Happy Feast Day Ethan

Ethan was larger than life. He almost had to be because he was a skinny kid. He fought cancer as a toddler and won. Cancer came back with avengance when he was graduating from high school. He had everything ahead of him. He was full of life, full of the Holy Spirit and not even the big "C" could knock it out of him.

As a community, we prayed with him. We begged God for healing. After a break from chemo, they learned his cancer was continuing to spread. It broke everyone's hearts. But for the rest of my life, I will never forget how Ethan faced this news. In his eyes one of two things would happen. One: God would perform a miracle and he would be healed on earth. Two: Ethan would be healed in Heaven. He told the whole world he was fine with both. He said either way he wins. I will never forget that. His faith at 18 is still to be admired. 

He came up with a bucket list and his friends and family helped him accomplish his wishes. He planned a "Going Away" party and asked everyone to celebrate with him. 

He planned his funeral, he turned 19, and then he went home....to Heaven. I will never forget his funeral. Before this past year, I had never cried so much in my life. The moment that I have engraved in my memory forever was seeing his parents with their arms lifted in praise after they received the Eucharist. I was in complete awe of their faith as they were facing any parent's greatest sorrow. But they were rejoicing. Their hearts were aching for their son, but I saw their hearts rejoicing. 

It's a moment I go back to often, especially during this past year. As I look back now, it was a moment that was preparing me for Lily. I wanted to one day be a parent with that kind of faith. 

The song Ethan picked for his funeral, the one that his parents lifted their hands in praise to was "I Will Rise" by Chris Tomlin. It has reminded me of Ethan for the past five years. Several times on my way to my OB appointments with Lily it would come on the radio. I would always think of him and ask him to pray for Lily and pray for us. 

We also played this song at Lily's funeral. While my hands were not lifted in prayer for all to see, my heart was rejoicing and thanking God for the gift of my daughter. 

This morning I went for a bike ride as the sun was coming up. The sky was grey and it was a misty rain which never happens here, especially in June. Below the grey clouds, the sun was starting to pink through. This song, again, came on my iPod. I couldn't help but think this was a gift from above and I could envision Ethan and Lily dancing and celebrating on his feast and sprinkling a little rain on this desert.

Happy feast day Ethan...I hope you shower your family with some extra love from Heaven today.

And I hear the voice of many angels sing, 
"Worthy is the Lamb" 
And I hear the cry of every longing heart, 
"Worthy is the Lamb" 

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.

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