The best things in life...
...are often the smallest.
"I miss you a lot, especialy when I remember that last tearful goodbye, and I look forward to a joy-packed reunion."
2 Timothy 1:4
The Message
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Mommies Day 2011
I had a rough Lia night last night, and I've been feeling a little down all day. I've been listening to the playlist on my iPhone with the songs that remind me of her and I just want to crawl into bed and snuggle with her kibbie.
I got off work and the whole world seemed to be crying with me. As the rain came down, so did my tears, and I could feel the sorrow of all the mommies like me across the miles. And I sat in a tearful silence as I thought of all my fellow mothers that are mourning this weekend and couldn't help but come here and let you all know that.
You must understand that I always have thought Mother's Day to be ridiculous. Like Valentine's Day or anniversaries or birthdays. All they seem to be good for is to have an excuse to buy your gal "somethin' perdy". Flowers die, jewelry is expensive, and half of the time I think the gifts are given only because of an obligation to the holiday. You show her you love her all the other days of the year, right?
But this year, my perspective has shifted.
It would be nice to be pampered and waited on and given pretty things - just to say thank you for being a beautiful mother. Because I am.
I AM A MOTHER.
I HAVE A DAUGHTER.
I HAVE A SON OR DAUGHTER IN MY BELLY NOW.
All those doubters that support abortion and such, know this: I became a mother weeks before I peed on that first little stick. My girl became my girl the instant she was concieved. I am and always will be, for the rest of my life, a mom - whether my children are in my arms or my Jesus' arms.
I write this in honor of all of my friends that are in this same boat. You know who you are. I write this in honor of all those moms out there I haven't met yet that are going to be thinking of their babies this weekend. Whether hours or days or weeks have passed; even if months and years have gone by... YOU ARE A MOM. And you will always miss them as I will always miss mine.
I write this to remind the world: Tell your mothers how much you love and appreciate them. Tell your wives that you are proud to have them as the mothers to your children. Tell your children that you are proud to be their mothers. Tell everyone that a life - no matter how small - is still a life, and is to be cherished without fail.
To all of you...
Happy Mother's Day
I got off work and the whole world seemed to be crying with me. As the rain came down, so did my tears, and I could feel the sorrow of all the mommies like me across the miles. And I sat in a tearful silence as I thought of all my fellow mothers that are mourning this weekend and couldn't help but come here and let you all know that.
You must understand that I always have thought Mother's Day to be ridiculous. Like Valentine's Day or anniversaries or birthdays. All they seem to be good for is to have an excuse to buy your gal "somethin' perdy". Flowers die, jewelry is expensive, and half of the time I think the gifts are given only because of an obligation to the holiday. You show her you love her all the other days of the year, right?
But this year, my perspective has shifted.
It would be nice to be pampered and waited on and given pretty things - just to say thank you for being a beautiful mother. Because I am.
I AM A MOTHER.
I HAVE A DAUGHTER.
I HAVE A SON OR DAUGHTER IN MY BELLY NOW.
All those doubters that support abortion and such, know this: I became a mother weeks before I peed on that first little stick. My girl became my girl the instant she was concieved. I am and always will be, for the rest of my life, a mom - whether my children are in my arms or my Jesus' arms.
I write this in honor of all of my friends that are in this same boat. You know who you are. I write this in honor of all those moms out there I haven't met yet that are going to be thinking of their babies this weekend. Whether hours or days or weeks have passed; even if months and years have gone by... YOU ARE A MOM. And you will always miss them as I will always miss mine.
I write this to remind the world: Tell your mothers how much you love and appreciate them. Tell your wives that you are proud to have them as the mothers to your children. Tell your children that you are proud to be their mothers. Tell everyone that a life - no matter how small - is still a life, and is to be cherished without fail.
To all of you...
Happy Mother's Day
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Gotta Keep Singing
I have stretches of good (even fantastic) days that are filled with hope and peace and all the love a girl could ever hope for coming in from all sides. I'll go for weeks, even, with nary a tear or a saddening thought.
But then, they come.
