Happy Birthday, Adam

Today is Adams birthday. I think birthdays are forever going to be hard for our family. It seems so weird to celebrate another year older when our son will never even celebrate a birthday. There is joy in getting older. It is exciting to experience life and to "survive" another trip around the sun. We will look back one day on our years together, on this life, and will be flooded with memories of all kinds from our experiences as a family. We will laugh. We will cry. We will get angry. There will be every kind of emotion represented and that's a good thing. Experiences shape us. They sculpt the curves and the facets of who we are. We can't escape life and I wouldn't want to, even in this rather dreary and storm filled season.

As I reflect on this last year, as is the norm on any birthday, there are many highs but there are so many lows. I'm thankful for the man I married; for the support he has been this year and every year. I'm thankful for the father that he is. I'm thankful for the giggles he has shared with Audrey Nole. I'm thankful for the moments he had with George Mason. I'm sorrowful that we have had to shed tears. I'm miserable when I think about the death of our son, of his very first son.

It's hard to not be sad on any given day but birthdays are just hard. Audrey and I, and anyone who knows and loves Adam, are so very thankful for him. We are so very happy to celebrate his life. Audrey picked out a card and she told me that her daddy needs a pink Birthday cake. So, despite the sorrow that comes with this season and the absence of our son, today is a good day. Today, we celebrate the life of our favorite daddy and husband. Today, we raise our hands and praise our great God for the wonderful man he has placed in our lives. The man that has made all this crap from this year seem a little easier to stomach. The man who loves us with everything he has and who shows us just a glimpse of what God's love looks like.

Happy Birthday, Adam. This year has been so hard but I've never been more thankful for you. You love our children so very well. You love me with excellence. You support us and care for us. You provide and protect. Audrey, George, and I are so blessed to have you.

8.20.17

Today was a weird day. It wasn't sad. It wasn't particularly memorable at all, actually. I woke up this morning with a weird crick in my neck, we met some new people at our church, and Audrey took forever to fall asleep for her nap. Nothing about today screamed anything other than normal or regular. But as I was walking up the stairs to grab my heating pad, I stopped and stared at George Mason's picture; at our family picture. The only complete family picture we will ever have. I felt this sudden rush of sadness. I'm not even sure why. I mean, I know there are so many reasons to feel and be sad in this season of my life, but I'm not sure why in this exact moment I was, I am, sad. 

I got a glimpse of what life is going to be like as we move on through this grief. As we meet new people and gain new friendships, there are going to be people who don't know about George Mason. There are going to be decades of relationships with people who won't have grieved with us. Won't have loved on and prayed for us through our pregnancy. Won't have praised with us after those first precious breaths and cries. Won't have cried with us after his death. There are going to be people who never knew what this season of our life looked like. It's a weird, and until today, completely unknown part of our story. Right now, God has surrounded us with people who so deeply love George Mason just as we do. Right now, God has given us this protective bubble of people who went through this and continue to go through this life with us. They prayed. They prayed harder. They loved. They mourned. They grieved. With us. Alongside us. Up to this moment, every person with any significant contact or role in our life, has known George Mason. Up to this moment, the only people who didn't know George Mason were grocery store clerks. It's easy to brush off the comments about my one child when it's from a total stranger. But when someone who is going to be in my life asks how many kids I have or why Utah hasn't been my favorite place, I cannot just brush that off.

It seems weird to share this part of my story with someone I literally just met. It's something so very dear to me. Something so close and raw. But to a new person it's heavy and horrible. And I'd like to think that with time and a deeper relationship with me, the death of my son won't seem as shocking and horrible. It will always be an awful thing. It will never make sense. I don't think that it will ever be easy to share this part of my story with a new person. But perhaps with time I'll get better at it. Perhaps over the years and with more experience, my son's life won't end up being a horrible and awkward elephant in the room, but instead a beautiful part of my story.

The sermon this morning was on James 1. I've quoted those verses before and I've clung to them more often than that. I don't understand them and I'm certainly no good at applying them, but I know they are true. I know they are God's promise that no matter what comes my way, even in the depth of the sorrow over losing my son way too soon, I'm going to come to the end of this and have been tested in a way that is going to make me stronger. That there is joy to be found in his sorrow. Because God is who he says he is.

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 1:2-4

8.17.17

Audrey is teething. I hate that word. It takes my sweet and generally well behaved toddler and turns her into a whirlwind of crabbiness, mood swings, and lots and lots of snot. It also takes every ounce of my self control to not also turn into a hot mess of a monster mama. Teething is not for the faint of heart and these last 6 months have definitely worn me down. Instead of graciously comforting her through the worst of the pain (and I'm sure confusion), I find myself with a short fuse and lack of patience let alone grace. And then I realize just how amazing it is that the God I serve is full of endless grace during my grown up "teething" moments.

I know it's a stretch to equate teething pains with this grief or this journey I'm on. But lately I've been so frustrated with God that this might just be the only way to honestly speak to my heart. Those initial weeks after George Mason's day were so hard. They're so vividly written into my memory but they're also equally as blurry. I don't remember what my relationship with God consisted of in those days... I remember sitting in my rocking chair, pumping the small amounts of milk that were meant for my son, and crying as I tried to find words to start a conversation with him. I remember waking up in the middle of night and needing Adam's help to roll out of bed to pee and pleading with God to tell me why. I remember wishing that all the pain, the ice packs, the 24 hour helpers, would have been "for a good reason" and not a reminder of the empty crib in the not finished nursery. I don't remember feeling his presence but when I read through my journal he was there. He was there. Through the storm. Through my worst days. Through the moments of breathless grief. Through the frustrations and bitterness. He was there. And never once did he lose his temper or lack in grace.

It seems like God could have chosen something more poetic than a teething toddler to remind me of his goodness, but alas, this is where I am. Covered in snot, short fuse, lacking in patience, and grieving my son. It's actually quite perfect. In the midst of the frustration of today, Audrey and I had a really sweet conversation. I was cleaning up lunch and she was stalling nap time when she pointed to the picture of her brother that is hanging in our stairwell. She exclaimed with such pride, "that's George! That's George Mason, mama!" I dropped what I was doing and joined her on the stairs. We talked about him being in heaven with Jesus. About how she is a great big sister. How mama and daddy cried a lot on his day because we were sad; we still are. About how much we love her and George Mason loved her. How it's really sad that George Mason never came home with us, but if he couldn't live here, that heaven is a pretty amazing place to be. And then she told me it would be pretty cool if we could have a baby come live with us.

