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"Never"

When Tim and I got engaged, we took pre-marriage classes at The Chapel.  There are a handful of lessons I remember from those classes.  One of which was to never use words like "never" and "always." The temptation is to say, "You never do the dishes," when really that isn't true.  This is something I have always remember and have applied to almost every relationship: marriage, friendships, leadership role, etc.  Over and over I have trained my brain to never use the word never.

But in the past three months I have had to retrain my brain.  I am forced to say never and my mind doesn't want to.  It can't comprehend it.  It doesn't want it to be true.

I went to the grave yesterday and had the realization that I will never get to hold my son again.   I will live all my days on earth and never hold Enoch again.  Never.

I will never hear him cry.  This one is particularly sad for me because Tim used to say before Enoch was born, "Noelle we are going to have a good baby.  He's never going to cry."  I told Tim he was crazy for thinking that. We didn't know that Tim would be right.

Our family and friends will never babysit our son.   They will never offer to watch him, send me selfies, or tell me how he behaved while were away.  Never.

He will never wear converse.  I have several colors, all sizes for all ages, but he will never need any of them.  Never.

Every month I take this pictures of how many months old he is.  I will never take a picture that will look different than a gravesite shot.  Never a new pose or outfit or background.  Every month, every year, every picture will be at his gravesite.

He is never coming back.  I ask my friends sometimes if that's true.  I need to see it, read it, or hear that he really is never coming back, because my brain can't comprehend it, it just seems too awful to be true.

These "never"  statements are heartbreakingly sad and yet I have to remind myself of them.  Even while at myrtle beach for a minute my mind thought "what if he comes home and I'm not there."    Fifteen years of training my brain never to say never, and three months of retraining my brain to try and comprehend that with Enoch, never is true.  

Beyond appreciation

Every year First Glance hosts a volunteer appreciation dinner for all of our volunteers.  I really wholeheartedly believe we have the best volunteers in all of Akron.  They do so much for First Glance, our community and our students.  So each year we attempt to honor and appreciate them for all they do.  And with that I have the privilege of doing a short presentation of thanks and highlights.  

The challenge every year is to clearly and concisely articulate my deepest appreciation...

• For coming each week, even when they don't feel like it.
• For loving teens and young adults that don't always love you back.
• For moving their families into the community to love our students better and more often (45% of our volunteers now live in a one mile radius of FG).
• For showing up to countless court hearings, sporting events, birthday parties, plays, and anything else they are invited to.
• For investing their personal time and money to love and care for our students outside of FG.
• For giving countless rides to FG as well as other places.
• For coming back even after breaking up a fight.  
• For showing them the hope and love of Christ.
• The list could go on... and on... and on.  

We have amazing and dedicated volunteers and I am impressed constantly by what they do for First Glance.  

This year the volunteer appreciation dinner was even more humbling.  For years I have talked about this community of volunteers.  And almost every time I have talked about them I have bragged about how well they do to care for each other.  I've seen them drop groceries off to each other, loan household goods, buy each other cars, care for each other's kids and so much more.  In explaining the way our community loves one another I have always said, "if something ever happened to us,  I have no doubt that they would be first on the scene."  It's true.  At least 100 times I've said this phrase when giving FG tours or talking about this community of volunteers.  

When I woke up on December 8th I had no idea that I would be putting that phrase to the test.  I didn't know that at 11:35 I would begin to text a handful of them and ask for prayer.  I didn't know that within minutes our community would show up at the hospital.  I had no way of knowing what the next days and months would hold for Tim and I.  But I was right.  Something did happen to us and they were first on the scene.  They didn't only show up on December 8th, but they have walked with us for almost three months since.  They have brought us food, given us money for medical bills,  helped us host a funeral, clean up a tree in our backyard, given FG money in Enoch's name and so much more.  They did everything they could... even in a season when the doing feels empty because you can't fix it.  

There are NO words to express how humbled and appreciative Tim and I are at how the FG community loved, cared and supported us during the hardest season of our lives. 

