Hope

I know that people are praying their hearts out for us. . .

but you guys must have all been praying in unison today.



Today - marks ten weeks without our little man.



Today is also the first day that I have not felt. . . destroyed.

Tomorrow may (probably will) be dark and crushing again, but today, God lifted the horrible pressure of grief from my heart, and I know it is because of the power of prayer, and people.

You guys are giving new meaning to the Body of Christ.

Ruth told me tonight that she has been praying that God will lessen the agony of the flashbacks. I feel that goosebumps are in order here, because, today, He has.

Tammy brought gifts today- beautiful books, for me, for the kids. . . listening, caring, praying.

Pam asked if I wanted peppers from her garden. . . well, sure, and when you bring your fresh picked peppers over, I will proceed to dump on you for an hour while you patiently sit on my couch and love me by listening.

So much hope, today.

Friends, lifting us up. People, giving of their hearts.

I am humbled and amazed by this kind of love.

{snapshots from today}

{pool time}
{displayed some book faves in a new way}

{actually cooked- it was easy, yes, but I actually enjoyed it}

{changed the roman shades in the kitchen & dining room windows}

{and I'm loving the new look}

beautiful ending

email to my friend Phoebe. . .

Today - I just have to share this with someone - was the incredible realization of God's Hand in a song I picked for Gabe's birth playlist. It's called Beautiful Ending, by one of my favorite girl-bands :-) and I just liked the melody and feel of the song, also that my pregnancy was ending (YAY!) and the ending of the pregnancy would be beautiful, I thought. (It was!) Yet now, the words to this song have incredible meaning next to Gabe's short little life - So tell me / What is our ending / Will it be beautiful / Will my life / find me by Your side / Your love is beautiful / At the end of it all I wanna be in Your arms.

Looking back, it seems like the weirdest song in the universe to choose to welcome a baby into the world, but I can hear that beautiful music reverberating through that delivery room as we brought that little guy into our family to love for such a short time - and it WAS beautiful. And the end - it was beautiful, too, and as peaceful, I think, as death can be. And he is in the arms of Jesus.

How can I not see the beautiful ending?

the difference between 15 and 17 is HUGE

Um-

I just earned the Lamest Big Sister Award for 2010.

New text from my not so little brother.

Hey, Hayley- I was reading your blog and thought I would let you know that I'm turning 17 on Friday. ;)

So. . . I thought about going back and changing "15 year old brother" to "16 year old brother" but then that seemed a little lazy. I think that large of a mistake deserves it's own correction.

teeth grinding (I told you I'm becoming a social misfit)

And I'm not apologizing to him on my blog, because , see, we do real relationships in my family, remember, so I'll be apologizing in person on Friday, doing some penance, and searching for a really nice peace offering.

not type a. . .

I spent some time today searching for blogs and resources on infant loss and SIDS. . .

Lots and lots of sites for miscarriage/stillbirth. . .

. . .not too many for making your coffee / taking a shower / going upstairs and finding your baby in Heaven.

I want to know how other parents deal with the shock. I feel like I am still reeling.

I know that some think we are getting over it or going on; I don't think they realize that we are still trying to wrap our minds around the fact that Gabe even died.

I wrote a friend the other day . . .we are so lame right now. Thank you for inviting us. . .we do want to get together and we love you guys. We so don't know how to be. We feel like we went from type-a happy people to social misfits. We want to spend time with you- if you can stand to be around us!

I tried to express this to Marlys the other night as she rescued me from another social event, allowing me to escape to the refuge of their home.

I'm so sorry that I'm such a sponge!

What would we do without the people who have let us be sponges, absorbing their strength and love and care and faith?

We wouldn't be able to cope.

Not that I would say I'm coping well - what does that mean, anyway?

I am not coping. I am being carried by a strength greater than my own.

no more tears

Happy Birthday, Mom.

My family - we don't really have a tight blogging / facebook / texting circle.

We like techie stuff. . . as evidenced by the dialog below between my 15-year-old brother and myself:

TEXTS FROM 7/21:

Dad got a blackberry it is sweet :]

Me- via text: My my my- and to think when i lived at home we still had a rotary phone- the times how they do change. :-)

Immediate reply: Dad got a blackberry it is cool!

Me: Um. . . yes, you just mentioned that. Lol- must be the big news!

So we obviously appreciate technology and how it can connect people, but we're more into the real relationship thing, like actually driving insane amounts of miles and really being together.

Which is why this birthday post is really not to my mom, because it will probably be a week before she reads it. This is really more just to tell you, the world out there, how much I love her and how glad I am that God gave her to me.

