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.

And it looks like it shows that my girl is excited to be a big sister, too!

Thank you, Mom!

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.

"I picked this one just for the baby, Mommy ... "

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.

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 Am Not Strong

"You're such a strong woman..."

Such a simple phrase that is packed with incredible meaning - one that has been repeated to me over and over in the past three months. It is a beautiful gesture of honor and respect and reverence for my situation, but the truth must be told:

It is not true.

Strength is defined as emotional toughness: the necessary qualities required to deal with stressful or painful situations. It's the people that take it all in stride and keep the ball rolling through thick and thin and all the hell that the world throws our way. It's those people who, no matter the circumstance, always seem to be smiling. Those people that can always think of something wonderful to say to someone in pain through the trials of their own.

That person, my friends, is not me.

Strength is nothing more than how well you hide the pain...

I may seem tough and strong to you, but I will assure you I am not. I can put on a smile and make small talk with the best of 'em, and I'm getting to the point that I can discuss Lia's birth with nary a tear. I will comfort those in need as I once was comforted, and I will continue to pray everyday for those on my heart. I will make these Kibbies to help heal a mother's breaking heart and I will feel mine break again every day as I remember what this project is actually for. I keep it all to myself most of the time - I prefer to tuck the pain away in the special room in my heart for Lia's memory, safe from any further scrutiny. I need to have that privacy, or my heart will melt out onto my sleeve and not a soul could put it back into my chest.

I will take the comments and compliments to heart, as I have each time those words have reached my ears - and I thank all of you for those encouraging sentiments.
I will not, however, allow them to define my world. I have since decided that there is no point to life without pain... for without darkness, how could any of us ever be found by the light? Without the rain, who could ever appreciate the sun? Without my daughter's death, would I have truly understood what it means to really live?

My daughter is the one thing in this life I have wanted for my whole existence - since I was a little girl my strongest dream was to become a wife and a mother. And now, looking back on the worst week of my entire life, I see now that my God has allowed me to accomplish both. My husband is amazing - standing by me through all of this -though not fully understanding but holding fast in the midst of our pain. And my daughter - my beautiful Lia - will always hold a special place in my heart.

I will always show you where to go.
    I'll give you a full life in the emptiest of places -
firm muscles, strong bones.   - Isaiah 58:11 (the Message)

Keep telling me I'm strong.
        Keep encouraging me to continue.
    Keep being there for me when I need you.
Keep that shoulder handy - just in case I need to cry on it.

Keep telling me that I am the strongest woman you've ever met ... Maybe one day I will be.

A Little Inspiration

This project has taught me alot of things about life and love and the little things.

 LIFE is precious and fragile, and it is taken for granted so very often.

LOVE is simple and profound, and it is not taken seriously most of the time.

LITTLE THINGS are the stuff LIFE and LOVE are made of.

And I think I've been given the best LITTLE THING in the world!

I'd like to share a few little insights I've recently discovered, some teeny tidbits of hope in our dark days. They have helped me cope with my loss and to know that there is a purpose for that loss - no matter how much I hate that it happened. My hope is that this simple posting will encourage you in whatever dark days you are in...

He comes alongside us when we go through hard times, and before you know it,

he brings us alongside someone else who is going through hard times

so that we can be there for that person just as God was there for us.

2 Corinthians 1:4

He puts a little bit of heaven in our hearts so we'll never settle for less.

2 Corinthians 5:56

You did it: you changed wild lament

into whirling dance;

You ripped off my black mourning band

and decked me with wildflowers.

I'm about to burst with song;

I can't keep quiet about you.

God, my God, I can't thank you enough.

-Psalm 30:11-12

All the earlier troubles, chaos, and pain

are things of the past, to be forgotten.

Look ahead with joy,

Anticipate what I'm creating.

-Isaiah 65:18

Don't panic. I'm with you.

There's no need to fear for I'm your God.

I'll give you strength. I'll help you.

I'll hold you steady, keep a firm grip on you.

-Isaiah 41:10

May God bless you and keep you and bring you to the light again.

Remember He is always there, even on those days He feels absent.

And remember that you are never alone in that darkness...

For I am here as well...

Be a Blessing

"The one who blesses others is abundantly blessed: Those who help others are helped."

          Proverbs 11:25

     This post is in honor of all the people who have been backing me up for the Kibbie project!
    
     The blanket I received in the hospital, while mourning the loss of my beautiful daughter, has been a great comfort in this awful moment in my life. I think it is the physicality of the item that offers comfort when my girl is unable to be here with me in my arms. I can't hold her or touch her or carry her around.

But I can hold her blanket close and cry when I need to.
     And I can caress its corners when I'm thinking about her adorable face.
          I am able to carry it over an arm and talk to my Lia when I'm feeling alone.

     I want other moms to feel that comfort. I want them to have that tangible reminder that, yes, your daughter was here! And, yes, your son was wonderful! Even if no birth certificate was allowed (as in my case), remember that your child was a human soul, and has been since conception! They lived in our bellies and they continue to live in our hearts... I don't want any of those mommies to forget that.


     There are no words for the love I've been shown during this unbelievably difficult time in my life. It is common knowledge that my little blanket project is the one thing that calms me and keeps me focused on the future instead of the not-so-distant past.
     There have been so many people jumping on this proverbial band wagon with me. I know that there is a mommy out there, crying her eyes out, her heart breaking for the loss of her precious gift. I know that there is a mommy out there who has in her hands one of the blankets from Lia's Kibbies and is comforted (if only a little) by that piece of her child which is tangible.
    
     We may never hear a word from the families blessed by our talents. We may never know the names of those precious children that are laughing in heaven with my Lia. We may never know how those mommies are doing, if there's anything else we can do, or if they're just too heartbroken to let us know.

     But God works with wonders that never cease, and I believe that one day we will be blessed as we have been blessing others.

     Maybe we'll hear a word from a family that was given a Kibbie. Maybe we'll be able to honor the memory of Lia's new friends. Maybe we'll find out about those mommies, how they are doing, what we can help with, and to hold them through those rough days...

                    You never know!