Those days that all seems lost and all I can think of is what should have been. I relive that terrible week as though it was one of those nightmares that you keep falling back into no matter how many times you wake yourself up.
Let's just say this weekend was a little rough for me.
I don't want to go into details and bring everyone else down with me, because I know I have friends that are dealing with their own storms right now. But I just wanted people to know that I'm not always the put-together one in the room. There are going to be days that I put on my brave face and yet feel like I am falling to pieces on the inside. I'm not always okay.
On that note, I'd like to share a bit of healing with you, in honor and support of those friends that are struggling. These are the lyrics to a song by MercyMe called Keep Singing. Hit play on this video and follow along as you read the words.
But then, they come.
Those days that all seems lost and all I can think of is what should have been. I relive that terrible week as though it was one of those nightmares that you keep falling back into no matter how many times you wake yourself up.
Let's just say this weekend was a little rough for me.
I don't want to go into details and bring everyone else down with me, because I know I have friends that are dealing with their own storms right now. But I just wanted people to know that I'm not always the put-together one in the room. There are going to be days that I put on my brave face and yet feel like I am falling to pieces on the inside. I'm not always okay.
On that note, I'd like to share a bit of healing with you, in honor and support of those friends that are struggling. These are the lyrics to a song by MercyMe called Keep Singing. Hit play on this video and follow along as you read the words.
Another rainy day
I can't recall having sunshine on my face
And all I feel is pain
And all I want to do is walk out of this place
But when I am stuck and I can't move
When I don't know what I should do
When I wonder if I'll ever make it through
I gotta keep singing
I gotta keep praising Your name
You're the One that's keeping my heart beating
I gotta keep singing
I gotta keep praising your name
That's the only way that I find healing
Can I climb up in Your lap
I don't want to leave
Jesus sing over me
I gotta singing
Can I climb up in Your lap
I don't want to leave
Jesus sing over me
You're everything I need
And I gotta keep singing
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Does that speak to you as it did to me?
Don't ever forget that He is everything you need, and please, never stop singing.
With love to all my friends in those storms - you know who you are.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
With Me Everywhere
The other day I received a set of "Pocket Angels" from my mom, who is the creator behind Fancie Fannies. She designed these adorable wooden dolls in honor of her first granddaughter. She's all dressed in green with a white clover because her original due date was St. Patrick's Day. Many people wore clovers or green on the day after the holiday in Lia's memory - you can look here to see what everyone had done for her.
I've been taking my little Lia with me everywhere...
While quilting ...
While making dinner ...
Reading ...
At church ...
Even when blogging!
My little Pocke Angel has been a great comfort for me. It is a constant reminder that my daughter was really here - that she was really my child. It helps me to remember to thank God for the incredible 23 weeks I carried her on this side of Glory.
While quilting ...
While making dinner ...
Reading ...
At church ...
Even when blogging!
My little Pocke Angel has been a great comfort for me. It is a constant reminder that my daughter was really here - that she was really my child. It helps me to remember to thank God for the incredible 23 weeks I carried her on this side of Glory.
And it looks like it shows that my girl is excited to be a big sister, too!
Thank you, Mom!
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Made-Up Memories
I've had a decent amount of time in the evenings to hide in my craft room and sew for hours while I wait for Kyle to get off from his second job. I sit hunched over my sewing machine or my cutting mat just crafting away - all the while humming to some random songs and locking myself in my mind to ponder my life.
Lia has been the focus of those ponderings, just like every other night.
I find that I am thinking of her less often as the thirteen-ounce carbon copy of myself that I only held for what seemed like a moment. I can still see her face, but it is slowly fading into the background. Sometimes I pull out the picture of her tiny face all wrinkled in a scowl to remember what she looked like - although I'm reminded each time that I need only to glance in the mirror to recall her features.
