Kinda Thanksgiving

Here we are today at SIM Thanksgiving. We celebrated on Friday instead of Thursday and enjoyed the usual spread and all ate more than we should have. These were hard days. So hard. You'd think from the picture all was well... It's strange to go through a holiday that is so family oriented and feel like a part of your family was gone and that they'd never be there to celebrate with you. It's very hard to think of something you are thankful for this year when all you can think about is how very much God has asked you to sacrifice and let go of. It's very hard to pretend like everything is OK. I'm sure no one knows if you want to talk about it or even if they should ask for fear of you feeling obligated to answer or to say, "I don't want to talk about it". And maybe I don't all the time. But, I still feel like I'm not capable of participating in normal activities without starting to feel at some point that Zion is the elephant in the room. The thing that everyone knows is there but is gingerly walking around. Some days I feel like he died a long time ago. Lately, it's as if I just said "good-bye" this morning. I had to see my regular doctor today and he saw me, patted his tummy and asked, "how is everything going?" I paused for a moment, trying to decide how to answer him and then tearfully told him what happened. Why does a mother have to explain to an almost stranger that her baby died a couple weeks ago? He was shocked and asked questions that I couldn't answer and made me wonder, for the first time, if Zion would have lived if we were in the US. I've always felt strongly that God has us in Bolivia for a purpose and in the child-bearing years and that, although things aren't as technologically advanced here, this is where we'll have our family. That was before God asked me to give up so much. It feels like too much. I waver between the "what ifs" and the understanding that God is sovereign even with things turn out devastating. Between knowing that circumstances were ordained to include pain and yet He does not enjoy bringing suffering upon us. I know God is refining my faith, but I sure wish it didn't have to come this way.

A long night

I've been reading off and on through a book by C.S. Lewis called A Grief Observed, which are notes he took after losing his wife to cancer. This quote struck me:

"Talk to me about the truth of religion and I'll listen gladly. Talk to me about the duty of religion and I'll listen submissively. But don't come talking to me about the consolations of religion or I shall suspect that you don't understand."

I felt directly in complete agreement with this sentiment when I first read it, even while wondering if it was correct. But, as with a lot of thoughts that occur when you are grieving, they might not be complete truth, but they are the truth of what you are feeling as a result of the pain. I have been struggling with the hard truth that God's words are not consoling me as they once have but at the same time, I have not lost hold of what I know to be true about the Lord. The Christian faith promises suffering and pain. Jesus himself suffered greatly on this earth and we are called to participate in His suffering. He wept also when loved ones died. And there are so many examples of godly men and women who waited, who suffered physically and emotionally, who grieved and mourned, who cried out wondering when the Lord would answer. These truths are not comforting to us who want a religion that promises warm fuzzies and easy times. And so, I don't feel that Christianity is always comforting. We are given permission to mourn with those who mourn (validating the process of mourning). And yet, we are also told that "weeping may tarry for a night, but joy comes in the morning" (Psalm 30:5). We are told that God is our strong fortress, our rock, our refuge. He is the lifter of our heads. He brings joy. But I fully believe that the weeping of the night might be a long night. I haven't quite reached the morning yet, the dawn that brings relief. And so, I think I agree with Mr. Lewis.

