What a Blessing!

So many people have told me I should write a book.  My story is unbelievable.  One lady even wrote to me that Max, Madden and Me should be a Lifetime movie.  Well, there is another piece to add to our truly unbelievable story.

After Madden died, we talked about adoption.  We figured we would give it a few years, then decide if we wanted to take that route.  Well, God had different plans. 

Soon after losing Madden, we found out a family member of ours was expecting a child.  For different reasons, she is unable to care for the baby, and asked us to adopt him.  Aaron and I discussed it and knew immediately that we would. 

Some people want to know what our intentions are...are we trying to replace our lost sons?  Do we just want a bigger family?  The simple answer is, he is a baby, he needs a home, we can provide it for him. 

He was due to be born in early August, but we got a phone call in the middle of the night this past week that she was in labor.  So, now I'd like to introduce you to our newest addition, Michael Benedict Machac.  We will be calling him Michael Ben, after our fathers.  We knew we would love him, but I had no idea how much.  He is absolutely perfect.  I will elaborate more in my next post, but for today, just know that Aaron and I are in love with Michael Ben and we can't wait to bring him home.  God is good!


Michael Ben Machac born July 10, 2013 at 5:07 am - 6 pounds, 11 ounces, 20.25 inches long

 

 

Such Wise Boys...

It's not easy being a parent.  There seem to be a million things you can do wrong that will affect who your child becomes.  I always worry that I am not treating them fairly or showing them enough love. 

I know that I am miles away from perfect, but my kids don't realize it.  Sure, every once in a while, I hear that I am "the meanest Mom ever!!"  But more often than not, my kids are telling me I am the "best Mom in the world!"  And they really believe that.  My oldest daughter, Maryn, in particular.  She tells me daily how blessed she is to have me for her mother.  It's nothing for her to tell me twenty times a day that she "love, love, loves" me. 

I am thankful that they think I am more good than bad.  I am also thankful that their minds don't focus on all my shortcomings as a mother, and that every morning they wake up thinking their Mom is the best.  But I don't have that with Max and Madden.

I feel that when the soul leaves the body, it becomes wiser.  It knows things that we don't know.  So now, I have these two sons in heaven, who are wiser than me.  They know all the mistakes I make as a parent.  They know I'm not the best Mom in the world.  And I don't like that.  I want them to be proud of me.  I want them to look at me interacting with my children and want to join in with us...smiling at the sight of our family dynamic, not cringing.

I know I'll never actually be perfect. But in my children's eyes, that's what I long for.  I hope to be the type of mother Max and Madden are proud of, at least...not disappointed in.  So I strive to be the best mother I can, not just for my living children, but for those who have passed as well. 

Another thing I worry about, having sons on the other side, is equal treatment.  Do I treat them equally?  Fairly?  Do I mourn them the same amount?  Do they both know that I love them the same?  It's the same thing I worry about with my living children.  Only Max and Madden know my thoughts.  They know my heart.

I worry that Madden feels shortchanged.  I admit that I think of Max more.  And I will even say I miss him more.  But that doesn't mean that I love Max more than I love Madden.  It doesn't mean I would choose Max over Madden.  It just means I was able to hold and love and bond with Max for five months before his passing.  I didn't get that with Madden.  We bonded, definitely.  But he was in my belly, keeping me awake at night.  I never got to see his smile, or hear his cry. 

I grieve them differently, but love them the same.  With Madden, I just feel robbed.  I'm at a loss for any understanding with his life and death.  It's hard for me to focus on him, because I'm afraid that his death was my fault.  I often wonder what I did wrong.  Did I work too much?  Lift too much?   Stress too much?  It's no doubt that it was my body that failed him.  So when I think of Madden, I beg for his forgiveness.  I pray that he knows how much I love him and feels the desire I have to hold him and kiss him again. 

With Max, I miss him so much.  But I feel more peace.  I know that his death wasn't my fault.  And I know that he felt love, his short time on Earth.  I have pictures, videos and memories of him.  I can look at them at anytime and see his smile.  I don't have that with Madden.

After Madden's birth/death, my family took a picture of him.  I haven't looked at it yet.  It's been seven months, and I still can't bring myself to look at the photo of my dead baby.  I have a vision in my head of his beautiful little face...I'm scared to change that, because it's all that I have. 

As I sit here and type this today, my tears are flowing.  Today, they are for Madden.  Actually, at this moment...they are for Madden.  Later, they may be for Max.  I hope it really doesn't matter to them who I am crying for, or who I am thinking of.  I know that they see my broken heart, and I'm sure they want me to heal. 

Max....Madden....if you're reading this, know that I love you both, miss you both and I can't wait to see you both again.  But in the meantime, I have got to be the "best Mom in the world" to your brother and sisters. 

Love,
Mom

 

"God loves each of us as if there were only one of us." -Saint Augustine

"They say that time in heaven is compared to 'the blink of an eye' for us on earth.  Sometimes it helps me to think of my child running ahead of me through a beautiful field of wildflowers and butterflies; so happy and completely caught up in what she is doing that when she looks behind her, I'll already be there." -Author Unknown

I know how you feel...

I haven't written in a long time, and I am starting to feel the effects of my silence.  So, although my house is a mess, the kids are playing outside and we have another baseball game today...I am choosing to sit down and write. 

Over the last month I have joined a couple of Facebook groups intended for parents who have lost a child.  There are so many of us.  Our group grows daily.  Everyone has a story.  Some lost babies, some have lost grown children.  Some lost their child suddenly, others lost their child to a long illness.  Everyone is different, but we are all the same.  We all have the same aching arms and broken heart.

I think of these people all the time.  There is one lady in particular that really touched my heart.  She lost her thirteen year old son in his sleep one night.    He prayed the rosary with his dad before bed and just didn't wake up the next morning.  The autopsy results revealed nothing, claiming he died of natural causes.  I think of this woman and her family and pray for them often.  To me, her grief seems unimaginable.  Losing her son the way she did, with no answer as to why....how do you get past that? 

I find myself comparing my story and my heartache to parents experiencing this same nightmare.  I know you are not supposed to compare your grief to the grief of others, but I think its something that we just naturally do.

When we first lost Max, we learned of another couple who lost their baby girl at birth.  The father of this baby girl graduated with Aaron and the boys are buried right next to her.  I remember questioning...which is worse?  Losing my seemingly healthy child at five months, or losing a child at birth?  In my mind, I weighed the advantages and disadvantages of each type of loss, never coming to a conclusion.  And now that I have lost Madden, I know there isn't an answer.  The losses are different, but one is not worse (or easier) than the other. 

I think of the parents who have lost their children suddenly in a car accident.  There are several local families that have had to deal with this type of tragedy.  Sometimes, I feel like I couldn't make it through that...but of course, there was a time when I thought I couldn't make it through the loss of a child at all.  So now, I just pray that God doesn't allow me to know this type of pain.

I used to get really upset when people would approach me and say, "I know how you feel."  While I am sure there are good intentions behind those words, they just aren't true.  My husband, who has been through the exact same tragedies as I, doesn't know how I feel.

I've heard, "I know how you feel, I lost my Grandfather last month."  Or..."I know how you feel.  I lost two babies too.  It was early in pregnancy, but they were still babies."  I'm sure all the color drained from my face as I heard these words and bit my tongue.  My instinct was to yell..."No!  You don't know how I feel!  I've lost my Grandfathers!  I've had a miscarriage!  It's not the same, you don't know how I feel!"  But thankfully, I kept my mouth shut. 