No, now when I think of my first-born daughter, I see a young girl, maybe four or five years old, all smiles and bright eyes - brown, like her daddy's - playing in a field of swaying green clover. She talks to me, and we spend sunny afternoons under a big tree discussing what she did that day. We walk down the paths hand in hand, and she points out her favorite flowers and tries in that adorable-little-girl way to explain why the butterflies love to dance among them. I carry her on my hip and give her mo-ki-mo's (eskimo kisses) and tell her how much I miss her. My girl will sometimes lay her head in my lap as the moon comes up and tell her stories about all the constellations while I play with her long brown hair. There are some days that her daddy joins me and we picnic by the river as a happy family, catching fireflies in the twilight and dipping our toes in the water ... giggling when we splash too hard.
Such precious memories they are - and so very make-believe. I have very few memories of my little girl, and though I never had the chance to hear her voice or comb her hair or see what color her eyes were - I will always remember my time with her. My mind concocts these other situations, and in my solitude I live in her world and spend the time with her that I will never get this side of heaven. Call it my coping mechanism, call it foolish daydreaming, call it whatever you wish. But it is my only connection to a relationship with my eldest child - and I treasure every imagined moment.
So - I have revealed to you my made-up memories of Auralia. Think what you will of me; think me crazy or lonely or just plain depressed - but know that I am none of those.
I am only crazy in love with my child. I could never be lonely in this world with Kyle by my side, and depressed? Hardly. I am filled with joy for the time I had with Lia on this earth, the time in my mind I spend with her now, and the eternity with her in Glory.
Oh, there's one more made-up memory I'd like to share with you:
Lia and I are sitting in a patch of clover, back under our big tree. I pull her into my lap and hold her face in my hands. "Lia, I have something I need to ask you," I say softly.
"What, Mommy?"
I take a deep breath. "I need to know what you think of being a big sister."
I can see my Lia's face cross with confusion for a moment, then grin as comprehension overwhelms her. "I gonna be a sister?" She says it with a little high-pitched squeak.
I imagine her hugging me and then laying her small hands on my flat belly as I say through my tears, "You are one right now..."
The rest of that "memory" is the two of us meeting up with Kyle in a meadow, and I try not to cry when she runs through the grass to jump in his arms to tell him how happy she is that she's a sister. We all laugh at her antics and spend the evening hearing Lia's opinion on names we should choose.
And after enjoying my time with her, reality strikes and I'm brought back to my craft room, back to my solitude. I check the time, and calculate what all I could get finished before Kyle returns. I let the dogs out in the yard, and think about my dinner plans (or lack thereof). I smile at the picture of Lia's tiny feet and imagine her passing me a perfectly formed clover through the haze of my make-believe haven.
Lia has been the focus of those ponderings, just like every other night.
I find that I am thinking of her less often as the thirteen-ounce carbon copy of myself that I only held for what seemed like a moment. I can still see her face, but it is slowly fading into the background. Sometimes I pull out the picture of her tiny face all wrinkled in a scowl to remember what she looked like - although I'm reminded each time that I need only to glance in the mirror to recall her features.
No, now when I think of my first-born daughter, I see a young girl, maybe four or five years old, all smiles and bright eyes - brown, like her daddy's - playing in a field of swaying green clover. She talks to me, and we spend sunny afternoons under a big tree discussing what she did that day. We walk down the paths hand in hand, and she points out her favorite flowers and tries in that adorable-little-girl way to explain why the butterflies love to dance among them. I carry her on my hip and give her mo-ki-mo's (eskimo kisses) and tell her how much I miss her. My girl will sometimes lay her head in my lap as the moon comes up and tell her stories about all the constellations while I play with her long brown hair. There are some days that her daddy joins me and we picnic by the river as a happy family, catching fireflies in the twilight and dipping our toes in the water ... giggling when we splash too hard.
Such precious memories they are - and so very make-believe. I have very few memories of my little girl, and though I never had the chance to hear her voice or comb her hair or see what color her eyes were - I will always remember my time with her. My mind concocts these other situations, and in my solitude I live in her world and spend the time with her that I will never get this side of heaven. Call it my coping mechanism, call it foolish daydreaming, call it whatever you wish. But it is my only connection to a relationship with my eldest child - and I treasure every imagined moment.
