weaker and stronger

Life as a bereaved mother has many paradoxes.
I believe this is one of them:
our loss makes us both weaker and stronger.
Stronger because you feel invincible -
if you can survive this, the death of a child,
you can survive anything.
But then there are days when you feel weaker.
Weaker because you are already filled with sadness
and little things seem to bring you over that edge.
Weaker because you easily saddened and burdened
for others who travel the same heartbreaking journey.
Or is that compassion?
I just know there are days I wish I wasn't this weak.
That I could go back to being ignorant and blind
to the suffering of parents all around the world.
And then there are days I am grateful God has opened my eyes
and opened my heart to these people.
That He has allowed me to be part of their journey,
part of their grief.
I feel honored and privileged.
And when I go to the hospital I feel strong.
It's a strength I know only God can give.
So my prayer is this:
God, may I be strong when strength is needed
God, may I be weak when weakness is needed.
And whether I am strong or I am weak
may I bring honor, glory and praise to You.



One day the weak shall dwell with the strong.

the month of March

As I approach and enter the month of March
I have a growing heaviness in my heart.
At first I am not quite aware of it.
Then I wonder why it's there, why I feel so sad,
why I cry so easily.
But then I remember it's March.
It's the month of my firstborn's birthday.
He will be five this year.
But it's also the month of Katleen's birthday, and passing.
She would have been three this year.
There is much to celebrate in March.
But it is also the month of sadness,
of remembering,
of wondering what could have been.
This year there will be three children around her cake.
I still wish it was four. That she was here.
That she could blow out her own candles.
That we would hear her laughter, see her smile,
watch her as she would open her gifts.
I miss her.
It's March again.

the world stops

Today a little baby girl joined my Kathleen in Heaven.
Today my world stops.
How can I go on doing life as normal on a day of such sadness?
How can I edit her pictures?
How can I work on my business website?
How can I look for hat patterns?
How can I do any of the things I had planned for today.
Because today is not another day.
Today is the day baby D died.
Today my world stops.

But I know it won't stop for long.
Tomorrow will be another day with things to do.

Tomorrow their world will still be stopped.
The world of baby D's parents.
And it will be stopped for a long time.

I remember when my world stopped.
I wish the whole world had stopped.
At least for a day, at least for a moment.
But it didn't..

And every day a baby dies. Every day a baby is born.
Every day there is sadness and there is joy.
We must mourn with those who mourn and
rejoice with those who rejoice.
I don't know how you do both, but I know God does
and He can show us how.

But today I mourn. Today my world has stopped.

slow motion

Yesterdays sermon was about hitting the pause button in a hectic life. It may sound strange as a mother of three children, two of them being babies, but I don't feel like my life is hectic and playing in fast forward. Contrary I actually feel like my life is finally in play mode again, after having been in slow motion for so long. After I lost Kathleen my days seemed endless and months felt like years. I think grief slows everything down as you watch life from inside your bubble. And then every month I waited and hoped that my womb would be filled with new life, that I would be restored. For a long time I felt that was all my life was filled with: grief and waiting, and then more grief. After thirteen months of waiting my prayers were finally answered and my little Kaden was conceived, but then came more waiting - waiting for him to arrive, and much of that waiting was spent on bed rest. Life for me continued to be in slow motion. The day he was born and was safe and sound in my arms was the day when my life entered play mode again. I still grieve my Kathleen, but I am no longer waiting, no longer living life in slow motion. How grateful I am for play mode, for being alive, feeling alive.

finding meaning

I think we all want to find meaning in life. A purpose for our being.

I feel as though I have led two different lives. Before Kathleen and after Kathleen. My first life was pretty comfortable, you may even call it normal. I would go for daily walks on the beach with my son. I attended mom's groups and hung out with other normal moms. My church ministry was multimedia which kept me rather busy. It was a different life. Not necessarily a wrong or meaningless life, just different.

