6.26.17

Today has been a very bad, no good, horrible, awful kind of day. It really honestly has nothing to do with grief either, just life circumstances and unfortunate timing. The problem with that, is when I'm feeling frustrated or anxious, or I'm just generally having a "day," I miss my son. I miss him so much in the happy moments. I want him by my side. I want him being part of the happy memories that will be part of our family's story. In those wonderful, joyful, exciting, and very good moments, I miss him something awful. But on days like today, where nothing seems to be going right, I miss him differently. I'm easily swayed in the direction of thought that longs for my son to be here, because if he were here this awfulness (though most likely made worse by the logistics of a 4 month old) would somehow seem less daunting. That on a day when the car isn't doing its thing and you're getting over a stomach bug, I could look down at my sweet son playing with his big sister and just know it's all going to work out ok. 

I'm reminded of him in all sorts of ways throughout every day. Those reminders are hard but they are also so important. I don't ever want to forget my sweet son and it's so easy for my broken heart to lie to me and tell me I will. Audrey and I are both feeling a bit under the weather today so we're snuggled up on the couch watching a movie. I wish George Mason was here with us. I'm listening to her sing along with the music and loving her spirit and this adventure we are on together. She would've been a great, albeit slow learning, big sister. She would've been jealous but she would've been caring. She would've been a bit of a bully but she would've loved him with so much passion it hurts my heart to think about. She would've been selfish and had a hard time sharing but she would've loved every second of sharing her tidbits of wisdom. The things that make me remember George Mason will always be a part of my life. They are going to be wonderful and painful but they are going to let me share his life with the people who never knew him. 

Today has been a long day but not because of George Mason. In fact, the little memories of him, the sadness of missing him, the joy of having known him, they are a bright spot in this horrible, awful day. Thank you, Jesus for that precious little boy and his sister. Thank you, Jesus for the sadness that lead to seeking you. Thank you, Jesus, that no matter the emotions attached to my memories or the things that remind me of George Mason, I can be thankful that he was your child long before he was mine. Thank you, Jesus, that in all things I can find and see your mercies and endless love. 

6.21.17

I've been thinking a lot lately about George Mason's day. It will be remembered as one of the most wonderful and horrible days I've ever encountered. It is the day that my beautiful son was born. The day that we got to meet the tiny person that had been fighting for his life for all those months. It was the day that God planned, not the day that I chose. It was George Mason's life. February 10, 2017. 

I try not to be disappointed in the memories I have of that day but sometimes that's a really hard thing to do. There are so many things that I wish had gone differently. So many things that I would have loved to have been different. So many things that had to happen because my son's life needed saving, but so many things that make that day really hard. I remember his tiny little cry at 4:53am. I remember the weight that lifted off my shoulders when I heard it. I remember that feeling of "we made it!" and "praise Jesus!" and "did we get our miracle?!" I was exhausted, we were exhausted. Our babies don't like to bring us to the hospital at normal hours... we had been up all night. I labored through a long night, despite the inevitable c section. I remembered being so frustrated by that but being so nervous and anxious to meet my baby I never pushed the nurses. When that little cry could be heard from behind the curtain as they passed him into the NICU, I took my first deep breathe in hours. I had so much hope. All I wanted was to hold him but instead I prayed for his health and hoped. 

We had met with the neonatologist on service for the day that was supposed to be George Mason's birthday. He had told us that there would be several things he and the NICU staff would have to do right away but that once those things were done, adam could come meet our son. He told us that would hopefully only be 30 minutes. I remember thinking that those 30 minutes were going to feel like an eternity. It wasn't 30 minutes. It was almost 6 hours... each 30 minute block that passed I got a little less excited, a lot more assertive, and so much more worried. Adam and I were so tired but before either of us could close our eyes, we needed to know our baby boy was going to be ok. Finally, at 11:13am, we got to meet our son. He was perfect. 

We couldn't spend much time with him because they still didn't have him fully stabilized but the nurses and staff in the NICU were so kind. They made us feel welcome. They got excited along with us. They answered any questions we might have and left to our imaginations the things we didn't have the heart to ask. They encouraged us, loved us, loved on our son, and fought hard along side him. When we got back to my hospital room I needed to sleep. I could barely keep my eyes open but I wanted to badly to hold my son. Touching his hand was wonderful, but it wasn't embracing him like I had imagined for all those months. In just a couple more hours they allowed us to go back and visit him. We stayed for longer than they probably wanted, but being by his side was all I wanted and they knew that. 

I get a little jealous when I see pictures of brand new babies on their mama's chests. That moment is incredible and I didn't get it with George Mason. I know the reasons why I didn't. I know that if I had been given that moment that things would've been so much worse. I know that. But knowing something doesn't make it any easier to process its reality. God has been ever present in this journey with me. He has met meet in the darkest moments to comfort me. He has celebrated, rejoiced with, mourned alongside, and held me through this roller coaster of grief. He is a great God. He is good God. He is kind and compassionate and full of everything I need, just when I need it. All of those things are why I'm capable of waking up to face another day. His majesty and power are sustaining me. He knows I'm going to get jealous. He also knows I'm genuinely happy for those mama's and their sweet babes. He knows I'm just figuring out what life looks like without my baby. He is the pillar of fire leading me through the wilderness and He's going to keep providing manna for every day. 

Your words were found, and I ate them, and your words became to me a joy and the delight of my heart, for I am called by your name, O Lord, God of hosts. - Jeremiah 15:16

Then the Lord said to Moses, “Behold, I am about to rain bread from heaven for you, and the people shall go out and gather a day's portion every day, that I may test them, whether they will walk in my law or not. - Exodus 16:4

6.19.17

Yesterday was Father's Day. It was a day that I didn't want to face. I didn't want to celebrate my husband's fatherhood without both of our children. It was a long week leading up to Sunday and I was dreading that day. Some silly day on the calendar that has no significance except that it's a certain Sunday in June. 

Sunday was actually really nice. We got up and had cinnamon rolls as a family. Audrey gave Adam her card and told him "Happy Mother's Day daddy" almost like we had practiced. She grinned from ear to ear when he put on the sunglasses she picked out for him. It was a sweet way to start any day,  but particularly that day. As Sunday continued there was golf on tv and family snuggles and time with dear friends. God is good. Father's Day could have been really really hard. It could have been full of ugly cries and short tempers. Instead, in the midst of the sorrow and the reality that one of our children is not here with us, it was relaxing and ordinary. Ordinary hasn't defined much of our life the last few months, so it was quite a blessing to feel so normal for once. 

Today started out so normal too. Just another Monday.... except at about 2pm Audrey asked me a question that caught me completely off guard. She was playing dress up and mommy and was feeding her baby doll whenshe looked up and said, "when does George Mason come home with us?" My heart sank in that moment. I didn't really have time to think of an answer because it was so out of the blue - she still talks about him a lot but it's becoming less frequent - so I told her that George Mason couldn't come home with us because he was in heaven instead. She responded with, "he's with Jesus!" and then life went on. Whatever sparked that thought in her mind, those words satisfied. I wanted to throw up and cry and thank God for her all in the same instant. And then I grabbed my keys and we were loading the car to run some errands. 

I asked myself a few times over the afternoon where that question came from. I so wish I knew what was going through her mind... but when the tears never really fell, I just let it go; or so I thought. But as I climbed in bed for the night, I realized I'm still holding on to that question. I'm still chewing on the "why today?" and "where did that come from?" questions. Here I am at almost midnight, wide awake, and wishing my son were here. Wishing I was sitting in the nursery, rocking a sweet, sleeping baby boy just because I wanted a few more minutes of uninterrupted snuggles. I know that it's not all bad all the time. I know that our little family is starting to experience more ordinary days; and I'm so thankful for God's grace in that respect. But I also know that every day I miss my sonEvery day I notice his absence, even when there aren't reminders. Every day, whether Audrey notices or not, George isn't here and he should be. 