And on Friday I stood before this group for our annual volunteer appreciation with a very different message of thanks than I ever anticipated giving.  I thanked them wholeheartedly for not only loving and caring for this community, but for loving and caring for Tim and I.  I am so amazingly humbled and grateful to serve along side each of these volunteers!

**Please note many others, including family and friends have been a great support as well!

Privilege among the pain

God is using Enoch's little life and story to bring Him Glory.  That was my prayer for my son's life.  Over and over I would pray that his life would bring God glory and it is!  I won't pretend this is how I thought it would happen...  But it has and God is using Enoch.  I continue to have people telling me how they have been impacted by little Enoch's life.  I continue to have opportunities as well... to tell his story, to tell how being pregnant and meeting him was a gift.

If I'm honest in the darkness of night and on really hard days, the pain seems unbearable. 

And yet, there are moments when I get to share the hope and love of Jesus Christ.  

I get to talk about how it was all a gift.  

And in those moments I am energized and grateful for the privilege it is to be Enoch's mom.  

I am grateful that God uses this story of suffering to bring Him glory!

Don't you see?  It really is all a gift!

Recently, as I engage God, the theme that has come up over and over is suffering that turns to worship.  As I read 1 Peter, it points to this concept over and over.  These two verses stood out specifically.  

 

This song also has been an encouragement to me in the past couple of weeks... "Though the tears may fall my song will rise, my song will rise to you.  Though my heart may fail my song will rise, my song will rise to you."

And I will close with this quote from Mother Teresa, "Never let anything so fill you with sorrow as to make you forget the joy of Christ risen." 

Broken Legos

Every single day I go to visit Enoch's grave.  I need to.  And for whatever reason, every single day I take a picture.  I don't know why.  I just do.

I know the quickest, easiest way to get to the back of the cemetery where the little black converse and legos mark his grave.  

Everyday is pretty much the same.  I go, brush off any debris on those few items marking his gravesite, chat with him for a bit, and then leave.  It's what I do.  Every day.

On days that the shoes and legos are buried in snow, I find myself crying more.  Although several people have suggested putting them in a clear plastic box, I can't.  I need those items to not feel distant.  He's already so distant.  Plus it's the only thing I have to care for of Enoch's.  I am never going to bathe, feed or clothe my son, but at least I can care for the little black converse on his grave.  

One day recently as I drove around the bend and to his grave, I noticed things were out of place.  As I got closer, I saw that the legos were broken and upside down.  His shoes were dirty, and the ground beneath him had obviously been disturbed.  I fell apart.  What happened?  Who messed with his gravesite?  Why would they do that?  

I quickly text Tim a picture and asked most of the questions I stated above.  He called immediately and then came to comfort me.  As Tim investigated, he realized the cemetery needed to add additional dirt because the ground was sinking some.  That is what they did, but apparently not taking into account the impact their carelessness would have on this mom's heart.  

Converse

For those of you who don't know, I love converse shoes.  I have several pairs in different colors, I wear them almost every single day and I have full intentions of wearing them until I'm 80.  I love them.  I also knew our kid was going to love them... or at least wear them because I choose such things.  Since friends and family knew of my love for converse we received several pairs as gifts.  I even created a converse shelf to put them on in the nursery.

The other day my mother in law sent me pictures from my family shower.  I smiled and cried as I looked through them, especially these few below.  You see years ago I inadvertently would dress like my friend, Alicia's, son.  He often wore converse and shirts with superhero and so did I.  I'm ok admitting I dressed like a two year old.  Then her second son, who is my buddy, continued the pattern of dressing the same.  She would buy matching Akron shirts and I would buy converse or visa versa.

So at the shower she gave me all the old pairs of converse, along with the matching Akron shirts.  As I opened the gift I was overcome with emotion.  I could feel the tears welling up and my face getting red telling the women in the room about how I dressed like Isaiah and Xavier.  It wasn't that I used to dress like them that created this emotion deep within, it was the anticipation of her having a similar relationship with my son.  I couldn't wait for her to meet him.  I couldn't wait to make them dress alike.  And I couldn't wait for all of us to wear converse.