Please know that I completely understand that it is heartbreaking to lose anyone in your family.  And I know a miscarriage is the loss of life, hopes and dreams of a child that is loved at the moment of conception.  And through prayer, I have discovered that I was out of line.  While no one may know exactly how I feel, grief is universal. 

I was talking to Mother Mary in prayer one day.  I feel very connected to her.  I was telling her all our similarities.  We both lost our sinless sons on a Friday, I began to tell her..."Mary, I know how you feel."  And immediately, I felt shut down....I heard her say, "no, you don't."  So I began to elaborate more, but I heard her say..."unless your son is God, you don't know how I feel."  And I realized she was right.  Nobody will ever know how she felt.  We can identify with her pain, we can find comfort in knowing that we are not alone, but we will never know exactly how she felt. 

 

Just like Mary, our grief is unique to each of us.  We can find comfort in each other and hope through Christ. 

"It is a solace to the miserable to have a companion in their grief." ~Latin proverb


"Never be afraid of loving the Blessed Virgin too much.  You can never love her more than Jesus did." -St. Maximilian Kolbe

The Cemetery

It was time for us to plan a funeral for Madden, only months after losing Max.  It seemed to be easier this time...maybe because we knew what to expect, or possibly because it was a small, private ceremony.   At Max's funeral, I remember the long procession of family and friends.  The line seemed to be never ending.  One after another, they hugged us and cried for us.  Everyone was repeatedly telling us..."I'm so sorry."  I appreciated everyone's kind words and gestures, but it was hard to stand and face all those people. 

This time was different.  Most people didn't acknowledge our most recent loss.  I'm sure people just didn't know what to say....two losses within a year?  It's unimaginable...what do you say?

We had a nice, intimate mass at our home.  Every Sunday at church, we recite the words, "I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof...".  Never before have those words had so much meaning to me. 

The following day, we had a nice ceremony in the cemetery.   I remember being so sore, and so swollen.  I could barely walk.  I had to be assisted out of the car and helped to my seat.  I think I was still in shock.  I couldn't believe I was sitting there again...burying another son.  Madden was buried right above Max. 

While Father was speaking, I imagined two little boys.  They were young, maybe two and three years old.  They were wearing denim overalls, the older boy had a frog sticking out of his front pocket. They stood there looking at us, smiling, with their arms wrapped around each other.  They watched us awhile, and then took off running in circles, chasing one another...giggling and squealing.  It was so real to me...I can recall it so vividly.  I wondered at the time if it was my imagination, or if I had actually seen it. 

I often recall that image as I visit the cemetery.  They were so happy, and that's how I like to think of them.  I know many people find peace while visiting the cemetery.  I don't.  It's something very unnatural to me.  I hate to stand by my son's graves and think of their bodies lying six feet in the earth.  I have unreasonable questions..."are they hot?  can they breathe?"  I know it doesn't make sense, but that's where my mind goes...to the physical needs of my boys, even though they have no more physical needs. 

I visit the cemetery mostly out of duty...or if I feel like I need a really good cry.   I don't believe my boys are actually present there.  I feel more connected to them at Sunday mass than I do at their graves.   After sitting, praying and talking out loud in the cemetery, I usually stand up and say, "okay boys, let's go."  I truly believe they come with me, and leave with me. 

I am so thankful for my faith.  I know how difficult it is to think of the physical aspect of death.  Imagining my boys little bodies, lifeless in the ground, is nearly torturous.  Thank God I believe in more than the physical.  The spiritual aspect of death is refreshing, uplifting and full of hope.  If I didn't believe in the spiritual side of it, I don't think I could make it through the physical. 

"And do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul.  Rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell." -Matthew 10:28

"Fathers and mothers of families should bring up their children virtuously, looking at them rather as God's children than their own; and to count life and health, and all they possess, as loans which they hold of God." -St. Philip Neri

Beautiful Baby

Although my mind was foggy, I remember clearly the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes...Aaron's face.  He was sitting right beside me, praying for me to wake up...and crying.  He wasn't just crying, he was sobbing.

I knew that face.  I had seen that face many times since losing Max.  And on this day, on January 12th, I knew he wasn't crying for Max.  I looked down, and in his arms was our baby.  He was holding Madden, all bundled in a blanket, instinctively rocking back and forth.  And as he shook, I asked, "he didn't make it, did he?"  And he just shook his head, no. 

He said they worked on Madden for forty five minutes, and they just couldn't bring him back.  Once again, I found myself weeping uncontrollably in a hospital.  How could this happen?  How could tragedy strike our family again, and in such a short period of time?!? 

When Max died, I tried my best to stay positive...to trust in God.  And finding out I was pregnant with Madden, so soon after losing Max, made it easier for me to see God at work in my life.  But now...where was He?   What sense did this make?

Our family was there, crying, along with all the nurses and medical staff.  Our local priest came by, held Madden, blessed his little body and wept with everyone else.  The funeral home was called to come pick up our son.  We had a couple of hours with him before they arrived, and experience had taught me to hold your child as long as you can. 

And that's what I did.  I held him close.  I rocked him, kissed him and stroked his little face.  I didn't want to let him go.  He was so perfect...so beautiful.  Five pounds, eight ounces of perfect little boy.  As I write this, my arms ache for him.  I so badly want to be able to lay him on my chest, and smell his little head. 

They took me to the critical care unit, to be watched carefully overnight.  The last thing I remember in that room was Madden being taken from my arms.  I knew I had to let him go, oh...but God, I didn't want to.

They took him, and that was it.  I was left with no baby.  I had to stay several days in the hospital, to recover from my c-section, but I had no baby to care for.  My milk came in, ready to nurse my newborn son, and he wasn't there.  I had to deal with all the post pregnancy stuff, minus the baby.  It was a horrible time. 

Immediately, I thought of the story of Job.  In the bible, Job was a faithful servant.  Yet he was tempted time and time again to turn away from God.  His riches, his livestock, his family, his health...it was all taken from him.  But he never cursed God. 

I was angry with God.  How could He allow this to happen? 

But I found hope in Job's story.  It was satan who was tempting Job.  God allowed the temptations, but He knew He would win.  And He did, He was victorious...Job was victorious.  The book of Job teaches one really hard lesson...we have no right to question God, we have zero control and absolutely no power over Him.  Whatever happens, is going to happen.  You don't have a choice....go with it and continue to lean on your hope in the resurrection.  This is my motto, today and everyday.



"And I saw the river over which every soul must pass to reach the kindgom of heaven and the name of that river was suffering:  and I saw a boat which carries souls across the river and the name of that boat was love." -St. John of the Cross

"Then Job answered the Lord and said:  I know that you can do all things, and that no purpose of yours can be hindered.  I have dealt with great things that I do not understand;  things too wonderful for me, which I cannot know.  I had heard of you by word of mouth, but now my eye has seen you.  Therefore I disown what I have said, and repent in dust and ashes." -Job 42:1-6

A strong heartbeat...

**Just a little disclaimer before you start reading...this post is really not intended for people with a weak stomach.  It's pretty graphic...some probably need to skip this one (you know who you are.)  Also, pregnant women may want to reconsider before reading...**



We had a heartbeat...a good, strong heartbeat.  The doctor left for a minute to call my ob/gyn.  Aaron stepped out of the room to tell our family, who was waiting outside, that the baby's heart sounded great.  I heard them all cheer and praise God.  He came back in and stood by my bedside, and in an instant, it was gone.  Madden's heartbeat...155 beats per minute, Madden's heartbeat....silence.  There was never a sign of distress...just heart beating strongly, to heart stopped. 

I looked at the nurse, who was also a friend of mine, and told her I couldn't hear his heart.  She was very calm and responded, "don't worry, we'll find it."  She moved the monitor around...a little at first, to the left, to the right...lower , higher.  Then she started searching farther, moving it clear across my belly.  I knew that she couldn't find it, and I knew that she was starting to worry. 

