Baby Sister

Somehow a month has gone by. Milly Joy was born on October 15, Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day. A day when I will always think of my Ellis and now will always celebrate my Milly Joy. I'm glad my two babies can share that day.

She's named for two of her great-grandmothers -- Mildred and Joyce. Two women that left amazing legacies of faith. Two women that I hope Milly will grow to be like. And, I love the sentiment of her carrying the name Joy. She has renewed our joy in ways I didn't anticipate. I didn't know we could feel like this again.

Bringing Milly home has made me miss Ellis with a new intensity. I'm seeing and doing all the things I longed to do with him. It allows me to cherish these moments with Milly, but makes my heart ache for what was lost. It's been difficult to put any of this into words, but I do know the emotions run deep. I've become accustomed to the tangling of joy and sorrow in my life, this last month accentuated that. With time and practice I'm finding better ways to wear both well.

Sharing Our Story

Elizabeth's writing is something I have come to love since meeting her last December. I suppose it's because so much of who she is comes out in her words. Today some of our story is being shared over at her blog. Feel free to take a peek. While you're there, I hope you'll take a moment to read through some of her pieces. I think you'll leave refreshed.

One year

My dear, sweet Ellis,

      Today you would have been one. That means, a year ago I held you in my arms for the first and last time. How could a year have passed already? I think of you so often throughout the day. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have you here. Or sometimes I try to imagine what your life must be like in Heaven. Mostly, I just plain miss you. My mama heart grew the moment I found out about you and kept growing until the day you were born. From June 27^th on, it has felt like my heart might burst with all the love I have for you. But with nowhere to place that mama love, I could feel myself being crushed from the inside out. You are missed, my little one, and you are loved. Oh, are you loved.

     In my mind, I find myself replaying the events leading up to your arrival, as well as the moments that define your birthday. Although I don’t always feel the intensity of the ache I did then, I find the mere memory of that day allows me to feel it all again. People keep telling me that with time the pain will soften. In many ways I’m grateful. It’s hard to live life with this aching burden permeating every inch of my soul, but I don’t want to forget how I felt in the days when I was closest to you. It’s part of my experience with you and that is something I don’t want to lose.

     Remembering your birthday also reminds me of so much good. You were born alive and I held you in my arms. That alone is evidence of God’s grace and kindness to us. But, He didn’t stop there. He allowed so many members of our family to be there when you were born and many others to join us later that day. He looked on us with favor when He allowed such kind nurses and doctors to be on duty while we were there. And His peace and presence was so evident that day. I remember feeling like the gates of Heaven were opened up in that hospital room. Daddy and I held you first, but later we knew we had handed you straight to Jesus. I’ve never experienced anything like it. Ellis, the joy of that day was that although your life wasn’t meant to be spent here on Earth, I know you are living healthy and whole in a place I don’t yet know. You were healed that day. Not in the way I had hoped and prayed for, but something I’ve come to learn is that the ways of our God are perfect, even when it doesn’t match my plan.

     Early this morning we went to your tree. When the clock turned to 5:08am, Daddy and I recalled the joy of that moment. “He made it! He’s alive!” Your strong Daddy exclaimed. We held you, watched you breathe, experienced your life. It was short, much too short. And the seeming injustice of celebrating your birthday by standing in the quiet next to a tree instead of with loud shouts of “Happy Birthday!” and singing to you for the hundredth time that day weighed heavy on my heart as the minutes at the tree ticked by. I don’t always know what to do with those feelings, but our big, good God does and even now, as my heart hurts so deeply, He’s meeting me here like He did in that room one year ago today.

     I hate that I’m writing a letter to you that I don’t know if you’ll be able to read. It feels like I need to cram a lifetime of love onto this page, but Ellis, I know there’s more to look forward to. This isn’t the end. “He has placed eternity in the human heart,” and I can’t wait to meet you there someday.

     Today, Daddy and I will do our best to remember you well. We want to celebrate your life, acknowledging the great gift we were given when God allowed us to become your parents.

I miss you, Baby Bear. Happy Birthday.
Love, Mama 

A sister for Ellis

We’ve been told this little growing life is a girl. And, we’re thrilled. I think it would have been an emotional experience no matter the gender of this baby. It suddenly gave dimension to this baby’s role as a sibling of Ellis. I’ve been missing him intensely these days. It’s been nearly a year since I held him in my arms and I can’t stop thinking about that. I suppose I’ve learned to carry my grief in my heart and not so much on my sleeve, but recently it’s spilling out, often unexpectedly.

All this remembering of his little life is coming at a time when I’m also flooded with thoughts of the future. What will she be like? What will she look like? How can I make sure she learns to know Ellis even though he left before she came? How do I help her love Jesus?

