. A place where I could curse this situation and then close my computer and leave it until next time. I really didn’t expect much more to come or be made of it than that; a place for my sorrows. I am amazed by how much more of a blessing this process has been for me than I ever could have imagined. 

Most days I sit down with my computer, a glass of water (or more likely coffee), my bible and my glasses. I very rarely have anything much I wish to say. But something happens when I open my laptop and put on my glasses. So often there is a flood of thoughts I didn’t even know I was thinking. Some days its a memory, a very specific piece of George Mason’s day. Some days its a bible verse that someone gave me as an encouragement and that struck a particular chord on my grief scale. Some days its just a place for me to sob “out loud” when tears escape me. There is one thing though, that stands out more than anything else: I find myself running to God. If its one of those sobbing days, I often find that passage of scripture I had saved for a “rainy day” ends up speaking so much comfort to the pains of that day. If its one of those days where I’ve already been gifted a verse or passage, I spend time pondering and unpacking all of the goodness that person or persons wanted me to hear. 

I’m finding that there are days when my head and my heart are in conflict. Where one side of my soul knows that God is God and He is good and one side can’t possibly believe that is true. Even on those days, when my heart and head can’t agree, God meets me where I am. As I peel back the layers of complexity in each day’s emotions, I always find God. Even when I don’t want to. Even when I’m mad. Even when I’m not faithful in believing the things I know. Even on the very worst days, I always find God. Maybe not always in the way I thought I would or in the way I want to, but I always find Him. His fingerprints are on everything. 

Today my heart and head are in agreement. God is so very good. He is sustaining. He is full of grace and mercy. He is almighty, powerful. He is all the feels, all the tears, all the joys, all the everything in between. He is God. I miss my son today, that’s not new. I always miss him. I hate that he’s not here with me because he should be. If this world were perfect, he would be. But today, even amongst the longing for my son, I’m in awe of God and his ability to love me and sustain me through everything. 

“O Lord, God of our father, are you not God in heaven? You rule over all the kingdoms of the nations. In your hand are power and might, so that none is able to withstand you.” -2 Chronicles 20:6

4.22.17

I was sitting at the hair salon this morning and this wave of memories started flooding my mind. All these things I remembered about losing my mom. The way she looked those last few weeks, the way the sickness had changed her. I held back tears as I recalled all of the emotions of her final days. The stories we told each other as we waited for her to enter eternity. I don’t often remember specifics from those weeks leading up to her death, but as much as those weeks/days/hours/minutes hurt, I was so very thankful to have had them. We got to say good bye. We got to worship along side her as she took her final breaths. We held her hand, kissed her cheek, told her how much we love her, and told her to go be with Jesus; that holding on to her body here on earth was not something we needed her to do for us because we knew (and know!) how much more amazing heaven is. 

As I think back on my pregnancy - which was the majority of George Mason’s life - it feels a lot like those last weeks with my mom. We only had about 3 weeks with her after the last cancer diagnosis and it was bad news upon bad news until she was no longer with us. We tried to be positive. We had immense faith that God could heal her. He didn’t though and that was the part we had to learn to cope with. Being pregnant is hard on me. Pregnancy doesn’t agree with my body. I get really sick. Really tired. Really uncomfortable. After the initial nausea and typical morning sickness wore off, I had a few weeks of “normal” pregnancy but then we got George Mason’s diagnosis. We never really knew what the outcome was going to be but I always sort of knew (without wanting to admit it) that my son was destined for heaven way earlier than I would have liked. I hadn’t even met him yet but I knew good bye was always a possibility. We prayed hard and boldly for healing. We begged God for a miracle, for those doctors to be wrong; or at the very least proved wrong in their assumptions. In so many ways, God answered those prayers. We tried to remain positive and trust that God not only could, but would heal our son. 

The 5 months or so of carrying George and wondering what came next was so tiring. I had such joy and expectation of what bringing our first son into the world would look like. Because pregnancy is so not enjoyable for my body, I delighted in the things that made all the fatigue and sickness worth it. Those baby kicks and hiccups. The heartbeat at every doctor appointment. Imagining what kind of personality would develop as this precious child grew up. Except with this pregnancy, I was terrified of what came next. We didn’t know. We knew there was a very large spectrum of complications and that George Mason fell on the worst end, but we didn’t KNOW. So while I delighted in his personality and his perfectly timed hiccups (every single night as I laid myself down into bed), I didn’t want to do the imagining. Its so hard to not day dream of what your child is going to become. Its so hard to not draw conclusions based on what little you know about the child you are incubating. So I did it. Knowing that it might lead to heartbreak. 