The doctor stepped back in the room and she told him she was having a hard time finding the baby's heartbeat.  He checked me, blood gushed forward and he shook his head.  He stood up, took off his glove and told her to get the section kit.  I remember that she questioned him, "the C-section kit?"  I'm sure she was surprised.  We were in the labor and delivery room, not the operating room.  This was definitely no controlled environment..."the C-section kit?", I thought to myself as well. 

And within five minutes of arriving at the hospital, I watched the doctor insert a local anesthetic into my lower abdomen, three shots.  Then I watched as he began to slice my belly open in an attempt to save my son.

I wanted this more than anything.  I wanted Madden out.  I knew if he had a chance to survive, he needed oxygen, and the only way he was going to get it was by taking his first breath.  I wanted to be so strong.  I had planned on delivering Madden naturally, with no epidural.  But no amount of "hypnobirthing" classes could have prepared me for a C-section with no anesthesia.  I tried my hardest to be tough, but I moaned in pain.  It hurt, and my body instinctively took over. 

At some point, the anesthesiologist came.  It's a rural hospital, and he was on call.  So, it took him a while to get there, although he was driving 120 mph.  I'm not sure how far along in the procedure we were when he arrived, because he gave me something that would put me out, but also make me forget.  I don't actually remember any of the pain except for the first initial cuts and stretches. 

In an attempt to protect me, Aaron hasn't been very forthcoming with sharing any of the information with me.  He did tell me that he was holding my left arm down and at one point my right arm swung and entered into my incision.  I try to imagine it.  I picture a scene from the exorcist, Aaron standing there in his dirty work jeans trying to hold me down, while I possess what seems to be super human strength and the inability to control my actions.    I know my family could hear me screaming from outside the room, although I don't remember actually making those screams.  I am thankful for this drug that made me forget...I just wish Aaron could have gotten a little of it too. 

From what I'm told, the small labor and delivery room was swarming with people.  Another doctor showed up to help Madden.  I think there were four people working on him and another three people working on me.  I had lost a lot of blood and my blood pressure was dangerously low.  The doctor warned my family that there was a possibility of me losing my life.

That was the closest that I have ever been to death, and I find it very comforting that I wasn't scared.  Not once, since the bleeding started, had I worried for my own life.  I was consumed with thoughts of Madden, it never occurred to me that this was a grave situation for myself.  If I had died on that table, I would have considered that a peaceful death.  Maybe that's the magic of the drugs, but still I find it comforting.  At that moment, without a doubt, I would have laid down my life for my son. 



"Greater love has no one than this, that one lay down his life for his friends." -John 15:13


"I am attacked on all sides, yet I will not fear, for I keep myself strongly entrenched in my secure fortress  -- the Sacred Heart of my divine Master.  Like a wise leader, He deals out to me just strength sufficient for each occasion." -St. Margaret Mary Alacoque

Maybe, just maybe...

Lying on the couch, waiting for the ambulance...I had never hated living in the country more than I did at that moment.  It seemed like it took them an eternity to get to our house.  Our small town of Sheridan doesn't have their own ambulatory service, we use the county.  But we do have a small group of first responders.  These people arrive before the ambulance and attempt to provide help. 

When they arrived, they looked at me and immediately asked how far along I was.  I responded, "34 weeks and 5 days".    They were surprised.  They had been told I was 12 weeks along.  They tried to calm me down...put an oxygen mask on me.  But I just couldn't take it.  Here these people were...trying to help me and all I could think was "get out of my way!  I've got to go!  Where's the ambulance?!?" 

One of the ladies asked me, "Ma'am, is there a reason you won't leave the oxygen mask on?"  And totally out of character, I snapped back.."because I'm not an idiot!  I don't need oxygen!  I need to go!"

I laid there on the couch, looking at a large photo of Max that hangs next to the fireplace.  As I stared at his picture, the same lady commented, "It'll be okay.  The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away."  With tears in my eyes, I just shook my head and told her she didn't understand.  I'm a pretty calm, patient person.  But at that moment, if I hadn't feared harming my baby, I would have probably punched her in the nose. 

Once the ambulance finally arrived I felt some relief.  I knew we would be getting help soon.  The paramedic on the ambulance crew was great.  But again, it seemed like it took forever before we actually left the house.  He had to check all my vital signs, check my bleeding and start an IV.  Patiently, I prayed....God's will be done.  Everything was completely out of my control at this point. 

Aaron rode in the front of the ambulance and we flew down the highway towards Eagle Lake, lights flashing, sirens blaring.  In the back of the ambulance, the paramedic asked me if I would mind taking my shirt off.  I thought it was a funny question.  There I am, sitting with no pants or panties on, holding a bloody towel between my legs and he was kind enough to think I had an ounce of shame left in me.  When in reality, I would have marched naked through the streets if it had meant helping Madden survive. 

I was surprised how quickly we actually arrived at the hospital.  We must have been going really fast.  As we pulled in, there were people waiting to help us.  And I was so thankful...I saw a familiar face.  The on-call doctor was a family friend.  He knew us.  He knew our story.  And I knew he would do everything he possibly could to save our son. 

They wheeled us back to the labor and delivery room.  And I couldn't help but think..."this was the place that I did not want to be."  I chose to change doctors and to deliver Madden in Victoria because I didn't want to be in this room...the room where I delivered and first held Max.  But there I was...in the same exact room, in the exact same bed. 

I just kept telling them they needed to get the baby out.  All of the staff was calm.  They checked for the baby's heartbeat.  And they immediately found it.  His heart was beating strong.  There were no signs of distress.  The doctor knew I was bleeding a lot, but he had seen similar bleeding before, and the baby sounded good.  He called for an ultrasound technician and left the room to call my doctor.  And at that moment, I had hope.  And I found myself thinking once again..."maybe, just maybe."

Call 911!

Today, I woke up with Madden on my mind.  I always think of him and Max....pretty much constantly.  But this morning, my heart was focused on Madden, and in my first waking moments I replayed January 12th over and over in my head.  It was a horrible day...and I just want to warn you, if you are squeamish about blood or pregnancy related discussion, you may want to skip this post.

But up until that day, there were zero complications with my pregnancy.  Due to Max's heart condition, I was considered high risk, but there were absolutely no problems to speak of.  We had more ultrasounds performed than usual, specifically focusing on Madden's heart...particularly the thickness of the walls.  A fetal echo cardiogram was performed on Monday, January 7th.  Everything looked perfect.  We were assured his heart looked great and everything appeared perfect.

That week I went home and prepared Madden's room.  His due date was six weeks away and I finally began to let myself hope.  Friday night, Maryn had a couple friends spend the night.  I figured I'd spend a little extra time making each child happy before their new brother entered the world and consumed most of my time.  The girls played great together.  I took them home around lunchtime on Saturday...and everything was still normal. 

After getting home, I started to feel a little sick.  My belly hurt a little, I felt really tired...but it didn't seem like anything other than regular pregnancy discomfort.  I soaked in the bathtub and watched my belly move back and forth.  Madden...his usual self, kicking away. 

My parents came to get the three kids.  They planned on having them spend the night and giving Aaron and I a little time to relax together.  As soon as they left, I laid down on the couch to rest...still not feeling well.  And I have to say, it crossed my mind..."maybe I should call the doctor, maybe I should go get checked out." 