So since I'm awake, I pray that even though I'm so very aware of what our ordinary is missing that Audrey would still be able to see God's awesomeness. That she would always respond with the same enthusiasm as today when she exclaimed her brother was with Jesus! That even though this really hard thing has turned our world upside down and sideways, she would know her God loves her. That her God loves her mama and is oh so good. That her God loves her daddy and will continue to meet each day with mercies perfectly matched for that day. That this God we serve is indescribable and will get us through each day until we our singing with her brother (and Grammy) and the angels in eternity. That she will grow up resting in the embrace of the God who is all that we could ever need. 

Her question today was a punch in the gut, but it was also a much needed reminder that we are going to be ok. That God has got this and no matter how hard it seems on any given day, it's not more than God can handle. That George Mason will always be remembered and missed but that we can exclaim boldly that he is with Jesus! 

I lay down and slept; I woke again, for the LORD sustained me. - Psalms 3:5

6.15.17

This week seems like it will never end. The days are long and the nights are even longer. My heart hurts. My eyes are swollen. My body is tired from all of it. I knew when we first got George Mason's diagnosis that our lives were going to be tiring. We were going to have a newborn and they need a lot of care. Except our newborn was going to have the added layer of complexity of an indefinite NICU stay and all of the anxieties of life leading up to a kidney transplant. That's what I had prepared my heart and mind for. Physical and mental exhaustion from caring for and loving on (and worrying about) a very sick little boy. It may have been crazy, but I couldn't even let myself think he wouldn't be here today. I was as ready as I could be for whatever NICU parenting was going to look like because no matter how hard or how tiring or whatever else, as long as there was a NICU stay, there was a little boy fighting for his life. 

I think as we get farther from his day, and closer to another milestone without him, this pain of loss is feeling overwhelming. There is no decision we can make that doesn't have grief as a lens through which we make it. And there is no easy way to decipher if that lens is clear or clouded. We are faced with life moving forward. Time will not stop in its tracks because we are sad. We have to keep going. We must keep living, loving and raising our daughter, loving and supporting each other, being Adam and Jillian: person, spouse, parent. So as the time clock ticks and we go on with life, we do it knowing that each day that passes is two things. 1) it is another day without our son and 2) it is one day further from that pain, it is time working in our favor toward healing. 

With each new day, some being good and many being bad, I'm constantly in awe of Gods love for me. He is with me in this crazy storm and he's not just along for the ride, but fully invested and doing it with me. He hears my cries and holds me close. He shows me His love in ways that are perfectly suited to the day's unique challenges. He refuses to let me walk away because He knows that it's in this moment, this horrible, awful, painful moment, that I need him the most. He knows my pain and He knows how to comfort me. He is ever faithful to His promise to be my shephard. He didn't give me George Mason to ruin my life but to bless it abundantly. He gave me a son that I love from the bottom of my heart and that is such a gift. Yes, it hurts to know that I won't get to cuddle him as an infant, discipline him as a toddler, encourage him as a child, cheer him on as a young adult, or cherish meeting and loving on his family as he grows into a man. Yes, not having him here with me is painful, but knowing where I get to meet him when my work on earth is finished is 100% awesome. I lost my son to the ugliness of death after only 16 hours but his life has been engraved on my heart and my goodness am I thankful for that wonderful and precious life. 

Today is a hard day. This week has been a hard week. I'm raw. God still loves me. One day when I sit with my journal the sadness will seem distant and the gift of my son's life will seem so much bigger than the pain of his death. One day. Not today. Not this week. But one day. Time will certainly help but as long as it takes for time to do it's thing, God is in it and here. God is with me and for me for the rest of my life and all of eternity. His love is unending and his faithfulness is never failing. I'm thankful for that. God is here in this mess with me and that's enough. I haven't been as diligent about writing down the specific ways God is here and meeting me in this place lately. So today I want to remember the look on Audrey's face when we took her first (that she remembers) train ride. I want to thank God for that precious smile and innocent excitement. I want to remember that feeling of pleasure mixed with a little uncertainty but trusting that mama is there. That's what I want to remember from this day. That's what I'm going to bring to my Heavenly Father as a moment of joy and a reason to rejoice. Thank you Jesus for that moment. Thank you for being there in the mundane moments and the parenting wins. Thank you for the gift of Audrey Nole. 

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! According to his great mercy, he has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for you, who by God's power are being guarded through faith for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time. In this you rejoice, though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been grieved by various trials, so that the tested genuineness of your faith—more precious than gold that perishes though it is tested by fire—may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ.
1 Peter 1:3-7

6.13.17

I keep thinking about this John Piper quote someone sent me right after George died. I don't remember it verbatim, but basically he was saying to let yourself cry, yell, sit in the sadness and pain but then to put on your make up and keep doing life. He obviously said it much more eloquently than that but it stuck with me and lately I've been feeling like it's ringing true of my life. I spent the first 10 or so weeks after George Mason went to be with Jesus, really sitting in my grief. Intentionally processing and making time to feel the things I was feeling and try to identify them. Then I got really tired. I was tired of facing the pain every day. Tired of constantly trying to put words to the emotions that were overwhelming my soul. Tired of the funk that came with allowing myself to cry or yell or whatever may be. So I stopped being so intentional and started just letting the tears come as they may. Letting this work of grief feel less like work and just living life. 

In so many ways I think that was such a good thing. It was needed. I had cried for George and now it was time to put on my make up and go about life. I started to feel less sad. I cried less often but when I did cry, it was big. It was almost like because I wasn't forcing myself to feel it or whatever, that I was fine until something turned on the faucet. I still face these emotions daily. I still cry and yell. I still can find things in my day/life to be thankful for. God hasn't left me alone in this grief. He hasn't looked at me and said "that's enough sadness, Jillian, time to be happy." He continues to hold my hand (and my heart) and comfort me through this process. He continues to be the good and gracious and merciful and steadfast God that I've been getting to know since I was a little girl. 

I woke up this morning to rain. It seems like we've had so much rain this year... but this was a good thing for once. It's been hot and dry and the rain brought cooler temperatures and a wonderful breeze. I'm thankful for the rain but it makes me sad at the same time. My mood is so affected by the weather but this rain, this brief storm, reminds me of something so important: storms end. They don't go on forever. They come in and change your surroundings so drastically for however long they last and then they go away. They disappear and reveal the sunshine. They leave and take with them the cold and wet and grey and give us the sun. But they don't leave without a trace. The rain brings with it new life. Water to better grow the things all around us. A respite from the heat. Downed trees or flooded rivers. Sometimes the trace is good and sometimes it's bad. 

I'm not usually thankful for storms, but this one is a helpful reminder. This "storm" in my life WILL END. There will come a day when this suffering is over and the sunshine will be revealed. But just like a good storm leaves its mark, there will be things about this moment in time that are different on the other side of this storm. My heart will always have the scar of this brokenness. My family will always be missing one of its members. My faith will be stronger. After all, I'm serving a God who calms the storm. The God who in one breath told the waves to be still! That's the God that loves me and comforts me. That's the God who is with me in this storm. I don't know when He will say those words but I know He will. I'm thankful for this storm. I'm thankful for the ability to keep myself busy. I'm thankful for those moments when the pain overwhelms me and I allow myself to sit in it because one day this storm will be over and every time I cry Ilet myself get a little closer to the Holy Comforter. So today, in the gloomy gray of this rainy day, I'm thanking God for the reminder that He is the one who will calm the storm and that one day the sunshine will begin to peek through the clouds. I’m going to keep taking those words from John Piper to heart. I’m going to let myself cry when necessary and then wash my face and go about my day. 

