Lily's Birth Story: Part II

The first part of Lily's birth story can be found here.

I remember when we first told our pastor about Lily's diagnosis, I told him that I only wanted one thing when Lily was born: I said I wanted her to be born naturally, and right around her due date, and with everyone I wanted there, and for her to be born alive. Yes, I know...one thing, right? He quickly stopped me and told me life doesn't work that way. He told me I needed to rearrange my prayer requests or I was going to be even more disappointed. I sunk into the chair with humility because I knew he was right.

Jason and I talked about it and from that day on we prayed every single day for peace. We asked God to give us peace with any decisions we had to make. We asked God that we would be at peace with when she was born, how she was born and who would be there. We prayed this prayer every single day up until the hours I began pushing. 

With Ted's birth experience, I can learn from it and decide with another child what I would or would not do the next time. Lily's experience is different because honestly, I pray every single day I do not get a "do-over". There are a million "what ifs" and "what could have beens" that creep in and I have to stop my mind from going there. I can't do this over. I can't say I wish it would have gone differently because her birth story is all I have.

As we got closer and closer to meeting Lily, my list of wishes started to grow again. But when it really got down to it, I only had one wish, one prayer: I needed my parents to be there. 

My mom arrived the Friday before my due date and my dad the day after my due date. I think he wanted to "be there for me", but not actually there when she was born. Lily clearly had other plans. When I say I needed my parents there, I really thought I just needed my mom. But in the moments after she was born; as I think back to everyone coming in to see her,my dad walked in the room to meet his first granddaughter, and I realized I needed my dad to be there more than anyone else.

I needed my dad to see her in person. I needed him to hold her, to memorize her. I needed him to see firsthand that she was worth it. My dad was so worried about me during my whole pregnancy, but holding Lily, by seeing how much I loved her and needed her, I think he realized her value and saw her undeniable worth. 

There was so much love that filled that room. It was full of sorrow and sadness, but more than anything there was so much love. 

Our priest ended up being out of town up until the day before Lily was born. Near the end of my pregnancy, my second wish was for our pastor to be there to meet and baptize Lily. (I have known him since I moved here. He gave me my first job, which led me to our awesome community. He married us, baptized Ted, and gave Jason his Sacraments when he joined the Church.) Again, Lily knew better than us and thankfully she was two weeks late so she could meet him. He was there, jet lagged from a trip to Hong Kong, to pray with us and give her a blessing. Since she was born sleeping, she wasn't baptized, but he blessed her, read a scripture, and told us how much he loved us.

My parents, sister, brother-in-law and kids, and a few friends were all there to hold her, to see her, to fall in love with her. They saw first hand that she wasn't a definition, she wasn't anencephaly...she was beautiful and perfectly made. 

My nephew couldn't get enough of her. He asked to hold her several times. As he held her, he just stared at her and cried. She stole his heart instantly. 

After everyone held her, kissed her and said goodbye, they left. I don't know how long they stayed...it doesn't really matter because there could never be "enough time" for them.

Then it was just Jason and me. We were beyond exhausted, but we just wanted to soak her up as much as we could. At first we thought the funeral home would come that night, but thankfully they didn't come until the next day. 

This was my favorite time...just Jason and I memorizing her every sweet detail. Her thighs were so chunky she already had rolls! She had the most amazing cheeks, maybe even squishier than her brother's! Her hands and feet were perfect. Her nose, like a button. We took turns holding her, kissing her, and telling her how much we love her. 

We took some pictures on my phone. I guess I can say now if I have one regret it's that we didn't take enough of these pictures. They are my absolute favorite. Just us and our perfect daughter. For these brief moments, we almost felt like normal "proud parents", not parents that were saying their hellos and goodbyes at the same time. But, I also know that even if I had taken a thousand more pictures, I would still say the same thing...there could never be enough pictures.

Jason and I were exhausted. Emotionally, physically, spiritually...all of it. I felt so guilty, but I needed some sleep. We laid her in the bassinet and got some rest. We woke up the next morning and spent the morning just loving her. Again, we memorized every little detail about her. I said earlier I wished I had taken more pictures, but honestly, none of the pictures even do her any justice. She was so beautiful. Our nurse, whom I will love forever, came in and "oohed" and "ahed" over Lily with us. She told me she had good, healthy, Irish thighs. She even cried with us. 

Then the director of the funeral home came to pick her up. My heart was racing...the moment I had been dreading for five and half months was actually right in front of me, staring me in the face. The moment that still takes my breath away and makes me well up with tears. The moment I had to hand my daughter over, knowing I would never hold her again in this life. I can assure you we prepared for a lot, but absolutely nothing prepares you for this moment. Jason and I prayed with her, we asked her to pray for us and for Ted, and we told her over and over again how much we love her and how sorry we were we couldn't save her. And then, my greatest fear became my reality...she left my arms in this life forever.

