Birthday Eve

I suppose it’s perfectly within reason for one to get reflective around one’s birthday.

But this year, I’m feeling particularily reflective, particularily intuitive.

I went so far as to visit my parents’ grave; a trip I’ve done only twice in the 20 months since my mother’s passing.

With my van full of children, I couldn’t help but wonder if this was to be their future too. Would my own daughters celebrate more birthdays without me than with me?

For the first time in my life, I feel old.

Not physically aged…just, perhaps, the equivalent of my life experiences.

Am I where I thought I’d be? Am I who I thought I’d be?

Do the answers even matter?

I believe we each have a calling in this life. I wonder if I’m living to my full potential. I question if I’ve done right by the gifts and talents my Heavenly Father has given me.

Every day I pray specifically for God to use my life for His Glory.

I pray this to be true.

Lately, I’ve felt the Holy Spirit within me…a pressing, ’still, small voice’ whispering to me.

God hasn’t yet revealed His message to me, but I feel it. I know it.

There have been specific times in my life when I just *knew* I was on the verge of something…I feel it now too.

Again, I pray, Lord, let me be a vessel; use me. Make me like you; use my life for your Glory. Amen.

The Great Return

to work that is.

Me and my change amongst the seasons.

Last summer I took off from work to grieve, cry, soul search and reconnect with my children after Jakie’s death.

This summer, I return to work following my 4 month maternity leave.

Amazing the difference a year makes.

Absolutely, freakin’ amazing.

A year ago, I had little hope in my eyes, even less in my heart.

I was bitter, oh so bitter.

I was angry, outraged; simply blind with grief.

I couldn’t see past the pain no matter what stood before me.

Today,

I feel bittersweet at the thought of leaving 10 week old Lucy in the preschool nursery.

Today, I feel nothing less than sheer joy and wonder.

I am in awe of the children I’m raising, the child I now hold only in my heart.

My family survived.

My marriage is strong. My children are joyful.

My heart is overflowing in the best possible way.

Next week will mark one year since I took those first feeble steps at turning my life around after heartache. Next week will mark 18 months since my heart first fell into the abyss of child loss.

But, I have returned to the land of the living. Jakie is always alive in my heart, in my mind. In every button down plaid shirt I see, in every little boy with big brown eyes, in every child that feeds from a tube, in every touch of Lucy’s soft feet. In those simplest of details I *see* my son. Sometimes I cry, sometimes I laugh, but always I remember.

Amazing, how God heals the heart, the mind.

I am no longer bitter that Jakie’s body wasn’t among the things God chose to heal.

Bitterness brought me nothing; brought God nothing.

I believe my life is meant to glorify Him, in ALL I do.

So, tomorrow I return, and don’t think for a minute that I am not grateful for the Glory God revealed between last summer and this one.

Revelation

To complete your family. To know, by the grace and mercy of God your children are all here with you must be a most glorious knowledge.

But it’s a knowledge I will never hold.

Who knew my answer to the ever asked, “Is this your last baby?” would be found.

ha.

Those words above are my words, words written just days before Lucy entered this world and our lives with her quiet grace.

I’ve been struggling, no that’s not the right verb…

I’ve been contemplating the whole are we ‘done’ thing.

Yes, yes we are.

Not because David is 40. Not because that was our plan.

We are ‘done’ because I realize I will never feel complete again in the ways of motherhood.

I can’t.

Because I can no longer hold my child.

Exactly.

My heart got it before my head; not the first, nor the last time this sentiment has proved true.

We are done as a family, but not complete

and that IS the difference.

My pregnancy with Lucy was hard. My heart hurt.

I am not strong enough to do that again.

Even now, when I hold my precious newborn close, I look at her and just wonder, “How did you get here? Who are you?”

Lucy is this beautiful mess of a child. At nearly six weeks she’s covered in the ever lovely baby acne; she’s got a growing bald spot on her dark head, revealing nothing but baby blond fuzz.

Yet, I look at those breathtaking baby eyes and they do just that.

This child takes my breath away.

Lucy is mine. When I was stumbling, tripping through the world just trying to get her here, she was already my Lucy. A creation born of the love and sorrow her Daddy and I harbored.

Of course she’s mellow. Of course she’s content and easy to soothe.

We didn’t get lucky. We didn’t win the baby lottery.

