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

 

 

It's a sign!

As I sit here typing, I believe Max is with me.  I don't know how heaven works, or where it is...but I believe Max is there, yet he is still here.  I know it doesn't make sense, but I just know it.  Some days, I can really feel his presence.  I once read somewhere, "if you think it's a sign, it is.  Don't doubt it."

Soon after Max died I couldn't go anywhere without hearing his name.   Aaron and I travelled to a grocery store an hour away.  We avoided the local one because we didn't want to run into the people we knew.  When it was time to check out, we had more than twenty checkout lines to choose from.  We began to unload our cart and the cashier hollered at the guy next to her to come help..."Max!"  Aaron and I just looked at each other and smiled. 

Another time I was out shopping by myself.  It was my first outing since losing Max.  I thought a little shopping trip would make me feel better...it didn't.  I was in Hobby Lobby.  I stopped and looked at a little boy.  He was probably six or seven years old.  He was following his mom and sister.  But for some reason, he stopped and looked at me.  We were standing there looking at each other, with his mom and sister walking away.  His mother soon looked back, saw me staring at her child and yelled, "Max, come on!"  She probably thought I was some strange woman, but I was tempted to ask her if she was a Christian, because I was certain God was working through her. 

Both of these instances happened within days of each other.  And I know it may not seem like much, but it spoke to me.  I knew my Max was talking to me.  Both of those ladies could have just said, "come here", but they spoke his name.  I could have chosen any cashier at the store, or any aisle at Hobby Lobby, but I was at the right place at the right time to hear my son's name.  Yes...if you think it's a sign, it is. 

Probably a month before his death, I was changing Max on the changing table in his room.  A thought entered my mind.  "If Max died, you would be okay.  He's a baby, you haven't had him very long.  You would be okay."  As soon as the thought entered my mind, I pushed it out.  No...I thought.  I picked him up and squeezed him tight.  Why did that thought cross my mind?  I couldn't have possibly thought I would be okay if I lost my baby.  Why would such a thing even present itself to me...unless it was God.  But then I got worried.  Was this God asking me for my permission?  Did I give it to Him?  No..if Max dies I will not be okay.  No!  What kind of mother even thinks this?!?  Did I will this?  No!  I would never!  I would do nearly anything to have him back.  I am not okay! 

Today, as I look back on that moment, I believe that something spoke to me in that bedroom.   I can't say who or what it was exactly, but I know that I can look back and know that there are supernatural things that occur in this world that we just can't understand.   Maybe I was presented with that thought just so I could receive this consolation today.  

One night while praying before bed, I begged God.  Please let me know that Max is okay, that he is happy, and that I will see him again.  I said this over and over.  That's all I need to know.  He's okay.  He's happy.  I am going to see him again.  That night, I had a dream.  I remember it like it actually happened. 

I was sitting in front of the Blessed Sacrament.  I was reading a book.  Whatever I read, made me realize Max is okay.  I looked up with tears in my eyes and I whispered, "Max is okay." 

There was a blond headed lady with a headband on, sitting next to me.  She was actually lying on the floor, reading a book by candlelight.  As I whispered, "Max is okay", she looked at me and said, "Robyn, Max is happy and you are going to see him again."

"What?" I hollered.  "Why did you say that?"

She answered me, "I don't know.  I just know I am supposed to tell you, Max is happy and you are going to see him again."

I was ecstatic.  I knew that God had talked to me. I know it was just a dream, I'm not crazy, but it brought me such peace.  As I woke up, I still felt that way.  God had talked to me.  In my dream, God had answered my prayer.  And I firmly believe that Max is okay, Max is happy and I am going to see him again. 

I spent some time thinking about this dream...trying to figure out the identity of this blond headed lady.  I knew her, but I couldn't pinpoint exactly who she was.  After mentioning it to several people, my Mom asked me, "could it be Aaron's Aunt Miranda?"  Aunt Miranda died in her forties.  She was Aaron's Godmother.  He loved her very much.  The more I thought about it, the more I knew...it was her.  It was Aunt Miranda.  I had only met Aunt Miranda once.  But this was a younger version of Aunt Miranda.  It was her, telling me that Max is happy and I am going to see him again.  The more I think about it, the more I am convinced.  Wow...another gift!

"To you in your bed there came thoughts about what should happen in the future, and he who reveals mysteries showed you what is to be." -Daniel 2:29

"Pain is never permanent." - St. Teresa of Avila