God met me on those stairs today. He gave me the strength to talk about the truth of his love with my daughter. He gave me the joy to remember my son and to share that joy with her. He gave me the words to spark and continue an especially sweet conversation with the very same 2 year old that was driving me crazy only minutes earlier.

It makes my heart so sad that she and I have to talk about death and sadness but what an amazing God she is learning to love at such a young age. If I have to talk about death with my toddler, I'm thankful I can share the assurance of God's grace and mercy that mean death hasn't won. I'm thankful for the truth we have in scripture about who God is. I'm thankful for a God who is good. I'm thankful for a God who has felt and experienced humanity and all of the ugly brokenness that goes with it. If she has to learn about death, I can't imagine a better way to make it less scary than to tell her that death is not the end nor is it scary. Our eternity is full of hope. God is our hope. In grief, in joy, in anticipation, in worry, in longing, and even in teething. God is our everything.

8.13.17

I went dress shopping yesterday. A task that I don’t overly enjoy in even the most joyous of occasions, but this trip was to find something to wear when we bury George Mason; this was a task that I never imagined myself having to do. When we had his celebration of life service back in February, I could barely stand upright, let alone make it out of the house to find something special to wear. And honestly, I’m not sure I would have ever worn whatever I might have purchased for that day ever again. Between being 1 week postpartum and the sorrow that would have filled that dress as it hung in my closet, it likely would have ended up at goodwill. 

We are burying George Mason’s ashes in just a couple of weeks. Its been 6 full months since his day and this is sort of the last piece of our closure, for whatever that is worth. It’s been a hard couple of weeks at home with various other stressors in our life, but the grief over George Mason has generally been calming down. I didn’t really think finding a dress (or outfit, or whatever) would be a hard thing. If anything, I thought maybe finding something that was new and made me feel pretty would be helpful on that day. But I struck out. I couldn’t pull the trigger on a single dress. There were reason after reason why this one wasn’t right or that one was wrong. And then, as I walked home from some alone shopping, I lost it. Full on ugly cry - the first in months - as I tried my best to breathe as I walked straight up hill. 

I know this is all so trivial when I think about all the things going on in our country. I know that the news cycle is showing evil in some of its worst forms raging loud for the world to see. But even though my grief over my son is one small thing in the big picture of this world, of God’s great creation, its a big thing to me and to Adam, and sometimes moments just get the best of me. Sometimes, seeing and hearing about the brokenness of this world makes my personal experience with it that much deeper. Its times like this that I cry loud for Jesus to come quickly. Its times when the devil seems to be so comfortable in this world that I scream for Jesus. That I run to the words written in my bible for their comfort and their truth. That I hit my knees and pour out my heart to the one who is ultimately sovereign. 

This season of our lives is shaping us. It is molding our faith and our relationship with our savior. It is my prayer and my hope that it is being shaped in such a way that I would come out of this with a deeper affection for my creator and savior. It is my prayer that my son’s life, short as it was, would not be the reason I turned away from Jesus but instead drew closer to Him and his promises. Lately I’ve had a hard time honestly believing I can trust God with everything. I’ve struggled with giving him my thoughts and handing over my anxieties. Some days it seems so natural to just simply trust him. Some days it feels like an exercise in futility. But one thing that has proven true, regardless of anything else, is my need for God; my utter dependence on him to wake up every morning and get through every day. So even on the days when I don’t feel like he is trustworthy, I can know that he is. And even on the days when I ugly cry over a silly dress, God is meeting me right there. Under the florescent lights in those department store dressing rooms. In the dusk of a drooping sun. In the snot filled, tear soaked tissues, that wipe my face when the brokenness of this world is just too much for the moment. 

“Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock.” - Matthew 7:24

Thankful that even though the world’s brokenness catches up with and overwhelms me, that is never the case for God. Thankful that God is the rock on which I can stand in the turmoil of evil. God is my foundation and I’m learning with each day just how important that is. 

When darkness veils His lovely face,
I rest on His unchanging grace;
In every high and stormy gale,
My anchor holds within the veil.
On Christ the solid rock I stand,
all other ground is sinking sand
all other ground is sinking sand

6 Months

6 months ago, today, our precious little man entered this world. He stole our hearts. His life was a miracle. His first cry was a miracle. His working fingers and toes were a miracle. Every breath he took in his 16 hours was its own miracle. Not a day goes by that I don't recognize that gift. We prayed and prayed to be able to meet our son, and we did. We snuggled him, kissed him, examined and committed to memory all of his features. George Mason made us a family of 4 and even though he left this earth way too soon, I will forever be grateful for his life.

This last 6 months has not been without its dark days. There have been ugly cries and short tempers. There have been many moments spent pleading with God for answers.  Wondering how the God I know to be kind, caring, and good, could allow this to happen. But for every minute of darkness, God has provided an equally matched light. He has never failed to meet me, or Adam, in the darkest of places and shine his light into that place so that we might praise him even in the midst of this sorrow. Every minute of every day, God is working in us and through us. He is taking all of brokenness we are experiencing and he is revealing more intimate parts of his character to us through it. And goodness... God is pretty awesome.

It's hard to believe it's been 6 months since I held my baby. It really does feel like yesterday. Audrey is talking about him less often now too, which is weird. I thought I would be relieved when she stopped bringing him up so many times each day, but I'm sad to not hear his name as much. She was one of he few people that met him. That was something I sort of figured we would always share... but her toddler mind is only capable of so much at a time and right now it's learning how to jump. That leaves less room for grieving her brother; for now.

There doesn't seem to be the right words to describe today. Or even this year really. Just a whole bunch of mumbo jumbo in my brain and equally as many blubbering mess conversations with God. He knows I miss my son. It's comforting (and horrible that it's true) to know He knows exactly what I'm feeling.  It's comforting to know he doesn't need me to be coherent when I talk to him. So today I'm going to choose to be thankful for the 10th day of every month. It's a day that I will always remember my George Mason. I will thank God for him. I will celebrate him. I will rest in the assurance of his salvation. One half year closer to my eternity, and one half year from the day I met my son. It's odd how time can be so healing and yet so devastating at the very same time.