I learned with Lila there is no ‘reward’ for pain, no balance or justice in this  life.

We lost everything before this child.

We lost our foundation, our sense of ‘right’ and fair.

We lost a life.

But we gained.

Oh, how we gained.

When I see how intensely each of Lucy’s siblings plays with her; I get it.

Because we lost, we also gained.

Lucy will never know the pain like we do; what a beautiful gift God gave her.

He blessed us  with her life, He blessed her  with His mercy.

We may be done having babies, but we will never be complete.

Christ alone is completion.

and I’m perfectly content with THIS life. The life that has shown me true sorrow, incredible pain, ultimate joy and everlasting love.

“Life is so messy that the temptation to straighten it up is very strong.”

                                         ~ Anna Quindlen

Suppose that says a lot about me and my life then, no?

Imagery

It was the sensational flashbacks that kept me from nursing the first time, and the second.

I couldn’t allow the baby near me in such an intimate way without remembering the touch from years earlier that I didn’t want. He had hurt me.

I was too naive to stop his hurt.

Too emotionally unstable to keep it from helping my babies.

The third time, I came close, but my own stubbornness stopped me.

The fourth time, this final time, I was armed and ready. The abuse of the past was not going to stop me from feeding my baby. I had read and re-read every book on successful nursing I could find.

And it worked.

Lucy is a champion nurser.

But, damn those images.

New ones now, a different ghost, a different pain.

What for some is a nuisance of a nursing concern is enough to bring me to tears.

The grimace.

I remember it all too well.

A child that wouldn’t eat, the grimace that followed.

I have sheet after sheet filled with insane details of Jakie’s feeding adventures.

“Fed Jake in the kitchen, in his high chair. Mom, Dad, big brother were present. Held spoon up to Jakie’s nose. Put spoon to Jakie’s lips. Jake grimaced and turned away.”

How many of those same entries do I have?

Countless.

When I look down at Lucy as she nurses, I am filled with awe and wonder at the body God created. I am proud of the fear I have overcome to get to this point.

But,

when I see her draw back, pull away from me and grimace,

the bottom

falls

out.

*

I know, it’s a temporary issue; a relatively common complaint. But, I know me, I know the images that once haunted me…and I know if I don’t speak of the new ones, I might let the old ones back in.

So, this post is for me, for Lucy, for Jakie; for perseverance in the big and the small.

Lucy, our light

Lucy Marlette

April 3rd, 2009

7:38am

8lbs, 12 oz

21.5 in

Proof of survival, life, light and one true amazing God.

Welcome to a glorious world little one, welcome.

the rest of your life

There is something so positively thrilling  about knowing that your family is all almost here, together.

Only, what do you do when your family won’t actually all be together? Not in the traditional sense anyway.

Lucy will be here no later than this Friday.

April 3rd, 2009.

Three years to the day that we unpacked our precious Jakiepoo into his own room away from our home. Three years to the day that our lives forever changed. The first of many life altering events.

One year to the day that we stood in the April rain and listened as the priest placed Jake’s remaining ashes into the wet earth at Holy Angels where we had two years before brought our son to live.

I’m anxious to meet my youngest child, my final child. I’m ready to look into those newborn eyes and see, yes, this is exactly who I’ve been waiting for to complete this family.

But part of me, most of me I should say, is so very scared to look into my baby girl’s eyes, hold her soft skin, watch her tiny chest rise and fall, and fall apart.

15 months ago I watched and waited for Jakie’s chest to rise again, to hear his breath one more time.

It never did.

My son left this life and moved fiercely into the next, the glorious place in Heaven where his pain is no more and glory of God is revealed.

But I was still here.

I am still here.

Waiting.

Waiting for life.

Lucy’s life.

Eternal life.

To complete your family. To know, by the grace and mercy of God your children are all here with you must be a most glorious knowledge.

But it’s a knowledge I will never hold.

Because I can no longer hold my child.

My youngest boy.

But I can hold his sister Lucy.

I can look at her and know that God has given me far more than I ever deserved. The chance to love and nurture a child in His love from first breath to last.

God, my heart wants to resist this change, this permanence and at the same time embrace it like never before.

My family is what it is. Here. There.

My family is David.

My family is Taylor, Adriana, Jacob, Avery, Olivia, Lila and Lucy.

My family is not my own…my family, my gift. Praise you Heavenly Father.