I am a different person now. I am now the mother of a saint. And as long as I live, my heart will be teetering back and forth, somewhere between Heaven and Earth. 

Two

I started this blogging journey almost two years ago with Ted's birth story. I had always wanted a way to document our growing family and share with friends and family near and far. It has evolved and changed as we grow and change and especially when we received Lily's diagnosis. I have spent most of the past year writing about Lily with Ted mixed in. 

I am going to try and devote some more time to Ted so he doesn't feel left out when he looks back on this blog. ;)

Where do I even start? I remember thinking I knew a lot about babies and kids before I had any. I thought that all my years as a babysitter, camp counselor, and teacher would give me all the experience I needed. I thought I would be a pro after all those child development classes and early childhood classes.

I was wrong. Beyond wrong. There really is nothing to prepare you for parenthood, especially those first few weeks and months of utter exhaustion. It was hard to be so tired and sleep deprived, but that's just the physical part. 

The part I really wasn't prepared for was the emotional part. The part where you allow yourself to be your most vulnerable because you have to be. You don't have a choice. You have this sweet and perfect little soul who is depending on you for every single need. The need to be fed, held, changed, loved, and snuggled. 

I learned quickly with Ted all the gadgets and high tech baby stuff didn't matter. All he wanted was me. No swings, no bouncers, not even the Ergo...he just wanted me. 

And now at two years old, my sweet, silly, stubborn, and independent little boy still wants me. He loves to play and loves his toys and friends, but the moments that get me are when he wants me to read him the same book I've read a hundred times. I will start out with him sitting next to me, but it never seems to be close enough. He always wiggles his way up on my lap and rests his head on my chest. This is my moment of pure bliss and it happens every day.

He has a strong personality. He does everything in his own time and at his own pace. Some milestones he reached really early, others he seemed to take his time. As an infant he ate every fruit and vegetable under the sun, now on a good day, he won't even try them. He is independent, pushing a chair all over the house to climb into different cupboards. He loves feeding Charlie anything he doesn't want. 

He takes his time when he is trying something new. He loves to build and stack and then knock it all down. If he could have just one toy it would be a ball. He adores his friends, especially his sweet Lucy. He giggles with delight at the sound of her voice.

He says goodbye to all of his toys when we leave the house. He says "please" and "thank you" without being asked. He calls me, "Mah!" He loves his "choo-choos" and seeing "airpanes" outside. He loves "Melmo" and "George". 

He loves his daddy so much. He shouts with joy whenever he comes home. He loves building trains and playing ball with him. Most recently, he only wants "dada" to put him to bed and does everything he can to stay up with him longer.

And every night after we say our prayers and put him to bed, he looks over at his sister's picture and says, "bye bye baby". 

There is no parent book to prepare you for that.

We had so much fun celebrating Ted all weekend with baseball, the zoo and train park. 

I love you, my sweet Ted. You have changed my life forever. Thank you for fulfilling my heart's greatest desire. Thank you for making me a mom.

Happy birthday St. Leo

It truly is amazing to me when I look back and see how God was preparing me for Lily. Different moms who have all experienced the loss of a child have been interwoven in my life since I moved here. In the past five years I have attended the funeral of a 19 year old, a five year old, a one year old, and a young mother. 

I have been in awe of each of these mothers who have experienced these losses. I admired their strength, their courage, mostly their faith. From my eyes, they completely abandoned their selves to God. They put their families right in God's hands. They didn't understand, but they trusted. They believed. 

But there was one mom in particular that really tugged at my heart. I was and still am in complete awe of her. Her sweet son Leo prepared me for Lily before I even knew I needed to prepare. I had never met his mom, but to me, she was the kind of mother I aspired to be. 

I had just learned that I was pregnant again...excited and scared, nervous and full of joy to be doing it all over again. My dear friend shared in our Women's group about another mom from our church that knew already her child would not survive. Her child had anencephaly and his brain and skull had not formed properly. He was not expected to live for long, if he survived birth at all. I honestly think I gasped in disbelief that anyone would have to go through this. 

I have been Pro-Life my whole life, but that belief had never been tested. I observed from afar what it truly meant to respect the dignity of all life. 

My dear friend shared on her blog about the shower she hosted for Leo's mom. Again, I was in awe of this woman. How was she doing this? How would she get through pregnancy and labor knowing she did not get to keep her son? I was mesmerized by her strength and courage, all the time oblivious to what I was about to face.

This is the comment I posted on my friend's blog post, just six weeks before Lily's diagnosis:

"Such a beautiful testament of her courage and faith and of your servant hood. Thank you for sharing this. I'm in complete awe of a mother willing to love her child so selflessly. I know it's all of our goals, but we fall short so often. She is truly living up to self-sacrificing love. Continuing to pray for mom and baby."