The aftermath

I've been given permission by many friends to continue to post about our journey of grief. In some ways, I feel that it might be getting old to hear about what we are going through but I can't say I've moved on yet and there really is nothing else going on in my life than working on getting through this. And maybe that's all I want to say in this blog: I am truly surprised by the new challenges that each day brings. I thought that once the intense grief of losing Zion was over, things would start looking up from there. But, I'm realizing that some days, the intense grief comes back. And some days, it's not there- but the reality of his absence and how that affects each day and what I'm doing and what I would have been doing and how he would have played a part in all that- is just as hard. There are so many new emotions I have never experienced and even questions of faith that arise in my mind and heart that I'm not even sure where to start processing or how to put it into words for other people- or for myself. I know that I am struggling more now than I did when Zion was living to really believe and hold tight to the promises that the Lord has given me. There was hope in those promises when he was hanging on, but now that he is gone, that hope is wavering (not in truth, but in my heart). Before I went into the hospital, I had started reading through the Psalms and they were powerful in a new way in my life. When I was on bed rest, they brought comfort and hope and joy. When Zion was in the NICU, I would often read them to him and tell him of His awesome, loving Lord. I finished the book a few days before he died and since then have not found a new place to start reading in the Word. A friend encouraged me to go back to the Psalms and really study the many, many times the faithfulness and the steadfast love of the Lord is mentioned. It is hard to do that because that will remind me so much of his last days and, if I'm honest with myself, because I feel like the hope they gave me that all will be alright did not play itself out. All was not all right. All is not all right. And yet, I know that way of thinking comes from a limited, finite perspective. In the infinite wisdom of the Lord, He chose a way that must be perfect, because we know He is perfect. And so I must believe that this was all right for Zion- this was the best for Him and for me. This is loving. Oh, how I want to feel the love in this decision and not just accept it as a fact...

Fresh pain

Today it feels like Zion just died. The pain is so strong again- the desire to hold him, to have him be here. I miss him so terribly I don't even know what to do, how to respond, how to pray. Yesterday, I felt like he was already becoming a distant memory and it didn't feel right. It's been less than a week- Scotty and I both felt like it had been a long time ago that he was with us. It was as if I needed to feel the freshness of the sadness again to somehow validate the fact that I still feel that void. I spent some time looking at pictures of Zion and I wept. Despite the tubes, he looked so alive and I so distinctly remember holding his hands and feeling his warm chest and watching his heart beat so closely under the surface. I had nothing to say to God except, "I want my son back." I was comforted by the words of a friend who has suffered a similar loss and sometimes heard the Lord say to her, "I lost a child, too. And I am grieving with you." Because I fully believe that our baby didn't die by chance but at the hand of an all-wise God, I forget that my Father's decision wasn't a cold one. He grieves when His children grieve. It's so hard to understand the plans of the Lord, that they include pain and suffering and even sin, but are ultimately the most loving for us. Without realizing it, sometimes in my pain, I forget that God loves me and hurts when I hurt.

Scotty and I both have felt this need to tell perfect strangers or people we are talking to that our son just died. I think I need people to know that he existed. I want people to know that he was strong- that he fought for 18 days. I want people to know that he was beautiful and perfect and sweet and a fighter. That he had blue-grey eyes like Natty when she was born. That he had long, delicate fingers and tiny fingernails and big feet. Scotty said he had a big nose but I think he would have grown into it. Sometimes he would grip my finger in his hand and he was strong. His hair was soft and he didn't have any eyebrows or eyelashes. He is my son and will always be and it's so hard to carry that with you when you have no way to show it. Even now my body continues to produce milk and I have the lingering discomfort of a surgery that took this baby from my body. But there's no baby to show for it. I have baby weight that hangs around my middle. But no baby to show for it. It feels wrong to continue life "as normal"- everything in me wants to keep the memory of my son alive...