On that day, when evening had come, he said to them, “Let us go across to the other side.” And leaving the crowd, they took him with them in the boat, just as he was. And other boats were with him. And a great windstorm arose, and the waves were breaking into the boat, so that the boat was already filling. But he was in the stern, asleep on the cushion. And they woke him and said to him, “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” And he awoke and rebuked the wind and said to the sea, “Peace! Be still!” And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm. He said to them, “Why are you so afraid? Have you still no faith?” And they were filled with great fear and said to one another, “Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?” -Mark 4:35-41

4 Months

I didn't sleep last night. I tossed and turned, sang the lyrics of Beauty and the Beast over and over (Audrey is a little obsessed these days), and just couldn't clear my mind. I finally gave in around 4am and just got out of bed. I didn't realize until about 9am what day it is... June 10, 4 months since George Mason's day. I'm sure it probably has a lot to do with last nights restlessness. I'm not always sad. I'm not dealing with the deep stabbing pain all day every day. Life has moved on. I'm doing ok. I'm even happy and willing to look to our future on most days. Last nights restlessness was out of the norm - I've been able to sleep much better the last month or so. Despite the fact that I feel like life is going ok, things like sleepless nights or ugly cry days still hit me. They often catch me off guard but when I look back they always have some sort of weird, yet oddly valid, trigger. I didn't go to bed last night knowing today was the 10th, I just went to bed after a long day of construction. I went to bed with a plan to throw myself into more construction. But then I didn't sleep. I wasn't able to turn my brain off. 

It's kind of hard to believe that it's been 1/3 of a year since we met and held our sweet son. It's hard to believe that time keeps passing, that we are getting further and further from his day, because it still feels like I held him just yesterday. Yesterday. That moment in time that is just out of reach but so close to today. That's what it feels like when I think about my son. Yesterday. I remember this weird recurring thought after my mom died. It would startle me: maybe she didn't really die. Maybe we misread her breathing or heart beat. It kept coming back for months. Every once in a while I feel the same way about George Mason. His life ended 4 months ago but it still seems like I saw him yesterday. I know he's gone. I know that I'm not going to ever hold him again. I'm not expecting him to suddenly show up in our home. I just miss him and my mind and heart are dealing with that in whatever capacity they are capable as each day passes. 

So much can happen in 4 months. Audrey was sitting up at 4 months. She was done with being forced onto her tummy or to stare at the ceiling. She knew what she wanted and to figured out how to get it. She was flirting and interacting. She could steal your heart in 30 seconds flat. As these month anniversaries pass, I wonder what George would have been like. Would he have been like his sister? Would he have been completely different? Would I be writing his 4 month letter and telling him how he had kept up with his sister and was sitting up? Would I be telling him about all the hearts he had stolen and the grins he had perfected? Would he be calm? Passive? Assertive? Active? A good sleeper? I wish I knew those things. I wish I had him here to learn and get to know. Instead I have memories from 16 hours. That's really hard but it could be worse. At least there are 16 hours. So as I do life today, I'm going to remember my son and treasure all the things I know about him. 

George Mason, you were a fighter and that spirit allowed us to meet you. I'm so very thankful for that. Daddy and I miss you so much, but we know that Jesus is a pretty cool person to spend eternity with; you just got there a little quicker than most people. We love you so much. You are our little boy and we wouldn't have it any other way. 

6.7.17

I took Audrey to her very first dance class today. I didn’t think it would be a big deal but I was really, really missing my mom as we drove to the studio. I thought about all the firsts that she has missed. I thought about how excited (and probably slightly traumatized) she would be to see Audrey in a leotard and hair in a bun. So many memories of her first baby doing her firsts. I missed her and I so wished she were here. It didn’t stop there though. As I continued driving I got caught on the rabbit trail of missing George. I realized as I was longing for my own mom to be here and experience this that I was longing for my child to be here too. I wished he could be in the carrier as Audrey and I danced around that studio. I wished that as I was packing up Audrey and making sure we had all of the things necessary for an outing during nap time, for George Mason to have been a part of that packing up. 

Today isn’t a terribly sad day. It’s not an ugly cry kind of day. Its just another normal day. Another day without my boy. Another day of God’s perfect mercies. Another day of questions and longing desires. We had fun at the dance class. Audrey said she wants to do it again. That’s a wonderful joy in the midst of this sorrow. My sweet, darling, Audrey is so full of life. She doesn’t know to be sad over her brother. She doesn’t understand the pain of him not being here. She just knows that she is loved very much and that her mama and daddy are in her corner. She is a perfect example of God’s love for me. I hate it for her when she’s having a rough day. I hate it for her when I can’t give her exactly what she wants when she wants it. I hate it for her when someone or something hurts her. As I wake up every morning to do this life I realize how much I love my daughter and my husband and how much more my God must love me. That’s a pretty amazing thing to know. I’m going to miss all of George’s firsts because they are happening in heaven, and that’s going to be really hard. But if my son can’t be with me, I sure am glad I know he’s with Jesus. A God who loves with unimaginable passion and care. A God who loves so deeply He gave up is own son. A God who loves with so much intensity that He knows every hair on my head. Forget amazing, that’s literally the definition of awesome. 

Beloved, let us love one another, for love is from God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God. Anyone who does not love does not know God, because God is love. In this the love of God was made manifest among us, that God sent his only Son into the world, so that we might live through him. In this is love, not that we have loved God but that he loved us and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins. Beloved, if God so loved us, we also ought to love one another. No one has ever seen God; if we love one another, God abides in us and his love is perfected in us.
By this we know that we abide in him and he in us, because he has given us of his Spirit. And we have seen and testify that the Father has sent his Son to be the Savior of the world. Whoever confesses that Jesus is the Son of God, God abides in him, and he in God. So we have come to know and to believe the love that God has for us. God is love, and whoever abides in love abides in God, and God abides in him. By this is love perfected with us, so that we may have confidence for the day of judgment, because as he is so also are we in this world. There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love. We love because he first loved us. If anyone says, “I love God,” and hates his brother, he is a liar; for he who does not love his brother whom he has seen cannot love God whom he has not seen. And this commandment we have from him: whoever loves God must also love his brother. - 1 John 4:7-21

6.6.17

Facebook is one of those things that I find incredibly helpful and also miserably hurtful. It is a place to document and easily store memories of all kinds. To share the happy moments with friends and family afar and to share the burdens of pain in the unimaginable. I absolutely love being reminded of all the wonderful things I've chosen to share publicly. Seeing Audrey's sweet face in those first few months, college graduations, weddings... the joy and celebration is such a highlight in the black hole of social media. Except recently the memories it's sharing with me are a reminder of my grief. Our children would have been almost exactly 23 months apart, if George had been healthy and come on or around his due date. Effectively 2 years. Which means that all of Audrey's firsts line up on the calendar pretty well with where George Mason's would've fallen. I know every baby is different, but when I go through the pictures and see how quickly my newborn daughter changes and develops, I can't help but think that would be my precious son about now. 

Associating those memories with what would and could be for George doesn't make them any less joyful. Audrey was a serious bright spot in the shadow of losing my mom. Every smile, coo, giggle, reminded me of my mom and how much I wished she was there. Each of those baby firsts was an answer to my prayers and longing to become a mother. Every snuggle (and every cry) was my comfort in what I thought was the worst days of my life. My mama never got to meet Audrey on this earth. She died just weeks before this precious little girl was born and I honestly didn't know if I was going to be ok. It felt like there was absolutely no way that I was going to survive losing my mom and becoming a mom all in a month's time. As I look back on that first year with Audrey and without my mom, I don't remember the pain as much as the joy. I remember the giggles much more intricately than I remember the tears and heartache. I didn't know it then, but God was preparing my heart. He was building an unshakable foundation of trust for me to cling to for the rest of my life. He was preparing my marriage for whatever might come swinging. I don't hate seeing the memories of Audrey but I do see them and wish my son were here. I don't think that George Mason not being here is going to change the ecstasy with which Adam and I welcomed Audrey into this world.  If anything, she will make us appreciate George Mason's short life all that much more. 

