Holding Back

The other day I was out running some errands after my class. Jayze and I had just baby-swapped, so Aidan was in the backseat.

When I was in and out of the car between errands, I checked to see if Aidan was awake or not, and thankfully he was asleep. I felt a twinge of guilt. The poor little guy, it seems like he's always in the car seat these days. Thanks to me being in full-time school and Jayze in part-time school and work. 

I finally got done with my last errand and was on my way home when at the most random time, it hit me. I was waiting for the stoplight to turn from red to green when I realized that I missed Alma. When that thought hit, grief was right at its heels. 

I tried to trace my mind back to a specific moment that caused the trigger. Why was I suddenly angry and bitter? Why did I suddenly miss him when I hadn't felt that way for the past few weeks? Why did my heart suddenly hurt so much?

I thought about one of my appointments that day where I was in contact with a lot of other women and their babies. Then I thought about the conversation I had overheard between two other women as I was in the waiting room:

"Are you in school?"

"No, I'm graduated, which is so nice. My sister has two kids and is still in school I don't think I could do that!"

It wasn't anything super significant. In fact, as I was half-listening I agreed with her. Going to school with two kids would be hard. It's hard doing it with one baby. 

But it must have been a delayed reaction because when the grief hit me, I realized why the conversation bothered me a little bit. It's because I have two kids. I'm supposed to be going to school while raising two children, too. 

Once that thought hit, memories came flooding back into my mind. Being pregnant with Alma, finding out we lost him, giving birth in a silent room, holding him in my arms for less than 24 hours, walking away from his graveside, going back to work the week after, starting school less than a month later, finding out we're pregnant with his little brother, 9 months of trying to find and have hope and faith after such a tremendous loss...

I realized that the trigger hit me so strong in the car that day because I have been holding back my feelings for Alma. 

We had Aidan, and with him, the grief was even stronger because I truly knew what I have missed out on losing Alma. But I didn't really have too much time to think about it. I started school four days after we had Aidan, which kept me crazy busy. Christmas break came, but Jayze and I just enjoyed spending as much time as we could with Aidan before school started again. School started, and it has ended up being even harder and more stressful than last semester. 

I still read other women's blogs who have gone through a similar experience as me. They help me know that I'm not alone in this trial and that some of the feelings I have are normal. The past few weeks, though, I would read them and move on. I felt like I didn't think or feel the same way anymore, but I found out that's not true. I found out that ignoring my loss will not make it go away. Busyness will not make it go away. Repressing it will not make it go away. No matter what I do, the loss will always be there. 

I can move on. I can look back at our experience with Alma and smile now, but with tears still behind my eyes. Because for me, he will never be forgotten. 

So if you have loved ones who have experienced a loss, please be patient with them. We can still be happy and at peace knowing our loved ones are with our Heavenly Father, but that doesn't mean we still don't miss them. 

Spit-up in my Hair

Right now my house is cluttered with school papers and textbooks, dishes are scattered across the counter and fill up my kitchen sink, the heater is on for the millionth time because it's a whopping 14 degrees outside, and my Christmas tree (although packed up and in its box) is still not put away.  

But tonight my hair smells like spit-up. Baby blankets litter my living room floor. Clean baby bottles lay on a towel by the kitchen sink. And my sweet baby boy lies on his play gym making cooing sounds and sometimes hitting the little toys that hang above his head. 

It's nights like tonight when I count my blessings. The blessing that my heater works, that I can earn a great education at a wonderful college, that I have dishes to wash, and that I have my dream come true right by me in my living room: a healthy, strong, chunky, baby boy. 

And for the reminder from the spit-up in my hair. that my arms are no longer empty, my heart is healing, and God is good. 

I DID IT!

I finished and survived this semester!

With the help of Jayze and my instructors, of course. :)

Jayze and I had our doubts before this past semester started - sometimes at the same time, most of the time at different times. It was nice when it was at different times because then we helped the other have faith again. But finally with lots of bouncing the baby in the bouncer; meeting at the school to car/baby swap; staying up late while Aidan was asleep; cooking late dinners; throwing laundry into the washer and dryer (thank goodness we have a washer and dryer in our house) and sometimes folding it; reading tons of poetry, short stories, and novels; watching a few movies for both of my classes; forgetting to eat lunch a few times; meeting new friends; learning new things; and finding the motivation to keep going, I finished the semester!

Despite all the stress, it was totally worth it. I'm so glad I didn't defer because it was a great semester.

Timeline:

• September 15: School started.
• September 25: Aidan's Birthday!
• September 29: Back to class.
• September 29-October 17: Playing catch-up, especially in my online class. My instructors were awesome.
• Midterms somewhere in there.
• A few papers now and then.
• Watched a few movies.
• A few projects.
• Finals is next week...what?!
• As you can tell, the semester was kind of a blur...
• December 15-19: Finals week. 
• December 25: Final grades posted. 