The kids had been gone maybe ten, or fifteen minutes before our world was shattered once again.  Aaron and I were on the couch together.  Him...watching TV, and me...just trying to get comfortable, when I felt a sudden gush of fluid.  Immediately I knew it was not normal, but I thought maybe my water had broken.  But when I reached down and saw my hand, I knew it was blood and I knew it was bad.  I didn't have to say a word.  Somehow, Aaron instinctively took his eyes off the TV and looked at my hand in the air and jumped off the couch. 

I began to panic.  I got up and ran to the bathroom.  I took off my pants and blood gushed out, all over the bathroom floor. I sat on the toilet, and it just wouldn't stop.  It was more blood than I could have ever imagined...and I don't even have the words to describe to you just how much it was. 

I knew right away that my placenta had abrupted.  And what's worse is that I knew my child couldn't survive without the oxygen provided by it.  I moved to the bathroom floor, sitting in a pile of blood, and I hoped.  Maybe I've dilated.  Maybe his head is low.  Maybe I can deliver him right here...right now.  I checked myself, but I could feel nothing. 

Immediately I began yelling to Aaron...."He's dead!  He's dying!  He's not getting oxygen...I'm going to lose the baby!"  And I remember Aaron  just asking, "what do I do?"  And this time, it was me telling him..."Call 911!  We have to go.  We need help!" 

I also remember Aaron calling out to Max.  It really caught me off guard.  He yelled out for Max in heaven to help us...to talk to God and help his baby brother survive.  And I just sat there...crying and praying and screaming...once again.  Aaron called his parents to come help.  They live right down the road and were there in minutes.  But there was nothing they could do either.  I grabbed a towel, put it between my legs, laid on the couch and waited.  Waited for the ambulance....waited for my baby...waited for an answer to my prayers. 



"Your Father knows what you need before you ask Him." -Matthew 6:8

"We always find that those who walked closest to Christ were those who had to bear the greatest trials." -St. Theresa of Avila

One day...

Madden was due to be born in February.  While I was excited to meet him, hold him and kiss him, I was content being pregnant and in no hurry to go into labor.  I just knew that this little boy was sent to help our family heal...it was the only thing that made sense to me.  I looked forward to mending my broken heart, but was also hesitant to let go of the heartache of losing Max.  I knew that Madden wouldn't replace Max, but I was afraid that I would start my new life with a new baby and my memories of Max would fade. 

As I mentioned before, it took me months before I could buy anything for Madden, and months before I could enter the bedroom that would soon be his.  I loved this baby.  I loved every kick and punch he could throw at me.  He was so very active, even kicking Aaron in the back as we slept one night. 

But it was difficult to prepare for his birth, while still clinging to every detail of Max's death.  But ready or not,  his due date was approaching fast,  and I had no choice but to begin preparations for his arrival.  So I bought a few clothes, sewed a few burp cloths, purchased new bedding, a new car seat and splurged on a nice diaper bag.  Slowly, I began to look forward to the birth of this child, this miracle.  But, there was still his room to deal with.

It was Max's old room.  Max actually rarely slept in his room, but it was all of his stuff...all of his belongings.  I wanted it to feel like a different room, in a different house.  So I decided to rip out the carpet and replace it with laminate wood flooring.  My in laws and I laid it ourselves, one plank at a time.  And once it was completed, it did feel different.  I no longer dreaded entering the room.  Once again, I could sit in this small bedroom and work without feeling sick to my stomach.  I was able to begin removing Max's items without bursting into tears.  We received a cedar chest from my husband's grandmother.  I placed Max's personal belongings inside, and began to make room for Madden's.  The second week in January, I finally completed his room.

We had our house for sell for nearly two years...before Max was even born.  After losing Madden, we decided to take it off the market.  To our surprise, two weeks ago, someone contacted our realtor.  They were interested in our home.  They came one Sunday and viewed our property, and the following Sunday we had a signed contract.  So now we are moving, and its very bittersweet. 

I have my memories of Max here.  This is where I was pregnant with Madden.  I know that the boys won't stay behind as we leave.  I'm positive they'll travel with us wherever we go.  But I am afraid of losing memories. 

However, I am looking forward to starting over.  In our new home, wherever that may be, I won't have a room that's off limits for everyone.  I won't have a bedroom that has to remain closed.  I won't look at the kitchen sink and remember happy bath time, or my closet and remember Max sleeping peacefully in his bassinet.  I can pack up all of my children's belongings, instead of just packing up the belongings of the child I lost.  I can leave this house...the house where my placenta abrupted, resulting in the loss of Madden.  I have the opportunity to let go of pain once again, but the real question is 'do I want to?'.   

What I want really doesn't matter.  I want my family to be complete.  I want to hold my babies once again.  I want us all to be together.  I want to feel normal.  I want to feel whole.  I want to rewind time...I want to fast forward time.  I want to scream, cry...disappear. 

No...none of it matters.  Regardless of what I want, time will tick on one second at a time.  I just have to live minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day....and trust in God's plan.  I believe one day I will feel whole, normal and complete.  On that day my soul will separate from my body and I will be exactly where I belong...where I am meant to be.  One day....



"My soul longs for your salvation; I put my hope in your word.  My eyes long to see your promise.  When will you comfort me?" Psalm 119: 81-82

"Let nothing trouble you, let nothing make you afraid.  All things pass away.  God never changes.  Patience obtains everything.  God alone is enough." -St. Teresa of Avila

He has risen...

Easter has already come and gone.  And it really wasn't easy for me to stay strong through the Easter holiday.  It was our first attempt at going to a family gathering since we lost Max.  The kids enjoyed it.  The company was pleasant.  But I was just so very uncomfortable, and I am sure some of our family members were too.  I don't know if I'll ever feel normal again, but I know I need to take steps in the direction of normalcy.  My kids deserve that.  My husband deserves that...and so do I.

Max in his Easter shirt last year. 

On the bright side, I have to say that Easter had more meaning to me this year than ever before.  No matter what you think of Jesus, you have to admit that he changed the world.  Some people believe He was just an eccentric magician.  History tells us that He was crucified, but the thing that people debate was His resurrection.

I choose to believe that His crucifixion alone wouldn't have started the movement that has resulted in Christianity as we know it today.  He was crucified as an attempt to silence Him.  But the result was the exact opposite.  His apostles were scared during His prosecution, and all but John hid during His crucifixion.  They were scared.  They denied Him.  But after His death, something changed.  They grew bold.  They became fearless.  And all of them, except John, were martyred for their cause.  They died proclaiming that Jesus was the Son of God. 

What changed from Jesus' crucifixion to their own deaths?  They believed.  They saw Him...and they believed.  They knew He had risen.  The Holy Spirit came down on them and they began to work miracles in His name and Jesus' church was formed.  With His guidance, twelve men started the Christian religion.  Twelve men gathered billions of followers that would believe for generations.  He wasn't a magician...He was God.  In my eyes, that's really the only explanation. 

I am so thankful for his resurrection.  Because He conquered death...I have no reason to fear it.  I look at the cross and I realize that I am not alone.  While God allows my suffering, He also allowed the suffering of His own son.  Jesus asked the Father to "let this cup pass", but God allowed it.  He doesn't even exempt Himself from excruciating pain...why would He exempt me?  I don't know why some people are chosen to suffer...or maybe it's completely random.  I don't know...but I know I'm not alone.

In every Catholic Church in the world, you can find a crucifix.  You will see a replica of the crucified Jesus hanging on the cross.  And until recently I never even knew that other religions disapproved of the crucifixes in our churches.  Someone recently said..."Jesus isn't on the cross anymore.  He has risen.  Why leave him up there?"  Well, when we look to the crucifix, we see more than punishment, more than pain.  It's not the nails and the blood we focus on, but the love.  It is a perfect way to show love.  Jesus taught us how to love when he took the nails on the cross...completely denying himself, trusting in God and doing what was best for others.  I look at the cross, and I wonder, could I have done this?  And I think...yes.  I could take the pain, the punishment, the humiliation.  For my children,  I could do anything.  But could I offer one of my children?  Could I offer one of them to help save many others...without a doubt, no.  No, I couldn't choose to give any of my children back to God, even if it meant saving my others.