Not only did she give us the old converse and shirts, she also gave me brand new little black converse as well.  

I'm so grateful for those moments... for opening those converse with such joy and anticipation.  For creating a converse shelf and putting them on it.

After Enoch was buried it was hard for me to go to the gravesite because there was no gravestone nor any other marker.  Just an outline of dirt where they replaced a layer of grass.  I knew Enoch was there, but it seemed so sad with nothing else.

So one day as were headed to the grave I told Tim we had to take something... a toy, a truck, anything!  I asked him if we could stop at the store so his grave wasn't so empty and sad.  Then he suggested a pair of converse.  What a great idea! I immediately went into the nursery, one of few times I've been in, and grabbed a small pair of brand new black converse and with a sharpie wrote   Enoch's name and birthdate and placed them at the gravesite.  It wasn't until later that I realized they were the converse Alicia gave me.  Which really was perfect.

Enoch's shoes with the legos Isaiah made him

When at the shower little did I know that we would use those same shoes as a marker for his grave.  I'm glad I didn't know it then.  I'm glad that there was joy associated with those little converse that I love so much.  I'm glad for not knowing then, what I know now.  Because my heart couldn't have handled realizing he would never get to wear those little shoes.

My favorite room in the whole world

Since Enoch has died it's been a rough road of figuring out what the new normal is. Quite honestly I don't have the same emotional or physical energy as I once had.  In addition it's hard to care much about things that don't really matter.  In light of life and death, in light of little energy, it's hard to give much time to anything that doesn't have meaning and purpose.  

The good news is that I love my job.  I love it because it has purpose.  No matter what has happened to me in my personal life, I still love these students so much I have to tell them about the hope and love of Jesus.  In a world that is hopeless, I know and understand hope, which is the only thing I have to hold onto myself.  And it's the only thing I can offer to these teens and young adults.  

As I come back to work, I'm so thankful for a couple things in particular.

I get to come back to this room, the prayer room.  It literally is my favorite room in the whole world. I have come back several times since Enoch died, but now I get to come back everyday.   We created this prayer room years ago at First Glance in order for the staff to spend time in each day.  We realized that God could do more through prayer than we can do through just working in our office. 

I love it because the only thing I ever do in this room is interact with God.  I also love it because we have pictures of our students and pray for each of them by name.  I continue to wonder what happens to this community in 10 years if we pray for each of these teens and young adults by name?  

I'm also so grateful for the first major project to work on after coming back from my leave is our prayer event for First Glance.  I genuinely believe prayer changes things.  I genuinely believe that God can do amazing things in Kenmore through prayer.  So although I have little energy, I'm thankful I get to spend it planning this event I love and believe in so much.  

I'll be honest, in coming back to work some days are good, some days are hard, and some days it takes every ounce of energy to get out of bed.  On the really hard days I remind myself of the hope I have and want to offer.  And I love these students too much not to get out of bed and tell them of it.  

If any one of you has any interest in being part of the week long prayer event, please come be part!  Everyone is welcome to any of these.

• Sunday, March 13th 7:00-8:30 worship service at FG
• Every hour throughout the week our prayer rooms will be open to sign up for a prayer slot. Click here to sign up.  
• Sunday, March 20th 7:00-8:30 worship service at FG 

Walking along the beach

Road trip!  This is a good plan, right?  A handful of my close friends decided to take a little road trip to Myrtle Beach for a long weekend.  Let's face the realities, this isn't what we were hoping to be doing in February this year.  We were hoping that I wouldn't be able to go because I would have a baby.  But since Enoch died, it seemed like the right thing to do.  We can't escape grief, but we can at least change scenery.   A free condo, let's go.

Unfortunately at 3:00 am the first night, I woke up very ill.  Note to self, when you're eating something and think "I don't think this is right.  Maybe I should stop eating it," listen!  Needless to say, I was up vominting most of the night and the next day.  My friends were kind and cared for me well, but I tried to stay away from them, as I wasn't sure whether it was the food or the flu.

