Life and Loss

I've been writing more.

I've needed to be writing more.

For some reason the struggle seems to be getting the best of me.

Today, as I scrolled through Facebook, I was once again reminded of the fragility of life.

As I scrolled through my timeline, I saw pictures of new babies being born, an adoptive couple finally holding a long awaited for baby in their arms, a mama and her baby reuniting with a husband/daddy who has been serving overseas. There is joy and rejoicing in those posts and it brings my soul happiness to see them.

But then there was the news that a little boy, who I have grown to love through his mama's words, entered into Heaven today. David had HLHS just like Joshua.

It's days like today that I have to find the balance between life and loss. I have to find a way to grieve but to celebrate the life that we have.

As I sit on my back patio, writing this post to the hum of bullfrogs and the laughter of children (something I would have never dreamed that I would be doing), I'm just not sure how to process it all: The blessings that came out of Joshua's life, the longing for him to still be here, the knowledge that God knows the number of all of our days, the understanding of what my friend Jennifer is facing in the upcoming days.

Some days it all seems too much to take in. How do I celebrate a new life when a life has been lost way too soon? How do I continue to be thankful for the blessings that Joshua's life and death brought to our family while continuing to miss him as if a piece of me has died? How do I continue to submerse myself into the CHD community when I have to continue to face these devastating losses?

As I am still and try to listen to the teachings of the Holy Spirit, I hear him reminding me that it all has purpose. Every breath that we take, every person we meet, everything that we do. Everything has a purpose. It may be hard to comprehend what is going on around us, it may hurt to love and share life with others, but it does indeed have a purpose, and God continues to remain faithful and good through it all.

Today, I'm clinging to the promise that God is near to the broken hearted. I'm praying for my friend Jennifer and her husband and daughter. I'm praising God for the compassion in my heart to reach out to these families and to continue to celebrate and live life. But I can't deny the tears. They are part of the process. They are all part of loving and losing.

Congenital Heart Walk

This weekend, our family will be participating in the Congenital Heart Walk to help raise funding for congenital heart defect research. This is a walk that is very near and dear to our hearts.

We have been incredibly blessed by the generosity of family and friends who have donated money and who will be sharing their time with us at the walk. It is such an amazing blessing to be surrounded by people that we love who continue to support us 3 years later.

I wanted to share a the link to our team page. Even though we have met our goal, Shane and I are still looking for donations to sponsor our team. You can make a donation to our team by clicking HERE.

I also wanted to share a link HERE that shows you all of the incredible research that receives funding from all of the Congenital Heart Walks across the country. Without these walks and the funds that they raise, this research would not be possible. Awareness and funding are key factors in finding effective treatments for CHD.

To those of you who have already donated, thank you so much for your generosity and your support. Together, we are all making a difference!

Sacrificing Grief

Sometimes, being a mother means sacrificing your needs and your wants for your children and for your husband.

I find that sacrifice usually comes in the form of physical things- buying my husband and children clothes before I buy myself anything, giving my children the last bite of the coveted ice cream or cake, waking up in the middle of the night because a baby is ready for play time, watching Dora The Explorer instead of my trashy reality TV shows.

Sometimes I get tired of sacrificing for my family, but I know it won't always be this way. There will be a day that we will have plenty of leftovers from dinner, and the TV will be all mine to watch, and I won't have to shop for my children's clothing anymore. So, I take it for what it is, and I (for the most part) try to enjoy as much of it as I can.

But sometimes, being a mother means sacrificing emotionally.

Since Joshua's death, Mothers Day has been hard. It used to be a fun day of being able to remind Shane that I could have that extra piece of cake or sleep in that extra half hour, but for the past 3 years, it's been a day that I dread for the simple fact that I don't get to spend the entire day with the 5 people I love the most- one of them is gone, never to be seen again on this side of heaven.

The sacrifice comes when my children and my husband want to celebrate me. You see, I don't want to take that away from them. My kids have fun making me sweet little handmade gifts, my husband loves to buy me quirky but special little "extras" that I would never buy for myself. They love celebrating me and lavishing extra kisses on me for just one day.

So, I put on my happy face and I let them celebrate. I try not to let my sadness and my grief show. I try to show them how much I truly appreciate their thoughtfulness and I treasure the extra affection. But all the while, I feel like a little part of me dies with every Mothers day.

Where some would see a dining room table full of love and laughter, I see only an empty place, where a sweet 3 year old boy should be.

Where some would see a happy family of 5 in a family picture, I see an empty spot and a heart that is missing a piece.

Behind my smile and my thankfulness, there is a wound- so deep and so raw that I'm not sure it will ever heal.

But, I don't want to ruin it for them. I don't want them to look back at their childhood and see a mom who couldn't pull herself together. I don't want them to think that I made every special occasion in their life about my grief.

So, I smile. I laugh. I hug and kiss my family. And when the night is over, I crawl into bed and I weep.