Then Kathleen was born and it turned everything upside down. Her short life brought so much pain into mine that sometimes I wasn't sure how I was going to survive, and I wondered if the rest of my life would be a matter of surviving rather than living. I wondered how God could and would use all of this. I was no longer the same person and couldn't continue to do the same things. Of course I was still a mother and did the things a mother does. But there had to be more. There had to be something I could use this loss for, this pain. Something that would give it purpose, give it meaning. The things that had given my life meaning in the past, no longer cut it. The words of Ecclesiastes would go through my mind:
“Meaningless! Meaningless!”
says the Teacher.
“Utterly meaningless!
Everything is meaningless.”

After my loss I spent a lot of time online connecting with other bereaved mothers. I had no idea there were so many and it seemed the numbers were increased daily.. I found that this mutual support and encouragement through the journey of grief and also subsequent pregnancies were invaluable. But I had a burning desire to do more, something face to face. I just didn't know what. And so I waited, wondering. Wondering what I could possible contribute, how I could make a difference.

Two years later the doors opened and I became a volunteer photographer for forget-me-not, taking pictures of babies that have passed or will pass or may pass so that the families can have lasting memories. I found that there was something I could do for others and that my pain had meaning. I know it may seem strange to some that I find my meaning and purpose in other people's pain. But reality is that this kind of loss happens so very often, more often than we know or would like to think. I am brokenhearted for the families and wish things were different for them, but in the midst of the pain I feel alive. I am no longer just surviving, I am living. But if a while passes and I don't get a hospital call (maybe another photographer gets the call, maybe the family chooses not to have photos taken..) I start to get irritable, frustrated, restless. I don't expect you to understand but without the pain, without this ministry, my life feels meaningless.

But then I get a call and I know that my life has meaning. I believe our lives have meaning when we serve God, and I believe we serve God by serving people. As I go into the hospitals with my camera I know I am doing just that. I am serving, I am finding meaning - meaning for my life, and for Kathleen's short one.

Meaning.

I promise

Dear Kathleen

I promise I won't forget you.
I know I think of you less often. Each day the memory of you become more distant. The memory of holding you, seeing your perfect little face, perfect little fingers. The memory of you, being real. I have less time to think of you these days as I take care of your little brother and little sister. Less time to remember, to grieve. Maybe I also think of you less because I am happy. I hope you are happy for me. But please still forgive me. Forgive me for going on with life without you.

Sometimes when I hold your little sister I think of you. Wonder for the millionth time what you would have looked like. But mostly I think of her, enjoying her many smiles and little coos.

I think of you when I go to my monthly support group. It is my evening to remember you, focus on you. It is our evening. But I didn't go this month. Instead I went out on a date with your daddy. I felt guilty but I hope you looked down at us and just smiled.

I thought of you yesterday when I held a little nineteen week baby girl in my hands. As hard and as sad at those moments are, I also cherish them. Cherish them because they bring me back to you. I know most won't understand that. They won't understand why I want to hold onto something so painful, so devastating. But in the pain I feel close to you, my little beautiful girl, my little Kathleen.

So I may not think of you as often, but I promise I will never forget. And I am who I am because of you. I do the things I do because of you. In me you will always live on. That is your legacy.

I love you and I will always love you.
Your mommy.

an amazing gift

I have been granted an amazing gift, a little girl, a daughter.
She is all mine. Well, she will be when the adoption goes through.
But she was mine from the moment I held her, four days old.

A year ago it was hard to believe I would ever have more children.
Now I have three. Three to hold, love and see grow up.
And one in heaven, that I will never forget, always cherish.
God works in mysterious ways. In ways I never imagined.

"I am still confident of this:
I will see the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living.
Wait for the Lord. Be strong and take heart and wait for the LORD". Psalm 27:13-14
This is the verse God gave me as a promise May 2009.
A promise I have meditated on many times,
wondering if and when it would come through.
It came through when I held Kaden in my arms.
But God's goodness did not stop there.
He knew my desire to have a little girl, and He granted it.

Kaitlin fills the hole in my heart that yearns for a little girl.
She will never fill the hole that yearns for Kathleen.

But above all, I have seen the goodness of the LORD,
in the land of the living.