Heaven Meets Earth: Lily's Birth Story

I've tried several times to sit down and write this and I have a hard time of where to begin. So here it goes again...one. more. try.

When I think back to this day, I am of course flooded with emotions. 

After the initial shock of Lily's diagnosis and the anguish of it all set in, I remember two new fears emerging. The first was wondering how I would ever endure the next five months. The second was wondering how I would ever survive labor knowing I wouldn't get to keep my reward.

I now know the answer...it's all grace. A tremendous, overwhelming flood of grace that poured over me especially the last few days and weeks leading up to her birth. People often comment on how strong I am, but honestly, strength had nothing to do with it. It was all grace.

There is nothing to truly prepare you to say your hellos and goodbyes in the same day. We had time to process it all in the months leading up to her birth, but honestly, I don't think it matters. It's hard, it's painful, it makes you ache in ways you never knew possible. But more than all of that, you learn this...it is worth the difficulty,  worth all the pain, and all the sorrow. She is worth it.

What I want people to know more than anything is this...I've never felt the love and presence of God more than the day Lily was born.

The medical side of the story is this: I went in to be induced on November 11th, two weeks (and a day) passed our due date. They dilated me and gave me pitocin. The dilating worked, the pitocin didn't. They turned it off and gave me a break. A few hours later, my water broke on its  own and labor started on its own (yay!). I got an epidural because I needed it and it was still going to be awhile.

Around 6:00am on November 12th, we decided to start pushing. My sister and parents came in to see us and then went to the waiting room.

Jason and I asked for some time by ourselves. My dear friend Chris had given us a rosary his late wife had held and prayed often as she was dying of cancer. I know her immense love for children and I knew she was in Heaven praying for Lily. Jason and I prayed a rosary together. We asked God to let us see Jesus in Lily. We asked God to give us the grace to do this, to give us peace for whatever happened and that we would experience tremendous joy when we met Lily.

And we cried together. 

Our midwife and nurse came back in and we started pushing...for six hours.

I have often wondered how women get through hours and hours (and hours and hours) of pushing. And now I know...it honestly felt like minutes, not hours. If it was what Lily needed, I would have pushed for six more. I would have done anything for her. 

Lily had been head down and face down my entire pregnancy. As she was coming out they told me she was presenting face first and she was stuck. In my heart I knew she had already passed away. 

My midwife called another doctor for assistance. She was my advocate. She knew how much I did not want a csection and she knew how much I wanted to see Lily.

We tried pushing again and the doctor asked about using forceps. It pains me so much when I think back to this moment. I was terrified. I told Jason I didn't think she was alive anymore. We agreed to the forceps. As they were trying to get her out, I looked up and there was the Crucifix. He was right there with me with every push and every tear. I begged Jesus to let me see Lily. 

It still wasn't working. The doctor said we may need to do a csection. It was then that I completely lost it.

And again, I wept.

I laid back and just sobbed. Again, I told Jason I didn't think I could feel her anymore. 

And in that moment, I yelled. I yelled at God. I'm not ashamed to say that. When you have a relationship with your Creator you can yell at Him in those moments of your greatest despair. And this was that moment. I yelled at God and said I didn't want a csection. I begged him to spare me of more pain. I didn't want to go through all this, just to be cut open, especially when I knew in my heart she wasn't alive anymore.

Once again, my midwife was amazing. She fought for me. She went to find another doctor that she knew would be able to help. He had experience with this kind of birth. She never left my side.

Her shoulder was stuck on my pelvic bone, but he knew what to do. They upped my epidural and he pulled her out within a few minutes.

They put her hat on her and placed her on my chest.

I thought I had cried my hardest earlier, but I was wrong. This was the moment that I truly wept.

I sobbed and sobbed and tried to take her all in. I told her over and over again I was sorry. I  was sorry I couldn't save her, sorry I had put her through all that. I told her again and again how much I love her and I begged her forgiveness.

And then just like that, Heaven touched Earth. Jason and I were flooded with an abundance of grace. We just stared at her and examined what a beautiful daughter we made. 

She was perfect.

I didn't see anencephaly. I saw her squishy cheeks that melt my heart every time I close my eyes. I saw her hand wrapped perfectly around my finger. I saw her sweet chubby thighs that had two extra weeks to fatten up. I saw her long beautiful lashes. I saw her perfect feet. I saw my daughter, my own flesh and blood that I created, but couldn't save. 

I know that some of you reading this have an idea what that feels like. I can only imagine it's what Mary felt like when she saw her Son on the Cross. Helpless, full of more sorrow than you ever thought anyone could bear and here I was, experiencing it all for myself. But at the exact same moment you are flooded with so much joy because your daughter is finally in your arms.

I have never experienced the mystery of the Cross like this before. It was the single most amazing experience of my entire life. 

Perfectly made

 Those rolls...be still my heart.

My very favorite picture...I stare at this every day.