I’m thankful for those 5 months of getting to know George Mason. I didn’t get to hold him in my arms the way I had hoped but I loved on him with every fiber of my being; and because I always knew good bye was a possibility, I paid attention to every detail of his life and who he was telling me he was. Much like when my mom died, we had immense faith that God would give us our miracle and did everything we could medically to facilitate that. God didn’t heal him. He did however let us meet him. George Mason has a day and that's a wonderful miracle. He got to feel the touch of his daddy and hear him tell him he loves him. He got to hear the sweet sound of his big sisters innocent voice. Her love for him is big even though she is small. He got to go into eternity listening to his mamas heartbeat. I kissed that sweet head and said I love you more times than I can probably count. I couldn't muster the words "go be with Jesus" but it was the sentiment behind my salty tear-filled kisses. George Mason was a miracle. He was an adorable, precious life and we are so very thankful to have met him. 

God didn't heal my mama 2 years ago and he didn't heal my son 2 months ago. I know that He absolutely could have. I know without a doubt that if George Mason had lived through all of his body's failures, it would have been only because of God. He didn't, and that really hurts most days, but how can I wish for him to be in my arms when what little I know of heaven is so amazing and what I know about kidney failure is so awful? Gods timing is a mystery to me. I don't think I will ever understand why my son died after only 16 hours; at least not on this side of heaven. I am, however, incredibly thankful for all of the ways God is sustaining Adam and me (and all those that love George) through each minute/hour/day/week/month of this grief; of this missing him; of this broken world and our broken hearts. 

Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you. -Isaiah 46:4

Cast your burden on the LORD, and he will sustain you; he will never permit the righteous to be moved. - Psalm 55:22

4.21.17

Its been 10 weeks since I held my son. 10 weeks of missing him. 10 weeks of reliving his day. 10 weeks of remembering, on purpose, so I don’t forget. 10 weeks. It seems like forever but also only a second. February 10, 2017, changed our lives forever. George Mason changed our lives forever. 

I really can’t believe its been 10 weeks. Most days it feels like I just held him and I have to pinch myself to see if this is all a really bad dream. Maybe because I’m not sleeping much all the days run together and just seem like the longest day of my life. I close my eyes and see his precious face. I open my eyes and my heart longs to gaze into his eyes again. I want to smell him and kiss him. I want to learn each of his facial expressions. I want to know what each of his little cries are trying to say. I only heard him cry once.  It lasted about 3 seconds and was the most beautiful, hope giving, cry. Lying there on the operating table, those precious 3 seconds of baby cries gave me the strength to keep going. To stay awake and pray for my son. 

This last 10 weeks has been exhausting. I feel like a newborn baby, fully reliant on God for my everything because this pain and this season of my life is really, really hard. Just as newborn can only communicate through tears and cries, I too am crying before my God. I too am needing to be reminded I need fed the glorious Word and character of God. I want so badly to just be ok. I want to be able to answer honestly when people ask how I’m doing and say I’m good. Every day I wake up thinking, today I’m going to be ok. Today is the day that I’m healed. Except today is never that day. 

As a deer pants for flowing streams, so pants my soul for you, O God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When shall I come and appear before God? My tears have been my food day and night, while they say to me all the day long, “Where is your God?”

I’m so thankful for the community God has placed around me. I can truly see His wonderful provision in this place, for this season. It sucks that I’m going through this but there are wonderful people who love on me, love on us, and mourn beside us as we figure out where we go from here. Most days I’m not ok and they are ok with that. Most days I find myself needing company and distraction and they are ok with that. They are providing such life giving support and encouragement through simply doing life alongside Adam, Audrey, and me. Even on the worst days, I can always see God’s provision tangibly in my community. What a gift that has been to us. 

These things I remember, as I pour out my soul: and lead them in procession to the house of God with glad shouts and songs of praise, a multitude keeping festival. Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me? Hope in God; for I shall again praise him, my salvation and my God. 

Hope in God; for I shall again praise him. I know that I just want to be ok, but at the end of the day, my God is still my God, and that makes me perfectly ok. My emotions are on a rollercoaster and I’m feeling the sting of death much more than I'd like to, but God is still God and that is all that I need to survive until things are made right. Logically, I want a resolution to this pain. I want there to be a cut and dry reason for and answer to this horrible thing. I want God to work in my timeline and within the scope of my understanding. Then I realize how small that makes God and how much that would be the opposite of resolution. 

My soul is cast down within me; therefore I remember you from the land of Jordan and of Hermon, from Mount Mizar. Deep calls to deep at the roar of your waterfalls; all your breakers and your waves have gone over me. By day the LORD commands his steadfast love, and at night his song is with me, a prayer to the God of my life. I say to God, my rock: “Why have you forgotten me? Why do I go mourning because of the oppression of the enemy?” As with a deadly wound in my bones, my adversaries taunt me, while they say to me all the day long, “Where is your God?” 