Day two I woke up feeling much better.  I started the day the way I anticipated starting day one.  I drank coffee, journaled, and read.  But it didn't take long before I needed out of there.  I had been in that condo for so many hours straight.  I had to get out!

Despite it being 35 degrees and raining, I opted for a walk on the beach.  It was not surprising when nobody wanted to join me in those conditions.  But I had to go.  I had to get out energy.  I had to get out of that room.  I had to!

So I made it the 12 floors down and journeyed along the shore.  It was cold, the rain pelted my face, there were large unavoidable puddles, and the more I walked the more my glasses became hard to see out of.  In all honesty it was a pretty miserable morning for a walk.  As I walked the beach I was fairly discouraged: sad that Enoch had died, mad that this trip was supposed to be a break, and yet I had missed a third of it to illness.  It was a frustrating moment in a hard season.

As I continued on, I realized the parallel of this grief season with this walk along the beach.  It's cold, it's lonely, and it's hard to see or know what's next.  What I do know is to just keep walking. One step at a time.  One breath at a time. One minute at a time.  I can't see where I'm going exactly.  I can't see what the new normal of life is going to look like.  It feels sad and cold and miserable at times, but I just have to keep walking and trusting God in it.

When I got back from my walk, unknown to me one of my friends took this picture from the balcony.  It demonstrated perfectly what I had felt walking along the beach.  Feeling small and a little lost in the dreariness, but knowing God is big and near and I to just keep taking one step at a time.

One Year!

One year!

Praise God!

'nough said.

my darkest day

One year ago today was the darkest day of my whole life.  In all honesty I never expected to write this post.  I figured tomorrow I would take a screen shot of the app that shows the one year anniversary of when God healed my mind and post it.

I don't want to admit it.  I don't want to admit as a faithful Christ follower, as the director of First Glance, as someone who encourages teenagers to not harm themselves, that I was so close to doing so.  I've been fairly honest in the past year that I struggled with suicidal thoughts.  It's easy to talk about it now that I've been healed.  It's easy to talk about it all now that it's past.  It's easy to talk about in generalities.

Part of me feels like I need to tell this story, even though I don't want to.  I don't want to because it shows weakness.  I don't want to tell it because I worry about who will read it... mainly my mom.  But the truth is one year ago today I felt more hopeless and darkness than I ever felt.  As I  have explained before I didn't hate my life or have a desire to leave it, in fact I loved it, but somehow in my mind I genuinely believed the world would be better without me.  I believed that the lives who I was closest to would be better without me in them.  And on Friday, February 13th I couldn't help but feel so overwhelmed with the idea that it would best if I no longer lived.  And because this idea was so strong in my heart and mind I put items in my car with intentions of committing suicide.

I had a couple obligations that afternoon and so I still went to them, in some ways hoping to distract my mind.  One was helping a friend paint, I thought it might be good to be around her, to tell her I wasn't doing well.  But within minutes of arriving she needed to leave, and therefore I was by myself.  I finished the project in an hour and realized another friend might be across the street.  I went, but she was talking to someone else.  I was hoping in each of these situations I would be strong enough to say, I wasn't doing well and had a items in my car a plan to harm myself.  I didn't.  Although both of these women would have dropped anything for me, in my distorted state of mind, I didn't want to bother them.

Onto my next meeting with a friend to work on a project.  If I'm honest I drove past her road and headed toward the place I always anticipated killing myself.  I drove quickly and determined.  I no longer cared that I hadn't written a note to explain to Tim.  I wasn't concerned about the loose ends I always figured my type A personality would want to tie up.  I had a way to kill myself.  I had an email written to someone I figured could handle finding my body.  That's all I needed. I started driving there.  I've actually never told anyone this detail until right now, even Tim is learning about it for the first time while editing this blog.

As I headed there I text my friend I may not come, and she responded with a phrase she always says and quite honestly I hate when she does, "Thats' your choice."  I wrestled back and forth.  The text made me realize that it was my choice... a choice not to let the darkness win.  Eventually I turned around and went to her house.  Later she realized I was not doing well and called Tim.