Today, I am thankful that God makes decisions with with his divine mind, instead of like a small minded human. 

"Father, he said, 'if you are willing, take this cup away from me.  Nevertheless, let your will be done, not mine." - Luke 22:42

"If ever we are going to be made into wine, we will have to be crushed;  you cannot drink grapes.  Grapes become wine only when they have been squeezed.  I wonder what kind of finger and thumb God has been using to squeeze you, and you have been like a marble and escaped?" -Oswald Chambers

Free!!

Some of the best advice I ever got was from a woman who lost her son almost seventeen years ago.  She wrote me a very kind, thoughtful letter and she spoke of grief.  Her experience has taught her that everyone grieves differently.  People will expect you to act a certain way, but you won't be able to please everyone, you have to do what works for you...whatever helps you survive. 

Several people have suggested I speak with Michele, the mother of the two girls our community lost last week.  And I want to speak with her.  I want to hold her, cry with her, scream with her.  But I know that there is nothing I can say to take away her pain.  I can't say that it's going to get easier, because I don't know that it will.  I am only ten months into my grief journey, and in that ten months I have lost a second son.  I've heard it gets easier, but I don't feel that yet. 


Maryn and her dear friend Julie.

The only thing I know for sure, is her grief is her own.  She will grieve differently than I do.  Some cry, some laugh.  Some want to be alone, others want to be surrounded by people.  Some will quit their job while others will immerse themselves in work.  Some will run to their church and some will run away.  There is no wrong way to grieve the loss of a child. 

Most importantly, she will grieve differently than her husband does.  When we first lost Max, everyone felt inclined to tell Aaron and I about the divorce statistics associated with the loss of a child.  I imagine divorce rates go up even higher when you've lost two children.  And I can understand why people split up after tragedy.  You feel your own pain so intensely, and it hurts to look at your spouse and see their pain as well.  One spouse may blame the other, and forgiveness is hard to give when it comes to your children. 

The divorce stats don't mean a whole lot to me, but the best information I received was that Aaron and I would grieve differently.  He may not understand why I behave the way I do, and I may not understand him.  But we are both grieving and trying to cope.

Aaron would have people over here every night if he could.  He's social.  Me...not so much.  When he feels the need to be around people, I ask him to go to the neighbors, but sometimes he'll invite people over here.  And on more than one occassion, I have stayed in my room while he entertained company.  It's always family, so I don't feel like I am being too rude.  I expect them to understand. 


 

To tell you the truth, I'm at a point where I don't really care.  If you don't understand why I want to be alone,  oh well.  If your feelings get hurt because I won't look at your baby, I'm sorry.  I love you, I love your baby...but it hurts me, and I'm just trying to keep it together.  It actually feels good to be in this place.  I'm free.  I'm free to feel how I feel.  I don't care what people think.  I don't care what people say.  I no longer search for approval...I am free. 

Yesterday, at the end of the funeral mass, the priest prayed that we all have a desire to be with Jesus in heaven.  And I thought, "yes!".   That's what I have.  That's what Michelle and Ray will have.  We are free!  Free from fear of the devil.  Free from fear of death.  This is why Jesus came, to make us free. And I am FREE!!!  Are you?



"The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring glad tidings to the poor.  He has sent me to proclaim liberty to captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free" -Luke 4:18

"Grief is like a long valley, a winding valley where any bend may reveal a totally new landscape." -C.S. Lewis


Funeral Services in Hallettsville (Please continue to pray for this family)

Choosing to Believe

Everyday I have to make a choice...a choice to love, a choice to trust, a choice to believe in God.  Frequently I am reminded just how fragile life really is, and my questions return.  In the midst of tragedy, children have questions, but I think it's much easier for them.

Yesterday I reminded my children that although someone's body is dead...their soul lives on.  And they just looked at me and Maryn replied, "Mom, why are you telling me this again?  I know all of that."  And she really does.  She has that childlike faith that we are all called to have.  She doesn't have to make the choice daily...it is something that she just knows - just as she knows that she is in the first grade.  It's a fact to her. 

I have to make the choice.  I have to believe in God because its the only way any of this life makes any sense to me.  I have to acknowledge that I don't have all the answers...and that as long as I am on this Earth, I will never know 'why?'.

I've heard people say "trust in God. He will take care of you." While this is true, we need to be open to the fact that he may not take care of us the way that we see fit. I think of the black plague. In the 1300's, millions of people were killed by this awful disease. Millions! Where was God at this time? He was there. He saw it all. Once again, He allowed it to happen. We don't know why. We don't understand it. We just know we live in a broken world, and bad things happen every day.  I have to choose to trust in God, because He is the only one that understands the big picture. 

In his "Catholicism" series, Father Robert Barron references a popular painting, "A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte" by Georges Seurat.  The artist created this painting using a long paintbrush.  And instead of strokes, he used dots...many, many, many dots.  From a distance, they appear unified and create a beautiful picture.  But up close, you just see plain, ugly dots.  That's where we are in life.  We are one dot of many.  We don't understand how our pain and suffering works with others, but God does.  He is the artist.  He sits back and sees how beautifully all of our stories fit together.  We just have to trust Him. 

I know that when I pray, when I turn off the TV, walk away from my phone and sit in the silence...that's when I feel peace.  Some would say I'm just being naive, but this peace is what's helping me make it through the day.  Something happens to me when I pray.  Questions are answered, doubts are squashed. 

So many people confuse doubt with unbelief.  They are not the same.  There is an open-minded uncertainty of doubt, while unbelief is closed-minded certainty.  God won't honor doubt, and doubt is serious.  But doubt can lead to deepened faith as easily as it can break down to unbelief.

I believe that prayer is magical.  In prayer, something happens that makes me certain that there is an after life.  Something happens that makes me know that I am more than just flesh and bones. I am a soul.  There's more to this life than I know.  My human understanding is so limited.

Yesterday I prayed so hard...cried so hard, screamed and demanded that Max and Madden show themselves to me.  I needed proof.  Proof they were near.  Proof there was a God.  I didn't see them, I didn't receive any type of sign.  But after throwing my tantrum, I felt it...peace.   I can't really explain it, but I know my desire for "proof" was gone.  I often beg for something supernatural to take place...a vision, a voice, a mystical presence.  But who knows how I would actually handle that?  God does, and I know, God will give me what I need.

"For I do not seek to understand that I may believe, but I believe in order to understand.  For this also I believe:  that unless I believe, I will not understand." -Saint Anselm

"Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding" -Proverbs 3:5

Prayers Please

Uggghhh...I am so mad!  I am so sick.  I need to throw up...really. Today, one of Maryn's best friends died from her injuries sustained in a car accident on her way to school this morning.  And I just got a phone call from the school that her sister, a third grader in Morgan's class, just passed from her injuries.  Will this grief ever stop? 

As soon as I found out, I dropped to the ground...screamed, cried, begged for this all to be a dream.  Everyday I pray for any parents who will lose a child that particular day, because I know it happens every day...all over the world.  But why?  Why to these good people...so close to home? 

My kids saw the accident on their way to school, but didn't realize who was involved.  Aaron brought my kids home from school after hearing the news.  I hugged them each, as tight as I could.  I spoke to Maryn, and told her the good thing is her friend is in heaven.  She replied, "well it's not good for me."  What could I say, but "I know, it's not good for me either."