Zion's memorial service

The day our baby boy died, we pulled together a late afternoon funeral, of sorts, on our land. For those of you who don't know, we own a piece of property that is only a block from our apartment and have dreams to build a house there in the near future- dreams to fill it with children and we imagined our little Zion playing soccer there with the neighborhood kids. We loved the idea of burying him on our property, always close to us, and right where he might have been playing as he grew up. So, we invited our church, our friends, our neighbors to come and mourn with us. We returned to the clinic mid-afternoon to pick up our son. He was laying in the same warming tray with no tubes, no monitors, no beeping. There was only a nurse in the other portion of the nursery, tending to a baby. We unwrapped him from the hospital blanket and for the first time, saw a peaceful Zion. Although we knew there was no life in him and that what we were looking at was a shell, we were calmed by seeing him look like a normal newborn. We quietly dressed him in a pair of preemie jammies and wrapped him up in a soft blanket. We each had another moment to hold him, although it was different this time because we knew that his spirit was already in the presence of his Maker. There was room to spare in his fuzzy, white coffin and as we walked out of the hospital and placed his coffin in the car, I thought that I always imaged taking him out of the clinic in a car seat, not a coffin. Shortly later, we saw people starting to gather on our property. By the time I arrived, there must have been 50 people waiting for the service to begin. I started hugging those that I came to first and crying with each one, knowing that every body there had been long in prayer and supplication for us and with us. Our pastor began the service sharing about David pleading for the life of his son and how God chose to take him, too. David knew that his son would never return, but that one day he would go to him. We have this hope as well, that we will one day go to our savior and our little boy also. Pastor Edgar prayed for us and had us sprinkle dirt over the coffin, as they would at a typical burial. He picked out a beautiful hymn that the gathering sang as Scotty and I quietly listened and contemplated all that had happened that day. Our friends lined up to hug us, cry with us and offer words of love. Then it was over and everyone headed off to a reception that was held down the street at a friends house, while Scotty, Natty and I stayed behind to gaze at our son once more, pray and cry. It was our favorite time of day, just as the sun is starting to set and the world turns a nice, gold color. After a few minutes, we also moved on to the reception where we received more prayer and kind words. We were both struck with this incredible family that God has put around us. So many times were we assured from many, many people that they loved us, thought of us as family, would do anything for us. I knew God had all this in mind when he numbered Zion's days. We would not be alone. We are not alone and even now, we are being so well taken care of and being prayed for far and wide by those who know us and so many who don't. What a gift! What a loving Father we have to not only promise His presence, but give us the warm presence of so many others.

And now what...?

Today has been particularly hard for me. There have not been as many tears or that sharp kind of grief that is almost suffocating, but it's as if a cloud of sadness has settled around my head and colored everything around me. I find it hard to even think about what we might eat for lunch. I went to get my hair cut today, having decided I wanted a change and I wanted it immediately...maybe I thought if I looked better, I would feel better too. Scotty had several errands to run and the cut didn't take very long, so I decided to get a pedicure while I was in the shop. Usually, having myself pampered would be a treat, but today I found no joy in it. I watched people walk down the street and wondered if any of them had just suffered a tragedy. My hair dresser told me, "tranquila"- basically the Bolivian equivalent of "relax". I've been told that many times by many people. I'm not finding life exactly relaxing at the moment. I thought again about how God lost a son and wondered what He did in those 3 days that Christ was in the tomb. What do you do once your child is gone and the pain is so fresh? How do you fill your days? How do you think of anything or at least not think of nothing? A good friend sent me an email relating the suffering of the Psalmist and how he chose, in the midst of deep pain, to call on the Lord and tell of His love and mercy. Although I'm not sure if the knowledge in my head will translate to my heart today, I still know that my Father is good and that He is love. I still find comfort in knowing that my baby is with Him- if that is the only place I find comfort in this moment.

Remains

Just received the ashes of my son. So hard.

Because the Lord has anointed me

to comfort all who mourn;

to grant to those who mourn in Zion—
to give them a beautiful headdress instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness instead of mourning,
the garment of praise instead of a faint spirit;
that they may be called oaks of righteousness,
the planting of the LORD, that he may be glorified.

Isaiah 61:1, 3

Mourning

I almost feel too devoid of emotion at the moment to write this post and yet, writing is part of how I process, so maybe it's a good time. Maybe I'll start by telling you exactly how everything played out yesterday. Interestingly, the night before, Scotty had asked me if I still feared that Zion could die and I told him that I felt like he was through the worst of what he would probably experience and that now I was just trying to take each daily trial as it came. We also read a chapter from "The Praying Life", by Paul Miller, that talked about the way God weaves all things in our lives into part of His story. Sometimes, that story doesn't play out like we hoped it would, but it is so important to continue to look for God in the story and the different ways He redeems the story and brings it all together for a greater purpose. Little did we know how much we would be thinking about those ideas the next day. I heard Scotty's phone ringing about 6:30 Tuesday morning and immediately thought it might be a doctor calling- since people don't usually tend to call that early. I had a gut feeling something was not right when I couldn't hear Scotty talking- he had shut himself in the kitchen. When I went in, he said "this isn't good" and explained that Zion's organs were starting to shut down and we needed to go up as soon as we could. I asked if they thought he might die and he said it sounded like it. A wave of despair hit and after a minute of crying and telling Scotty that he can't die, we both went into action mode and somehow pulled ourselves and Natty together to make it up to the hospital. By God's amazing and constant grace, we had just enough time to hold him, talk to him, touch him and say good-bye- probably no more than 10 minutes. His heart stopped beating while Scotty was holding him. It was the first time we had been allowed to hold him, and the last time we would do it while he was living. The rest of the day was a blur of emotions, as I'm sure you can imagine. The only thing that really brought us hope or peace was the idea that Zion was being held by Christ, that he has a new and whole body, that He will never be in pain again and that he is full of joy before His savior. Truly that brings a smile to my face.