Then the next day women prayed and my mind was healed.  (I tell more of that story in this blog)

Again, I don't want to tell or even remember the events of one year ago.  But I need to tell this story today, because it's easy to remember the good, the healing, the victory.  But to truly rejoice in the healing and victory, you need to also remember the journey and the depth of darkness.

And that is one year ago today.

I just need jeans!

"Would you like to buy a second pair of jeans for 50% off?"

"No, thank you."

"How about a shirt or other clothes?"

"No, just these please"

"Are you sure? This sale is just this weekend."

"Yes, I'm sure.  Thank you"

I refrained...  I refrained from saying this.  No!  No, I don't want a second pair of jeans because I just need a pair to get me through until I lose the baby weight.  You see, I was pregnant, and I went full-term allowing me to gain all of the weight and then my baby died.  And now I just need a pair of jeans so I don't have to wear these freaking maternity pants that remind me every single day that I had a baby and he died.  

I refrained.  

"Would you like to sign up for the rewards card?"

"No, thank you."

"But it's easy, and you could save 15% on your birthday."

"No, thank you."

I refrained...  I don't care about saving money or my birthday.  None of it matters right now.  My baby died!  Don't you understand?  I just need to pay for these jeans so I can take the maternity pants I am currently wearing and hate so much and put them in the room with all the baby things and close the door.  

I refrained.

Maybe this is why I don't go shopping alone... nobody to field the day to day chit chat that clearly I can't handle.  

Plenty of time... or so I thought

When I found out I was pregnant, I waited a long time to tell people.  And I really wanted to tell my parents before most anyone else.  Since they were coming in from Florida just a couple weeks before my mom's birthday, I decided I would beat out my siblings with the best birthday gift ever!  So we invited my parents to breakfast, and I gave my mom this gift.

A newborn onesie with a note that said "bring back at christmas"

I'm not sure who was more shocked and thrilled, my mom or my dad. I'm grateful for that moment.  As I think back on pregnancy and see it as a gift, this was just one of the moments that makes me see it that way.  Even now.  We didn't know then that Christmas would look so different.  We didn't know then that he would never wear it.  We just celebrated the anticipation of a new baby in our family.  

The morning we found out there was no longer a heartbeat, my mom again was among the first to know.  I called her from the hospital after it was confirmed.  My mom answered the phone with the joy she often does.  For anyone who has called her, you know what I'm talking about, "Why hello Nooooeeeelle."  I remember her saying something else too, something along the lines of if there was news.  She was waiting for this call, the call with baby news.  Unfortunately it was a very different one than either of us wanted.  I cut her off in the midst of her question and told her I had bad news.  This is the first time I had to say the whole thing out loud, "My baby died, and I'm going to have to deliver him/her tonight."  I was in shock.  The words seemed foreign coming out of my mouth.  My mom immediately and with great sadness and heartbreak said, "Oh Noelle, I'm so sorry." 

The next time I talked to my mom on the phone, she said, "I'm going to get to you as fast as I can.  I'm leaving early in the morning, well, maybe the middle of the night."  You could hear the desperation in her voice.  It reminded me of a conversation we had when my sister had her first baby. As we were waiting to see her and my nephew at the hospital, my mom said, "I'm more anxious to see how my baby is doing, than I am to see my grandbaby."  She noted how that was different than she anticipated, especially for a first time grandma.  For some reason that conversation has stuck with me for the past 20 years and played in my head as we talked.  This situation was no different.  She wanted to see her baby. 

I don't think my mom let my dad stop for much during that ride from Florida to Ohio.  Little stops.  No time for eating.  Eventually they made it late Wednesday night to hug me.  It was good to see them.  When initially thinking through when they would come to Ohio, the plan was once the baby came they would come and stay through Christmas.  It made sense. In my mind there would be plenty of time for them to meet and cuddle our new baby.  Plenty of time.  Never did we anticipate this scenario.  Never.  Sadly the 11 hours we got with Enoch was not enough time for my parents to meet him. And as they were heading back to Florida my mom hugged me goodbye and said with great sadness "I wish I could have met him."  "Me too. " 

I really wish my mom and dad would have met my son.