I am so upset right now.  I have learned that the people in the midst of the most unimaginable circumstances manage somehow to cope.  They will muddle their way through one day at a time.  It's the people on the outside, looking in that question God and get angry.  That's where I am right now...angry.

I so badly wish I could take their pain away, absorb it into mine.  I know without a doubt, there are no words that you can say to make them feel better.  They don't want to hear about "God's will", "God needing another angel" or "everything happening for a reason".  Please don't tell them you know how they feel...because even I sit here and can't imagine what they are going through. 

These two small girls, their lives and their deaths, greatly effect our small Catholic School.  And their poor mother who survived the car accident...I'm sure she is wishing for death.  Part of me is tempted to pray for that for her.  I wish there was something I could do, something I could say.  But experience tells me that there is not.  The only thing I know to do is pray.  Pray for their parents, their siblings, their grandparents.  Pray for their friends, their classmates, their cousins.  As angry as I am right now, it is still the only thing I know to do.  And I still truly believe in the power of prayer...even though I don't understand it.  So today I write to ask you to pray with me.  Please raise this family up in prayer along with Sacred Heart Catholic School.  Take a moment, speak to God, lift them up in prayer. 

I'm sorry I can't end this on a more uplifting note and I don't have any words of wisdom...just begging for prayers from each of you.  Thank you!

Robyn

Stations

Before I begin to write, I always pray.  I pray that I say the right things, to touch the right people.  I feel like people that are in a position to bring souls to Christ, or turn them away, are held to a higher standard on judgement day.  And whether I like it or not, I've been placed in this position.  So the last thing I want to do is make anyone think twice about Jesus and his miraculous resurrection. 

But when I prayed today, I felt the desire to share something I wrote down several years ago.  My initial thought, was "No...don't share that.  It doesn't have anything to do with your story.  People may not understand what you are saying.  They may not like it and may stop reading altogether."

With all of my negative thoughts telling me not to share it, I couldn't shake the feeling that I should.  So after much deliberation, here goes.  Maybe this message is intended for one specific person to read.  Maybe it's you...

This is something that occured to me one Friday during lent several years ago, before Max was even born . After stations of the cross in Eagle Lake, we sat for a while in adoration.  During this time, I asked God - "Why?  Why did you create us God?  You knew all the bad things that would happen.  You knew every sin that would be committed, every disappointment by every single person on Earth.  Why not just save yourself the heartache?" 

And as a reply, I heard - "If you knew everything your children would ever do wrong in their lives...everything to make you worry, to disappoint you, to anger you...would you have chosen not to have them?"

Wow!  Of course not!  There is nothing my children could ever do to make me wish I had not had them.  Never, ever!  If given the choice I would still want to give birth to all my children, Max and Madden included.   My love for them is unconditional. 

Aha!  I see...his love for us is unconditional.  He loves us so much, even when we do wrong, he loves us.  Wow!

So then I started to think about the stations of the cross.  He loved us so much, he gave up his only son.  Okay...but how does that relate to my love for my children.  Well, I was willing to go through body changing pain in order to bring them into the world.  So I compared childbirth to the stations of the cross. 

Station 1:  Jesus is condemned to death.  I find out I'm pregnant.  Both are lifechanging, yes.  But Jesus is given death and he suffers in silence.  Our family is given a new life and we proclaim the good news to all that we know.

Station 2:  Jesus accepts his cross.  Jesus carries the weight of our sins on the cross, quietly knowing that this will result in salvation.  I carry extra weight due to the baby growing inside me.  I suffer, yes, but not quietly.  Everyone will know my aches and pains.

Station 3:  Jesus falls the first time.  He was jabbed and prodded to get up.  With dignity and no retaliation, he got up and continued on.  Me, I begin to have contractions.  I think "oh no, get me to a doctor fast.  Make them stop."

Station 4:  Jesus meets his mother.  Her support comforts him, yet her grief increases his sorrow.  I meet my doctor at the hospital.  I'm getting anxious but excited.

Station 5:  Simon helps carry the cross.  Jesus is in such pain and he needed help.  My help - an epidural.  No pain...only peace for me. 

Station 6:  Veronica wipes Jesus' face.  She showed him love wiping blood and dirt from his face, bringing little comfort.  I have a nurse available for my every whim...any ache, any pain, any problems.

Station 7:  Jesus falls the second time.  With every fall reopening wounds.  Oh...the pain.  Me - contractions are stronger, more productive, but little to no pain. 

Station 8:  Jesus speaks to the women.  Jesus told them to weep for themselves and for their children instead of him.  I speak to our family.  They wait outside the door to meet the newest family member. 

Station 9:  Jesus falls a third time.  Exhausted, dire stress, intense pain - yet continues to pick up his cross and go on.  For me, contractions are maxed out, most productive.  Still little pain, dilation complete. 

Station 10:  Jesus is stripped of his garments.  Humiliating.  My legs are placed in the stirrups - also humiliating.

Station 11:  Jesus is nailed to the cross.  Nails pierced his body and pain jolted through it.  It is time for me to push.  Pushing is pain with purpose.  Probably what Jesus thought of his horrible pain.

Station 12:  Jesus dies on the cross.  A baby is born.

Station 13:  Jesus is taken down from the cross.  The nails that killed him are removed and he is laid in his mother's arms.  My baby is cut free of the placenta - the placenta that sustained his life for all those months, and placed in my arms. 

Station 14:  Jesus is laid in the tomb.  Mary kissed her son for the last time before leaving the tomb.  My baby is placed in a small portable crib and I kiss him for the first time. 

Station 15:  Jesus is resurected.  He is raised from the dead and eventually to his home in heaven.  Baby and I leave the hospital and head home to begin our new life.

When I think of the great contrast between what Jesus went through at each station and each step of childbirth, I see that my experiences pale in comparison...by a lot.  Again, in my conversation with God, I come to the realization of the great difference between his sufferings and mine...multiply that by a million.  That's how much greater his love is for us.  I know how much I love my children...to imagine he loves us that much more blows my mind.  God's love is so much stronger than human love - again, wow....

Fearless

From care free to worry wart.  That's me.  Mabry was sick the past few days.  A year ago I would have said "shake it off", or "you just need rest".  Today when my child has a fever, my mind automatically thinks the worst.  I prepare myself for cancer...I imagine the possibility of losing another child.  But today, she is better.  So I thank God and beg him to keep her that way. 

One afternoon I walked by Morgan who was lying peacefully on the couch.  I glanced at him and I thought he was dead.  He didn't appear to be breathing.  I touched his head, and it was clammy and cool...similar to how Max's head felt the last time I held him.  I was afraid Morgan's heart had stopped in his sleep. (This was before we got the results from his echo cardiogram.)  I grabbed him and he was startled awake.  I gave him a hug, rolled him over and he fell back asleep.  I went in my room and wept.  Would I ever be normal again?

I am very aware that my suffering could get worse.  Losing a child doesn't keep my other children safe.  We all suffer, but inexplicably some are called to suffer more than others.  Will I lose another child?  Will I lose my husband?  Will I get sick and leave them all behind?  All questions that haunt me every day.

I wouldn't say I worry about these things, but I definitely pray about them daily.  I do everything in my control to keep everyone healthy, but sometimes things are not in my control.  That's a difficult thing for anyone to realize...especially a Mom.  Sometimes we have no control, no power. 

While I was pregnant with Madden I kept my guard up the entire time.  I was hesitant to buy him anything or to prepare his nursery.  When I spoke of him, I would always begin with the word 'if'.  "If God allows us to raise him..."  "If we bring Madden home..." 