I'm realizing that grieving is so much more than just missing a person. It's missing what would have been, what you dreamed life would be like with that person, how that person would have affected your life. For Zion, we imagined this beautiful bond and playtime between him and his big sister. We imaged our house filled again with the little cries of a newborn. I imagined hours of holding him, rocking him, putting him to bed, nursing him, watching him discover his world and develop. We imagined a bigger family and the things we would do together. We imagined what his strong personality might be like and how he would interact with others. We planned to have kids close together so we could have a big family. We planned our future house with that idea in mind. We prayed that he would become a godly man of integrity. So many expectations and hopes that we must release and believe that God has a better plan. Medically, it's not even safe for me to think of conceiving again for a year- what do I do all that time without the baby I thought I'd have?? And yet, our hope is that God knew all of those things when He chose to take our baby to Himself. He knew about the waiting, the dreams, the expectations. And he found that it would be good to write a different story. I believe we will see glimpses of how that story intertwines with different areas of our lives and thank God for His great wisdom. For now, we take each day as it comes, thankful for a healthy little girl, thankful for people right here in our neighborhood and around the world that love us, thankful that God, too, knows what it is like to lose a son. We will pray for the patience to wait on Him.

Day 18

I feel like we're at a bit of a standstill with Zion. He had several really good days and even though the doctor was giving him tiny bits of milk every 8 hours, he was able to increase it by a ml each day. He wasn't having any new issues and they thought they might take out the big tube that was in his chest to take the extra air out from around his lungs. Then, on Saturday, all that changed. The tube couldn't come out because of some complication I'm not very clear about. And, he started turning very pale and his vital signs all worsened. They couldn't exactly explain to us what happened and even today, two days later, they still are not quite sure what is going on in his body. So, he's taken a step back, a rather big one, and we were hit quite hard by that on Saturday. Thankfully, we had those few days of goodness to steady our emotions and even though the bad news was a shock, it did not send us reeling quite like every little thing did when he was in his first week. However, I'm feeling a bit numb to it all right now. I think all of it is starting to feel like a new "normal"- a normal that is never the same but in it's constant changing, everything and anything is expected. Every morning, I wake up wondering what kind of night Zion had. I pump early, I get ready, we call the doctor, we try to process the news (good, bad, or unchanging), I pump again and I head up to the clinic. I walk into the NICU and as I wash my hands, I wonder what Zion might look like. Will he have tape on his wrists from where they've recently taken a blood sample or will they be uncovered so I can see the big black and blue marks? Will he be on his tummy? Will his body be hard and swollen? Will the doctor be sitting there so I can ask him questions? How will I handle his answers emotionally? After a while, I drive home and spend the rest of the day trying to process this life of having a preemie. It sucks you up and eats you whole. There's not a lot left for anything else. But, God is teaching me to take it one day at a time. If I even begin to think about how long my baby might have to be in there or how little he's advanced in the 18 days since he was born, it is overwhelming and depressing. I try to read Zion scripture every morning, which encourages me, and tell him of the greatness of His God- which maybe is also my way of telling that to myself. I am encouraged each time I hear people say they are praying for him, cause I really believe they are. You know you've all been there when you tell someone, "I'll pray for you", but maybe it doesn't seem like such a big deal to you and you forget. I'm guilty. But, I have seen evidence of the body of believers really praying for my son and my family and I am grateful. So, this is where we are in the journey. God is sustaining our little boy and He is sustaining us...I trust He will till the end.