And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you. To him be the dominion forever and ever. Amen. - 1 Peter 5:10

8.8.17

I don't want to get out of bed today. I'm exhausted. I feel like my brain hasn't turned off in months and I honestly don't remember the last time my heart wasn't just utterly broken. It seems like with each passing minute, the weight of doing this life gets heavier. I know God is with me. I know God is for me. I know God is all the things he says he is. I know I can trust the truths in the scripture. But today, when the mental and emotional exhaustion gets paired with actual physical tiredness, it seems like God is far away.

Audrey Nole and I took one of my very dearest friends down to southern Utah this weekend. It was beautiful. It was fun. It reminded me of what life was like before all this tragedy struck. For a brief moment in time, I enjoyed God's creation, my sweet daughter, and wonderful friendship and it wasn't clouded by loss. I reminisced about how my mama experienced the national parks. I laughed at the thought of me camping as I turned on the hot shower in my hotel room. I was filled with great joy watching my daughter play in the river. She's only 2 and has already been through more in this life than many people will ever experience. And yet, she is innocent and curious. She is not tainted by her experience with death or sadness. She just trusts that mama and daddy have got her back and I honestly believe on some level she trusts the same about the Jesus who is with her brother in heaven.

She is a blessing in this sadness. She is also a reminder of not only God's goodness but his presence. As I sit here watching a movie with my toddler because my body is oh so tired, I'm thankful for that reminder. Thankful to know and feel God's presence even on the days when he feels so very far away. I'm not perfect, I'm not even really good,  but my God is all of the above and then some. And even when I'm struggling to understand all of this, he is meeting me in this moment. He is joining me as I watch movies and snuggle with my toddler.

I miss George Mason today. I miss him every day. And even though the stings of loss are becoming a little more faint with each passing day, I realize that life will never really be the same again. I will always be a mama to a child in heaven as well as mama to Audrey Nole. I will always see and experience this life through the lens of grief. But I will also always be God's daughter; and for that I am eternally grateful. Lord Jesus, give me the energy to live and love well today. Give me the strength to keep running into your embrace. Let Audrey know how much she is loved. And when the days seem impossible, thank you for never letting me forget who you are.

Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; the one who seeks finds; and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened. - Matthew 7:7-8

8.2.17

I continually find myself begging God for an answer, any answer, to the big why. It somehow feels like if I could just understand the reason... if he could let me in on the big picture, that I would feel better; or something like that. I read two sentences today in my devotional that cut to the heart, deeply and with much conviction. "God doesn't owe us answers, but in his word he gives us truths" and "If we question because we desperately want God’s perspective and kneel before Him with a humble and receptive heart, questions to God are productive and lead to a deeper faith."

It's validating to know that God allows and likely expects our questions. But what are my motives in asking?? I honestly don't know the answer to that... but what I was convicted of today was thinking God owes me an answer because I simply want or feel I need an answer. Instead, what would happen to my faith if I was humble enough to listen to his perspective? If my why wasn't selfish and me, me, me, but instead longing for the big picture of God's story? I'm going to have to chew on that for a while. I know that this wound of loss is stinging and it is telling me I deserve to know why this happened. My broken heart and those damn lies it tells want me to push God for answers because obviously he should want to give them to me. 

As I move away from the daily ugly cries and the inability to function outside of sheer survival, I want to be intentional about building my faith through this. In those initial weeks and months I needed to find things to be thankful for. Things to keep me going each day. Things to bring even the slightest amount of joy into the overwhelming darkness of loss. But today, even in the midst of stress and frustration, I don’t need those intentional “thankful for ____” moments. I still find myself searching for those moments but they are becoming less of an obligation and more of a result of the fog lifting. Instead, what I need is to deepen and strengthen my relationship with the God that died to save me. I need to dig deeper and really WANT to get to know him and all of his character. It seems like such a simple task, right? Know Jesus. check. Believe in Jesus. check. Trust Jesus. check? 

My prayer for today is that I would examine my motives in questioning God. That I would remember that its ok to ask God why this happened. To ask him whymy son died. To ask him why he didn’t heal him. To ask him any number of things that go along with the heartbreak of this loss. Its all ok. But what isn’t ok is demanding he answer or think that somehow I deserve that. God’s plan is going to play out and he promises us that its going to work out for our good. That is a truth that he gave us. A promise he made that we can cling to. But he doesn’t give an explanation as to when that good would be revealed. For some, that’s during their life. For some, that’s not until they meet him in heaven. The jury is still out on when the good will be revealed in my life, but one thing I can know is that all of this IS GOING TO BE FOR THE GOOD. The other thing I know… is that George Mason was a VERY good thing. That precious little boy was and is a blessing in my life. Something that I can and will be thankful for every day of my life.

8.1.17

Yesterday was a hard day. It was a day full of waiting for an outcome that was likely not the one I wanted. It was a stomach in knots, can't turn my brain off, kind of day. I hate not being in control. Yesterday was a day without control. I couldn't sleep last night. I actually haven't slept in weeks because of this impending verdict.

I've been really struggling with why this weird thing has been causing me so much stress. It seems like with all of the hard things we've been dealing with the last couple years that a stupid hoa decision would be low on my stress trigger list. So what is really going on? Why has this been digging at my psyche with such vengeance? Why have these last two weeks been full of sleepless nights, anger, and knots in my stomach?

I think its important for me to remember that even though this stupid hoa thing is a blip on the map in my story, it is going to have dramatic impact on my life in this moment and that's not something to just brush off. But at the end of the day, my reaction to this has been huge; overwhelming even. As I sit here and think about it, I realize that maybe this reaction and this anger and frustration is about something more. Maybe it's about all of the emotions that I barely had the ability to process when I was pregnant with George Mason. Sitting back and waiting for an outcome that I cannot control has brought up all those months of begging God to make that precious little boy whole. It has reminded me of all those months of suppressing my fears of the worst because I simply needed to believe that God's goodness was going to lead to the result I wanted. That the God I knew and trusted to be good and trust worthy, was definitely going to answer my prayers for healing for George Mason. There was no way he wouldn't. There was no way he couldn't.

God was listening all those months. He was hearing me cry out and beg. He was comforting me and giving me the strength to be Audrey's mom while I carried that little boy. God didn't give me healing for my son, at least not in the sense I expected. But what he did give me was assurance of George Mason's place in eternity with his savior; in a new and perfectly healthy body at that. It's been hard to see and feel his goodness lately but even in this stressful season, God is everywhere. He is in the middle of the night insomnia. He is in the short temper repentances. He is in the sweet hugs from Audrey Nole. He is in the breathless moments of grief.