This past December, I hung all of our stockings on the mantel, just like I do every year.  We decided to hang Max's stocking along with everyone else's.  Throughout the Advent season, we wrote notes and prayers to Max. The kids also drew and colored him pictures.  We placed them in his stocking and eventually burned them all in the fireplace...sending the smoke to the heavens.  After Christmas, I asked Aaron if I should go ahead and buy Madden a stocking.  They are on sale after Christmas...it made sense to buy it.  But I didn't want to jinx myself.  I didn't want to presume he would be able to enjoy it.  Aaron told me to buy it anyway..."no matter what happens with Madden, you will want to hang his stocking."  He was right, but I haven't bought it yet. 

 

Our elf, Melvin, wishing Max a happy birthday.

The only way to be safe from the dangers of losing someone you love, is to love no one.  The more you love...the more you are at risk.  The larger your family...the larger the danger.  But what is life without people to love?  To me, that would be hell.  Today, I choose to love with my whole heart.  If it is broken again...oh well.  I remind myself that pain is temporary, but love is eternal.  Everyone knows the scripture, "as it is, these remain: faith, hope and love, the three of them; and the greatest of them is love" I Cor. 13:13.   Have you ever wondered why the greatest is love?  Father Robert Barron explained, when in heaven, there is no need for faith and hope, but love remains.  Your faith and hope are rewarded in heaven when you see the face of God..but love remains. 

I can't make my decisions based on fear.  I don't want to be hurt anymore than I already am, but I can't be afraid to live life...to enjoy life.  There is a song that we sing in church that is guaranteed to bring tears to my eyes every time.  I imagine Jesus talking to Max, "Be not afraid.  I go before you always.  Come follow me and I will give you rest."  Jesus is talking to me too - "Be not afraid."

"Do not let your hearts be troubled.  You trust in God, trust also in me." -John 14:1

"Pray, hope and don't worry.  Worry is useless.  God is merciful and will hear your prayer" -St. Padre Pio

Stuff...

I used to enjoy shopping.  I don't anymore.  I'm tired of buying stuff.   Stuff I don't need, stuff I don't have room for, stuff to impress people...it's silly.  Materialism has always been a sin I have struggled with.  Compulsive purchasing, overspending and a failure to give generously are bad habits that I was conscious of, but didn't really have a desire to change.  Max's death has changed this about me.  While I won't say I am cured of this sin, I will say that I care about stuff a lot less. 

When I do go shopping, I notice every baby...every stroller.  Although Max is always on my mind, his absence hurts more when I am in the presence of other babies.  I look at them and wonder, "Is he walking?  Does he sleep good?  Is he a momma's boy?"  All things I would know about Max if he was still alive.  I hate those questions...mostly because I can never answer them. 

I hate walking by the baby section.  The diapers, the wipes, the baby food...all hurtful reminders of my loss.  But we had a baby on the way, and I would have to walk those aisles soon. 

One day, after an orthodontist appointment, Morgan and I ran into Target for a few items.  He's not much of a shopper.  He hates it, in fact.  But that day, he had a request.  He wanted to shop for the new baby.  "Mom, can we buy some outfits for Madden?"  The question caught me off guard.  I hadnt' bought anything for the new baby.  The last several months, I had sprinted past the baby section.  Now, he wanted me to go in there...to actually look at the clothes, to touch them?

If Morgan hadn't asked me to shop for Madden, I don't know when I would have gotten up the nerve to do it.  We entered the baby section and Morgan instantly found items that he liked.  I taught him how to look for the right size and I let him pick out several items for his new brother. 

The longer we were shopping, the easier it got.  I loved this baby in my womb.  I allowed myself to dream of his face, without guilt.  My love for Madden would not change my love for Max.  While my heart was broken, Madden knew nothing of what had happened before him.  He deserved all my love. 

I made a decision at that moment.  I would be the best mother I could possibly be to this new baby.  Once he was born, I planned to hold him all day.  I was never going to leave him.  We would do everything together.  He was going to be a momma's boy.  I decided to breastfeed him...something I hadn't done with my first children.  I made a decision to pass on the epidural...something I had done with all my other children.  I began "hypnobirthing" practices.  I was determined to show nothing but love to this child.  I didn't want to have any regrets. 

I do have regrets with Max.  I regret that I ever let him cry.  I regret every minute I didn't spend with him.  I regret that I didn't take more pictures and videos.  I pray that he never, ever doubted my love for him.  And I am thankful today that his soul can see my tears...can see my heart and knows that I love him more than words could ever express. 

But notice, I don't wish I had given him more stuff. I don't regret not buying him more clothes, more toys, more shoes.  Death makes it very clear...that's not how you show love.  I am thankful for this realization. 

My pain can't stop me from living my life.  I have to go on.  I have to be a mother and a wife.  I have to be the best I can be...for my family.  I can't stay stuck in the past.  I need to appreciate the present, because I don't want to have anymore regrets in the future.  Today, I will appreciate the moment and smile through the tears.

"He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds." -Psalm 147:3

"It is not wrong to want to live better;  what is wrong is a style of life which is presumed to be better when it is directed toward 'having' rather than 'being'." -Blessed John Paul II

That's a long time...

Sometimes I close my eyes, and I would swear that Max is sitting here next to me.  I know his soul...and I don't doubt it connects with mine frequently.  I imagine that anyone who has lost someone close to them, even if they don't believe in an afterlife, feel this undeniable presence every once in a while.

I have pictures of Max and I together, both of us smiling happily.  You know, since Max died, I rarely take a picture when the right half of my face isn't blurry.    I thought it was just a fluke..but it happens too frequently.  It's only my face, no one else.  It happens at home...not when we are away.  There may be a scientific explanation, but I choose to think...maybe it is Max.  Maybe he is with me...smiling happily. 

Max in his usual spot..on my right. 

 


 

One of many "blurred face" photos

I miss Max so very much.  I try to remind myself that our separation is temporary.  I take it day by day.  I ask myself...can I get through the day without seeing Max...without holding him?  Yes...I can make it through this day.  Don't ask me if I can make it a week, a month, a year...that seems impossible.  But can I make it through this day?  Yes. 

 

A friend of mine once shared a story with me that I found comforting.  She told me of a woman who lost her fiance.  She dreamed of him.  She noticed he was wearing shorts one day, long sleeves the next.  She asked him what it was like...cold or hot?  He replied..."it's neither hot nor cold...it's perfect."  Then she asked him if he missed her.  And this is what I love...he answered, "Not really.  I feel like I just saw you yesterday, and I will see you tomorrow." 

 

Isn't that beautiful?!?  Our loved ones don't miss us...don't long for us.  They are completely happy being where they are...nothing but joy.  Our human minds only know time.  We can't begin to imagine a world where there is no such thing as a minute, an hour, a day.  To many people, heaven sounds boring.  Nobody wants to do anything for an eternity.  An eternity is so long!  Yes...it is, according to time, but there is no time in heaven.  There's nothing but carefree timelessness. 

 

In his "Be a Man" book, popular speaker and author, Father Larry Richards, illustrates eternity beautifully. 

 



If you live to be one hundred years old, your time on Earth would be equivalent to taking the smallest part of an atom and reducing it by a billion.  It's not much time at all, just a blink of an eye!