Leo was born sleeping just a few weeks later. I didn't know him, but he forever left an imprint on my heart. Because of Leo, my doctor didn't have to be a "doctor" and explain what was happening, she could just hold my hand and let me cry. 

Shortly after Lily's diagnosis, I met Leo's mom for the first time. If you know me, you know I'm not much of a hugger, but the moment I met Leo's mom we hugged and both cried. She knew my aching heart better than anyone. She told me that the morning before she learned of Lily, she had a dream about Leo. It's been almost a year and she still says it was her only dream of him. She said Leo woke her up in her dream and told her she needs to pray for Lily. Just one month after she lost her sweet Leo, she offered to walk with us on this journey. That alone gave me hope, and I was able to start picking myself up from the despair. I am still in awe of this woman and I am eternally grateful for her "yes" to Leo and her "yes" to me. 

Today is Leo's feast day. I think of Leo and Lily every day, but especially today. I can see  them perfectly...dancing together, forever in the Resurrection. Happy feast day, sweet Leo, give your momma an extra kiss and whisper from Heaven today.

Five months

I pretty much summed up where I am at in my last post, so I won't delve into that too much. Life without Lily is hard, harder than I ever imagined. Lent was hard. It seems pointless and stupid to me...making a "sacrifice" of giving up chocolate or Facebook or something else that is so insignificant now? Dumb.

My parents did come to visit in March and it was wonderful to have them here. Ted and I have seen my family every month since October and it's been such a needed blessing. I have really needed to have that time with them. I think they need it too. I think they need to see that even though we are hurting, we are ok. We went to a few baseball games and took Ted to the zoo and really, just spent time together. Lily has brought my whole family closer and that is something I am truly grateful for.

Easter finally arrived after a really tough Holy Week. I cried. Every. Single. Day. I cried because I missed her. I cried because I feel so guilty that I can't pray. I cried because there are no more pictures. I cried because Ted says, "baby" and it's not his sister. I cried because she never opened her eyes or made a sound. I cried because Ted looks at her picture in our room and says, "bye bye baby". I cried because she was strong and dancing in my belly until she wasn't. I cried because I see toddlers with their baby siblings. I cried because Ted wanted to wear his "Brother of the Year" shirt two days in a row. I cried simply because I miss her. Every. Single. Day.

But friends, there is hope. Hope in the Resurrection. Hope in knowing that my beautiful daughter is dancing in the Resurrection. On Easter, I woke up a little bit refreshed, a little lighter...because He lives.

"Because He lives

I can face tomorrow

Because He lives 

Every fear is gone

I know He holds my life 

my future in His hands"

Because He lives...my daughter is dancing in Heaven. Amen.

This road to Calvary

Friends, Palm Sunday rocked me. 

Ted's been sick the past week, so I found myself sitting in a pew by myself, sitting between strangers. I hate going to Mass alone...especially now. I welcome the distraction of my almost two-year old and find so much comfort and protection with my husband by my side. 

But instead of the comfort and distraction, I found myself facing the start of Holy Week all by myself...no distraction, nothing to comfort or protect me. Nothing to shield me from the full range of emotions I have not wanted to feel. And then the Psalm, that Psalm that I used to love because the reality of it had never sunk in...until now. "My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?" The wave of emotions washed over me like a tidal wave.

Despair. Anger. Guilt.

I never thought I would be angry. I guess there really are stages of grief. I am angry at everything. I am angry that Ted doesn't have his sister. I'm angry that my prayer wasn't answered. Angry that there won't be anymore pictures. I'm angry that I don't feel any peace right now. Angry that "joy in suffering" makes me laugh right now. I am angry that we had to pick out a grave marker. I am angry that Ted's two-year old pictures will be with a stupid bear instead of his sister. Angry that I still haven't lost my baby weight. I am angry that I don't get to boycott the stupid frilly and fluffy Easter dresses and put Lily in something simple and sweet. I'm angry that the world moves forward and I still miss my daughter.

And then the guilt comes. And friends, the guilt is so much worse than the anger. Guilt is what reduces you to sobbing, ugly tears when you are sitting amongst strangers in a pew (I can only imagine what they were thinking). It leaves you walking up the aisle towards the Eucharist with tears streaming down your face, barely able to mumble "Amen". It finds you kneeling in the pew, blinded by the tears, sobbing and telling your daughter, once again, "I'm so so sorry." Over and over, "I'm so sorry Lily."

Your brain knows that there was nothing you could do, but that doesn't help your mama heart. 

My heart is heavy and weary, friends. I miss her so much I can barely breathe. So while the me I used to be loves this season, this Holy Week, the me I am now dreads it. I've been walking this road to Calvary for 10 months and I don't see it ending on Sunday.

<a href="http://www.bloglovin.com/blog/12360525/?claim=5v79f7wzbkc">Follow my blog with Bloglovin</a>