Tonight as I sit on my couch and process all of this, it is my prayer that I would be less afraid of losing control. That I would be willing to hand over this anxiety and frustration and whatever else to the God who has never failed me or anyone else. That I would say with my whole heart that my God IS good. That my God IS trustworthy. I'm not enjoying this state of stress but I would be crazy if I didn't acknowledge God's presence with me in this. So tonight I hope to sleep. Not because God has removed the stressful situation from life. Not because I miss my son any less. But because I've handed it over to God. Easier said than done... but not impossible, because God is who he says he is.

Let all that I am wait quietly before God, for my hope is in Him. - Psalm 62:5

7.30.17

Clinging to these words tonight:

The name of the Lord is a strong tower; the righteous man runs into it and is safe. - Proverbs 18:10

As we approach the 6 month mark of this grief, it becomes harder to recognize the sadness in each day. I suppose that's a good thing but in a way, the sadness is one of the few ties I have to that precious little boy. It's almost like the thought of losing the sadness is harder than the actual sadness, because somehow, on some level, I'm afraid that if I'm not sad I will forget him.

I know that I will never forgot George Mason. His name has been written on my heart and weaved into deepest, most influential parts of my story. This child, this precious child, will forever remain among my children. He will be thought of along side his siblings. He will be missed at the dinner table and in the car on road trips. His absence will be noticed on Christmas morning and on February 10th of every year, I will... I don't even know. I can't even imagine what that day, his day, will look like each year. But in just a couple weeks, I will be halfway to that day. Halfway to the day that should have been my son's first birthday. The day that I would have celebrated one year of getting to know my second tiny human. When I think about that day, I can't breathe. Even now as I type, my eyes are welled with tears.

Those words in proverbs were important today. Today, for whatever reason, the sadness didn't strike me with ugly tears. Instead it struck me that I wasn't horribly sad. But in the midst of life's various stresses, I still miss my son and can't hide from the emotions that come with that. It's been a hard day. Not because I'm sad over his death, but because I wish he was here to snuggle after a long day. What a blessing God's promises can be. Thankful in this moment for words that encourage me to run, not walk, into the name of the Lord. That His name, simply His name, is strong enough to protect me. How much more strength must His entire being hold?! After days filled with doubt, I needed those words. I needed that promise. Let me always run straight to you, Lord.

7.28.17

Today has been one of those days. The kind were it seems like the devil is working extra hard to push you away from God and into the limbo land of doubt. Doubt that God is good. Doubt that God is trustworthy. Doubt.

I know that my emotions have been on high alert the last few months. Longer than that really, if I'm being completely honest with myself. I've been trying to be intentional about not letting things get to me when I'm in this place of heightened crazy... I try to take deep breaths and remind myself that my reaction to something is tainted by this grief. That even though my first instinct is to punch someone in the throat over something ridiculous, that it's just this exaggerated and really tired body of mine telling me lies. It's those moments where I have to decide in the blink of an eye if I'm going to listen to the whisper of my enemy and doubt my heavenly Father, or if I'm going to turn the other cheek and trust that God is at work in this story; in this moment of overwhelming emotion.

We are selling our house and that's a stressful process. I think anyone who has been through it would agree. But this particular process is made even more stressful by the emotions of selling the only place our son knew. I'm ok with that. I really am. The sad and the hurt that happened in this house is drastically out weighing the good. My son never came home. He never left the hospital room he was born in. And even though his 9 months of life in the womb was in this house, I don't feel upset to be closing this chapter. In fact, for the first time in a while, the idea of future seems like it could possibly be exciting. But then there's the enemy... and this time, instead of a whisper in my ear to encourage doubt, he has taken the form of a nasty neighbor. A neighbor who draws out the worst side of me. A neighbor who can so simply and without a care, push my buttons and turn on every ounce of "mama bear" instinct my body can summon.

So as I attempt to cool off and remind myself that nothing can stand in the way of the goodness of my God, I cling to everything I have control over. Which is nothing and is exactly the opposite of what I should be doing. I'm emotional. I know that. I miss my son with so much of my heart, it feels like I might never breath again. And then there's this person who can push my buttons and get me doubting. Get me thinking that I must do something to fix this. That I can't possibly trust God with this... I mean, after all I trusted Him with my son and look what happened?!

Who is this person I've turned into? Satan be gone. Leave me alone. I am not going to listen to your lies. I'm not going to let the hyper sensitive emotions and my broken heart lie to me anymore. I have no desire to doubt the steadfast God who has proven time and again that he IS trustworthy. I refuse to let evil push my buttons. Lord, hear my cries as I struggle with this. Hear me as I push away from this doubt that is creeping in. Fill the longings of my heart with you; with your Spirit. Let me focus on your scriptures and the promises you have made - and kept - to your people. 

Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths. Be not wise in your own eyes; fear the Lord, and turn away from evil. It will be healing to your flesh and refreshment to your bones. - Proverbs 3:5-8

That's what I want and will continue to strive for. To trust in the Lord with all my heart. To acknowledge Him, even in this moment of doubt, and TRUST that he will make straight my path. Let me fear the Lord, not the things I cannot control. Father, let this verse be written on my heart that I may never forget it. That each time I feel the pains of this loss or perceive a wrong having been done to me, I would instead hear these words of encouragement and charge. For no amount of anger or fear is going to bring my son back. No amount of control in my life is going to right this wrong. Only You. You WILL make this right one day. That is a truth I can cling to. That is what is going to give this tired body and mind the refreshment and healing it so desperately needs.

7.26.17

I’m not sure why, (maybe its our current state of transition) but lately I’ve been thinking a lot about possible future babies, specifically the one that would come next. I find myself daydreaming about holding that child in my arms. It brings so many emotions to the surface. There’s the “what if something goes wrong again?” and the “Will I feel guilty over the excitement of a living baby when I still so very much miss George Mason” and then there’s the, “How will I ever get over the fact that this precious babe never met their big brother??” or the “I’m so terrified of the possible outcomes, maybe we shouldn’t have any more at all” …

Its a black hole of self induced fear and anxiety and I need to snap myself back to the one thing that will calm all of that: God. God knows that I so desperately want a big family. He knows that I will always be missing my son. He knows that if and when there are more little ones added to our family that I’m going to be a hot mess. He knows that the emotions that will come of welcoming another life into the McGough tribe are not going to be easy. He understands the fears and anxiety. He understands that overwhelming desire for more kiddos - He put it there after all. He, and only He, knows what our future holds and exactly what we need to not only get through it but to enjoy living in it.