I don’t even really like to admit that I’m still having bad days… that’s crazy. Grief has no timeline. There is no deadline for feeling better. I will only be fully restored when I reach eternity. I have to remind myself of that. I have to be ok with not being “ok” all the time or even yet. I am managing to keep my house clean, my child fed, have actual conversations with my husband, get out of bed; I’m doing fine not being ok. I’m clinging to Jesus with every breath. I’m praising Him with all that I have in me. God is good. God is really, really good. I don’t always feel that, but I know it. My heart knows it. My soul knows it. My head knows it. I just don’t always WANT to know it. 

Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me? Hope in God; for I shall again praise him, my salvation and my God. -Psalm 42

God hasn’t left me to my own devices. He hasn’t said, “Oh, I’m sorry Jillian, just deal with it and figure it out.” He has been at my side, holding my hand, guiding me, providing for me, comforting me this whole time. He is my Rock. He is my Salvation. He is the hope that I cling to. All that He has ever done or ever will do, is everything I have ever needed and will need. He has been a steadfast source of provision for the last 10 weeks, the 9 months before that, and the 29 years before that. He is every bit of who He says he is. Thankful doesn’t even come close to expressing how I feel about that. 

4.19.17

Yesterday was one of those days. It was hard. It was emotional. It hurt more than most days. There was nothing special about yesterday. There were no anniversaries or milestones to trigger the heart break. There was no particularly difficult thing to do or say or get through. Yesterday was just a Tuesday. Much like the ordinary Monday that preceded it. It was hard and painful and I had a bad attitude. I didn’t want to believe that my God was near. I couldn’t feel His presence and peace overtly over my life yesterday. Yesterday was one of those “hit me with a 2x4, God” so I can KNOW you are there kind of days. 

Bad attitude and all, God got me through it. I didn’t want to hear comforting words from the scriptures. I didn’t want to feel better. I wanted God to make it right. I don’t deserve to have lost my son, right God? I should be snuggling my 9 week old on this gloomy Tuesday, right God? I cried a lot yesterday. My toddler cried a lot yesterday. Yesterday, I felt the burden of the curse of sin in a very real, very tiring way. I woke up this morning feeling so much better. The sun is out, I know that helps, but I’m not as emotional today and neither is Audrey. We had a bad day yesterday but thankfully God is compassionate and true to His word. He is unfailing in His love for us and his mercies are never ending and new every single morning. 

The truth about all of this, is that none of this is the way its supposed to be and God knows that. He mourns that. He lost His very own son because of that. He is going to make it right. One day. Until then, I have to live in my brokenness and cry out for God to get me through. This is a race for the kingdom of God and its a marathon. He is going to sustain my pace and give me the strength and endurance to finish the work He has called me to. That doesn’t make it better right now, but knowing the inheritance that waits for me when I’m done makes it worth doing. God is worth it. I lost my son. George Mason isn’t here and that sucks but it doesn’t change God’s worthiness. He deserves every ounce of praise and glory I can muster. He is so, 100%, worth it. The eternity that waits for me; the eternity that my son is already experiencing, it is SO worth it. 

Today, my heart hurts a little less than yesterday. Thank you, Lord, for that. Thank you, Lord, for your sustaining grace as we live in this brokenness. Thank you for sunshine and birds’ songs. Thank you for the energy to paint my door frames, clean my house, love on my toddler, and just be me. Thank you for your inability to change and for always being what I need when I need it. Thank you, Lord, for your inexhaustible joy that you so graciously pour out on your people. Thank you, Jesus, for coming along side me even when I have a bad attitude. Thank you that even though my emotions are fleeting, you are steadfast. 

May you be strengthened with all power, according to his glorious might, for all endurance and patience with joy, giving thanks to the Father, who has qualified you to share in the inheritance of the saints in light. - Colossians 1:11-12

4.18.17

I’ve been reading over my sporadic journal entries from my pregnancy. I think the biggest comfort has been the record of prayers lifted and being able to see just how specifically God answered those prayers. Adam and I were over the moon ecstatic when we found out baby McGough #2 was going to be a boy. It would have been so much cheaper to have a girl… we literally had everything we needed, but a boy was an exciting new challenge. We didn’t get to enjoy that moment for very long though. Within 30 minutes of being introduced to George Mason, we found out he was sick. As I imagine most parents do, we had been praying for a healthy child but now there was a diagnosis that required more specifics. This precious life inside of me needed very specific miracles in order to get to the point of healthy and happy. 

