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Many months ago, Mark and I began talking about our desire… and our fear…to have another baby of our own.  We talked, we thought, we prayed, and we decided our longing outweighed our fears.

One of the first things we did was meet with an obstetrician who specializes in high-risk pregnancies and complications.  We agreed from the beginning that if the doctors thought it was just too risky and there was nothing they could do to help support a full-term delivery, we would not even pursue it further.

The testing and talking and researching and examining brought a more postive report than either of us expected.  The doctor said he wouldn’t advise against a baby, and he said there was much more that could be done this time to help me carry to term.  We actually were not expecting that answer, and were already trying to accept that we would not have another child of our own… but we were thrilled with the news and well… got busy!

Months dragged on and we were repeatedly disappointed with my failure to get pregnant.  Anticipation grew into worry, and when we followed up with my doctor he ran us through some fertility testing.  We didn’t get the conclusive results we wanted, and after a few more months of hoping and more testing, we were told that invitro fertilization was probably the best option and it might be time to look into that.  I had spent months arguing with God, wondering why He would not want this for us, accusing Him of not allowing that piece of healing in our hearts.

 After all the exhausting months of disappointment and resentment, I finally came to a place where I realized that trying to control my life was wearing me out.  I threw up my hands, asked His forgiveness, and told Him that if a baby is not what He has for us, than I trust He knows what He’s doing, and His plan is even better.  The peace that followed was like a balm to my anxious spirit.  I hadn’t gotten the answer I wanted, but somehow I knew that whatever was in store was going to fufill my desires even more completely.

So, fast forward about a week to me pulling out the last eighty-eight cent pregnancy test I had stashed in the cabinet.  Well, what the heck.  I’m not buying anymore of these.  Might as well use it up.  It’s waaayyyy too early for it to be positive even if I was pregnant. 

And pause right there to see that look on my face AGAIN when I remember that every time I think I know what’s in store for me, God LOVES to shake things up.

Throughout my career in EMS, I have seen many souls so lost and hurting that they have cut deep gashes in their own flesh.  “Cutting,” as it is referred to, is when a person who is distraught cuts their skin as a way to bring relief from the inner pain they are experiencing.  These aren’t the people who slash themselves for attention… these cuts are found hidden from the casual glance, carved in layers beneath sleeves and pants.  Although I have resolved to not unfairly scrutinize these individuals for this display of mutilation, I can’t say that I’ve necessarily understood it… until my daughter died.

The first day this revelation came to me was about a month after Ellianna was gone.  I was getting a tattoo of her sweet baby hands and feet on the inside of my arm.  It was one of the most painful tattoos I have aquired.  I remember coming home with a swollen and throbbing arm and saying, “it feels strangely good to have some physical pain to represent what I am feeling on the inside.”  It was like a small release of the anguish that had been crushing my soul since the day she died.

Months later, I was looking through pictures my sister had taken of me cuddling with Ellianna.  My hair was long, finally stretching beneath my shoulders after two years of growing it out.  I became overwhelmed with grief looking at those pictures, and the afternoon ended with a pair of scissors in my hand, and my long locks sitting in a pile in the bathroom sink.  When I had long hair that I loved, I had my daughter in my arms… no daughter, no hair.

After that wave of emotion passed, I had the task of explaining to my astonished family that in a moment of irrational grief, I had hacked off all my hair.  Perplexed as they were, they assured me I looked just as beautiful, although to this day my youngest still asks, “So mom, WHY did you cut off your hair just because you were sad???”

Before

After

I recently enjoyed reading Mary Beth Chapman’s book Choosing To See. It is the story of her family losing their daughter Maria in a tragic accident, and the life that followed.  I came to a part of the book where she talked about coming home to find that her husband, Steven Curtis Chapman, had shaved his full head of hair off over the spot where his daughter had been killed in their driveway.  It was then I felt such relief and justification for my hair cutting moment.  Reading that such a man of strength and faith had felt the same overwhelming urge to be able to physically express his grief seemed to validate the reason that I had done the same.

While I never see myself drawing blood as a physical relief for inner pain, I have been witness to the craving we have as humans to express the weight of the emotions that churn within us, and have a new understanding to the amount of pain that would draw a person to “cut”…. hair or otherwise.

Some time has passed, but I have been wanting to say thank you to those of you who were part of something big for us.

April 28th, our family joined many others to walk in the March for Babies for the March of Dimes.  We were surrounded by families whose lives have been changed by having or knowing a premature baby, and the goal was to raise money and awareness to help these tiny babies grow strong and have the resourses they need to overcome their many challenges.

With the generous help of many friends and family members, we raised $1800 for this cause.  Thank you.  We are so honored by each of you who came alongside us.

Our team was one of the biggest there that day.  You could easily pick us out of the crowd in our bright green shirts. 


Team Hope & Grace

It was an emotional day… a march that represented the triumph of our bubbly little Isabella, and the heartache of losing Ellianna.

The Memorial Mile

Ellianna’s name on the Memorial Mile

We walked arm in arm with family and friends, and made a stand for something dear to us… and if that makes a difference for even one tiny life, we have won. 