The sorrow intertwined with the joy in my life right now is a bit overwhelming. Call it grief, hormones, emotion, or what have you. Call it life. This side of heaven I don’t know how to reconcile this dichotomy in my thoughts and emotions. So, I keep on doing what I’ve been doing for the last 15 months: “God, have mercy on me, a sinner.”

Redemption

With great frequency, I find myself re-reading my words from this time last year. I’ve yet to do so and not burst into tears. It doesn’t take much for my heart and mind to rush back to that time, experiencing those emotions as if it’s for the first time. Sometimes, I’m still shocked this is my story. Is it really possible we lived through that? Did our firstborn really come and go so quickly? It seems to be common of the human condition that we struggle to embrace parts of who we are or what we’ve become. I’ve never felt that so strongly until I became Ellis’s mother. And yet, in all of this mess, I see Him doing something beautiful. I look at the short life my baby boy was blessed with and know that God did something amazing there. As I read the words I wrote then, His presence is palpable, even a year later. If I’m being truly honest, I have to admit I struggle to feel and know Him now like I did then. I cling to what I know to be true, but sometimes I wonder how I did it at the time, because it seems more difficult today.

Angie Smith wrote about it this way. I resonate deeply with her words here. It hurts and it’s harder than I thought it could be, but I trust, I know He will redeem all things. The beauty in that promise is simply overwhelming. It restores hope and awakens joy to the inner reaches of my weary soul. 

He who was seated on the throne said, "I am making everything new!" Then he said, "Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true."
Revelation 21:5

Movement

Sometimes it feels like my brain is stuck, unable to move away from painful memories of the past, anxious thoughts about the present, and worries regarding the future. Thankfully, God’s grace is all about making us completely new, a catalyst for change and renewal. I need that, desperately. Recently, I’ve been pondering where I get stuck and beginning to recognize the spaces where movement is taking place in my life.

A year ago at this time, my heart was aching for Ellis. He was here, with me, all the time, but I was anticipating his early departure. I knew it would come soon and frantically sought to bottle up every moment I had with him.  Looking back, I see that time as this strange combination of the best and worst time of my life. It was good because he was here. I could feel him move. After he was gone, I missed that experience the most. But knowing it wouldn't last long made that time feel terrible. I find myself re-reading journal entries from that time in an attempt to feel close to him again.  That old, familiar pain rushes in and I miss him with renewed intensity. Part of me is thankful these days don’t feel so laden with sorrow, but I long for those days when I grieved with him still in my womb. Today, the grief certainly isn’t gone, but it’s evolved and at times, is much more muted. Movement. A shift has taken place in my heart, where I now look back to time already spent with him and look ahead to when I’ll be with him again.  Surges of hope, remind me that this isn’t where it all ends. I’m so thankful. 

The greatest shift has occurred in my status as a mother. Ellis made me a mama, but losing him complicated that. Yes, I was still a mother many promised me, but truth be told, it’s hard to feel that way when you aren’t actively doing so. My “mama-love” threatened to crush me from the inside out, but with nowhere to place it, I felt stuck. Today, I again fall into the category of Expectant Mama and it feels so good to mother again. This new little one, Ellis’s little sibling, has provided an outlet for my “mama-love” and I no longer feel so overwhelmed by that urge. Movement. It hasn’t replaced the pain, but it has certainly been salve on a deep wound. Every time I feel this baby move I am reminded of the goodness of our God and how He’s carried me over the course of this year. Without Him, I would be permanently stuck.

Psalm 40:1-3a
I waited patiently for the Lord; he turned to me and heard my cry. He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand. He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God. 

Hello, again

I stopped writing. I don’t know why. Even my journal has been neglected these past few months. There’s no real answer, but I think I just needed to live life for a bit and process quietly. My mind wasn’t ready to articulate the thoughts, emotions, and experiences we were dealing with at the time…even in the privacy of my own journal. So, I took a break and that was good. But today, I sat down to read someone else’s writing and suddenly I missed my own words. I’d picked up the pen and began writing personally a few weeks ago, but it was still sparingly. But today, all of a sudden, I missed writing. So, there are no promises that this writing will continue, but, for now, my voice is ready to be a bit more audible again.

The quiet was good. It was needed and, I think, a part of this healing process we’re still going through. Our hearts have grieved, struggled, ached, hoped, and healed over this last year. I don’t think we’re done with any of those things, as we continue to experience each one.  A year later, it’s hard to envision who we were before we were ever told, “Something’s wrong with your baby.” I’m becoming more comfortable with my new self, but it has been a long year getting to know her…a very long year.

With love,
Rebecca