But eternity can be compared to when a man goes to the beach at Lake Erie, bends down, takes one grain of sand, one tiny, itty-bitty grain of sand, and he slowly takes one step.  It takes him ten thousand years to take one step and another ten thousand years to take another step.  This man starts slowly walking and it takes him a billion years to get to the top of Mount Everest, he drops one grain of sand and slowly, at ten thousand years a step, walks back to the lake.  It takes billions of years to get back to Lake Erie, and there he starts the process again.  When this man has taken every grain of sand from every single place on Earth - the bottom of all lakes, to the bottom of all oceans, the bottom of all little streams - and he slowly walks back, and when he has every grain of sand at the top of Mount Everest, then eternity is just beginning.  It's just beginning.   Yet, what we do in this little time on Earth determines where our eternity will be.  Our time on Earth is nothing, yet eternity is everything.
 

I try my best to choose my actions based on this belief.  Many people will say, "Life is short!  Live it up!"  I guess it just depends on how you view it.  I think, eternity is long, live for God.  We are all sinners.  Yes, but that doesn't mean we need to accept our imperfect state.  Jesus himself commands us, "you must therefore be perfect, just as your heavenly Father is perfect." Matthew 5:48

Our God is merciful, but His mercy is not a reason to sin.  Rather, His mercy is a reason for us to conform our lives to His will.  Living the life God wants for me is a struggle every day and I often fail.  But I imagine it's a million times easier than trying to live my life without Him.  I pray that when I meet God face to face, He will give me a hug, and tell me "Well done, faithful servant.  Well done."


"Simply believing in the existence of God is not exactly what I would call a commitment.  After all, even the devil believes that God exists!  Believing has to change the way we live." -Mother Angelica

"Whatever happens, conduct yourselves in a manner worthy of the gospel of Christ." Philippians 1:27



Lead me...

One night, as we laid in bed, I cried and asked "why?"  Why would God give us Max only to take him away?  How could he have possibly lived out God's purpose for his life in only five short months? 

My husband surprised me with his wisdom.  He responded to my question..."what do you mean?  The purpose of life is to get to heaven and to bring others closer to God.  That's exactly what Max has done."

I knew he was right.  I missed my son, but he is in heaven.  And his death has led many others to reconsider their relationship with God. 

Originally, I imagined that if Aaron and I arrive in heaven, God will point to other souls and say, "See?  These souls were saved because Max joined me early, because they attended his funeral mass and repented.  They are here because of your pain."  But now I am starting to think, maybe it us, Aaron and I.  Maybe it's our souls He still longs for.  Maybe He wants to bring us closer to Him.  We thought we were doing plenty for God, but all of a sudden we see how to do more.  Our days are consumed with talks of God and prayer.  I pray the rosary like never before.  It's a special time for me with Max and Mary.  I imagine her holding him and loving him like only a mother could, as she tells me about the different mysteries of her son's life. 

I have always longed for a relationship with Mother Mary...and now, my baby Max is leading me to her.  You see, Mary and I are in the same club.  A club neither one of us wanted to join, but nonetheless, we are members.  Mothers who have lost their sons - what a sad group, right?  But how did Mary deal?  Granted she got to see her son rise from the dead, but oh the brutality she witnessed that horrible Friday.  Max died on a Friday too.  Mary and I are linked forever.

I know that many people reading this are uncomfortable discussing Mary, her role in the church is viewed as controversial by many.  But I am a Catholic...and I honor Mary.  I don't worship her, I honor her.  Who is closer to Jesus than His own mother?  We all agree that she is the mother of God...I'd say that's pretty special.  We know Jesus was sinless, honoring his mother and father as the commandment instructs.  We are also called to live as Jesus...so if Jesus honored Mary, shouldn't I?

I don't worship statues, the pope or saints either.  I worship Jesus...the trinity, Father, Son and Holy Spirit....nothing more.  Contrary to popular belief, I do not believe that my works can bring me salvation.  I know that Jesus is the only reason I will ever be saved.  I am not looking for a debate, but I often feel attacked because of my faith.  So I just wanted to clarify these few points.  Being a Catholic is a big part of who I am, so my blog is going to reflect this.  Like most of you, I am a Christian and we all serve the same God.  I am not attempting to convert anyone...just writing about my own personal faith through the loss of my children. 

I read somewhere that Mary's job for God is twofold...she delivered Jesus to the world, and she delivers us to Him.  I pray that Max leads me to Mary, and Mary leads me to Jesus.

"And having come in, the angel said to her, "Rejoice, highly favored one, the Lord is with you;  blessed are you among women." Luke 1:28

"Apart from the cross there is no other ladder by which we may get to heaven." -St. Rose of Lima

Memories

The first few days after we lost Max, I was in a daze.  People were visiting and calling.  I did my best to avoid it all.   I just wanted to be alone...in my bed.  My cousin came to our house and spent the day cleaning and doing laundry.  I just sat and watched...which is totally out of my character.  I watched as she picked up Max's swing and high chair and put them in his room.  His baby food, formula and bottles were packed up and placed in his closet.  In a day's time, everything that belonged to my son was removed from my sight and placed in his room.  The door was shut and I didn't go in for a long time. 

I just couldn't bring myself to go inside.  Often, I would come across one of his bottles, pacifiers or outfits.  Always with tears, I would crack open his door, place his items inside and quickly shut the door once again.  It literally took me months before I could enter. 

I started with small steps....leaving the door cracked, then completely open.  Initially, I would glance in from the hallway for a split second.  As time progressed I found myself standing at the door, looking in.  Still not entering, but scanning the room. 

At the time, I couldn't imagine how I could remove Max's items to make room for a new baby.  Was I supposed to just take down his name and put a new name on the wall?  It just didn't seem natural to me.  It still doesn't.  But a baby was on its way, and Max was no longer here. 

 

I knew I wanted to do something special to honor Max.  The last thing I wanted to do was pack up his belongings and place them in a tub in the attic.  So, I started with his clothes.  He had so many clothes.  Even though we were having another boy, I wasn't comfortable saving Max's clothes for the new baby.  Many of his clothes had special memories and I wanted to preserve those. 

 

So one day, I finally did it.  I bit the bullet and entered Max's room.  I just sat inside for a few moments and looked around.  I touched his changing pad, picked up his Boppy pillow and smelt his blanket.  I don't think I have ever cried so hard.  I could smell him.  Every memory was very vivid.  I could remember his smile...his laugh...his cry

. 

A big fear of mine is that I will forget.  Will I forget the way he felt in my arms?  Will I forget how it felt to cuddle my nose around his neck or to smell his sweet milk breath?  I never heard him speak.  I don't know what it sounds like for his voice to yell my name.  But I know his cry and the way he "talked" to the kids and the dogs.  Will I forget?  I pray that I never lose these memories...never.  In a weird way, they are painful, yet comforting at the same time. 

 

I sat down with his clothes.  It took me all afternoon to sort through them all and decide which ones were the most important to me.  I found a lady online who makes memory quilts.  Through a complete leap of faith, I sent her my most treasured items...Max's clothes.  I packed them up and prayed that they would arrive in South Carolina safely and be returned as a beautiful blanket. 

After several weeks, the quilt was created and returned to me.  I was hesitant to open the box.  But what I found inside was exactly what I hoped it would be .  Every outfit was preserved perfectly.  The entire front of the quilt was made of Max's personal items.  I touched each one, remembering his plump little body filling them out.  I smiled...I cried.  The quilt is now laid across our bed.  I see it everyday... and remember. 

Today, I thank God for my memories of Max...the good ones and the bad. 




Max's Quilt (designed by Lauryn at "Heart and Sew")

 

 

 

"He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there shall be no more death or mourning, wailing or pain, (for) the old order has passed away." -Revelation 21:4



 

"The span between life and death can be as quick and sudden as a puff of wind that blows out a candle.  But the candle does not suffer after darkness comes.  It is the person left in the dark room who gropes and stumbles." -Helen Duke Fike