As we close this chapter of our lives and move on from this house we have called home, I’m finding the future to be an overwhelming thought. I’m not super content in my current state of right now, but I’m often so boggled down by the sheer reality that there is even a future (because a future without George Mason feels so very wrong) to be worried about, that I just ignore the desires to think and dream. I’ve always been a dreamer; out loud and big. I’ve never felt like anything was out of reach or that if I envisioned something that we couldn’t work towards making that a reality. The future, but more specifically the big picture of my daydreams, has always been a fun place for me to go. But when George Mason died, the future suddenly became daunting. I know that God is at work in this life. That He is the steady line in this story I’m living. He is the one constant that we can count on every single day. So when the future becomes a scary place for me, I need to remember to just look to God. He’s going to comfort me in that moment of exhausted fear. He’s going to bring the scariest thoughts of my imagination to a halt. He’s going to show me, remind me, that this moment I’m in is beautiful. It is formative. It is an important part of my story and His work on this earth. That George Mason, though he only lived for 16 hours, made a huge impact on this life and the people that know and love him and me.

I don’t know what the future holds for us. I do know, though, that it looks much different than I could have ever dreamed or imagined. I’m not really ok with that, but I’m trusting that even though ok might not define my thoughts surrounding our future, peace and joy will always be present. That God will always be present. That the memories I have of George Mason will stay with me forever. That I will know, somehow, how to introduce him to his siblings. That our family will always remember the missing person in the pictures. Those are the things that I can know. Those are the things that can make this scary, unknown future, seem a little less daunting and a lot more exciting.

Remember my affliction and my wanderings,

the wormwood and the gall!

My soul continually remembers it

and is bowed down within me.

But this I call to mind,

and therefore I have hope:

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;

his mercies never come to an end;

they are new every morning;

great is your faithfulness.

“The Lord is my portion,” says my soul,

“therefore I will hope in him.”

The Lord is good to those who wait for him,

to the soul who seeks him. - Lamentations 3:19-25

7.23.17

What is your only comfort in life and death? 

That I am not my own, but belong with body and soul, in life and and in death, to my faithful Savior Jesus Christ. He has fully paid for all my sins with his precious blood, and has set me free from all the power of the devil. He also preserves me in such a way that without the will of my heavenly Father not a hair can fall from my head; indeed, all things must work together for my salvation. Therefore, by his Holy Spirit he also assures me of eternal life and makes me heartily willing and ready from now on to live for him. (Heidelberg catechism Q1)

Those words were our confession of faith this morning. A part of the liturgy of the service that is easy to just move through as if it were any random Sunday. But this morning, those words were needed. This morning, as I recited those words aloud with the rest of my church family I realized the importance of the truth told in those words and their relevance in my being able to cope with the death of my son. As I read those words, I quietly changed the me's and I's to George Mason and while it brought tears to my eyes, it also brought a smile to my lips. Thank you, Lord for that gentle reminder of your continued faithfulness and your mighty love for your people. For me. For George Mason.  

What is my only comfort in the life and death of my precious son? 

That George Mason is not his own, but belongs with body and soul, in life and and in death, to his faithful Savior Jesus Christ. He has fully paid for all George Mason's sins with his precious blood, and has set George Mason free from all the power of the devil. He also preserves George Mason in such a way that without the will of his heavenly Father not a hair can fall from his head; indeed, all things must work together for George Mason's salvation. Therefore, by his Holy Spirit he also assures George Mason of eternal life and makes him heartily willing and ready from now on to live for him. 

Powerful truths contained in a short paragraph. I'm thankful that I can know my son is with his savior. I'm thankful that if he can't be here in my home, in the loving embrace of his mama's arms, that he is in heaven with the person who died to save him. The person who gave up everything he deserved, took on everything he didn't deserve, to defeat death and pay our debts, so that death could no longer hold any weight. What a comfort in my own life but so particularly comforting in the short life and then death of my precious son. 

I've been chewing on the words to this song all day and I think I'm just going to set them here as a reminder of this day, those truths, and the joy in sorrow that can be found because of and in my faithful Savior Jesus Christ. 

Who breaks the power of sin and darkness
Whose love is mighty and so much stronger
The King of Glory, the King above all kings

Who shakes the whole earth with holy thunder
And leaves us breathless in awe and wonder
The King of Glory, the King above all kings

This is amazing grace
This is unfailing love
That You would take my place
That You would bear my cross
You lay down Your life
That I would be set free
Oh, Jesus, I sing for
All that You've done for me

Who brings our chaos back into order
Who makes the orphan a son and daughter
The King of Glory, the King of Glory

Who rules the nations with truth and justice
Shines like the sun in all of its brilliance
The King of Glory, the King above all kings

7.21.17

I spoke with the funeral home today regarding George Mason’s burial. I actually learned its not called a burial when you are placing ashes in the ground… chalk that up as one of the things I never thought I would learn or know. Its been five and a half months since we said see you in heaven to our sweet boy. Those months have been hard but with each passing day there is a little less hurt or pain. Sometimes I even forget that I’m a grieving mama. Time is funny like that. So when I picked up the phone to dial the number for the cemetery we have settled on, I didn’t expect to struggle through the conversation. 

One of the things that seems so terrible about all of this is having to go through and re live all of the sadness of those first hours without him. That was literally some of the worst moments of my entire life and as I begin to transition the details of this graveside service from hypothetical to reality, I’m realizing how hard this next milestone is going to be. I’m admittedly not a fan of cemeteries. I don’t enjoy being in them, I don’t have a desire to visit the graves of loved ones, I just find them icky. That’s such a childish word and honestly how I feel when I’m thinking about cemeteries, but if I can’t be honest with myself about these emotions and feelings, I will never be able to get through this service. I would be leaving a part of this grieving process undone or incomplete… my heart needs this closure, even if my brain doesn’t. While I don’t have an upfront need for this particular part of the process, I am fully respectful of the people who do; my husband included. And even though my heart doesn’t seem to need a marker in the ground to remember my son, his ashes need a place, they deserve a place, other than a shelf in the back of a closet. So here I am, writing a check and making preparations for a little piece of real estate in a cemetery in Charlotte. 

Its day’s like this that I think, Jesus, come quickly. 