They told us at 25 weeks they didn't expect our son to survive to 28 weeks. We are now at 31.5 weeks and at my OB appointment this morning we were told his heartbeat is strong! I am feeling good movement despite the cramped conditions of this pregnancy and am continually thankful for baby hiccups. Lastly, George Mason is seeming to take after his daddy and is measuring on the larger end of average. Every day he can cook is another day of him getting bigger and stronger and ready to fight when he's born. It's a long road to 37 weeks - the gestational age the nephrologist is most comfortable with regarding his delivery - but we continue to pray boldly and with faith that our little fighter continues to survive. 

Over the next 6ish weeks we will be praying for wisdom for the doctors that are guiding us through this process. We are praying that despite the seemingly terrible conditions for growth that his lungs would be able to develop and his heart would keep beating. We are praying that pre-term labor would not be a word in our vocabulary and that this strong little man would be delivered at the appropriate time for his best shot at fighting. Lastly, we are praying that our family would be prepared for whatever the Lord brings us and we continue to be thankful for the family and friends He has placed in our lives that love us so well. 

As I look at those words and the prayers we coveted, God is really amazing. I was so thankful for baby hiccups and the many, many swift kicks to the ribs I was receiving. Those were the things that got me through each day. They were the assurances that I was still carrying a living baby. I kept telling myself I didn’t know what I would do if this sweet child died inside my womb. - God knew what I would do and exactly how to handle it. If things had turned out that way, He would have provided but I’m certainly thankful for the blessing of a living, breathing, crying, baby boy on February 10 - I couldn’t imagine laboring and birthing an already dead child… His heartbeat was strong. I can’t believe I ever even wrote those words given his circumstances, yet at every ultrasound and every appointment, his heartbeat was strong. Thank you, Jesus, for that miracle and answer to prayer. 

We prayed that this little man would be born at the perfect time. That his doctors would have the wisdom they needed to make the best medical decisions possible for his precious life. God brought George Mason on his own. There was no plan in place to deliver him early or with any sort of urgency. He had survived so much already, he could certainly make it to February 13th. God had different plans. George Mason came in his own, perfect, timing. I was terrified when the labor pains started, but looking back, I’m so thankful for God’s timeline. Adam and I made no decisions about our son’s life. We knew we had to trust that God was in control and we were going to ride out the pregnancy in whatever shape and path that took. For us, that means we talked with each doctor about our options so that we could pray over any possible decisions. We educated ourselves with as much information as we could. In the end, things played out in a way that there were no options; no decisions to be made. God was in control. He was God, not me, not some doctor, not anyone but God. 

Not a day goes by that I don’t wish things had gone differently. I miss my son and I want him here. Some days I’m angry with God about that. Some days I’m disappointed in the outcome. Some days I’m relieved that my son didn’t live a long life of sickness. I don’t even really like to admit that, but its true. This grief over George Mason’s life is intricate and layered. There are so many ways that I experienced his life and it was only 16 hours. I have the rest of my life to think back on those 16 hours and peel back the many versions of his story. I’m so sad that he’s not here but I’m so very thankful for the assurance God gives of heaven and eternity with Him. My precious son was a witness to many of God’s power and love. He defied many odds in his short life. Today, I feel the weight of losing him but have great peace in knowing He is no longer suffering. I will probably never really know that magnitude of George Mason’s impact on God’s kingdom but I will forever be grateful to have been a part of his story. God made me his mama and that wasn’t by mistake. 

Therefore the Lord waits to be gracious to you, and therefore he exalts himself to show mercy to you. For the Lord is a God of justice; blessed are all those who wait for him. For a people shall dwell in Zion, in Jerusalem; you shall weep no more. He will surely be gracious to you at the sound of your cry. As soon as he hears it, he answers you. And though the Lord give you the bread of adversity and the water of affliction, yet your Teacher will not hide himself anymore, but your eyes shall see your Teacher. And your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, “This is the way, walk in it,” when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left. - Isaiah 30:18-22

4.17.17

My heart hurts today. I woke this morning after a wonderfully celebratory Easter and immediately felt the pain of loss. It's weird, because that immediacy of the pain has faded in most days. Most times the loss is only noticed in particular moments and the pain is more dull. The sharp pokes are less and less often and the ugly cries are subsiding. Life has moved on. It doesn't feel like it should, but it has. 

I don't know why this day is special. I wish I understood what made the pain most obvious so I could avoid or prepare for it. It's just a Monday. That doesn't seem especially difficult. It's a random Monday in April. The only thing special about it is that I woke up today missing my son. I woke up today and George Mason isn't here.  He's not in the NICU bed where we thought he'd be. He's not in the crib in the nursery where we had hoped he would be. He's not snuggling in my arms while I deal with the tantrums of his big sister. He's not here. He's not with his family. That's what makes today special, I guess. 

