God...He's Pretty Smart

I love when you can see God's plan in action!  I don't think most of us can see God at work in our lives.  We just kind of know that He is there, and assume "everything happens for a reason".  While I have had more grief than most, I also feel more blessed than most.  Yes, I have a great husband, beautiful children, a wonderful family, but I'm most thankful for my relationship with God...I feel Him, I long for Him, I have seen Him at work. 

Several years ago, I was teaching the confirmation CCD Class.  It was time for my students to choose their Saint name.  We discussed different saints and they asked who I chose as my confirmation saint.  Ashamed, I answered, "Rachel."  I explained to them that I chose Rachel for one reason...she began with the letter 'R'.  My name at the time was Robyn Renee Rucka, so my saint had to be Rachel.  (Stupid, I know.)  I knew nothing about her.  There was actually a question as to whether she even was a saint.  The Old Testament biblical representations of Rachel are not flattering.  So needless to say, I wish I had chosen more carefully.  But what I didn't know at that time, God did.  He knew what I would suffer, and he knew Rachel would be perfect for me.  The week after I lost Max, I flipped open my bible to a random page, and this is what I read,

"Yahweh says this:  A voice is heard in Ramah, lamenting and weeping bitterly: it is Rachel weeping for her children, refusing to be comforted for her children, because they are no more." -Jeremiah 31:15 

For years, I felt nothing but disappointment in Rachel, but that day, everything changed.  My story and Rachel's were different, but we were connected.  She was weeping for her children...actually, her two boys.  At that time I was only weeping for Max,  little did I know that I would soon be weeping for my two boys.   Without a doubt, I'd say God knows what He's doing. 

 

And I see God at work in the same way with Michael Ben.  The day Michael Ben was born, his birth mother was in church when she thought her water had broken.  But everyone around her could see other wise...she was bleeding.  Just as mine had with Madden, her placenta abrupted.  They laid her down and prayed over her as they waited for the ambulance.  The lady that was leading the service prayed over the unborn baby and claimed that satan would not win this time...this baby was "covered in the blood of Jesus." 

What are the chances that I would lose Madden to a placental abruption and six months later Michael Ben's birth would be initiated by one?  I don't know, but I know its very, very rare.  It was more than a strange coincidence, it made me see God connecting the dots for me.  It felt like a little wink from God, to let us and the birth mother know that Michael Ben belonged with our family. 

 

After losing Madden, I was upset with myself.  I blamed myself...my body had failed him.  But now that it actually happened to somebody else, I had to reconsider my feelings about it.  I know that she wasn't doing anything wrong.  She didn't do anything to cause her placenta to abrupt.  So maybe, just maybe it wasn't my fault either.  Just another way that God was planning to heal me?  Yes.  I think so. 

 

The life and presence of Michael Ben in our family has brought healing in many ways.  I will always miss and love my boys.  I think of them every day, all day.  I don't understand the reasons for any of this, but I do know that God is present and in control.  I always had regrets that I let Max cry, or that I didn't spend enough time with him.  Well now, I have Michael Ben, and I realize that its not reasonable to hold a baby all day every day.  I realize that, sometimes, babies just cry.  I am healed of the guilt I had been carrying.  All part of God's plan...no doubt.

 

I have a long way to go...in my life, in my faith.  But I see a light, and I see it clearly.  Today, I am so thankful that Michael Ben's birth mother chose life for my sweet boy.  She sacrificed nine months of her life so that God's plan could be seen in ours.  He really knows what He is doing, and we'd be smart to slow down and listen to Him. :)

 

 

"Faith is to believe what you do not yet see; the reward for this faith is to see what you believe." - Saint Augustine

 

"No trial has come to you but what is human.  God is faithful and will not let you be tried beyond your strength; but with the trial he will also provide a way out, so that you may be able to bear it." - I Corinthians 10:13

 

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