So - I have revealed to you my made-up memories of Auralia. Think what you will of me; think me crazy or lonely or just plain depressed - but know that I am none of those.
I am only crazy in love with my child. I could never be lonely in this world with Kyle by my side, and depressed? Hardly. I am filled with joy for the time I had with Lia on this earth, the time in my mind I spend with her now, and the eternity with her in Glory.
Oh, there's one more made-up memory I'd like to share with you:
Lia and I are sitting in a patch of clover, back under our big tree. I pull her into my lap and hold her face in my hands. "Lia, I have something I need to ask you," I say softly.
"What, Mommy?"
I take a deep breath. "I need to know what you think of being a big sister."
I can see my Lia's face cross with confusion for a moment, then grin as comprehension overwhelms her. "I gonna be a sister?" She says it with a little high-pitched squeak.
I imagine her hugging me and then laying her small hands on my flat belly as I say through my tears, "You are one right now..."
The rest of that "memory" is the two of us meeting up with Kyle in a meadow, and I try not to cry when she runs through the grass to jump in his arms to tell him how happy she is that she's a sister. We all laugh at her antics and spend the evening hearing Lia's opinion on names we should choose.
And after enjoying my time with her, reality strikes and I'm brought back to my craft room, back to my solitude. I check the time, and calculate what all I could get finished before Kyle returns. I let the dogs out in the yard, and think about my dinner plans (or lack thereof). I smile at the picture of Lia's tiny feet and imagine her passing me a perfectly formed clover through the haze of my make-believe haven.
"I picked this one just for the baby, Mommy ... "
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Days Like Today...
It's days like today that make "moving forward" extremely difficult.
Nothing really happened -- just a mindset that digs in some days. One of those days that it seems everyone else in this world has some kind of joy that they feel they must rub in my face.
Oh, I know they don't actually rub it in my face. . . it just feels like that on my hard days. I know that those people feel their joy as fully as I once felt mine. And I know that I will again have a great joy in my life and I will spread it around -- and somebody out there will feel like I am the one salting their wounds.
It just seems like there's kids and babies and pregnant people everywhere...
I wish my emotions had a power switch.
I hate being like that. I read way too much into the smallest comments and conversations. But there are days when my heart is breaking all over again and my mind is on overload. I can't block the anger or the envy and I can't seem to build a dam strong enough to hold back the tears... Sometimes I just hate everybody.
I will one day be the envy of another person who is down and out... but I pray today that when that happens I keep in mind my days like today. I pray that I am kind and compassionate when I sow my joy; I want to eventually reap the benefit of feeling that person's joy when they are pulled from their own pit.
But for now, I shall lean against the wall of my deep well of pain. I await the day God's grace drops the rope down my hole - the day my joy is restored.
Please, everyone -- post your pictures, make your comments, spread your joy...
And I shall await that joyful day that I am in your shoes.
Nothing really happened -- just a mindset that digs in some days. One of those days that it seems everyone else in this world has some kind of joy that they feel they must rub in my face.
Oh, I know they don't actually rub it in my face. . . it just feels like that on my hard days. I know that those people feel their joy as fully as I once felt mine. And I know that I will again have a great joy in my life and I will spread it around -- and somebody out there will feel like I am the one salting their wounds.
It just seems like there's kids and babies and pregnant people everywhere...
I wish my emotions had a power switch.
I hate being like that. I read way too much into the smallest comments and conversations. But there are days when my heart is breaking all over again and my mind is on overload. I can't block the anger or the envy and I can't seem to build a dam strong enough to hold back the tears... Sometimes I just hate everybody.
I will one day be the envy of another person who is down and out... but I pray today that when that happens I keep in mind my days like today. I pray that I am kind and compassionate when I sow my joy; I want to eventually reap the benefit of feeling that person's joy when they are pulled from their own pit.
But for now, I shall lean against the wall of my deep well of pain. I await the day God's grace drops the rope down my hole - the day my joy is restored.
Please, everyone -- post your pictures, make your comments, spread your joy...
