Daddy's No. 1

"This is Danielle, she's number one." That's how Daddy introduced me. Anytime he talked about his daughters he would tag our number after the name for reference. I was the oldest, so I was number one, on down to the youngest, number four. 

Daddy had four daughters from two marriages and his introduction system organically grew from plenty of conversations of "how many kids do you have?" when only two were present or when it was obvious my step-mom was not old enough to have a daughter my age. Of course once he got started with it he liked to have fun with us. I've never met anyone with a grin quite as impish as my Daddy. He'd get so tickled at himself. That is one of the many things I love to remember about him.

There are so many stories I want to tell. So many great memories. Daddy has been gone for over four years now, so when my sister (No. 2) asked me about making a bracelet for Daddy the way I'd made a necklace for James, I was surprised it hadn't occurred to me sooner. When she suggested stamping our "numbers" on the bracelets I knew it was perfect. 

I think this is exactly what Remembrance Jewelry should be. A reminder not only of the person you lost, but of something about them that makes you smile. We have so many wonderful memories and that is what we want to hang onto.

Today is Daddy's Birthday. It's always a tough day, but it's getting easier to think about all those great memories. As much as I miss him I do like thinking that he is up there with my sweet boy and they have one another.

Happy Birthday Daddy!

Counting it ALL Joy

This Sunday will be James’s first birthday. There will be no smash cake, no adorable photo shoot, no big party to celebrate our baby getting another year older. Just reminders of all of the things we missed out on this year. No first laughs, no sleepless nights because he isn’t feeling well, no tummy time or learning to crawl. 

It’s so lonely when normally happy, joyful moments are clouded with a yearning for what you were supposed to have. I had a new niece born this summer and she is so beautiful.  I LOVE when I get to see her and spend time with her. But I so long to be passing along advice to my baby sister about what worked with James when he started teething, or how we got him to sleep through the night the first time. I can’t though, because that was taken away from us.

When we were finally ready to start trying to have another baby, we got two pink lines the very first month! For five days I was so excited. For five days I knocked the dust off the old nursery plans. For five days I started thinking about baby names & holiday plans & how we would tell our family the good news – we were going to announce on Mother’s Day.

Then, after five days, I learned what it was like to lose a baby that I never had a chance to name. I discovered that five days is long enough to become a mom again. Five days is long enough for the grief that comes after to pull you under. Five days matters.

During the eight months between losing James and losing our second baby I can’t count the number of times I said, “I don’t know what it’s like to have a miscarriage.” I encountered so many people who were walking paths of infertility that included devastating miscarriage after miscarriage and I felt so inept to offer support, because I knew that what I had gone through with James was different.

I thought what I had gone through with James was harder than a miscarriage, and in a lot of ways it was. But all of the things that made losing him so much harder, were the same things that allowed us to experience joy even in the sadness. I felt James kick. I heard his strong heartbeat. I held his precious, beautiful little body.

I experienced none of those joys with my second very brief pregnancy. Does that make it easier? Maybe. I don’t think about that baby every single day. I don’t imagine it’s little face when I hold my niece. While I’m incredibly sad about losing it, I have no memories of that baby aside from some mild nausea and two pink lines.

Two losses in such a short time are not fair. I’m still dealing with a lot of anger, but I also appreciate the perspective that our second baby gave me. We have amazing pictures from our time with James that we haven’t shared because it was too hard, but if my miscarriage taught me anything, it was to hold on tight to those memories. Most women who lose their babies don’t get those moments. I want to remember every detail of our precious boy and every minute that God gave us with him.

When James was born I bought a lot of scrapbooking supplies because I was going to put together a baby book that told his story. I wanted something to remember his time with us, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to start working on it until now. With James’s first birthday coming up it is time. I’m looking at pictures again, and it’s bringing back a lot of really tough emotions. It’s also reminding me that we were so lucky to have that time with him. We were so fortunate to have an amazing friend in Amanda Morgan who was willing to come to the hospital at 9pm on a Saturday night and stay until 4:30 in the morning capturing the moments that we will spend the rest of lives trying to never forget.

A lot of you purchased the necklace I designed last year when we were building James’s Memorial Garden. Your support was so overwhelming and we are so grateful to have such a loving community around us. This year I’m hoping to sell just as many James’s Joy Necklaces because 50% of the proceeds will be going to Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep in memory of James. This non-profit provides photography services for parents like us who are dealing the their worst nightmare & trying to capture some joy to hold onto.

Several have already responded. If you are one of them thank you so much! If you haven't had the opportunity yet, I would love your help. Maybe you or someone you know needs one of these necklaces as a reminder to count it all JOY. Maybe you could share James’s story on Social Media so your friends and family can know how special our little boy was to so many of us. Maybe you just want to make a direct donation to Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep in memory of James, I would love that too.

We will celebrate his birthday this weekend. It won’t be a typical first birthday party with a lot of guests and presents and cake. It will simply be time spent in his garden loving on our family. We are still grieving, and probably always will be, but this weekend will be about the Joy he brought into our lives for a season, and the lessons that we learned about faith and family through his short life.

It's going to be an emotional week, thank you in advance for your prayers and all your support.

Unrest

My heart is so heavy. The past few weeks have been full of moments that slam the breath right out of me and drop me to my knees with overwhelming grief. Two weeks ago, in the middle of an ordinary day, something as simple as a promotional mailer set my world in a bit of a tailspin that I haven't pulled out of yet. My conscience is waging a constant war against the angry woman inside of me screaming for people to be more appreciative, more considerate, less self-absorbed. While this righteous anger is swirling in my gut, I'm also admonishing myself for the same self-absorbed thinking that can't seem to forget that the rest of the world isn't living my experience.