I've been reading about the life of Moses and how much he really didn't feel qualified for the job God had called him to. God gave him all of these miracles to show the Egyptians that God was God. He equipped him, comforted him, and told him to trust, I am. Days like today I feel horribly under qualified for the job of mama to Audrey and George. My heart is broken and it doesn't seem like it's capable of loving and being patient with such a strong willed toddler but it's also so full of joy and gratitude for her precious life. My heart is longing for that precious baby boy and I feel myself shaking my head at God telling Him I can't do this. 

I feel silly even thinking about a comparison with Moses and myself... I mean, it's Moses. 10 commandments, parting the sea, let my people go, Moses. But then I realized, Moses is just a man. He didn't do any of those things God did. God sent Moses to rescue His people and gave him everything he needed to finish the job. God is pretty awesome like that. It was a much needed reminder that I'm not going to be able to do this alone. I'm not going to be able to wake up every day and face it's challenges by myself. The pain of a broken heart is pretty awful today but the best thing to repair that break is Jesus. 

If God delivered his people from Egypt through the work of man who felt under qualified , I know God can certainly heal my heart and take me through each day of life as mama. I'm still learning what it means to be mama to Audrey and George. One of my babies is in heaven but he's still my baby and I love him just the same. God will provide for each day. He will give me grace on the days that I'm shaking my head and doubting. He will give mercy when I try to do it myself. But most importantly, He will always be God, no matter how I'm feeling. So while my heart hurts today, I'm comforted in knowing my God is bigger than anything I will ever face; and anything I will ever throw at him. 

"And now, behold, the cry of the people of Israel has come to me, and I have also seen the oppression with which the Egyptians oppress them. Come, I will send you to Pharaoh that you may bring my people, the children of Israel, out of Egypt.” But Moses said to God, “Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh and bring the children of Israel out of Egypt?” He said, “But I will be with you, and this shall be the sign for you, that I have sent you: when you have brought the people out of Egypt, you shall serve God on this mountain.” - exodus 3:9-12

He Is Risen!

He is Risen.

My goodness am I glad for those words. Good Friday is heavy. It is burdened with the sacrifice of the perfect lamb. It is full of deep, hidden sins, being brought forth in order to be redeemed. There is almost nothing good about Good Friday… except that it is actually pretty Great. Jesus, you are amazing. Your sacrifice was unwarranted. You didn’t have to do it, BUT you did. I need that tattooed across my heart: BUT GOD DID. 

Jesus put himself on that cross on Friday so that on Sunday we could wake up and celebrate life. Glorious, wonderful, life eternal. The only problem with this Sunday in this year, is that there is a beautiful life that is absent from our celebration. He is not absent from celebrating. In fact, he is probably celebrating even more fervently than we are… But George Mason is missing today from my arms. He is missing from our family celebration. There will be no adorable easter outfits and hurried pictures before candy gets all over them. There will be no sibling pictures for the year book. There will be no cries from the newborn who is finding his voice and growing more certain of his schedule and timeline. There will only be broken people, celebrating in the midst of this broken world, the most amazing sacrifice and HOPE. 

Jesus died on that cross on Friday but didn’t rise until Sunday. God gave us a whole day of mourning. A whole day to wait and see what would come of that sacrifice. My son died and that was a terrible Friday. Then milestones got crossed off on the calendar and now I’m sitting in that Saturday. I’m waiting, with great anticipation, for the glory of Sunday. How appropriate to be celebrating Jesus’ rising and leaving that tomb empty when I’m in this season of waiting and wondering. Jesus, I know your sacrifice was undeserved but I am so thankful for it. Because YOU paid the ultimate price, I don’t have to. Because YOU died AND rose, I get to run like the wind out of my own grave. Because YOU were the perfect lamb, my son is in heaven and I know that I will be too, one day. 

Today is a day to be fully celebrated. My faith and my heart rest in Jesus’ death and then resurrection. He is Risen. I want to celebrate. I want to shout from the rooftops that He is risen! Without that empty tomb, what would I have to celebrate? What hope would I have that I will see me son again one day? BUT GOD made sure we know there is hope. That He is our hope. That life eternal, worshipping at the feet of Jesus is a reality that we can long for with assurance of its truth. Today, I am celebrating with all my heart because that hope is wonderful. 

