Choosing Hope

Within days of losing Ellianna, people wanted to know “are you planning to have any more children?” “Are you still going to adopt?”  In the blackness of the fresh and searing pain, we could not imagine opening up our hearts again at the risk of another hurt.  Even though we had talked about starting foster care, we didn’t want to subject our kids to the emotional roller coaster of other children coming and going on top of the pain they were already wading through.  It was just unthinkable.

Months have ticked by… Jacob, Baylie and Bella have been doing weekly grief counseling and we have seen them be able to process and understand and express some of the hurt they don’t always wear on their sleeves.  All of us as a family have begun to build bridges across the chasm of pain that is forever torn in our souls.

Foster care and adoption continued to be a conversation in our home, but it seemed that Mark and I would never end up on the same page at the same time.  Until April 17, 2012.  On this day, God very clearly, did I mention VERY CLEARLY spoke to both Mark and I in separate ways with the same message… His plan for us was to begin foster care with the intent of eventually adopting as well as continuing to foster.  It’s a whole ‘nother story, which will probably have to wait for my book, but when God so unmistakably speaks to you like that, you act on it.  After hours of gathering and filling out paperwork, we turned in our initial packet two days later.

Our application for foster care

 The next few months were more paperwork, interviews, training, certifications.  Our agency expressed excitement in licensing us, and in our desire to care for children with special needs.  We were told we should expect to have our first placement in August or September. 

It was July when I felt so joyful and empowered that I shook my finger in the enemy’s face, and it was two days later we got the first clue our homestudy wasn’t coming along as timely as we were expecting.  Frustrated, we were stuck waiting on our agency.

Shortly after, we heard a story about a little girl.  She had been adopted from Haiti two and a half years ago, and the family who had adopted her had decided to dissolve their adoption.  A completed homestudy was not an immediate necessity if her family found someone they were comfortable placing her with.  We began praying…asking what our part was in this story.  The answer was to reach out in faith and take her into our home.  After several meetings with her current family, 9 year old Akemi (uh-kimmy) came to live with us on July 29th. 

We know that a child of her age comes with baggage, especially after having been uprooted not once, but twice.  We are blanketed in prayer by loving friends and family, and are prepared to go the distance to help her heal and feel loved and accepted as part of our family.

So far she has adjusted very well, starting school with Jacob and Baylie only a few days after she arrived.  She is learning our story as we are learning hers, and she brings joy to each of us.  Some days are tears and questions, and some days are pure faith and determination… but each day is a gift and part of a plan we know has been in place since long before we knew.

We must still complete a homestudy within the next five months, and are having to start completely over with a hopefully more accomodating agency. We appreciate your prayers that the process would go smoothly this time and as quickly as possible.

With our baby BOY scheduled to arrive at the turn of the year, we have grown even sooner than we expected with the addition of our new daughter.  Life has never followed our plans, but we know there is a perfect plan even when we can’t see past our own mess.

Akemi, Baylie, Isabella, Jacob

Mom

The anniversary of her death is excruciating because I’m reliving every moment from these days a year ago.  I’m reliving them without that fog that socked me in last July, and the clarity is unbearable. 

I am remembering that choice we made, and I’m thinking, “what in the world were we thinking?!”  We said no more.  After CPR revived her twice, we were afraid she would die surrounded by strangers, crushed by pain.  We said no more so that we could hold her while she took her last breath.  What if that wasn’t the end though?  Little Bowen Hammitt was gone for 45 minutes… and they kept on working… and now he is almost two.  Could that have been us? 

I wish we had never had to make that choice, and I will never know if it was the right one. 

Tomorrow we try to celebrate… one year of paradise for our little girl.  I wish we had just a little of that paradise down here.  This place is trying to crush my faith.

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.