This tug of war that goes on inside of me spills out in angry sobs and makes me want to hide under the covers and pretend the rest of the world hasn't continued to go on as though my son never existed.

I battle the depression and anxiety as I always have, essentially throwing myself into project after project to keep me busy. While this works to keep me active and in society rather than tucked into my bed for days on end, it doesn't really help. It only buys time between meltdowns.

I haven't been spending much time listening to God lately. I've been talking at Him a lot, but then I cut Him off and throw myself into the next project. I'm not sure why I've taken that distance. Maybe I want to hang on to my righteous anger. Maybe being angry is easier than being hurt and sad. Maybe I'm afraid that He will ask me to give up a project or two. 

Back in January I went to a weekend conference where Angie Smith was the speaker. She was talking about grief and anger and pointed out that God is big. He doesn't have a problem with our anger. He only asks that we come to Him with it. That makes sense to me. I think back over the years and there have been plenty of relationships that had to be repaired with uncomfortable conversations that started with, "I love you, but you really hurt me." Or even, "I'm really mad at you right now and I need some time to calm down."

I think that is where I am with God. I'm hurt and angry because I know that He could have saved my son. He could have chosen to heal my James and I wouldn't be so bitter or heartbroken. The problem is I haven't really told Him yet. I talk to Him about other things, about other people's needs, then I cut Him off before we can go deeper. 

God, I'm hurt. I've seen You work miracles for other people, but You didn't do it for me. I know that is petty, but I'm jealous of the other moms who bring home healthy children, some without even trying. I know people aren't having babies to make me jealous. I know people are complaining about parenting because it is legitimately hard work, not because they want to rub it in my face that they have children at home. Even though I'm angry, I do still love You. I know that You love me too, and that ultimately You do want good things for me. I think I just needed a little time. This conversation is really uncomfortable but I know we need to have it. Now that I've said all that, I think I'm ready to listen again.

In the Garden

Yesterday marked a year since we saw those two pink lines that said we would be parents. This Christmas has been incredibly difficult for Jason and I but it was filled with love and family. Last night we came home from Christmas Eve Mass and I discovered that Jason had strung lights on one of the trees in the garden "for James". My carefully maintained facade cracked and we sobbed in one another's arms. This Christmas, while wonderful, was not what it was supposed to be, at least as far as we'd planned.

We dedicated James's Garden Thanksgiving Weekend and the month since has been so difficult for us. There are days that the grief is so heavy I feel I could simply collapse beneath it, but mostly I drown myself in busyness to avoid emotions and search out small things to be happy about. 

Planning this garden was very enlightening. I learned that it is often when a plant appears to be bare and without much chance at survival that it has the most growth. Tonight I stood in James's Garden and saw the new life we planted just weeks ago is now wilting and bare. How encouraging to think that perhaps this barren and desolate time will not only lead to growth for these trees and plants, but might bring about something beautiful in us as well.

It comes as little surprise to me that the most profound connection I've felt with God during this time relates to another garden. The night before his crucifixion Jesus prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane. In the Gospel of Matthew he says, "Oh My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me". I was right there beside Jesus asking God if there wasn't some other way.

When we came home from the doctor the Thursday before Easter (coincidence? I don't think so) after receiving James's diagnosis I was begging God not to ask this of us. We knew we couldn't let our baby go. Still, I couldn't imagine being able to survive the pain if he didn't make it. I began to pray that if James couldn't survive for God to please take him from us and spare us that pain. I am so very grateful that God stamped His all knowing NO on that prayer.

We loved James so much already and we hadn't even met him yet. We knew that if there was even the smallest chance he could make it we had to do everything in our power to give it to him.

Ya'll that's what Jesus did for us when he said, "if this cup cannot pass away from me unless I drink it, Your will be done." He hadn't met us yet, but He loved us so much already. He knew that going to the cross was the only chance we had, so He gave it to us.

Obviously I'm not Jesus, but I realized that when it came to understanding what I was feeling, he knows better than any one.

A few days after the crucifixion, in another garden, Jesus appeared to a grieving and distraught Mary. He'd been resurrected just as He'd promised. Still, she didn't even recognize him through her grief. In the middle of intense sadness it is hard to remember His promises. I can tell you I have been there, and still am many days. Often I am so overwhelmed with grief that I don't recognize He is walking right alongside me.

But He is. I could tell endless stories of all the amazing people that God has put right in front of me through this journey. Sometimes I know immediately that He is at work through them and other times it becomes clear much later. No matter when I catch on though, He is always there.

One of the incredible things about James's Garden is that while we sit and remember our son, we are looking out at reminders of all of our blessings. Listening to the peaceful sound of the fountain, I'm looking at the home Jason and I are making. I see the fire pit where we make wonderful memories with our friends. On the occasions our yard is full of nieces and nephews playing, I know that one day we will have little ones joining in the fun. 

I will never be able to fully express the gratitude we have for all of the help and contributions that made this vision of ours a reality. James's Garden will continue to be a work of love for years to come. I look forward to helping my future children plant flowers near the fountain while telling them them all about their brother in heaven and how very special he is. His story isn't over. He continues to make me a better person for having been his mom. One day, in a new garden, I will hold my sweet baby again. Until that day comes I will do my best to make the most of his life, by doing as much good as I can with mine. 

Today we are celebrating the birthday of a Savior who made that possible. Cherish your families. Hug them a little tighter tonight for me, and have a very Merry Christmas.