I learned so much this semester. School is way more fun when I worry more about learning than about grades - although grades are important too. :)

I learned to love poetry, particularly the Romantic Era. In my on-campus class, I learned that it's a lot harder to translate fiction to film (e.g. To Kill a Mockingbird, Rear Window, And Then There Were None, and so on. There are SO many films out there based on literature.)

And I learned that including God made ALL the difference.

Thank you to all those who brought Jayze, Aidan, and me dinner - it meant a lot. Thanks Mom for spending a whole week with us! I don't think all of those doctor appointments after Aidan was born would have been possible without you, as well as retaining my sanity. And thank you to my instructor's who let me play catch up for a couple of weeks. 

So, here's to this past semester, and here's to another semester coming up soon! 

We Are Four

"Is this your first?"

The question caught me off-guard yet again. This time though, I wasn't used to answering it in front of an entire class, so I panicked and said the first thing that came to my mind:

"Uh, yes."

Then it hit me what my instructor had actually asked me and I realized I had lied.  So I immediately thought about back-tracking...

"Well, um..."

But somehow I couldn't bring myself to change my answer when all eyes were on me. 

So I said, "Well...yeah..." and nodded. 

It is BYU-Idaho's tradition to say a prayer before the beginning of every class, and it is my instructor's tradition to "interview" whoever is giving the prayer for that day. When it was my turn and he asked me that question, I had no idea he was going to ask that. Most people just assume if you are still in college and having (or have had) a baby that it's your first one. But looking back, how could I have possibly said stillborn in front of a whole class full of college students? Maybe someone in that classroom could have related to me. I guess I'll never know now that I stuck to my guns and awkwardly lied and said that Aidan is my first child.

I know that I'm going to get asked that question throughout the rest of my life. Whenever I get pregnant again, people will probably ask if Aidan is my oldest or if it is my second pregnancy. And I have realized that Aidan is going to get it his whole life too:

"Are you the oldest?"

And how is he going to answer that question? If he answers yes, it's a lie because Alma is my oldest child and Aidan's older brother - death can never change that fact. But then if he answers no and explains that his older brother died it just creates an awkward situation. It's tiring constantly having to answer that question and explain about Alma. It seems I have to fight to keep Alma in our family. 

In my online class we are studying different poets and their works. Usually poetry is hard for me to understand, and I have to admit that it's not my favorite thing to study. But I also have to admit that I have loved this class and last week I read a poem that really hit me hard. I was able to totally relate to the little girl's perspective, and I found her optimism and persistence powerful.

We Are Seven

By William Wordsworth

———A simple Child,

That lightly draws its breath,

And feels its life in every limb,

What should it know of death?

I met a little cottage Girl:

She was eight years old, she said;

Her hair was thick with many a curl

That clustered round her head.

She had a rustic, woodland air,

And she was wildly clad:

Her eyes were fair, and very fair;

—Her beauty made me glad.

“Sisters and brothers, little Maid,

How many may you be?”

“How many? Seven in all,” she said,

And wondering looked at me.

“And where are they? I pray you tell.”

She answered, “Seven are we;

And two of us at Conway dwell,

And two are gone to sea.

“Two of us in the church-yard lie,

My sister and my brother;

And, in the church-yard cottage, I

Dwell near them with my mother.”

“You say that two at Conway dwell,

And two are gone to sea,

Yet ye are seven! I pray you tell,

Sweet Maid, how this may be.”

Then did the little Maid reply,

“Seven boys and girls are we;

Two of us in the church-yard lie,

Beneath the church-yard tree.”

“You run about, my little Maid,

Your limbs they are alive;

If two are in the church-yard laid,

Then ye are only five.”

“Their graves are green, they may be seen,”

The little Maid replied,

“Twelve steps or more from my mother’s door,

And they are side by side.

“My stockings there I often knit,

My kerchief there I hem;

And there upon the ground I sit,

And sing a song to them.

“And often after sun-set, Sir,

When it is light and fair,

I take my little porringer,

And eat my supper there.

“The first that dies was sister Jane;

In bed she moaning lay,

Till God released her of her pain;

And then she went away.

“So in the church-yard she was laid;

And, when the grass was dry,

Together round her grave we played,

My brother John and I.

“And when the ground was white with snow,

And I could run and slide,

My brother John was forced to go,

And he lies by her side.”

“How many are you, then,” said I,

“If they two are in heaven?”

Quick was the little Maid’s reply,

“O Master! we are seven.”

“But they are dead; those two are dead!

Their spirits are in heaven!”