George Mason's day was beautiful and awful all at the same time. His life was a precious gift that we will always cherish, be thankful for, and mourn, simultaneously. If nothing else, those memories of Audrey have given me another opportunity to not only remember and celebrate my son, but to see just how much God loves me and is in my corner. When I didn't think there could be life after losing my mom, God gave me Audrey and all the strength of His army of angels to get me through. I survived and came out the other side with a new understanding of who the God I'd been serving my whole life really is. He is a God who cares immensely, loves unconditionally, and knows who I am because He knew me from before there was time. If my God is capable of giving me the strength to raise my daughter in the wake of losing my mom, He is most certainly capable of guiding this life after losing my son. 

As I reflect on those first months with Audrey I'm also going to remember sweet George Mason. I'm going to thank God for his wonderful though short life. I'm going to trust in the Father who has proven again and again His faithfulness to His people and specifically to me. I'm going to also remember the times when I doubted or fell short of keeping faith, even if only for a minute, so that I can hope to be less tempted by those thoughts in the future. God is good. He is for me. He is powerful and awe inspiring and He is kind and caring. He loves his people and holds true to his promises. My prayer is to sink into that. To know that. To believe that. I know I can’t do this life without Him, so I pray I will keep digging into His Word and clinging to the things I know to be true; not just because He said it, but because I've experienced it. 

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 steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing. - James 1:2-3

Lord, let me count it all joy as I live each day. Let me be thankful for YOUR steadfastness as I work through towards my own. Let me know that at the end of all of this, I will be lacking in nothing. That you will have completed your good work when the gates of heaven open and I am reunited with my son and my mama and I join them in worshipping at your feet; singing Holy, Holy, Holy!

6.5.17

I've been focusing a lot of my journaling on the pain of this grief over George Mason. It isn't the only aspect of this journey but it is the part that hurts the most. The pain leads to sadness and frustration and even doubt. Anger, even bargaining, have come from the pain that loss brings with it. Loss sucks, period. People lose jobs, that sucks. People lose loved ones, that sucks. Its even a major pain in the neck when you lose something as silly as your keys. It's no big secret that I'm not ok with this loss or that my definition of "ok" has changed and evolved in the last 2 years as I learn what life looks like without my mom and now my son. The pain of loss has been on the forefront of my mind but as I take a second to examine what God is doing in my life, I realize there is something so much bigger. As I was walking around the park this morning trying to clear my head and get out of this funk of sadness, I was listing to worship music. I was singing loud in my head because I couldn’t make the sounds through the anger and tears and hurt of this past week. And then I heard these words:

Forgiven! Forgiven! 
Child there is freedom from all of it
Say goodbye to every sin
You are forgiven! 

All of this pain, this heartbreak, it's lying to me. I know I've said that before but I need to remind myself. When my heart hurts, like really deeply, ugly cry hurts, I can't imagine how a good God could let this happen. I wonder if He was ever really capable of healing George Mason, or maybe I run towards the deception that God didn't really love me or George Mason. Whatever doubt, whatever frustration, whatever sin-tainted desolation I feel, it's all because of the lies of my broken heart. And since I'm not a perfect person, I cry and yell at God, going on with my doubt and believing my broken heart and it's lies. 

God knows that my heart is lying to me. He knows that evil is creeping in at the weakest moment to try and pry me away from trusting Him. The most amazing part... He forgives me for those moments when I yell or doubt. He forgives me and he never stops loving. He never stops existing. What an amazing comfort to know that He is God, He is who He says He is, no matter my mood or my belief. What an amazing comfort to know that He is big enough, good enough, gracious enough, merciful enough, to take my doubt and my tears when I throw them at Him and instead of holding them against me, He wipes them from the record. He forgives me and gives me the freedom that comes with that. 

This past week was hard. It was full of sadness and tears. It was full of frustration with this life I’m living. Every time I sat down to tell God how I really feel, i just cried.  Every time I sat down to tell myself how I really felt, I cried. I had a bad attitude and begged God to take it away. I don’t know that my attitude today is any better than yesterday, but what I do know is that God is just as good today as yesterday and will be just as good tomorrow. I know that I’ve been forgiven for every single time I’ve ever doubted and for every time I will doubt in the future. I’m thankful for that song this morning. I’m thankful that despite my attitude, God is still with me and for me. I’m thankful that every day is a new day with mercies accordingly. A good friend once told me if I’m going to cry, crying at the feet of Jesus isn’t a bad place to be. I agree. I hope this week doesn’t bring with it as many tears as last and I hope that my attitude turns around, but if it doesn’t, I’m thankful for a God who understands, loves, listens, and forgives. 

The LORD your God is in your midst, a mighty one who will save; he will rejoice over you with gladness; he will quiet you by his love; he will exalt over you with loud singing.  -Zephaniah 3:17

6.2.17

Today is 16 weeks without my precious baby boy. 16 weeks of tears. 16 weeks of life; joy and sorrow, pain and freedom from pain, laughter, heartache, things remembered and memories made. 

It seems like the suffering of this last few months had somewhat subsided. I had grown accustomed to this new "normal" that Adam and Audrey and I are living. There was and is still pain, but it had become "manageable" or something... I'm not even sure. But then this week hit me. This wave of sorrow. This hatred of the constant unknown in our life. This seemingly unwarranted, definitely unwanted, out pouring of tears. Not only did our lives change forever on February 10, and then have to keep moving forward, everyone and everything around us is also moving forward. There are growing families, new jobs, trips, projects, you name it, life goes on. Except our life has gone on with this huge missing piece. I don't even call it a void. I can't even call it that. George Mason is ever present in my thoughts. He was a beautiful little boy whose life wasn't long enough. He existed. He was and is so very loved. He is a part of our family. He's not a void, he's just that one piece of the puzzle that you know the exact shape of and where it fits but it's lost. You can finish the puzzle, you can even see the picture in its entirety, but there's a hole where that piece is supposed to be. George Mason should physically be here but he's not. I recall his tiny and perfect little features all the time. I can picture what his life might have looked like. I know him. I love him. I miss him. 

I wish I had some epiphany type revelation to dwell on today. Some glorious way in which my Good Father has filled that hole where the puzzle piece should be. Instead I just have as many questions as ever and as much or more tears. This grief thing sucks. I’m sure that anyone who has experienced it would absolutely agree. I keep reminding myself that its ok to not be ok. That I can cry or yell and God is listening; He is sustaining me through this storm. Some days thats a really helpful thing to tell myself. Some days I don’t have to remind myself of that because I know it and feel it. Today, I need the reminder. I needed to sit down with my computer and my tears and just pour out the agony through which I’m experiencing today. 

There are a lot of decisions on the horizon for Adam and me. On these bad, tear filled days, I worry that we won’t make the right one because our judgement is clouded by fear, or anger, or just emotion in general. I pray that as we face our future and the many decisions that come with being adults/parents/spouses, we trust in the God who has gotten us through to this point and will continue to do so. I pray that even on the bad days, we would still see our need for Jesus and continue longing to walk in His footsteps. That we wouldn’t veer off the path He has laid for us because it might seem easier or simpler or whatever. But instead, that we would cling to Jesus and truly trust that He is working all things together for our good. I don’t know why this grief is a part of my story, our story, and I probably won’t know this side of heaven. What I do know, is that George Mason’s life, as short as it was, has changed mine and touched so many others. God is working through this grief. He is working through the pain of loss and the joy of living in faith. It doesn’t make it any better, but it does make it worth doing. It makes living this life, missing piece and all, totally, 100% worth it. It makes loving on Audrey and raising her to know and love Jesus necessary. It makes bedtime snuggles and “one more book” moments that much more special. George Mason is missing from our day to day but he is ever present in our hearts and memories. God is not going to let me forget him. That sweet, brave, strong little man left an impact on my life that I will always cherish.