“Death is swallowed up in victory.”
“O death, where is your victory?
O death, where is your sting?”
The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. Therefore, my beloved brothers, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that in the Lord your labor is not in vain. - 1 Corinthians 15:55-58

 

Good Friday

It’s Good Friday. The day where the unimaginable happened. The day where our God put himself on the cross, to die and be buried, so that three days later He could rise and defeat death. All of this because He loves us. All of that pain, the separation, being forsaken, the death… all because He didn’t want for this world to be the only thing we had. He wanted us to have hope to live each day, knowing that we will see Jesus in eternity. We will worship along side the angels and sing with the saints. Heaven is the place where brokenness is no more and its only accessible to us because of this day; because of Good Friday. 

Last Sunday, I had a meltdown. Not a temper-tantrum meltdown like my toddler, but an emotional breakdown from the last few months. I want so badly to understand all of this. To know why God has brought me to this place of ugliness. I want to understand why I’m dealing with this pain. Why, did my great God not save my son? 

“As you do not know the path of the wind, or how the body is formed in a mother’s womb, so you cannot understand the work of God, the Maker of all things.” - Ecclesiastes 11:5

My son’s work here on this earth was completed in only 16 hours. I don’t know why, or how, or what that really even means, I just know that he was God’s child and that his 16 hours were all for the glory of God. Knowing all of that, however, doesn’t make it any easier to believe all the time, or to get through each day. It also doesn’t mean I won’t long for understanding. Thankfully, I don’t have to get through each day on my own. Thankfully, because of what happened on Good Friday all those generations ago, I have the cross to bridge the gap between my incapability and God’s perfect expectations. Thankfully, even though I know I may not always understand the work of God, that doesn’t make him any less God or any less good. He hasn’t promised that I will always understand. He has only promised that He is who He says He is and that is way bigger than I’m capable of understanding. 

Easter this year feels a lot more real and personal. Not saying that I haven’t felt the weight of Good Friday before… just this year it stings differently. Death is a horrible thing. No matter who you are, no matter how expected a death may be, death sucks. It stings and is painful for those watching it happen because its not the way its supposed to be. I can imagine Jesus’ mother seeing her son on that cross… what a horrible death he died and even though she knew it was coming because of who he was, that was still her son. That was still a person who was loved and whose presence was going to be missed and absence deeply felt. I watched my son die so peacefully in my arms. I snuggled him and kissed him and told him how much his daddy and I love him. If death can be beautiful, his was. How much more must Mary’s pain have been in losing her son? 

I’ve tried not to think about the death part of this week. I’ve tried to focus on the resurrection. The wonderful, conquering, resurrection. The problem with that, is that without the death, there would have been no resurrection. There would be no celebration of life if Jesus hadn’t first died. I know my son is not going to be resurrected. There is no celebration coming of his new life on this earth. But there is something so special that I can celebrate: his eternal life. It sucks for me, here on this earth, to have lost him to death after only 16 hours. But he isn’t feeling that loss. He isn’t missing me. He is in eternity, worshipping away until we are reunited when I enter eternity. That is the celebration that I can have every single day. Because of Good Friday, because of Easter Sunday, I can celebrate those 16 hours I had with my son on earth but even bigger, I can celebrate his eternity with Jesus. 

God could have saved George Mason. He could have performed a miracle beyond my son surviving pregnancy. He could have had all of this work out differently. But He didn’t. I wish He had, but He didn’t. God could also have saved His own son, all those years ago. He could have so easily said this isn’t worth it, I don’t want to be separated from my son. He could have said one word and there would be no Good Friday and no need for an Easter Sunday. My goodness, how glad am I that He didn’t do that. 

When Jesus had received the sour wine, he said “It is finished,” and he bowed his head and gave up his spirit.” - John 19:30

It was now about the sixth hour, and there was darkness over the whole land until the ninth hour, while the sun's light failed. And the curtain of the temple was torn in two. Then Jesus, calling out with a loud voice, said, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit!” And having said this he breathed his last. - Luke 23:44-46

4.13.17

I’m feeling really distracted today. There are so many things going through my head I’m finding it very hard to focus on any one thing in particular and also struggling with what emotions I’m processing. It’s been an emotional week leading up to Good Friday and Easter Sunday. We’ve also been hit by the change of weather crud that makes everyone feel yucky. Maybe its good to be distracted today? Maybe because I’m distracted I’m not stuck in sadness or overwhelmed by emotions?

I think today, because of the distraction, I need to just write down the thoughts that are occupying my brain space. I don’t know where they will lead or if any of them will be particularly profound, but they are there and I need to process them. I think I also need a written record to be able to look back on; it has been an invaluable source of comfort as I trace the ways God has been present in all of this.  