Dear Ellianna,

This Mothers’ Day I stood in line with all the little kids buying flowers for their mommies, but this time it was me that was buying flowers for my little girl.  Soft pink petals that remind me of the perfectly delicate details of you.

This Mothers’ Day I stood at the marble stone and felt disbelief again that I was looking at your name spelled out in those sharp copper letters. 

I pondered how motherhood has changed for me this year.  How I have learned to savor the small moments and take in every small step… how I’ve learned that each lullaby could be the last, and the pleas for just ONE more book, or tickle, or kiss should be eagerly answered with all the passion one can fit into a moment.

I sat and let myself feel that hollow, empty canyon in my heart that has been echoing my cries ever since I had to watch you go.   I remembered how it felt to hold you close to me and sprinkle your sweet cheeks with kisses.

This Mothers’ Day I knew I was different… that I have tread in an apalling darkness that no Mommy should ever have to face.  I longed to hold you again, to watch you grow, to get to be your Mommy for even one more day. 

This Mothers’ Day I love you more than ever, I miss you desperately, and I am thanking God that my life was blessed with such a precious and special little girl.

Since there have been so many people visiting my blog  (some 8500 recently), I added a link to give a little background of where I’m coming from… so the newcomers can hear the story behind my ramblings. 

You can read this “introduction” by clicking on the link at the top of my page, The Story of Ellianna Grace.

I am really thankful for all the kindred spirits that have stuck with me and let me bare my heart during this season… it has been really helpful for me.  So…

I was talking with a friend about God “showing up,” and I stated that He doesn’t give me miracles.  Maybe that’s because I pray for too many of them… but I’m not one of those people who always has breath taking stories of how He showed up in the darkest hour and did what no one thought was possible. 

Then my thoughts shifted… as if He wanted me to remember… and be thankful.  We DID have a miracle… and still are living it… For those of you who didn’t know…..

At a confusing and unstable time in my life, I met my love. 

We “tied the knot”.

We became parents.

We focused on our son, on our jobs.  We grew our family bigger.

  We accomplished what needed to be done in a day, and called it successful. 

Then at some point, we stopped and looked around.  We realized we weren’t connected.

 We listened to lies that told us we were entitled to more, that we had been ripped off.  We lived selfishly.

We lost sight of what was important.

I was not willing to fight.  I believed the lie that I should throw it all away.  I hurt everyone around me.  I ended up alone.

Mark stood by.  He prayed.  He fought.  He held all the pieces and hoped I would choose to glue them back together. 

I’m still not quite sure why or how it happened.  We didn’t have support.  We were in a terribly negative environment… but somehow hearts softened, ears opened, and the marriage which so hastily fell together and back apart began a transformation into something beautiful. 

Forgiveness.  Grace.  Redemption. 

And THAT is a miracle.

Bella and Ellie

Ellianna holding Daddy’s ring

Because miracles do happen…

This past weekend I got to witness one of the most precious events; my little brother making his vows to the woman of his dreams.  I loved the joy in the breeze, the glow of their happiness, and the adoration that spilled from their eyes when they looked at each other.  Then, while they eagerly repeated the words of lifelong commitment to each other, I was hit by the breath-stealing dark that has taken root in my soul.  “In plenty and in want, in sickness and in health, till death do us part.”  I feel like when I spoke these words 10 years ago I agreed to them, but never grasped the thought that any of those things could come true.  My mind insisted things would continue to be light and joyful and filled with nothing but promise.  As Jamie and Daniel exchanged their vows, I found my mind racing…. what is going to happen?  Will one of them get sick?  Will tragedy strike?  Will they have to endure losing someone they love? Will they look back on the snapshots of today and think “if only we had known…”  I hate that that’s how my mind turns now.  I hate the fear I have seeded deep, wondering what will knock us down next, and preparing for that battle.

While some days I’m overwhelmed, it has gotten incrementally better…. I am no longer paralyzed by fear while driving… I can let the kids go out to play… I can accept that it’s ok to just get through one thing at a time, and experience the peace that comes from having to trust.  I sure have lost some filters to my lens though.  I never used to focus on what could go wrong, but now I find myself seeing the flip side of many situations and preparing to brace myself if I should need to.  It is a huge journey of faith.  Faith deeper than I have ever known.  Deep enough that I will never lose hold of something to grasp for.  Faith that will bring me to healing no matter what I go through.  It challenges me daily.

I have been scrolling through some pictures… pictures that a bystander might oooh and ahhh over… happy times, memorable events, remarkable firsts… and that’s the thing… now I see how many lasts there were.  You don’t take most pictures thinking “this will be the last time.”  —Unless of course it’s a last tooth lost or a last game of the season.  You don’t take pictures thinking “this is the last time I held my child,” or “this is the last smile she ever gave me.”  And what if we had known?  It wouldn’t have made it better, it would have changed the smiles and the glittering eyes.  They would look like the most painful and forced happiness… such as in the photo of the time I really knew “This is the last time.”

The last time we held Ellianna alive.

The last time she held hands with her Daddy.

Last.