For God alone, O my soul, wait in silence, for my hope is from him. He only is my rock and my salvation, my fortress; I shall not be shaken. On God rests my salvation, and my glory; my mighty rock, my refuge is God. Trust in him at all times, O people; pour out your heart before him; God is a refuge for us. -Psalm 62-5-8

5.30.17

I woke up this morning in a fog of sadness. I’ve been on the verge of tears basically since I opened my eyes. There doesn’t seem to be a particular reason - its always the same reason - for that trembling in your lip when you just want to cry. It’s just another day without my son; the same reason that every day has a cloud over it. Grief is a nasty thing. It surprises you when you least expect it. It hits you all at once on some days and in what seem like small needle pricks on other days. I miss my precious baby every day but some days it just hurts so much more. Some days, I don’t want to be nice to anyone. I don’t want to be happy in my life. I just want to be sad because George Mason should be here. I should be taking him to the park with his big sister. I should be documenting his first smiles and giggles. I should be watching Audrey’s every move so she doesn’t literally love him to death. I should be doing so many things because that’s what you expect when you have a baby. I SHOULD have my son but I don’t. Jesus does. And that’s the most wonderful and awful thing at the very same time. 

I was reading an article this morning about God and our anxiety. It basically reminded me that even though today is a hard one, God has never failed to show up. In fact, not only has He never failed, but he shows up in the most wonderfully specific, just when you didn’t know you needed Him, I can’t go another and be reminded of all that God has done/given/comforted in regards to my anxiety and heartbreak. “If you begin to spend even fifteen seconds gazing into your own past, it will begin to sparkle with ten thousand mercies reflecting off the waves of those memories (Lam 3:22). The sea of past grace dwells here, and welcomes us to come and drink, and remember as often as we need to. You could easily spend a week reliving and remember God’s many special provisions that came later than you wanted, but at just the right time.” I feel like since all of this happened I’ve spent so much time figuring out what my new future looks like that I’ve forgotten to really pay attention to how steadfast God has been in my today. I want so badly to know what comes next and why all of this happened the way it happened. I don’t want to dwell on the past or even the present because it seems so damn hard. I just want God to give me the answers; give me the black and white, God, and THEN I’ll be happy. 

Except that’s the biggest lie I can tell myself. Happiness isn’t going to come from earthly answers. God knows that. Besides, at the end of the day, happiness isn’t really what I want anyway, and God knows that too. True joy, now that is the most precious gift, and that is ONLY going to come from God. In fact, Christ is the ultimate source of joy and when I “gaze into” my past, I can see that so clearly. The curse of sin is the reason any of us experiences death. No one expects to bury their children, especially not their infant children, because we know that deep down this isn’t how its supposed to be. The Bible is full of passages that remind me of that. Passages that point all of God’s kingdom to the hope of Christ. I’m having a bad day. They happen. God isn’t going to give up on me today and I’m incredibly thankful for that. I guess as I continue to fight back and through these tears, I’m going to be more intentional about looking back. I’m going to fill my wandering mind with the faithfulness of my God and pray that I would continue to look to Jesus when my heart feels anxious. When my desire to know the future gets in the way of my today, I want to run to Jesus. When my salty tears are the filter through which I’m experiencing today, let me cry out for Jesus. 

For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us. For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the sons of God. For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of him who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience. -Romans 8:18-25

5.26.17

You have turned for me my mourning into dancing; you have loosed my sackcloth and clothed me with gladness, that my glory may sing your praise and not be silent. O LORD my God, I will give thanks to you forever!
-Psalm 30:11-12

I know that those words were written centuries ago. I know that they are not from my mouth and that the original author had no idea who I would be one day. But those words were written for me. Those words have my DNA all over them. What a great God. I cannot fully express the comfort I have found in the psalms over the last several months. There is so much emotion. So much pain countered with gladness and rejoicing. It has been as if I were writing each of them verbatim from my own experience. My own journey through grief is literally poured out across the pages of the Psalms and yet those words were written long before anyone even conceptualized me as a person; except for God. He knew me from the beginning of time. He knew that one day I was going to need those words. I was going to cherish those words. “You have turned for me my mourning into dancing;” I cannot wait until the day that is true. I cannot wait until the moment when I realize that God’s faithfulness in my life has lead to a point of gladness and dancing! 

I was thinking about George Mason the other day when Audrey and I were out running errands. The simple fact that I’m running errands at all is because he is with Jesus instead of in the NICU like we had planned. Every time I buckle Audrey into her carseat and head out of the house, it isn’t lost on me that there are supposed to be two carseats. That I am supposed to be counting down the days til my sweet boy can come home in that second carseat we have in the middle row beside big sister. So as I was out running errands with my independent two year old, I got a little sad. Not ugly cry sad, just a reminder that yes, I am grieving. That yes, there is a missing piece in this puzzle we call our family. The moment was brief as I moved on through the store; decisions need to be made, Audrey needs attention, the car in front of me cut me off. Whatever it may be, there is always something that pulls me back to reality. 

I guess its progress in the journey that I’ve reached a point where I need to be reminded that I’m grieving? Or maybe its just that I’m feeling good enough to keep myself busy? To occupy my mind during my waking hours with projects and dreams in order to be exhausted enough come night fall that I can actually sleep. Regardless of the reason, I’m thankful that my days are getting less sad. I’m thankful that while tears are a part of my day, they aren’t my whole existence. I have no idea how long this grief journey is going to take. I know that all of the “firsts” without my son will be hard, so there’s at least a year of this ahead… but I also know that as I grow older, as Audrey grows up, there will be things that George Mason never got to do and I think those things will sting a little bit. So I’m going to recognize that there are hurdles still ahead. I’m going to acknowledge that this grief doesn’t have an expiration date and I’m going to sink into the promise of Psalm 30. God is going to turn this mourning into dancing. He is going to clothe me in gladness. 

5.23.17

Sometimes I question whether or not I’m being a good parent to my living child while I’m also figuring out how to process and grieve my child in heaven. I don’t think its really ever an outright “You’re a terrible mom today” kind of thing. It’s more of the subtle times when I lose my temper or just can’t read Beauty and the Beast again… I wonder if that’s something that is going to hinder sweet Audrey’s growth. I wonder if she’s picking up on the way I’m handling things and if thats a good thing or a bad thing. I don’t say that because I’m needing validation in my motherhood. God gave me Audrey and George because I’m the perfect mother for them. He gave me this precious life to care for and raise and He is with me every step of the way. I say that because I feel like its a part of my grief. Its part of the lies that creep in and try to pry me away from the assurance of hope that I cling to. Its part of that broken heart being the way for my fears to take over and drive a wedge between me and Jesus. 

I don’t look back through my journal very often because even though the process of writing is so healing for me, its still so very emotional to look back at the things I’ve faced/experienced/learned in the last 3 months. However, the few times I’ve taken a few minutes to go back through and read, I’ve found that God has placed himself in my life and shown me His presence SO MANY different ways. Sometimes its as obvious as a knock to the head with a 2x4 - thanks to all my friends and family that have shared scripture when I come to mind - and sometimes its more subtle. He’s always met me exactly where I was on any given day and that’s been a theme I’ve discovered almost every time I read over this journal. 

Earlier today I came across a video about motherhood. It was this really beautiful day in the life kind of thing. As I was watching, tears filled my eyes. This mom was so frustrated by her day and I could relate but she was also the mom of a toddler and an infant; two different kinds of tears. The kiddos in this ad were a little older than mine but as I listened to the differences in the story of the day as told by mom and then by toddler, I just said a quiet Thank you Jesus. This mom was so frustrated but the little girl was telling her daddy that it was the best day ever. Her perspective was brilliantly different than her mother’s. Thank you Jesus for that. Thank you for the reminder that even when I’m having a bad day, or I’m incapable of doing something just “one more time”, my daughter is resilient and loving. She’s not going to fault me in her adulthood for my bad days through this journey. I’m not a bad mom because I need to keep myself busy with things other than being Audrey’s mama 100% of the time. 