So here are a few reasons I love my mom.

She loves making the ordinary special. This would mean. . .

pancakes decorated like snowmen

using the burnt "V" in the yard from our waterslide as the catalyst for "V"ictory Day Camp (just us kids, but boy was it fun)

letting me eat green grapes {in a little plastic bowl} in the dark coat closet with a flashlight (oh, the simple pleasures that a four year old delights in)

"pajama runs" (this involved going to the car wash, usually, and then ice cream)

She values the role of a stay-at-home mom.

She loves God.

She reads His Word faithfully.

She pours her life out for others.

She opens the doors of her home to literally hundreds of people each year.

She shows love to those that don't have anyone to love them - yeah, society's rejects.

She loves Orange Cappuccino.

She will drop anything and come immediately if one of us needs her.

She is an amazing grandma. . .

I love her.

Just wanted you all to know that.

. nine weeks .

Miss him every single minute.

Not Missing the Teeth

Me: Crying

Daniel: Tears

Jacob: "I miss him."

Cambria: "Well, I don't miss him right now."

Me and Daniel (in unison) "Why don't you miss him?" {!!!!!}

Cambria: (totally matter-of fact) "Well, because he would bite me on mine finger!"

So, so glad we have the balance that the kids bring to an otherwise dark and scary road.

The Mercy of . . . Not Knowing

It's not every day that you receive your son's death certificate.

There weren't any surprises. . . {if you can shield your heart from being surprised still by the shortness of time between January 12 and May 19}

Initially we hoped there would be something obvious; something we could wrap our minds around. Maybe his heart had defects; some rare disease that would have caused him pain; a debilitating disorder that God spared him from. Not very rational. . . . but we haven't been too rational this summer.

One by one all of the test results came back -

his heart was perfect.

his brain was fine.

nothing wrong.

nothing

nothing

nothing

I knew there was nothing wrong.

He was happy

healthy

"two months ahead of schedule!" {pediatrician at last visit}

strong

totally breast-fed

two teeth

not even vaccinated yet (there goes that theory)

okay, so I didn't use cloth diapers, but. . . . he had a pretty natural, healthy babyhood.


So why?


The final word. . .

Sudden Unexplained Infant Death

What the physicians say when they don't know what to say.

When there isn't any reason.

When nothing is wrong except that everything is wrong.

When your son is just gone.

When you never got a chance to plead for his life.


But there is a cruel sort of mercy in the absence of any answers;

there isn't one thing that we could have done differently glaring at us from that document.

there aren't replays of a car accident and if only we wouldn't have been on that highway at that time.

there wasn't any time to cling. {we loved him until the last minute}

No answers to the why.

Just the knowledge that God gave him to us for 128 days. . . and then took him Home to Heaven.

To Kamie

So, Miss Kamie,

We waited a long time to meet you and we were so excited to see your cute little face.

You guys were going to be quite the cousins. . . Gabe was supposed to look out for you and teach you stuff since he was a couple weeks ahead of you.

He was pretty happy to meet you, don'tcha think he looks like it?

And then he got to go to Heaven before all of us

and you weren't the little almost twins cousins anymore

and your mommy and daddy didn't know if they should let us see you

or if your warm, chubby little self would make us too sad.

Oh, Kamie, I want to see you. You are still my first little niece and you are still just cuteness and I am still so happy that you're you and you're alive and all squishy and smiley.

You will always have a really special place in our hearts and we will always think of you and Gabe as little cousins even though you won't grow up together. . .

and he'll never bite you

or grab your toys

or tease you

or lord his drivers permit over you. . .

On Sunday, you were finally older than Gabe and I was so happy to realize that. It made your mommy's heart all sad, cuz she liked being able to have him ahead of you to test out the scary waters of orajel and rice cereal and stuff like that.

But my heart was so happy, cuz I want you to live and grow up and love Jesus and love your mommy and daddy and be Miss Cuteness and it's okay.

People watch us together when I hold you and I can see their little whispers and their doubting eyes, wondering if I'm pretending that you are someone else. . . or if I'm jealous that your mommy has you to squeeze. I think you and I both know that you aren't my own little baby, so I really don't have to explain to you, but I'll just tell you anyway, just in case you ever wonder. . .

I love you, Kamie, just for who you are.

Thank you, little Miss Kamie, for helping my mommy-heart heal.

Kamie and Aunt Hayley on May 19, 2010

Seven Weeks

Today I wonder. . . will I ever care again about the things that once brought so much joy?

Just putting one foot in front of the other this week.

undone