Lucy’s Verse

“Arise, shine; for your light is come, and the glory of the LORD is risen on you.”

~ Isaiah 60:1

Each of my girls has a verse that I consider ‘theirs.’ The verse that sustained me during pregnancy or simply gave me hope in those early days of motherhood.

Tuesday, God led me to this verse.

You might recall that ‘Lucy’ means ‘light.’

With vibrant Lucy’s birth imminent, I feel the usual rush of emotions and hormones; but present too, are the not so usual ones.

This pregnancy has been my most difficult— the fierce morning sickness that literally brought me to my knees, the worry and wait over early testing, the gestational diabetes that has been anything but traditional and easy, the bed rest from signs of early labor, the early release from work-doctor’s orders.

So different.

But maybe it should be. Has to be.

Lucy isn’t coming into a naive family.

Lucy is coming after the deepest of heartaches, the worst of pain.

Lucy will be born, and all the wonder and amazement that is a new creation will be hers; yet it belongs to each of us.

I have truly fought to be in this moment.

Right now, a few cities over, my dear mother in law fights the physical battle of a cancer that has spread and invaded her weary body. This woman of faith also fights the inner battle I know all too well; on March 4th we said good-bye to ‘Uncle Jimmy.’ My mother in law’s oldest child, my husband’s only sibling.

This morning in prayer and devotion, my heart ached for my mother in law. How strong, how faithful. I didn’t think I could have ever fought that fight.

But in my own way; I have, I am.

We conceived Lucy 7 months after Jakie’s death.

My body was certainly invaded.

I have had to push through and fight, prove LIFE is what I wanted.

I have had to ‘arise’ in every moment and I only pray that God will continue to reveal HIS GLORY through our pain and our comforts.

11 Years

Maybe it’s because I’m the mother of so many young daughters.

Or maybe because I’m expecting another little girl.

Or maybe because I simply realize how much he’s missed out on.

Despite all the maybes, I know I miss him.

Watching my husband put together a doll house for our girls yesterday afternoon made me reflect on my own childhood and the things Daddys do for their little girls.

It’s not so much the nevers that get to me now, eleven years after his passing.

No, it’s seeing my own daughters with their Daddy and struggling to remember my own.

He worked hard. He worked often.

I remember how tired he always seemed; the sheer burden of caring for our family of seven and owning multiple businesses to keep us above and beyond our comforts and needs.

Always working, always weary.

A quiet man; easily angered, yet slow to react.

I don’t know that any of the five of us kids are much like him. Not really.

He didn’t raise us to be like himself.

Simple.

Dedicated.

I miss him.

I miss how he always wanted more and better for us; from the time we were just babies until his passing.

He wanted what every parent wants for their child; better than they had for themselves. That much was always clear.

While he did his best make sure of these things in his life; it was his death that sealed the deal.

My father’s death is easily the single most defining moment of my life.

When I close my eyes I can still feel the unusual warmth of that February day. I can feel my aunt’s arms around me, shielding me from the inevitable. I can hear my own shaky voice.

So simple, so genuine; my daddy.

My girls (and boys) are beyond blessed to have a Daddy even better than my own. David works hard and long for this family too; but even more, he’s there for them in the every day.

He builds doll houses, plays Princess Yahtzee, and has been known to sport a tiara or two.

My daddy worked so hard and so long that it killed him.

I have no memories of games and Barbies; it wasn’t his style. He was tired and strained, but his love for us was obvious. It was there in the vacations he planned every year, there in the daily discussions on news and events, there in the silly way he sang while making Sunday morning breakfasts. His love was there when he was there.

I pray my girls have a lifetime’s worth of memories with their Daddy, instead of just 15 years.

Soon, the time will come when I will have spent more years without him, then I did with him…but his legacy, his drive, his devotion to family; I live these things every day knowing he left us before he could ever enjoy them himself.

I love you Daddy.

June 25th, 1947 ~ February 22nd, 1998

Psalm 3:3

But you, O Lord, are a shield about me,
my glory, and the lifter of my head.

Few times greater than these have I needed these words Father. May you impress them on my heart, place them at my lips; let your words cover my pain and fear so that I might, indeed, ‘lift my head.’

Forgive me God, for those times I stand in way of Your Glory, Your Purpose.

May this life I carry, this life I hold bring glory to You…’my audience of one.’