’Twas throwing words away; for still

The little Maid would have her will,

And said, “Nay, we are seven!” 

www.poetryfoundation.org 

As hard as it is sometimes, I am going to keep fighting to keep Alma alive in our family. How could a mother ever forget her child? I carried Alma inside of me for 9 months and was able to bond with him during that short amount of time. I have felt his spirit and his love, and I know that he is real. I really was pregnant with him, I really gave birth to him, and I really had to say goodbye and watch my firstborn child be buried in the ground. It was all real. It all happened. For now death separates us, but I know without a doubt that I will get to see my baby again someday. 

Until then I hope I can be like the little girl in the poem and proudly say that we are a family of four.

 I know that the next time someone asks me, I won't hesitate to say that Aidan is our first child we are raising here and his older brother is watching overhead in heaven - even if that means changing my answer in front of an entire classroom filled with college students.

“Joseph Smith taught the doctrine that the infant child that was laid away in death would come up in the resurrection as a child; and, pointing to the mother of a lifeless child, he said to her: ‘You will have the joy, the pleasure and satisfaction of nurturing this child, after its resurrection, until it reaches the full stature of its spirit.'"

~Joseph F. Smith ~ 

Families Are Forever

38 Weeks & 4 days: Mixed Everything

To be completely honest, I have been avoiding writing on this blog. And the longer I take to write on it, the easier it gets to avoid it.  In fact, I started this post last week but couldn't bring myself to finish it until now.

I have let grief overtake me these past few weeks, and it has been hard to let it go. Sometimes I think grief is good to let in because it lets me know that I still love Alma. It lets me know that I still miss him. And in a way, it helps me be close to him.

But grief is also mean. It overshadows me with darkness and despair and doesn't want to let go.

These past few weeks I have felt one part of grief especially: denial.

Last year, Alma was due on September 13 - the weekend before school started. I planned to only take two classes, and even though people cautioned me how hard it would be to take school and have a baby, deferring never felt right to me. Something kept me from dropping those classes. I figured it was Heavenly Father's way of letting me know that school is important and He would help me balance it all.

Then Alma passed away. The reason became clear why I wasn't supposed to defer - it was because I wouldn't need to try to balance a baby and school because there would be no baby. I had never been so grateful for school in my life. Someone mentioned that maybe I should defer because of what happened with Alma and that it was still possible, but instead of deferring, I registered for a full load of classes, bought all of the materials, and kept myself as busy as I could.

School saved me that semester.

It was hard going to school knowing my instructors and classmates didn't know what had happened. It was hard knowing I had just barely had a baby but he was no longer with me. It was hard when instructors would ask the class who had children and I kept my hand down because I didn't want to announce to the whole class that yes, I do have a baby, but he was stillborn. It was unbelievably hard keeping grief at bay, getting out of bed, working with Jayze's school and work schedule, going to work when I had been planning to quit, and actually having to make the decision to go to Church every single week when I didn't want to talk to anyone or see all of the babies and pregnant women there.

But I was able to get out of the house every day and keep my mind busy. It was one of my best semesters, and I still look back on it and think, again, that with God I can do hard things.

This year I'm pregnant again, but this time he is due October 2 - three weeks after school started. And because it doesn't feel right to defer this semester either, it feels like I've been having deja vu. What if it doesn't feel right to defer because the same thing is going to happen?

Before school began, I held my breath as August 29 passed by. After that day, our baby was still alive. Then I held my breath again as I hit 37 weeks, and I have been continually holding my breath ever since then.

Because for me, there is no "safe" time for this baby. We got past 37 weeks - how old Alma was when he died - but what if it happens at 38 weeks+ with Baby #2? Or 39 weeks? Or right when I'm supposed to have him at the hospital?

I go to class, and it doesn't feel like I'm pregnant. I just feel like a regular college student going to classes trying to figure out my schedule and figure out what is expected of me. I'm in denial that I am actually going to have a baby - a real, live baby. Telling my instructors and others that I'm going to have a baby soon makes it seem real, but I also don't want to commit because I don't know what's going to happen.

Grief has allowed me to put up walls - to not be excited, to fear, to doubt, to deny we're actually having another baby, to be hopeless...

Jayze and I were trying to figure out our schedules and what it's going to be like with a baby here. We realized that balancing Jayze's work and school as well as my school is going to be pretty hard. We really need to be committed and supportive of each other if it's going to work out. As we kept talking about it, Jayze finally asked me, "Why are you taking classes?"

I thought about it and said, "Because like last year it hasn't felt right to defer...so maybe because of that...I keep thinking that we're not really going to have a baby to take care of at home. We'll just have him...and then I won't have to worry about balancing school and a baby because there will be no baby. The denial has come back, Jayze."