Once again, God meets me where I am. In the throws of a bathroom renovation. Parenting an active toddler. Avoiding too much quiet and trying not to be still. When I set out on this journey of grief, I told myself that I would find at least one thing to be grateful for out of every day. I think I have been mostly successful simply because God is so good. Even on the very worst days, He gives me a reason to smile. Today, I’m thankful for Audrey Nole and her sweet (and challenging) spirit. She loves me so well. She loves her daddy so well. She loves George Mason in the most innocent and inspiring way. That mother’s day ad had me in tears for many different reasons, but I’m thankful for God’s reminder that I am Audrey’s mama not by accident and that her and me, we’re going to be ok. God’s fingerprints are all over this life I am living and He is all I need to get through each day. 

He humbled you, causing you to hunger and then feeding you with manna, which neither you nor your ancestors had known, to teach you that man does not live on bread alone but on every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord. -Deuteronomy 8:3

5.22.17

I think in those initial weeks after George’s day, it would have been really easy for both, Adam and me, to say we were packing up and leaving. I don’t even think we would have really cared where we went, anywhere had to be better than here. Our family has been through so much these last two years, this place has gotten a bad rap and would be an excellent scape goat for the pain we are/were feeling. 

We expected to be somewhat “stuck” here while George Mason was under the medical care of his team of various doctors. We had prepared our minds for that and prayed that our hearts would follow; that we would somehow fall in love with this place God had brought us - somewhat kicking and screaming, initially - and make the best of the circumstances. We didn’t want to just be living here and counting the days until our son was healthy and we could leave. We wanted to fully submit ourselves to this position, place, circumstance, situation… When he didn’t live, we had so many decisions to make but they were all shaped by one single question: What does our future look like now that George Mason isn’t a physical part of it?

I have no idea why, but God never gave Adam or me a reason why we should leave this place. And trust me, it would have been jumped on if either of us had any inkling that we could cut and run. We don’t know what is “next” for us, but we do know that right now we are surrounded by people who love us and who love George Mason. That is a provision from our Good Father that we could not possibly live without and didn’t even know we needed. With time, the open wound of my broken heart is healing. I’m less sad, less often, and thankful for a God who keeps with me. There is still a deep bruise surrounding George Mason and his day, but God is good and He has remained steadfast in giving me my daily bread. I’m thankful that I serve a God who is so caring and trustworthy. I’m thankful that I serve a God who knows my every need and lays out exactly what it takes to get through each day. I’m thankful that I serve a God who saw fit to give us a community of people when our hearts had one foot out of the metaphorical door. I’m thankful that I serve a God who is mourning alongside me and still providing me with reasons to rejoice. I’m thankful that I serve a God who has a plan for me, even if I don’t always like where that plan takes me. I’m most thankful that I serve a God who has the power to do all things and promises to use that power to make everything right in the end. 

For Jesus has been counted worthy of more glory than Moses - as much more glory as the builder of a house has more honor than the house itself. (For every house is built by someone, but the builder of all things is God.) Now Moses was faithful in all God’s house as a servant, to testify to the things that were to be spoken later, but Christ is faithful over God’s house as a son. And we are his house, if indeed we hold fast our confidence and our boasting in our hope. - Hebrews 3:3-6

In those first weeks after George Mason’s day, I had to be intentional about doing the work of grief. I sat down every day and faced the fears and frustrations. I posed the questions to God that were tugging at my heart strings. I cried, a lot, I also felt so many emotions beyond sadness. I felt forsaken, betrayed, angry, confused, shocked, numb… God was my punching bag and my caretaker. He faithfully took my punches. He never walked away, no matter how hard my day was. I didn’t always want to talk to Him, but He always made His presence known. He always gave me assurance of the hope that I cling to. He always gave me a reason to be confident in that hope. My emotions are less varied as time goes by. I don’t feel many of the ugly emotions of anger or betrayal anymore. Instead, while I still have unanswered questions, I remember that God has been there - losing His own son, feeling the temptations of sin in humanity, but also beside me every step of the way - and He’s going to see this through. This work of grief is not my burden to bear alone. It is not the only part of my identity either. My son is in heaven and that’s a big part of my story, but God didn’t erase the rest of my story. I am His child. I am my parent’s daughter. I am Adam’s wife. I am Audrey & George’s mama. I am Jillian. As I get further away from George Mason’s day, I’m able to see that more clearly. I don’t have to always be sad. I don’t have to always be happy. I don’t have to be ok but I don’t have to feel guilty when I am ok. I just have to be Jillian; adopted daughter into the house of God. God’s got this, and that’s the best part of the story. 

Since then we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need. -Hebrews 4:14-16

5.17.17

I was sitting at a stop light outside of the Lowes by our house today and started thinking about George Mason's nephrologist. We were told he was/is the best and we had no reason to question that. At our first meeting with him - when we found out that George Mason's little piece of tissue was causing a lot of other, much bigger issues - he was very calm and informative. He gave us the facts as he saw them and then gently walked us through the what ifs. He gave us the worst case scenario and then worked his way toward the lesser extremes of possible damages from a simple piece of tissue. We left his office feeling overwhelmed. If our precious son survived his pregnancy and those crucial first 24 hours, we were in for a long road of hospitals, medicines, treatments, and eventually transplants. 

Our whole world changed the day we found out we were pregnant. Then it changed again when we found out baby was a boy. Then it changed again the day we realized just how sick he was. I spent the next 5 months or so anxious about all the possibilities. I couldn't prepare my mind (and heart) for the worst and simultaneously, wholeheartedly pray for a miracle. So I didn't. I just prayed as boldly as I could muster, that God would heal my son and that none of these awful extremes we'd been warned about would be our reality. I needed the hope of a miracle in order to get through each day. Every 3 weeks or so we would have another ultrasound. After the results made their rounds to George Mason's various doctors, we would sit down with my OB and get the latest updates and plans. The nephrologist's opinion usually held the most weight, as we knew George's kidneys were in terrible condition. Every 3 weeks he would tell us "bigger is better, let's get this baby to term" and Adam and I would pray that our little man was still alive in 3 weeks when it was time for our next ultrasound. 

As I was sitting at that stop light this morning, I remembered what the nephrologist said when he came into our room after George was born. He told us that he stood by his decision to get George Mason to term. That even though we were about to hold our son for the first and last time, he felt like we did everything right medically to give him the best chance at life. I don't know if that's true or not, but I guess it was helpful to have him tell us that. Maybe over the years as we process all of this his comments will ease some of the pain... the reality is that while we were absolutely willing to listen to our doctors - they were thoroughly covered in prayer - God was going to have the final say in all of this. Maybe that doctor was trying to offer us peace of mind or maybe he was just trying to cover his bases. Either way, we knew God had this; whatever that meant. 

I've only really questioned our decisions one time since George's day. In a moment where I was overwhelmed with pain, I felt like we failed him. I don't feel that way anymore, but there was a moment where the devil's lies were trying to take away the peace that God has given us about all of this. We prayed and prayed for a miracle. He gave us our son, alive and fighting, for 16 hours. Do I wish it had been longer? I'm not sure. George Mason was so very sick. If he had been healthy and pain free, absolutely. But he wasn't. He was in pain, his body was failing him, and medicine had done all it was capable of doing to keep him alive. He was destined for heaven, it was just a matter of when. His kidneys weren't filtering out toxins, his lungs weren't filtering out toxins, he wasn't eating. I wouldn't wish that on anyone, especially when I know what was waiting for him after he took that last breath. No one and nothing can prepare you for parenthood. There are not words to describe the weight of the decisions you have to make day in and day out regarding your child. God gave us the strength and wisdom to make the best decisions about George's medical care as we could. He also made sure that where it really counted, in the places where we would be likely to beat ourselves up or second guess our decision, that we weren't given a choice at all. George Mason came on his own time, earlier than we planned. He fought hard and then God said it was time; there were no decisions to be made. 