And I shall await that joyful day that I am in your shoes.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
New Car Blues
I woke up this morning at ten minutes after seven. So much for sleeping in on my day off. As I always do, I roll over and grab my iPhone and check my email and Facebook ... where I found a story so different yet so like mine.
I'd received word last week that a friend of a friend had lost their baby boy Hunter the day after our three month mark after losing Lia. His mommy's friend blogged his story HERE. Hunter was born at 23 weeks, just like my girl, and was lost due to the same issue.
And now, this morning, I found a beautiful family's story HERE. Little Maddie was here on earth for four wonderful months when she was taken home on the same day that Hunter was. Today is her funeral...
My heart broke into a million tiny pieces when I said goodbye to my Lia, and just as soon as I think I've found all the bits and are gluing them back together, tragedy strikes me again like a baseball bat to my newly put-together heart. However indirectly, these stories and those mommies have touched my heart and are forever etched in my heart.
For reasons unknown, I found my mind drawn to a seemingly distant memory of the day we bought my Blazer. Yeah, like the vehicle - just stick with me here. We drove an hour to look at it and I wanted it so we came home with it. It was like a shiny new toy that could fit five and had the cargo space of a small truck. I was so excited to drive it around and look cool again in a "new" car.
But soon after I began taking it to work everyday, the newness wore off. I thought I had something special with the bright red paint and the perfect silver trim... but I soon realized that I was not alone. I began seeing the exact same Blazer all over town, like someone heard about my recent puchase and just had to have one too. It's nice, and its new-to-us, but it's not anything different.
I feel the same about the loss of our children - we are not alone.
My water broke and Lia was born - Hunter's mom went through the same.
I lost the only daughter I had - Maddie's mom did also.
This situation - this incredible pain - is not new. Since the Fall of Man, this world has been completely screwed up. God made men and women true and upright; we're the ones who made a mess of things. (Ecclesiastes 7:26 the Message)
This world is not as God intended - and that small fact is now an amazing source of hope and peace for me. God didn't design this world to have mommies mourn their babies! God did not start this world with the thought, "Hmm, I think this place needs a little death and sorrow, don't ya think?"
We humans threw our little monkey wrench called sin into the plan and threw it all to hell - literally. But thankfully God is a master mechanic and brought us Jesus as a sacrifice to fix all that we had undone.
Our pastor, Brett Eubank, wrote this blog the day after my Lia was born. Death Spoils Everything.
Take a moment to read it and know that this is not the end.
I know in the deepest recesses of my soul (and sometimes that place is hard to find) that my darling daughter is safe in the arms of Christ, and is just waiting for me to hurry up and get there. I can see her playing ball with my mom's dogs, and running through the fields playing tag with Hunter. And now miss Maddie is coming to join the fun! Geez, now I'm jealous! : )
But I know that God had a plan built into our loss and our pain and this will not be the end! We can't see the end of this road, but only because there are a couple big hills in the way... if you can get over them and more of the path shall show itself.
Now, back to the car for a moment: I want to be different. I need to be different. It's the little quirky things about me that allow me to stand out. My Blazer seemed to make me blend in... and I hated that. So I made a window cling to look like my tattoo of Eeyore's tail and put it on the inside of my windshield so I can see it everyday and know that I am not the same - no matter how much it looks on the outside to the contrary.
In the same sense, we all want our pain to be different from those "other people" that have supposedly been through the "same thing". We don't want to hear about other people's pain - we want to stand out in our own. As comforting as it may seem for others to express their comraderie in the "I lost my baby" club, at the time it just makes you more upset. Like your child's death is not news - like it's just another run-of-the-mill event that happens everyday.
It does happen everyday - just like other people in this town own red Blazers with silver trim. But I can see the little thing that makes your situation stand out from any other like a special window cling:
No other mommy ever had Hunter.
No mommy on this planet ever had miss Maddie.
And not a person in this world was a mommy to Auralia Noel Mansfield. Only me.
Remember that your situation is not a new one - so you do have the love and support of many other moms.
But also remember that your situation is completely unique - no one will ever love your child the same as you.
If your heart is broken, you'll find God right there;
if you're kicked in the gut, he'll help you catch your breath.