I tell you this, brothers: flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God, nor does the perishable inherit the imperishable. Behold! I tell you a mystery. We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we shall be changed. For this perishable body must put on the imperishable, and this mortal body must put on immortality. When the perishable puts on the imperishable, and the mortal puts on immortality, then shall come to pass the saying that is written:
“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 15:50-58 

7.20.17

These last few weeks seem like a whirlwind. I honestly don’t know if I’ve even really had time to blink as we prepared our house to be sold. We finally got all the projects done and there is little busyness to distract me from grief. I’m anxious and excited about what God has next for us. I’ve admittedly had a hard time thinking about and processing our future, knowing it didn’t include George Mason in any kind of physical way. I think its a good thing that there’s finally a breath to be taken and a hint of excitement on the horizon. 

As I sit here today, my house is clean, there are no honey-do lists nagging in the background. I’m here, in this moment, with nothing else to do but talk to God and process “out loud” on my electronic journal. It seems like cheating almost. To have nothing to do but sit with Jesus. It feels a bit like those moments of awkward silence when you’ve run out of pleasantries with a stranger or you’ve made your point and everyone is in agreement. I don’t really know what its like to just sit with my God and feel his presence without the lingering thoughts of the many other things I SHOULD be doing. Today this is a gift. There are probably other things to do (a completely unknown future awaits us in a month when we close) but for right now there’s nothing that I can do, nothing that I need to do, so I’m sitting and praying. 

I’m thanking Him for the little moments where it was so clear that He was right there, is right there, in all of this messy stuff we call the human experience. I’m thanking him for the strength he’s given me and Adam over the last 5 months. Strength that comes from nothing inside me but instead solely from the Creator of the world. I’m thanking him for this house. This place that we have called home, in all of its disasters, dust, and dirt. I’m thanking him for the memories we’ve made in this house - even though some of them are so hard, He was present through them all - Every tear, every laugh, every moment of worry, every minute spent in prayer, this house, our home, has been part of George Mason’s story… why shouldn’t I be thankful for that? 

Even though George Mason never left that hospital NICU, his life was spent in this house. He heard countless renditions of Snow White being read to his sister. He heard every belly laugh and felt every sway during our numerous dance parties. He felt the comfort of his daddy’s deep voice as we prayed over his precious life. This house, is full of George Mason’s experiences. It is full of the things that he knew and the things that comforted his family as we awaited his birth.  He never came home, but he was very much a part of this family and our home and for that I’m beyond grateful. 

It was awful to come home from the hospital without my baby boy. It was awful to come home and see an empty crib in the half finished nursery that would never be used by the tiny person it was intended for. Those were terrible moments in the story of this house - and our family -  but they weren’t the entire story and that is the biggest blessing of all. So as I sit here today, just enjoying the quiet, it is my prayer that as we close out this chapter of our lives, we would be able to look back on it with fondness and see so very clearly our God’s fingerprints on all of it. 

One thing I have asked of the LORD, that will I seek after: that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the LORD and to inquire his temple. For he will hide me in his shelter in the day of trouble; he will conceal me under the cover of his tent; he will lift me high upon a rock. And now my head shall be lifted up above my enemies all around me, and I will offer in his tent sacrifices with shouts of joy; I will sing and make melody to the LORD. Hear, O LORD, when I cry aloud; be gracious to me and answer me! You have said, “Seek my face.” My heart says to you, “Your face, LORD, do I seek.” -Psalm 27:4-8

7.18.17

Audrey and I were doing our normal morning thing today. Coffee for mama over books from her bin. Usually we take turns reading. First me, then her. I get all kids of versions of stories that she's either memorized or has made up. She tells me what she sees on each of the pages and for a brief moment I get a glimpse into her powerful and growing little mind. We normally end up reading Snow White or Sleeping Beauty, or any number of playful and happy books that go along with childhood. Today was a little bit different though. She's been very interested in reading about "baby Jesus" and has two different children's bibles worn in to the page where they tell of the Good News of His birth. She can open each of the Bibles and almost instantly find the depiction of the baby in a manger. She's fascinated by something about the story and I'm ok with that. But this time she found Jesus on a different page. This time He was nailed to the cross. That horrible, awful, wonderful cross.

She brought me the book and very excitedly exclaimed "it's Jesus! It's Jesus!" And then told me all about his boo boos. She even told me that Jesus needed some bandaids. It really is amazing what her 2 year old brain is capable of understanding... I told her that Jesus' boo boos were too big for bandaids and that he died on that cross. I don't think she knows what any of that means but then she asked me about George Mason. She put together that George Mason and Jesus both had boo boos that were too big for bandaids and that they are both in heaven.

My heart sinks when we have to talk about something as heavy as death with our toddler. I'm always afraid I won't have the words or that I'll scare her or screw her up. I so often feel like I'm fumbling around my brain for the perfect words and instead of finding them just wishing she will change the topic before I really have to give much of an answer. Today though, she wanted an answer. You could tell that she as confused or anxious about something. She got teary-eyed and told me she didn't want to die. Oh sweet girl, I don't want you to die either.

I'm not sure that anyone is really comfortable talking about death but I particularly hate it because it's impossible to do without tears. The well of salty tears just bubbles over and I'm in the middle of George Mason's day all over again. That moment when my innocent little girl could feel the fright of death... to her a complete unknown, made that even harder. I took a deep breath and told her that we all die one day but that she was going to live a very long time and didn't need to worry about that right now. I also told her that Jesus' death on that cross was really important because it's what allows us to be in heaven with him for eternity; just like her brother.

That brief interaction and answer seemed to calm her fear and satisfy her curiosity for the moment. I'm not even sure why I write stuff like down because in the moment it seems so hard, but I guess it's a good way to look back and see the specific ways that God is and has been present in all of this. Those words certainly weren't mine. Mine would've been filled with a lot more anger and despair. My words would have been tainted by this grief and the pain of experiencing death so first hand.  Instead of filling that moment with more fear and frustration, God calmed her fears and mine. He gave us both a big hug and let us know in a way only the spirit can, that we are ok; we are going to always be ok because He is God.

I don't like these conversations with Audrey. I wish that life hadn't given us this dark and heavy thing to experience and explain to such a young person. I wish that her life was all about princess and happily ever afters, but God gave us a little boy to love on and mourn and while that's super hard, it's one of the most wonderful gifts and I wouldn't change it for the world. Instead, I'm thankful that even though we all miss George Mason that God is ever present with us. He celebrates that precious life. He mourns the life that was cut short by human standards. He fills our hearts with His love and let's us know without a shadow of a doubt that we are in no way in this alone.