The little things...

Something that became a fast lesson for me after Enoch died was that the little things really don't matter.  First of all because grief wipes out all physical and emotional energy, and you genuinely can't give, do, or care about as much as you once did.  And then in light of the tragic events of your life, you realize how meaningless so much of it is anyhow.

Suddenly you really don't care that your wearing the same pants, work out pants no less, every single day.  Almost all articles of clothing are acceptable in public, and showering is now optional.  Make up?  What is that?

Once you're in public you care significantly less that you just cut a person off on the highway.  Saying, "Hi" to the peppy lady who greets you when you walk in a store is optional.  You no longer feel bad avoiding the question, "How are you?" from any sales associate you come across.  "I'm awful because my baby died" is more than they can handle, especially the 16 year old kid at the check out of Acme.

Every interaction seems like it takes 100 times more physical and emotional energy, whether it is with  the stranger who happens to start chatting with you while waiting in line or your close friends and family.  So beyond the trivial interactions with strangers and people on the outskirts, I've realized this also applies to more of my meaningful relationships.

Because I have no emotional energy, I have no room for petty arguments.  The truth is I'm out of energy.  Do people say or do things that hurt my feelings or frustrate me?  Yes.  Did they before Enoch?  Yes.  Have they since Enoch?  Yes.  The difference is, that with little emotional energy to expend, it makes most of those situations non-existent.  When something happens, my question is "Was their heart to intentionally hurt me?" If the answer is no, I move on.  If something is a repetitive pattern or situations they don't realize is hurtful, it results in a short honest conversation.

The truth is with almost any situation listed above, from cutting someone off in traffic to someone doing something that frustrates me, I usually think "My baby died. Who cares?"   In light of life and death, in light of very little energy, I am able to see how small the small things are.

Maternity leave is over

I woke up Friday morning and put on my black comfy pants, you know, one of the two pairs I have worn every day for the past eight weeks.  My entire maternity leave has been a rotation of these pants to every single place I've gone.

So, as I was putting on my black comfy pants on the last day of my maternity leave, I thought about how the days of comfy pants were over.  I thought about how this was my last day of my maternity leave, and suddenly I was mad.  Not because I have to go back to work, I actually really like work and some routine will be good for me.  I was mad because this isn't how returning to work after maternity leave was supposed to be!

• I'm mad that I was on my maternity leave and visiting my son's grave simultaneously.
• I'm mad that my "real clothes" still don't fit because of the baby weight, but there is no baby.
• I'm mad that I've spent my maternity leave working on a memory book of Enoch, instead of holding him.
• I'm mad that I'm worn going back to work, not because a baby has been keeping me up all night,  but because grief takes a toll on the body.
• I'm mad that my friend's interaction with Enoch is them sending me a picture that they visited his grave that day.
• I'm mad that we didn't have to find child care, because there is no child to care for.
• I'm mad that I'm not crying about leaving my baby to go back to work, rather I have cried everyday because he was never here to leave.
• I'm mad that I ended up reading books on grief rather than parenting and leadership like I planned.  
• I'm mad that the question people will inevitably ask "do you have kids?" has no easy answer.
• I'm mad that I will use my lunch break to visit Enoch's grave rather than visit him at home.
• I'm mad that I can't put a picture of my son on my desk, because nobody wants to see a picture of a dead baby.

So tomorrow I'll head to work, excited to be with the team, but mad from the void of what this return should have been.

Palms Up

It's hard to explain.  People ask me often how I am doing and how I am holding up, and all of it is hard to explain.  It's hard to explain that the paralyzing hard days I just stare at a wall, literally.  It's hard to explain how desperately I want to be near Enoch and why I go to the grave everyday.  But it's the most difficult to explain how I feel like God prepared me for where I am today.  In all honesty I would not have survived this tragic loss a year ago.

Since Enoch has passed away I have revisited my journal a number of times, knowing all the lessons God was teaching me were written in different forms throughout it.  Here is just a glimpse, as there is no way to explain in full all of what I learned.