-Psalm 34:18 the Message
I'd received word last week that a friend of a friend had lost their baby boy Hunter the day after our three month mark after losing Lia. His mommy's friend blogged his story HERE. Hunter was born at 23 weeks, just like my girl, and was lost due to the same issue.
And now, this morning, I found a beautiful family's story HERE. Little Maddie was here on earth for four wonderful months when she was taken home on the same day that Hunter was. Today is her funeral...
My heart broke into a million tiny pieces when I said goodbye to my Lia, and just as soon as I think I've found all the bits and are gluing them back together, tragedy strikes me again like a baseball bat to my newly put-together heart. However indirectly, these stories and those mommies have touched my heart and are forever etched in my heart.
For reasons unknown, I found my mind drawn to a seemingly distant memory of the day we bought my Blazer. Yeah, like the vehicle - just stick with me here. We drove an hour to look at it and I wanted it so we came home with it. It was like a shiny new toy that could fit five and had the cargo space of a small truck. I was so excited to drive it around and look cool again in a "new" car.
But soon after I began taking it to work everyday, the newness wore off. I thought I had something special with the bright red paint and the perfect silver trim... but I soon realized that I was not alone. I began seeing the exact same Blazer all over town, like someone heard about my recent puchase and just had to have one too. It's nice, and its new-to-us, but it's not anything different.
I feel the same about the loss of our children - we are not alone.
My water broke and Lia was born - Hunter's mom went through the same.
I lost the only daughter I had - Maddie's mom did also.
This situation - this incredible pain - is not new. Since the Fall of Man, this world has been completely screwed up. God made men and women true and upright; we're the ones who made a mess of things. (Ecclesiastes 7:26 the Message)
This world is not as God intended - and that small fact is now an amazing source of hope and peace for me. God didn't design this world to have mommies mourn their babies! God did not start this world with the thought, "Hmm, I think this place needs a little death and sorrow, don't ya think?"
We humans threw our little monkey wrench called sin into the plan and threw it all to hell - literally. But thankfully God is a master mechanic and brought us Jesus as a sacrifice to fix all that we had undone.
Our pastor, Brett Eubank, wrote this blog the day after my Lia was born. Death Spoils Everything.
Take a moment to read it and know that this is not the end.
I know in the deepest recesses of my soul (and sometimes that place is hard to find) that my darling daughter is safe in the arms of Christ, and is just waiting for me to hurry up and get there. I can see her playing ball with my mom's dogs, and running through the fields playing tag with Hunter. And now miss Maddie is coming to join the fun! Geez, now I'm jealous! : )
But I know that God had a plan built into our loss and our pain and this will not be the end! We can't see the end of this road, but only because there are a couple big hills in the way... if you can get over them and more of the path shall show itself.
Now, back to the car for a moment: I want to be different. I need to be different. It's the little quirky things about me that allow me to stand out. My Blazer seemed to make me blend in... and I hated that. So I made a window cling to look like my tattoo of Eeyore's tail and put it on the inside of my windshield so I can see it everyday and know that I am not the same - no matter how much it looks on the outside to the contrary.
In the same sense, we all want our pain to be different from those "other people" that have supposedly been through the "same thing". We don't want to hear about other people's pain - we want to stand out in our own. As comforting as it may seem for others to express their comraderie in the "I lost my baby" club, at the time it just makes you more upset. Like your child's death is not news - like it's just another run-of-the-mill event that happens everyday.
It does happen everyday - just like other people in this town own red Blazers with silver trim. But I can see the little thing that makes your situation stand out from any other like a special window cling:
No other mommy ever had Hunter.
No mommy on this planet ever had miss Maddie.
And not a person in this world was a mommy to Auralia Noel Mansfield. Only me.
Remember that your situation is not a new one - so you do have the love and support of many other moms.
But also remember that your situation is completely unique - no one will ever love your child the same as you.
If your heart is broken, you'll find God right there;
if you're kicked in the gut, he'll help you catch your breath.
-Psalm 34:18 the Message
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