7.13.17

In this process of grief I find myself (more than I'd like to admit) searching and yearning for joy. So many days it feels like the horror of having lost my son is just too much for any "light" to shine at the end of this seemingly never ending tunnel. I want so badly to wake up and feel ok. I want to wake up and feel joy, pure and simple, joy. I want to be in love with this life and feel with every fiber of my being that my God is absolutely enough. 

That is a reality that I need to learn doesn't exist. That this side of heaven, perfection, in any form or part of my life is impossible. I don't mean to say that I am always gloomy or that there aren't happy memories or moments being shared. I have an amazing family and we are living life and enjoying ourselves as we do it. We see the "kisses from God" as each day ends and a new one begins. We feel His presence even in the worst of emotional days. But all of that being said, it's important for me to recognize that yearning. To be able to see the desire in myself for joy, so that I can remember that the God who hasn't failed me yet is actually the purest, most complete, most perfect source of that joy I so long for. So that I can recognize those moments of joy that are the work of his hand and really, honestly thank Him for that. 

Joyful are those who obey his laws and search for him with all their hearts. -Psalm 119:2

I'm not one to stray from the ESV, but that translation came across my newsfeed and it struck me. I've always read it as "blessed" are those... and while that's certainly true, it's really hard for me to break the word blessed from the idea of good things; that if I do what I'm told that God is going to give me good things. Blessed means good things... right? But it doesn't mean good THINGS like I attribute to it so selfishly. I know that if I'm dependent on myself in ANY way, that I will fail. That God doesn't need me to be perfect because He loves me anyway. Because He doesn't see my failings or my doubts (that I'm often too prideful to even admit to), instead he sees a precious child, covered in the cost of Jesus' blood. So when that specific translation showed up, it was such a special reminder. Joyful are those... joyful. In my head that doesn't require me to have been perfect and my goodness that's a good thing. 

Today isn't even a sad day. It's a good day. My sister is still here. We took Audrey to the zoo. Watching her wonderment is life giving. It's been a good day. But even on the good days, I yearn for joy. And as I read that verse, I realized that I'm not longing for joy... at least not solely.  I'm longing for Jesus. I'm deeply and convictingly longing for Jesus. Except He's right here. He's been right here. Sometimes I just forget that. So it's my prayer for today, a particularly good day, that in those moments where my breath is taken away because I miss my son so much, that I would search for Jesus with my whole heart; because it is THERE that I will find joy.

5 months

Today George Mason would be 5 months old. He would sitting and laughing and starting to find his voice. He would reacting and interacting with his big sister. He would probably be learning to have a healthy fear of the toddler monster he adores so much. He would be settling into a routine and maybe even letting his mama sleep for a few consecutive hours each night. He would be perfect. He is perfect. In fact, he is in the one place that where perfection is actually possible. Oh how I wish that were different, but oh how glad I am that our God makes such assurance for that precious little boy's salvation. 

I have been busy today. Two of George Mason's little peers were baptized this Sunday and it was so hard. It was so full of joy and excitement and utter desolation and intense grief. My son should have been up in the front of the church with those beautiful little girls. He should've been in my arms as the pastor sprinkled his head and Adam and I promised to raise him in our faith; joining in the covenant family. Sunday was hard. I cried ugly tears for the first time in while. So with yesterday being so close to the anniversary of his day, I was worried that today would be rough. I didn't want to think about today. I didn't want to face 5 months without that adorable and perfect little boy. Thankfully, I was busy. I was wrapped up in construction. My baby sister is here and Audrey Nole had a glorious toddler day. It was a regular, but not so regular, Monday. 

Two years ago we bought a fixer upper. It was a disaster and it was a perfect distraction during the worst of the grief of losing my mom. It is the only home George Mason ever knew. It's the home where I woke up every morning and went to bed every night during those 9 months of carrying him. It's the place where we built a nursery that never fulfilled its destiny. It's the place that has a view of the home where my mama took her last breaths. It's a home full of Audrey's firsts, George's should have beens, and our blood, sweat, and tears in making it our own sanctuary in this city that I mostly hate. Today, we finished it. We closed the chapter on this fixer upper and have made the decision to move on. Today, I was busy with the final details and the last minute, tedious, no one will ever notice, kinds of things that make a house beautiful. Today was long and hard. Not just because I miss my son, but because even though I know that moving on from this place is good and healthy it still hurts just a little bit. Because for every bad memory or moment of ugly cry grief, there is an equally joyful, Audrey's first steps kind of moment. 

I'm thankful for this house. I'm thankful for the distraction it provided during two of the most intense seasons of my life. I'm thankful for the work of grief that's been done here and the freedom we have to leave that behind and move on to what is next. I know that in the grand scheme of things a house seems so insignificant, but when it's part of this story cannot be denied, it's something to be aware of and to be conscious to be thankful for. 

I miss my son. I miss him today and everyday. And even though today was busy and full, it wasn't without quiet moments of reflection. Moments to reminisce over George Mason's tiny features. Moments to recall details from his day and the many days before and after. I hate that my son isn't here. I wrestle with God about that a lot. But today, July 10, five months since his day, I'm more thankful than ever for his precious life and the abundant joy I have from being his mama. Thank you Jesus for that sweet baby boy. Thank you Jesus for my precious daughter. Thank you Jesus for my strong and faithful husband. Thank you Jesus for my baby sister. Thank you Jesus for this home. Thank you Jesus for all of the pieces of my story that lead to today. That shaped my world view. That pointed me toward you again and again. That allow me to wake up each day and be the person you created me to be. 

Sing praises to the LORD, O you his saints, and give thanks to his holy name. For his anger is but for a moment, and his favor is for a lifetime. Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning. -Psalm 30:4-5

7.5.17

Yesterday was wonderful; well, as wonderful as anything can be given our circumstances. I miss George Mason. God knows that. He knew before I even knew about that precious little boy that I was going to miss him. He knew that I was going to need support in the midst of missing him. Yesterday was one of the greatest testaments to His faithfulness I've experienced. We had a great time with our friends. They love us so deeply, they indulge us when we want to talk about George. They tell us how much they wish he were here. They hug us when we cry. They laugh with us when life sends giggles. Our life in SLC has many things we wish were different, but our friendships and community are something we cannot deny is a total gift from God. 