There is so much more to share from this day, but that's all I have...for now. To be continued...

Link to part II.

Tragic and Beautiful

I hate that I had to say goodbye, but I feel fortunate I got the chance.

I got to hold him one last time. I gave him lots of hugs and kisses. I told him he was brave and strong. I told him about his buddy Ted and how we pray for him all the time. 

I kept asking his mom if she wanted to hold him. I was so worried something would happen in someone else's arms. I should have known better. 

He knows those arms better than anyone. He knows the peace and comfort of those arms. He knows there is no one in the world that can snuggle him like those arms can. 

We talked about serious stuff, about what might be happening soon. We talked about how unfair it is, but still had hope. Until his last breath, his mom never gave up hope. I told her I wish I knew why. I told her the only thing I knew was that she was meant to be his mother. We cried thinking about life without him.

We talked about light-hearted stuff too. We laughed and watched football. His dad told me he was going to miss him so much. He kept taking Bradley's hand and stroking his face. He loved his dad's scruffy face. 

Other people took turns holding him and then he ended up in his mother's loving arms. I gave my seat to his dad. In those arms like no one else's and with his dad right by his side, stroking his face with his hand, he took his last breathe. 

No struggle, no pain. 

Right where he should be, in the one place he probably was the happiest and most content, in his sweet mother's arms.

I didn't want to be there when this happened, but the more I think about it I am happy I was there. That may sound weird. I am not happy about what happened. I am devastated for my friends. My heart aches for my son who won't know his friend. But I am happy because what I witnessed was the most amazing example of unending faith, unceasing hope, and unconditional love.

It was tragic...and it was beautiful.

People often say things to try and comfort or maybe to make sense of things. You know the "at least he isn't suffering anymore" or "at least they had time to prepare" comments. 

Yes, I am so thankful that he is not suffering anymore and I know his parents are too. However, I don't think that takes away the emptiness. I can only imagine how they feel because I feel empty and hollow.  

After watching a close friend go through this, I don't think there is any way to prepare for this. I know what doctors told them, but I also know they never gave up believing he would be healed. Even in those last hours, they still believed he could be healed. I think "being prepared" to some parents means giving up, and I don't know any parent that would ever give up the fight for their child. 

My friends were no exception. Like I told them earlier, they were meant to be this boy's parents. They only had their son for a year, but they are amazing parents. They had to take on the role of caregiver and did it with such strength and courage.  I know they begged God why this was happening to their son. I know they were scared. I know they cried a lot. I know they never gave up. 

What I saw every time was amazing grace.

Another friend who lost her five year old daughter wrote, "I walk with one foot on earth and one foot in Heaven, for I am the mother of a saint."

Sweet Bradley, please pray for all of us, we miss you so much.

three months

My sweet boy is three months old! It is hard to believe it's been 3 months already. It seems like just yesterday we were here. At the same time, I can't remember what life was like without Ted. I'm still exhausted, still feel like I have no idea what I am doing, but somehow loving every minute of it. I could seriously just stare at him all day. It continues to amaze me every day that I get to be his mama.

Amazing how much he's grown!

Three months means time to party!

Isn't it funny how things change? I've always thought I knew so much about children. I've taught for 7 years, have taken countless child development classes and have been surrounded by children (friends and family) my whole life. Yet now that I am a mom and I am responsible for this little soul, I feel completely helpless. I question every single decision we are making. Is he nursing too much? Too little? Do I rock him to sleep? Or do I let him cry it out? Do I follow BabyWise or some other book that seems to think all babies are the same and completely contradict every other book.

I have quickly learned that no two babies are alike and I assumed that just because I have friends whose children slept through the night early that mine would too. What's that saying about when you ASSume? Needless to say, my child is not sleeping through the night. In fact, it seems that every time I say that he is sleeping well we have another long, horrible night like this one. 

So, if anyone asks again, "How is your child sleeping at night?" 

My new response is, "ehh, it could be better."

These snuggles get me through those sleepless nights.

{heart melt}

Ted's learned some new tricks this week! He's rolling over! No more swaddles at night! I put him on his back in his crib and he wakes up on his belly and sideways. We had to go buy some new footed jammies because he didn't have any that fit!

I'm learning to adjust to this new life with Ted. I have a lot of friends who are teachers who are either already back to school or getting to go back. 

Well, guess what? 

I'm not going back to teach! Usually around this time I start having the back to school anxiety dreams. I still have  them...maybe it's sympathy anxiety for my fellow teacher friends. All I know is that it feels AWESOME to not be going back to school! I do love teaching, but I really can't imagine sending Ted to daycare and then teaching other people's kids all day long. I am still working, I will just be doing it from home.

I am really excited and nervous about this new chapter in our family. It means some changes and sacrifices, but just look at this face...

totally worth it, right?

 Starting to love his toys

 Sun's out...guns out!

Loves his playmat