God will provide. He is walking this journey with me, with us, and He will provide. What does our future look like? 18 months before trying for more babies… what does that change about our parenting? Our life choices? George made a huge impact on our lives. What will the lasting impact be on our family? On future children? Will the sadness every go away? Will there ever be a time without pain? I suddenly have a lot of free time. What am I supposed to do with it? How am I supposed to serve God’s kingdom as a mama to a toddler and a baby in heaven?

And the LORD will guide you continually and satisfy your desire in scorched places and make your bones strong; and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters do not fail. -Isaiah 58:11

I was reading back through my journal from that first week or so after George’s day. I wrote the following through tears but am glad I wrote it down. It doesn’t answer any of the thoughts or questions listed earlier, but it does remind me of the one most important thing I need to remember: God has got this. 

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"What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things?" Romans 8:31-32

If God is for us, who can be against us? I've struggled with these words this week. Losing our son seems like the most awful thing in the world and when I get caught in the emotion of loss I ask myself how can my God have done this? The truth is, I have no idea why George Mason is in heaven and not in my arms but I'm thankful for the hope that comes with God's promise of eternity. The passage in Romans goes on to say: 

"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

My son is glorifying his God in a place where there is no pain, no suffering, no more brokenness. He will be reunited with his family one day, and while that time will seem so long for us on this earth, it will be a blink of an eye for our precious baby boy. George Mason doesn't need these words, but I do. I need the written reminder that nothing will separate me from God's perfect love; not even the death of my son. My God is for me and He will get me through this. 

Thank you, Lord, for this distraction today.

4.12.17

Audrey has been walking around all morning carrying her Minnie Mouse watch and asking me to either put it on her or help her put it on herself. She is very proud of her watch. She shows it off and talks to it as if it were an apple watch and Siri might respond. She’s not feeling well today, so instead of our usual park time we’ve had movie morning snuggles and lots of watch talking. 

One of the things the child life therapist told us during our pregnancy was to make lots of memories with George and Audrey. Talk to him, let her talk to him, sing to him, write things down, take lots of pictures. All the same sort of things we would have done naturally if our baby hadn’t been sick and we weren’t occupied with worry and stress. I managed to do many of the things they suggested. Audrey and I read book after book about becoming a big sister. Her and I talked to George all the time. I would explain to her that he was sick and that made mama and daddy worry. I would tell her that even though his sickness made us sad sometimes, that we still very much loved her. Her and I would even pray for George in really simple words. Sometimes she would repeat what I was saying, sometimes she wouldn’t, but I knew that she loved him so very much. 

As part of the “memory making” process of our pregnancy, the palliative care team set us up with a music therapist. Honestly, I thought it was the craziest thing on the planet, but Adam and I very skeptically went to the appointment. I didn’t really know what to expect and I was certain it wasn’t going to be helpful. We arrived at the appointment and one of the child life therapists met us to play with Audrey while we talked with music therapy. It was really an incredible hour and a half. We sat down in their studio space, called Sophie’s Place, and just started pouring our hearts out. Amanda, the music therapist, played the guitar while we talked. She asked enough questions to get us talking but not enough that we felt we were being interrogated. When we left, I didn’t know what was going to come out of that 90 minutes, but I was thankful to have been able to tell our son’s story to one more person. 

Several weeks later we got a call that our lullaby was ready and we just needed to come in and approve it before they recorded it and gave it to us. I didn’t drag Adam to that appointment but Audrey and I gathered ourselves up and went back to Sophie’s Place. They greeted us with little toddler sized instruments and sang a few songs with Audrey as she played her shakers and the ukulele; she wanted to play the big guitar and Amanda graciously let her strum along. It was sweet and it was life giving. They handed me a copy of the lyrics and then Amanda and her intern began singing along with the acoustic guitar while Audrey twirled and tried to sing along. 

This miracle of ours - a fighter from the start - You’ve never given up
We have come so far - to be right where we are - Down this long, winding road
And we’re thankful for - Feeling baby kicks - and watching sister’s love grow
As time goes on and on - and we hope despite the odds…

George Mason
Know that we’ll love you through it all
We’re praying each day, For a miracle
Step by step this dance with you
Has been a gift we share with you
George Mason, we love you

I didn’t really hear the rest of the song. I was crying. They were tears of joy, awe, sadness. These two women, who had spent 90 minutes with us, had captured all of the raw emotion and had written out our son’s story into a beautifully arranged song. After they finished singing I almost couldn’t tell them how beautiful that “lullaby” was. They got out their iPad and recorded Audrey talking to me and her brother. They said they would send us the finished recording in a few days. We left again with the same “not sure what is going to come of this” as we did the first time, but so very thankful for those women who had listened to well. 