Do I wish that I had been snuggling my almost 5 month old while watching the parade? Absolutely. Do I wish that I could've gotten a sweet family picture with ALL of us? Of course! Do I wish that George Mason had been playing with the big girls? With my whole heart. But I'm so thankful that even though all of those things are true, I'm not ridden with anxiety or fear or sadness in every moment of every day. I serve a great God who is with me in this grief. Who is the ultimate source of joy. Who is wiping my tears and giving me the strength to keep living forwards. He is showing me His great and deep love in so many ways. He is allowing me to continue living as Jillian and not be defined by grief or lose my identity in it. He gives me what I need, when I need it, so that this life isn't spent in sorrow and gloom, but instead lived out to the fullest thanks to His awesome, never ending mercies. 

Audrey has been talking less about her brother lately, but when she does talk about him she is capable of understanding a little more. She told her daddy yesterday that she misses George Mason. I don't know where that thought came from. I don't know if she heard someone talking about him in that context or if she really feels the tug of missing someone. I do know, though, that as she grows up, her little brain is processing all of these things in the background. She may not understand fully what it means when she says she misses her brother, but one day she will. I'm so thankful she is learning about grief under the protection of the Holy Comforter. I'm so thankful that as she watches her daddy and me process and deal with this loss that she is seeing God's infinite love poured out on us. That she will be able to draw on these memories and experiences when she is older and know that her God loves her. I hope that she always talks about George Mason. I hope she shares whatever memories she has of his short life with her future siblings. I hope that as she recalls this part of her life, she would be drawn closer to the one who is sustaining her and those around her. 

After these things the word of the LORD came to Abram in a vision, saying, "Do not be afraid, Abram. I am your shield, your exceedingly great reward. -Genesis 15:1

7.3.17

Adam and I have been so busy lately. It feels like there's no time for acknowledging grief. We are swept up in busy times (for good and healthy reasons) and while it has been providing a good distraction from the missing piece of our family, it leaves the quiet moments of reflection few and far between. Tomorrow is Independence Day. It is a day that is always full of good food, fellowship, and fireworks. We have been planning our escape from the summer heat to spend time with friends. It's very likely going to be a wonderful day. Except it's not going to be without its sorrow. 

I got Audrey a cute little red, white, and blue outfit and while I was there I saw all the darling little infant outfits. I've always had fun dressing my daughter, but the stuff for little boys is just so darn dapper. It makes me sad that instead of dressing my precious son in something to celebrate America, I'm grieving his loss. It makes me sad that on a day that will be so wonderfully full of all kinds of good things, we will know and feel the hole of George Mason's absence. Tomorrow is another first. It's another holiday without our son. It's a day on the calendar meant for celebrating and we have to live through it with mixed emotions. Our community here is like family. They are loving, caring, supportive. They are grieving George Mason along side us.  We will be surrounded by people whom we love and who love us and that will be so life giving. It will make this celebration so joyful. It will be necessary and wonderful. But we will also be facing the missing baby boy in the clan of kiddos. 

I hope tomorrow I can find a quiet moment to acknowledge the missing piece, to give my thoughts to God, and to feel His peace and comfort. I don't think it will be as hard as I'm prepared for it to be. God always meets me with such specific comforts on the days I'm most worried about. I think tomorrow is going to be wonderful but experienced through this grief. Through this lens of loss and the sadness that is unavoidable and understandable. But, no matter what, God is here and working. He will sustain me, like He always does. 

He who has prepared us for this very thing is God, who has given us the Spirit as a guarantee. So we are always of good courage. We know that while we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord, for we walk by faith, not by sight. - 2 Corinthians 5:5-7

6.30.17

I was driving down the road this morning and started thinking about the first phone call I made after we found out the doctors had exhausted all medical interventions... I don't know why that particular conversation stuck out to me today, but it was one of the hardest I've ever had to have. My dad was watching Audrey Nole for us since we had come to the hospital after she had gone to bed the night before. He had been texting us throughout the day with pictures and videos of their shenanigans. There was one particular video from that day that gave us such a laugh; pure joy in a snippet of time. 

This was the first time I was going to give him any kind of bad news. Nothing that day had been good news, but there was also no one willing to give us the straight up, no bullshit, hard truth. Our son was dying. That was our reality even before he was born, but it was the doctors' and nurses' job to keep us hopeful. To let us love on and care for George Mason with all the hope we could muster, so he could know it was worth it to fight. So before that phone call around 5pm, I hadn't had any "bad" news to give... this was going to hit him like a 2x4 across the back of the head. I remember sending Adam home to go pick them up and then picking up my phone to call my dad. I didn't even know if words were going to come out of my mouth. The phone rang and when dad picked up, I just cried. He knew. I told him he needed to get Audrey dressed and be ready when Adam got there. George Mason didn't have much time and I wanted to be able to spend however much time he had left together as a family. Audrey Nole had to meet her brother. 

I don't remember exactly what we said to each other but I know he was good. He was so good. He just told me he was sorry and that he loved me. Over and over I think. People tell me they don't know what to say about all of this and I always tell them there is nothing to say. So for a situation where there are no words, the content of this one particular phone call was about as good as it could possibly be. I don't remember much else after that phone call before we made the walk to the NICU for the last time... most of that day is a blur anyway. I'm thankful for these random moments when details from his day sit so vividly at the front of my mind. It doesn't come without its share of sadness, but every day has sadness, so it's good when I'm able to write down and process. I know George Mason's day is going to be a blip on the timeline of our lives. His 16 hours will never be any longer. But those 16 hours are going to be the brightest, most impactful, life changing blip I've ever experienced. I'm sad to know that each day means we are farther from holding him. Each day means we are further into this life and he's not in it. Each day makes us closer to the day we might bring our next baby home and that baby won't ever have known their big brother. Those things are so, so sad. But those things aren't the defining details in this life we are living. 

Sadness is a part of my story right now but it will be a much smaller part than those 16 hours that George Mason lived. I will remember his day and his precious life for the rest of mine. I will love him from the bottom of my heart for the rest of my days. I will be his mama forever. Those are the details that define this life. I will probably always have a bit of sadness in me, but thankfully I serve a God who is the source of all joy. My memories of my son will be filled with that joy, not the sadness. I will remember my son with all the fondness and adoration in the world. 

Wait for the LORD; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the LORD! - Psalm 27:14