I miss SINGING

I'm one of those people who still has their wedding video on VHS tape. :) I no longer own a VHS player, but my parents do. My husband and I took the kids down to my parents house over Thanksgiving and one afternoon I located my wedding video and popped it into their VHS player. My poor son- I made him turn off his 3DS and watch the entire thing!

As we watched, I noticed that several people who attended our wedding are no longer alive. These include my Sunday School teacher from when I was 6, some great aunts and uncles, my grandfather, and my friend Karen who passed away from breast cancer. She played the piano in the wedding. As I pointed out all the different people that my son is never going to get to know, I couldn't help but push the rewind button several times so he could hear his great grandfather's voice. I did the same thing for Karen just so I could hear her laugh again. While I can say that these losses have had a profound impact on my life, they do not hold a candle to the pain that I have felt (and STILL feel) over the loss of my babies. As a Christian, I can keep going because of the hope I have that I will see them all again, but that does not mean that I am some kind of superhero who doesn't feel the pain of grief. I have seen time and time again where people's expectations are so high of those who have suffered loss. Whether they realize it or not, they contribute to the pain that person is feeling and can actually cause that person to heal more slowly than they otherwise would.

 The loss of a child cuts deeper than any other wound. It changes your whole life. There are some good changes, but there are some negative changes too. Sometimes, things that a person normally loved to do before their loss is now something that they cannot do. For me, that thing was music. I sang to my husband on our wedding day. Not live- I recorded myself because I knew that I would be too emotional to sing it during the ceremony. As I listened to this song on the wedding video I almost lost it. I hardly recognized my own voice. BEFORE it all happened, and by "it" I mean infertility and the loss of my babies- I sang all the time. Growing up, I sang in church at least once a month. I wrote and sang some of my own songs. I sang in the campus AND college choir in college. I sang solos, duets- you name it, I did it. But AFTER it all happened, I stopped singing. For awhile, I even stopped talking. Every time I opened my mouth, the lump in there was so large I couldn't swallow it to get any words out. I stopped playing the piano. I stopped everything- everything except living; and if I could have, I would've stopped doing that too.

 Fast forward to the present- after years of support from my family and friends, I am back at the piano. I can get through the songs without crying. And now I want to sing again. I don't have the best voice, but it's decent, and it's something I love to do. Maybe at some point, the opportunity will arise for me to sing again. As for now, I sing in the car. LOUDLY. :) I've unpacked the CDs and I sing with them at the top of my lungs. I sing for the Lord, I sing for my babies, I sing for Karen, and I sing for my grandfather because I know that they wouldn't want me to quit my music forever. After all, even the birds come out to sing after the rain!

"Daddy"

This is a picture of my Dad, holding my precious son in his arms. I'm from NY state; and up there we all call our parents "Mom and Dad" once we hit our teenage years. But on August 14, 2008, all of that changed. THAT day, he became my DADDY.

 As "that day" progressed, many people came in and out of my hospital room. Nurses tried to keep me comfortable, friends from church came to help keep my mind busy, and my mom and cousin were there trying to do what they could to help me get through the most terrifying time of my life. After awhile, it was apparent that no matter what drugs were given to me, I wasn't going to get much relief from the physical pain that I was in- the pain of childbirth. An epidural has never worked for me; it numbs only one side of my body. So every half hour or so I would beg for the nurse to try something else. She would call the anesthesiologist up and he tried two or three different medications but none of them would work for very long. It was at this point that I started having more problems. My catheter had been inserted wrong, and if you've ever had one of those inserted wrong you know that you pretty much feel like certain areas are on fire. No sooner had the nurse fixed that problem then the nausea set in. I think I must have mumbled something about having to throw up because the next thing I knew my mom was holding a tray under me as I began violently up-chucking into it.

 When that was over with, "the shakes" began. Those of you who have given birth know exactly what I'm talking about when I say, "the shakes". You just CANNOT.GET.WARM...no matter how many of those warm blankets that come straight-from-the-heater they give you. I was completely miserable and all of a sudden I only wanted one person. My Daddy. I told my mother to send everybody out of my room and to go and get my Dad. As soon as he walked in and took my hand a feeling of relief came over me and I just knew that I could do it. I knew that I could keep enduring this pain as long as he was there to hold my hand. I don't remember how long he stood there holding my hand- it could've been an hour or maybe two. He didn't say much- he never does- but he was there, and from his presence I was able to find my strength. We buried baby Grant on Saturday morning, August 16th. This is my Dad standing by my side on that day-

Since I ultimately gave birth to Grant via a last minute C section, I had to be given a lot of pain medication in order to be able to attend the funeral and burial so soon after the fact. So because of the physical and emotional state I was in, I cannot remember a lot about those two days. I remember Dad being there beside me in the photo, but I don't remember him really saying anything to me. I believe it was the day after the burial when I received an email message from my Dad. (He had driven the 2 1/2 hours back home while my mom stayed with me) The subject line was simple: "Just some words given in the night". As I began to read the body of that email, I began to cry.
  My grandson was born of my daughter today
 but alas he was taken so quickly away. 
His name is Grant Thomas, such a fine little guy 
The Lord took him home, to be with Him on high. 
Some day we will join him in that heavenly place, 
no more sickness, sorrow, or tears to erase. 
But a grand re-union with those gone before, 
to be with our Savior on that beautiful shore. 
Though sad is our heart and tears fill our eyes, 
Jesus will take all those sorrows and sighs,
 lifting us up like eagles that soar
 our heart aches and troubles, remembered no more! 

My Dad has never written a poem in his life. He cannot carry a tune in a bucket. He has NO artistic skills whatsoever. UNTIL THIS. His HEART, written on paper. I think that many people pay so much attention to the parents during the loss of a baby that they forget that others in that family have lost that baby too. My dad lost his GRANDSON. And just to give you an indication of how much pain that caused him, I will share what he told me several days later. He said that after the burial it was all he could do to drive home. When he arrived home, he locked all the doors and closed all the blinds. He did not eat- just sat at the kitchen table for hours until God gave him the words to this poem.

 I spend so much of my time trying to spread awareness that pregnancy and infant loss is REAL. It is such pure, indescribable anguish, that unless you go through it yourself, you will never understand it. When a baby dies, EVERYONE suffers. Everyone loses a relationship that they thought they were going to have with that child. My son was everything to all of us- son, brother, grandson, nephew, cousin, and friend. There is a quote that says, "There is no foot too small that it cannot have an imprint on this world." author unknown
 Grant's feet were very tiny; but they have made a HUGE imprint on this world- in some ways that we know, and most likely in ways that we won't know for years to come.

Back in the Saddle Again

I'm back on the blog. Since adopting a special needs little girl, I have found that my schedule needs just a tad bit of tweeking in order to fit everything in. I hope to begin posting a little more than once a year. (yes, I am SMH at myself) Maybe, just maybe, I can work an update on the design of this blog too. But let's not hold our breath...! Baby steps, Jody. Baby steps. A lot has happened in this last year, and I'll get you caught up soon. Thanks for your patience!