I love you, O LORD, my strength. The LORD is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer, my God my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold. I call upon the LORD, who is worthy to be praised, and I am saved from my enemies…. You have given me the shield of your salvation, and your right and supported me, and your gentleness made me great. You gave me a wide place for my steps under me, and my feet did not slip.
- Psalm 18:1-3, 35-36

My greatest enemy in all of this is my own self doubt. Did we do something to cause this? Could we/Should we have done something differently? What if we had done THIS? But when I take a moment and bring those things to God, I realize how perfectly He laid all of this out. How perfectly He protected my heart from disappointment in the long run. “You gave me a wide place for my steps under me, and my feet did not slip.” Amen to that! God laid out the path that Adam and I walked. He journeyed it with us and continues to do so. “I call upon the LORD, who is worthy to be praised, and I am saved from my enemies” Yes! My God is SO worthy of my praise and He will continue to save me from my self doubt and whatever other lies my broken heart will try to tell me. My son didn’t live here on earth for very long, but he is living in eternity in a perfect and healthy body. Praise God for my ability to know that. Praise God for His scriptures and the promises that comfort me. Praise God for His unfailing love. Praise God for His perfect plan and his protection against my enemy: self doubt.

The Day After Mother's Day

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

Happy Mothers Day. A phrase that I for years said blanketly, without much thought about what it meant and who might be hurting. When my mama died, my understanding of Mothers Day changed. I didn't just expect it to be any other day where I happened to buy my mom flowers. There was suddenly a hole in my life where I was supposed to be celebrating. My first Mothers Day without my mom was also my first Mothers Day as a mom. I had prayed and prayed for a child. Infertility was exhausting - and our journey wasn't even all that long or difficult - and God had finally answered that prayer; He gave us Audrey two and a half weeks after He welcomed my mama into eternity. That day was hard. It was bittersweet. I was so excited to finally be able to have the title "mama" but it didn't seem fair that my own mama wasn't there to celebrate with me. 

This yeas was my third Mothers Day as a mama. It was the third one without my own mama. It was the first one since George Mason's Day. 

I knew yesterday was going to be hard. I had cried all week when I even thought about it. I didn't want to face a day all about motherhood. I didn't want to acknowledge the holes in my family. So we tried not to. Adam was so sweet and he and Audrey picked out flowers from the grocery store floral department. Audrey helped me arrange them in a vase, so very proud of the what she had picked out. He also got a card from Audrey and they practiced all week saying, "Happy Mupher's Day, mama."  She said it to everyone she saw and then she expected cake. 

My two year old had the right idea. I didn't want to celebrate Mother's Day because my relationship to motherhood is so complicated. I didn't want to celebrate because I didn't want to face the empty places where my mama or George Mason would have sat. But Audrey doesn't understand all of that. She simply knows that she was supposed to say Happy Mother's Day. If there is celebration and joy to be had, count her, and everyone she comes in contact with, in. As she spread her little piece of joy through the lumber dept at Lowes, the bagel shop near the park, and to the families watching the ducks waddle around the pond, I wanted to be just like her. I didn't need to celebrate my own motherhood because it seemed so painful but it really made me so grateful for all of the women in my life, at every stage, who have made an impact on my life. It made me think about all the women I know that have or are still dealing with infertility. It made me think about all the women who have walked this very same grief journey before me. 

I cried a lot yesterday. It was never an uncontrolled, ugly cry, but there were tears of all kinds throughout the day. I think I was just aware, all day, of the things I am missing but also of all of the reasons Mother's Day could be painful. This world is so broken. No day should be painful. No person is meant to experience loss or pain or disappointment in waiting. That's not how God created us or how he meant for us to live. But we do. The curse of the fall is big and awful. Bad things hurt not simply because they are bad things, but also because we know in our hearts that this isn't how things are meant to be. Yesterday was a hard day but it wasn't all bad. I missed my son, like I always do, but I thanked God for my precious daughter. I lifted fellow sisters in Christ in prayer through tears of sorrow. 

I can't wait for Jesus to come back and make things right. I can't wait for the day that things are made whole. My life here, my role as mama, they are wonderful and sad at the same time. The way God chooses to bless my futile efforts to expand His kingdom and live for Him don't always make sense. I know that as long as I'm this side of heaven, my son's death is going to present more questions than answers. I know that as I live out this journey called motherhood there will be ups and downs. There will be women who walk with me, pray for me, encourage me, and love me as I figure out how to be mama to two babies while only being able to hold one. There will be so many women who cry with me, who mourn my son (and my mama). There will be women who, thankfully, never experience this pain for themselves. There will be women who experience more pain than this, different pain from this. All of these women, past, present, and future, are a gift from my Father. They have and will impact me more than I will probably ever have words to explain. Mother's Day will probably always be hard but God will definitely always be good. For that, I am thankful.

5.12.17

Mother’s Day is coming up and I’m just seriously at a loss as to how to deal with and process it. I haven’t overly enjoyed Mother’s Day since my mom died anyway, but this year I have to face the fact that my son isn’t here to celebrate with. There will be no pictures of me with my two children. There won’t be cards picked out by their daddy and signed with scribbles. I mean, Adam and Audrey are probably planning something for Sunday, but I’m not even sure I’m in the mood. Is that awful? Can I just ignore this hallmark holiday this year? Can I just go on with life like it were any other Sunday? 

All of me wishes that George Mason and Audrey could be here together. That Audrey could curiously and enthusiastically pick out a card with her daddy from her and George and then scribble away on the brief but sweet message Adam writes inside. I want to get my kiddos all dressed up in their Sunday best and hand Adam the camera. I wish that this year’s Mother’s Day wasn’t adding a level of complexity to a day I already don’t enjoy. I wish that this world wasn’t so broken and that my son could be here. 

Every day I face the fact that my motherhood has this invisible layer. I face the fact that I have two beautiful babies but I can only hold and love on one of them.  Its hard enough to get through the normal, mundane, general life days, I can’t even imagine what kind of sting is going to come with a day all about celebrating motherhood. My mama never got to see me as a mama and that is a really hard reality that I often try not to think about; except on Mother’s Day, its so very apparent. My mama is also in heaven with my son, where neither of them should be yet, and neither of them are with me. I know I’m not the first mother to lose a child and unfortunately I won’t be the last. My heart aches for those who have gone before me and breaks for those that will walk these same foot steps. 

I don’t have any answers to these rambling thoughts on Mother’s Day. I still don’t know what we are going to do or even how much celebrating will be had. I don’t know anything except that God loves me, cares for me, and is always abundantly faithful to his promise to give me what I need for each new day. So as Sunday approaches and my anxiety is on high alert, I’m going to sink into the deep embrace of my Father and cry tears of joy and of sorrow. I’m going to wrap myself in the Words of truth from the scriptures and I’m going to give an extra long hug to my daughter. I’m going to thank God, whole heartedly for the gift of motherhood and I’m going to celebrate in whatever way I’m capable the two children who make me mama. 

With my mouth I will give great thanks to the LORD; I will praise him in the midst of the throng. - Psalm 109:30

5.11.17

I was pleasantly surprised by my reaction to yesterday’s 3 month marker. I never really know what to expect from each day but milestone dates seem to always hurt just a little more. However, I have found through the process of grieving my mom that I tend to prepare myself for those known hard days a little more and that tends to make them less hard than the random days where it just stings out of nowhere. I’m really glad yesterday wasn’t hard. I’m really glad that God met me in that milestone and gave me the peace to enjoy the day and to celebrate George Mason’s life. I’m really glad that my God cares for me so much that things like that are possible. And then I wake up and its a new day. 

As I was walking around the park this morning, my eyes filled with tears as I talked through some of the stuff of grief with a friend. I’m doing ok. When people ask that question, the honest answer is usually just, I’m doing. But the truth is, I’m doing ok. I’m not a ball of depression - not that I absolutely won’t experience that ever - or constantly angry. I haven’t lost my ability to care about or enjoy this life. I’m doing life, moving forward, and that’s just going to have to be my definition of OK. When I look backwards over these last 3 months I can find days where my attitude was in the dumps. I can also find days where I was praising Jesus for the big and little things. If I really examine my day to day, minute by minute, life experiences, there’s a lot of crappy, there’s a lot of frustration, there’s a lot of questions for God, but there’s also always hope. 