You know your sister’s voice - and she can feel your love - as you dance along with her
Though we have so much to learn - about who you are - Our love forever grows
And we’re thankful for - all the little things - and we count our blessings - each and every day - and we hope despite the odds…
 

So many of those words still hold true. He was taken from us much too quickly for us to have really known much more about him than we did sitting in that studio. I wasn’t sure what would come of this crazy thing called Music Therapy but I’m completely blown away by how special this song is and how much I will cherish the memories made from having it and the process of making it. We played his song to him as we said our see you in heaven. I don’t know how often I will listen to the lullaby, but I can certainly say it was life giving and a wonderful memory to have made with my two children. 

Audrey’s watch was a gift to her from her brother. We didn’t get the chance to do all of the memory making we thought (pen pal exchange of letters/pictures/stories), but the first step was a gift to her from her brother. Watching her play with it brings me to tears but also fills my heart with so much joy. I know she won’t remember most of this when she’s older but there are seeds being planted in her memory for when she’s able to understand and start asking questions. Maybe one day she too will be blown away by how special her brother’s lullaby is and how much a part of his story she is and was. My mom used to call things like this a kiss from God. I believe with all my heart that is absolutely what this is. 

May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing,
so that by the power of the Hoy Spirit you may abound in hope. -Romans 15:13

4.11.17

I’ve been getting a lot of Facebook memories from Audrey’s first few weeks as our daughter. I’ve been fondly remembering the snuggles and precious coos of a newborn. I’ve also been blown away by how fast life seems to go and how in what seems like the blink of an eye, our daughter is 2 years old and our son has been gone for 2 months. As I look back through pictures of Audrey’s firsts, I realized that in the anxiety and chaos of George’s day, I wrote my son’s death announcement before I had even gotten the chance to write a birth announcement. 

After we said see you in heaven to our precious son, we left that NICU room and neither of us knew what to do next. There was the logical things: getting Audrey home and putting her to bed, taking more medicine. But when I walked back into my own hospital room, I had so many text messages asking for updates on how labor was progressing, or how George was doing, or how I was feeling. There had been a few updates on Facebook throughout the day by my sisters, mostly asking for continued prayer for our little fighter, but those text messages were still there; people who love us wanted to know how we were all doing and how they could pray. My son had just died and I didn’t know how to answer the texts. Any answer I gave was going to hurt. It was going to feel like a sucker punch to the gut no matter how I responded. So through crocodile tears and whatever energy I had left, I wrote the following:

Our sweet George Mason has gone to be with Jesus. His life on this earth was short but he has impacted so many people and will forever be remembered as a fighter with attitude. He has showed more people about Gods love than most of us could even dream of reaching. His fight for life in the womb was an inspiration to myself and Adam and we are so grateful to have gotten 38 weeks to learn about his personality and 16 hours to enjoy his sweet smile.

His big sister got to snuggle with him and he passed very peacefully in the arms of his parents. We have very heavy hearts tonight but we are so very thankful for a Lord who will see us through this. A Lord who will give us the strength to get through each day. A Lord who loves our little boy more than we could have ever imagined.  

We love you George Mason, you will forever hold a special piece of our hearts. 

I wrote those words, turned off my phone, and asked the nurse for a sleeping pill. I didn’t want to toss and turn all night going back over what I had said. Was it perfect? Did it live up to my son’s wonderful, perfect life? Did I tell the world (my small little world) how much I loved him and he meant to us? Did I share the worst news possible in the most gentle way possible? I slept that night; not well, but I slept. It had been almost 40 hours since I had slept and those 40 hours were some of the worst and some of the best in my entire life. I haven’t read those words again until today. I still don’t know if those words did justice to my son’s life but they were all I could come up with in the moment and since they are part of George’s day, I’m glad I have them written down. 

It seems weird, after 2 months, but I feel like my son deserves a birth announcement. I want people to know how proud I am to be his mama. How wonderful his short life was. So, with the help of distance from the initial emotions, worries, fears, and frustrations, I’d like to announce the birth of my sweet son. 

Adam and I are so pleased to introduce you to our son, George Mason McGough. He was born February 10, 2017, at 4:53 in the morning. Weighing in at 7lbs 3oz and 19in, he is perfect. He has a full head of curly blonde hair. He has his daddy’s ears. His hands look just like his sister’s. We are beyond thrilled to have welcomed him into our little family and cannot express how much he is loved by his parents and his sister. Our lives are changed forever because of his. Thank you, Lord, for this precious child. 

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"For you formed my inward parts;
you knitted me together in my mother's womb.
I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
Wonderful are your works;
my soul knows it very well.
My frame was not hidden from you,
when I was being made in secret,
intricately woven in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes saw my unformed substance;
in your book were written, every one of them,
the days that were formed for me,
when as yet there was none of them."
Psalm 139: 13-16