The tears came, and I buried my face in my hands.

Jayze let me cry for a little bit, letting all of the emotions out I had been holding inside all week. Then he said, "Sarah, don't make the decision to take classes because of doubt. If you want to still take classes, take them because of faith. We need to plan as if we really are going to have a baby here with us, not as if we're going to have a baby and then not take him home with us."

Faith that we're going to take a baby home with us. Is that possible at this point?

I was getting ready for the day the other morning and was listening to different songs on Pandora. As I fixed my hair, a song by Hilary Weeks came on called, "Dancing in the Rain." As I listened to the lyrics, I realized I really needed to hear that song that morning. Ever since then, I have kept the words in my mind and have tried to keep the faith.

It clouded over on Monday morning
And I'd hoped to wake up to sunshine
Come Tuesday I think I felt it
A little raindrop on top of my head
On Wednesday no mistaken it
By Thursday no escaping it the storm had rolled in

I thought about going back to bed
Or reading the book on my night stand
I considered calling the weatherman
Just to ask when it might end

I did something you would not have thought
I grabbed my polka dot umbrella
And I opened the door...

And I danced in the rain
I let my dreams know I hadn't forgotten them
I let my heart take the lead and
I told my hopes to get themselves up again
And I danced, I looked, yes I danced in the rain

I invited my worries to step aside
I needed room to see in front of me
As the raindrops fell on my overcoat
I let em roll right off of my back

And I waited for the rainbow
Cause Heaven and me we both know
This storm's gonna pass...

And I danced in the rain
I let my dreams know I hadn't forgotten them
I let my heart take the lead and
I told my hopes to get themselves up again
And I danced, I looked, yes I danced...

I danced till my fears washed away
Then I thanked the rain for coming... today
So I could dance in the rain
And let my dreams know I hadn't forgotten them

I danced in the rain
I let my dreams know I hadn't forgotten them
I let my heart take the lead and
I told my hopes to get themselves up again
And I danced, I looked, yes I danced in the rain

I'm dancing in the rain

www.lyricsmode.com

We saw a rainbow by the temple even while it was still raining - a tender mercy.

This second baby is my rainbow baby, but sometimes rainbows come during the storm. I can be happy now and not just when he is born.

The grief won't go away. As the day for Baby #2 gets closer, the anxiety and fear will be there. Flashbacks will continue to pop up. Comments from others will always come, whether they are well-meaning or not.

But hope is still there. I can dance during the storm and grasp the opportunity to be happy now.

I'm hoping that things will go well. I'm hoping that I will have a living, breathing baby in my arms soon and that he will help fill the gigantic hole that was left in my heart and home from losing Alma.

Until then, I can keep counting his movements; keep going to class because I have faith that things will work out, not because it's a "back up"; and keep cherishing the time I have him inside of me.

Hard Times

Today has been hard.  This week has been hard.

And it's only Tuesday.

Finals are coming up, but I have projects that are due this week and next week (BIG projects).  And what do I do?  I blog, go on facebook, read my email, budget, go to work, practice the piano, do my "easier" homework-anything to keep from doing my BIG projects.  Why is this?  Why does that happen?

Stress.  Grief.  Wanting to be distracted.

I miss Alma so much it hurts.  I want him here with me.  I want to be taking only 6 online credits this semester instead of 13 online and on-campus credits.  I want to get up in the middle of the night and hold my little baby.  I want to cuddle him when he's sleeping and smile and laugh with him when he's awake.  I want to watch him grow and roll over and take his first step.  But he's gone, and today it hurts like it hasn't for awhile.  I think stress and being overwhelmed aids in that.

That being said, there have been so many things that have kept me going.  Number one is my Heavenly Father.  Number two is my husband, Jayze.  And number three is the knowledge that I will hold Alma again.  I'll get to see him run and play and smile and....breathe.  And cry and be sassy and explore and everything little boys do.  I'll get to see him grow in the knowledge of the gospel.

For now, I'll try to be content knowing that he is with Heavenly Father watching over Jayze and me, preparing his siblings for whenever they'll come and join us on earth.  His sweet spirit still lingers in my heart each and every day and practically every moment of every day.

This life was not meant to be easy.  Trials are hard.  This trial is hard.  I have to remind myself that everyone is going through their own person trial and that we are all brothers and sisters.  I need to help those around me because none of us can get through our trials alone.

I can't express my feelings in perfect words or in the perfect way, but I love Elder Shayne M. Bowen's talk, "Because I Live, Ye Shall Live Also," because it expresses in so many ways how I feel.  You can read it here.

I am grateful for my Savior and for His Atonement.  He knows exactly how I feel, and He won't leave me alone.  Times are tough, but it helps knowing there is someone all-knowing who understands.