God's hand

Well, the move was a bust. I knew a few weeks ago when we came up with the idea of switching houses that it would be very hard for me emotionally, in the midst of so much turmoil, to leave my house and live in one that is not mine. After discussing the positives and negatives, I tried to convince myself that the only thing that mattered was being closer to Zion. And, that really is a big deal. We're a pretty good distance out where we live now. If everything else in my life were as stable as it normally is, living in someone else's house for a few weeks would not be a big deal. However, it was one more thing that caused me stress that about pushed me over the edge. Being close to Zion would not be a positive thing if I was emotionally unstable all the time and longing for my home and what is most comfortable to me. I am a homebody...so it is important. All that to say, we packed up and moved one day and packed up and moved back the next. Our friends were so very gracious about all of it and took it all in stride. I am so thankful for people like that who are willing to help out with such great sacrifice and effort on their part.

So, I was talking to the doctor yesterday and he had mentioned several times how important it is that Zion hear our voices and feel our touch. He explained that many clinics that are bigger in La Paz don't allow the parents to spend much time with their babies, both from the standpoint of not wanting the nursery to be too crowded and because it is an ingrained custom. I had my questions about this clinic from the beginning because I knew nothing of it and I was not impressed with the way they handled me as a patient (except for our wonderful doctor friend, Sergio, who works there) during and after the C-section. However, my doctor assured me that the neonatal was very good. There are two other clinics, both next door, that upper class and foreigners tend to go with, and I even had Natty in one of these. But, my doctor explained that one only allows you in for a short time with your child and the other forbids it. This comes as both a shock and a comfort to me. A shock, because these are highly regarded clinics and a comfort because knowing nothing, we had someone who wisely guided us to a place where we can see Zion any time of the day or night if we would like. His doctor, along with another, were actually the ones who got the neonatal unit started when they had too tiny twins that couldn't get into the other clinics. And, our clinic is the only one of those 3 that has nurses that have specialized in dealing with preemies, while the others are just trained in the basics. So, we see God's hand (in so many things) especially in getting us to this somewhat unknown clinic and a doctor that is hard at work taking good care of our little boy. And just to throw it out there, we definitely see God's hand in all of you- so, so many people who are praying and who have asked their families to pray and their Bible studies and their children. We are overwhelmed by the quantity of people who are continually before the throne on behalf of our family. What an amazing gift to us. We hope to see miracles in response to these prayers!

Melancholy doctors

So, we had another good report from Dr. Salazar this morning about Zion...he seems to be tolerating the milk so far. When we went in to the hospital, everyone looked a bit gloomy and a doctor came shortly after we arrived to do an ultrasound of the heart. Then my doctor came to check out my incision and when I came back, the heart doctor told me that things looked good but that they would need to continue the heart medication for a bit longer until his heart got stronger. Good news. But, he reminded me again of what an enormous amount of hard things our little guy has endured and how strong he is. But, he said it all with a sad face and a shake of the head, like, "too bad these things happen". Then Dr. Salazar confirmed the heart looks good and that he is responding well to the milk, but they'll take it slow. He said some other tests look good too. All good news. But, then after showing me an x-ray, he reminded me that we need to stay strong and as long as he has good brain function, they'll fight for him till the end. These are things he used to say when everything was really going rough for Zion...why is he saying this now?? Scotty and I felt the heaviness in the room, and we couldn't figure out what they weren't telling us. I suppose it is just a good reminder that even though things have been going well the last couple of days, our son is still in a critical condition and we need to realize that. Our poor little guy is super swollen. The doctors says it's a lack of protein that he will get from my milk and it should take care of itself as he gets more and more milk. Zion and I had a good little visit while I read Psalms from Scotty's IPOD. A couple of my favorites: "Those who trust in the Lord are as Mount Zion, which cannot be moved but abides forever. So the Lord surrounds His people from this time forth and forever." Psalm 125:1-2 Also, "I wait for the Lord, my soul does wait, and in His word do I hope. My soul waits for the Lord more than the watchmen for the morning; indeed, more than the watchmen for the morning." Psalm130: 5-6