I don’t have a timeline to meet or a milestone to pass that is going to suddenly make everything ok or right. The ONLY thing that is going to do that is heaven. Paradise with Jesus and the eternity that I will spend there is the only place, only way, that I’m going to be truly, 100% OK. It’s the only way that all of my questions or frustrations are going to be given answers. The void in my life of a child, a precious sweet little boy named George Mason, in heaven is only going to be made right when I enter eternity. So as long as God has me breathing on this earth, I’m going to have this really crummy thing in my story and a very real filter through which I see and experience this world and that is grief. 

I find myself constantly drawn back into the Psalms. I think because they are so full of emotion. There is utter desperation for things to be made right. There is loss, suffering, death, weeping, and any other handful of sad or sorrowful emotions and circumstances. The words are raw and real. They are fitting for the suffering we experience because of the curse of sin. But the psalms don’t stop there. Sure, the writers laid out their hearts - farts, warts, and all, as my mom would say - but they always ended up coming back to where they started: with a God who is almighty and who loves in a capacity we can’t even begin to understand. Those words of despair and torment always lead back to a place of hope and often even in rejoicing. When I think about my life and my grief, those psalms tell my story. No, I’m not being chased by a foreign army and I don’t think anyone out there is trying to kill me, but this loss is a kind of suffering that I could have never prepared myself for. My heart aches in ways I didn’t know were possible. Yet, it also loves in ways I didn’t know possible. God designed us in His image. We are capable of so much because He made us and sustains us. The psalms remind me of that. They show me that deep despair and sorrow isn’t the end. They show me there is always hope, the cliche light at the end of the tunnel. That light may or may not be on this side of heaven, but its there, its true, and it will not fail. 

I may be in a period of my life where things are hard and the bad days outnumber the good ones. This season may last until my dying breath or it may not. But no matter the circumstances, no matter the good days or bad days, this lens through which I’m now experiencing life is part of my story. It’s part of my testimony as God’s child. It is what God has allowed for me and I have to trust that even though I don’t have the answers to all of my questions, that God is going to continue to sustain me through it. I think there will always be a twinge of grief in the filter of my life. I don’t think that my love for my son will ever go away or not be a part of how I experience and do life. God gave George Mason to me. I can’t erase that from my story. God also took him home to heaven after only 16 hours. I can’t erase that from my story either. 

Be gracious to me, O LORD, for I am in distress; my eye is wasted from grief; my should and my body also. For my life is spent with sorrow, and my years with sighing; my strength fails because of my iniquity and my bones waste away. - Psalm 31:9-10
But I trust in you, O LORD; I say, “You are my God.” My times are in your hand; rescue me from the hand of my enemies and from my persecutors! Make your face shine on your servant; save me in your steadfast love! - Psalm 31:14-15
Blessed be the LORD, for he has wondrously shown his steadfast love to me when I was in a besieged city. I had said in my alarm, “I am cut off from your sight.” But you heard the voice of my please for mercy when I cried to you for help. - Psalm 31:21-22

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. 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

3 Months

Today marks 3 months since George Mason’s day. If he hadn’t gone to be with Jesus, he would be 3 months old. I know I say it all the time, but I honestly don’t even know how that’s possible. Our world got forever changed on that beautiful day in February and I’m so very thankful for it. 3 months feels like such an eternity and also the blink of an eye. I woke up this morning very aware of what day it was but I wasn’t prohibitively sad. I’m actually not really sad at all. Maybe its because I’ve been able to throw myself into our new normal and so this loss isn’t sitting at the foreground of my mind all the time. Or maybe its because God is healing this wound, ever so gently, and allowing me to take this date on the calendar and celebrate his life instead of mourn his death. Whatever the reason is, I’m thankful for God’s peace today. I’m thankful for the ability to go about my day, enjoying the present, and being able to look back fondly on February 10, 2017. 

There are so many things about that day that were just awful but there was one thing so extremely wonderful: We met our precious son. George Mason entered this world and we got to say hello, I love you, you are wonderful, you are God’s child. I held my second born child and my first son. I took in all of his tiny features and committed them to memory. I didn’t get to know him all that well but I imagine he would be just like his daddy. I introduced him to his big sister. I even got to feed him a tiny drop of mama’s milk. All of those things were absolutely wonderful and absolutely worth all of the stress and worry during my pregnancy with him. 

Its hard, when I sit down and really think about his day. I cry tears of joy and sorrow. I feel the pain of saying see you in heaven. I feel the happiness and wonder of new life. I think about it often and wish it had ended differently but it didn’t and so today I’m celebrating. I’m remembering the good parts of his day. I’m sitting in the quiet memories with fondness and gratefulness. I wish George Mason were here but since he can’t be here with me, I’m pretty excited that heaven gets to be his home. Losing my child was and is probably the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through but knowing that he was God’s child before he was mine makes that a little easier to handle. Knowing that God loves him infinitely more than I ever could have dreamt of loving someone makes it sting that much less. Knowing that he is at the feet of Jesus praising and singing makes my heart happy. God’s love is unreal and yet it is actually the most real thing ever. George Mason isn’t in pain or brokenness, he’s in paradise, and for that I’m extremely thankful. 

Thank you, Lord, for your unfailing love and your ever sustaining strength. 

And he said, “O man greatly loved, fear not, peace be with you; be strong and of good courage.” and as he spoke to me, I was strengthened and said, “Let my lord speak, for you have strengthened me.” - Daniel 10:19

5.8.17

Time is such a funny thing. Most things, with time, can and will heal themselves. Grief is one of those things that everyone says will only get better with time. I know from experience that time and distance from George Mason’s day have certainly helped to ease the pain. Most days don’t sting like they used to, and for that I’m very thankful. But on the other end of the time, is the fact that the clock is ticking forward and my son didn’t keep living with it. I know that I’m feeling less burdened by that initial shock and pain of loss, but I still wake up every day knowing its one day further from having held him. 

I’ve had a series of pretty good, even very good days after a week of rough days. It feels good to go about my day and not be on the verge of tears. It feels good to celebrate the new lives that have and will be joining us. It feels good to not be clouded by grief’s nasty surprises. I am so very thankful for the good days. They are restful and life giving in this stormy season and they make this whole living forward and understanding backward thing seem so much more possible. On good days I tend to wish that every day was good. That life would just always be sunny and the pain and sadness would fade away. I guess to an extent, time will make that happen… But as I look back over the very worst days, I realize how sweet and caring my God is. I realize that He has made himself known to me in ways that I would have never thought possible in those very bad, awful, terrible days. So when I find myself daydreaming about sunny days I also say a prayer of thanks for the bad days. 

It seems weird to be thankful for bad days. Almost like I’m asking for misery or just don’t want to be happy. Except that’s not it at all. Its when I’m at my weakest that God shows up the most vividly. He is always at work in me and always present in my life, but on the good days it's so easy to forget just how much I need Him. The good days show me that my life still has a wonderful purpose and that I'm going to be ok. That the future God promises me isn't bleak and wrought with fear. The bad days remind me of my own brokenness, not just the worlds, and how much I need God. So while I'll always wake up hoping for a sunny day, I'm not afraid of the storm clouds in the distance. God has proven time and again that He is never going to let go of me. He is never going to stand on the outskirts and cross his divine fingers that I make it out of this alive. 

God is actively at work. He is guiding me, providing for me, loving on me, and giving me the strength to get through all of this. Good days, bad days, and all the days in between, God’s mighty hand is holding mine and I couldn’t be more grateful. 

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death
Your perfect love is casting out fear
And even when I'm caught in the middle of the storms of this life
I won't turn back
I know You are near

And I will fear no evil
For my God is with me
And if my God is with me
Whom then shall I fear?
Whom then shall I fear?

Oh no, You never let go
Through the calm and through the storm
Oh no, You never let go
In every high and every low
Oh no, You never let go
Lord, You never let go of me