This is a page from my journal.  I drew and wrote themes, phrases, and verses God was teaching me throughout the first half of 2015 on one page.   So many nuggets, and yet a few main themes that came up over and over again.

If you have been around me at all in the past year or have heard me talk about how "Everything is a gift," you might notice it written in the center of this page.   I genuinely understand that "everything is a gift, and nothing is deserved."  I even drew a picture of our family of three with an arrow to that phrase.  I learned this over and over, it was a major theme in my life, and one I believe so deeply.  That is how just 51 days after Enoch was born and died that I can say that pregnancy really was a gift!   (Click here to read an entire post just on this idea).

Another theme throughout 2015 was the phrase, "palms up."  A dear friend, Kara, initially challenged me with this phrase at the beginning of the year.  As I would tell her or text her that I was anxious or overwhelmed, she would encourage me to let go. "Palms up." It was a good reminder, and I soon adopted it as my own.  I used to write it on my palms as a physical reminder that I wasn't holding onto anything tightly.  That it was all God's.  All of it.  Everything.  All of the time.  Other times I would write in my journal, "Palms up, arms in the air," meaning I hold nothing tightly, and I worship God in all circumstances.  It's written over and over in my journal.  I reminded myself of it daily.  God really is in control, and I need to let Him be.

This was written in my journal, not found on the page above.

I have very regularly prayed this past year that my life would bring God glory.  Over and over I prayed that, and it's why I wrote below, "None of it matters, 'things,' ministry, accomplishments, relationships, what people think, problems, the latest..., or any earthly thing.  Only bringing God Glory!"  Each night when I woke up, I begged God that our baby would know God and would bring Him glory.  Honestly and truly, every night I begged God for His glory in our sons life.  I had no clue at that time that this would be how it would happen.  I thought Enoch would grow up and live a radical life that brought people to the saving knowledge of Jesus.   That's what I had in mind.  Not this!  Not at all.  

So where am I with all of this in light of my son dying?   The same place.  There was no small print in these thoughts and prayers.  I didn't believe everything was a gift, but think God owed me Enoch.  There were no qualifications with my "palms up" and "arms in the air."   I didn't tell God I would surrender "all areas of my life" but say my son was off limits.  I didn't ask God to bring Him glory as long as it was on my terms.  

Don't get me wrong; this was NOT my idea of how it would go!  I'm devastated.  I'm grieving.  Yet at the same time I can still write and know that all of the above are true.  I am very aware that this is the hardest thing I've ever had to go through, and I am also aware that I submitted everything to God trusting him with ALL areas of my life.  "Palms up."

Let me be clear, I don't think God DID this.  I think we live in a sinful broken world, and this is a result of it.  I think God prepared me.  I think God is using it for his glory.  I trust Him and his plan, even if I don't get it all of the time. 

All positions

I woke up this morning thinking about Enoch.  Specifically thinking about holding him.  Trying to remember what his little 3 pound 11 ounce body felt like in my arms.  Trying never to forget.

Something I hadn't thought about prior to the wee hours of night on December 9th were all the positions you hold a baby.  That night as I was trying to sit up straighter in the bed, I laid Enoch on my legs.  It wasn't until that moment that I realized the anticipation I had of him laying like that.  And suddenly I knew I needed to hold my son in every position possible before the night was over.

And that's what I did.  Throughout the night, slowly, deliberately, I made sure to hold him every possible way:  
I held him sitting down.
I held him standing up.
I held him against my chest.
I held him in my arms.
I held him away from me so I could see his face.
I laid him on my legs.
I laid him on the bed beside my legs.
I laid beside him on the bed with my arm around him.
I held him on my chest while he held my hand.
I held him while walking.  (This was the last position I held Enoch before leaving the hospital.)

I had to!  I had to hold my son in every position I could think of because I knew I would never get to again. I needed to feel him in my arms and next to me in every possible way.

So this morning when I wanted to remember how it felt to hold him, I went through every one of those positions in which I held him.  I needed to remember... to feel him again.

As I look back now I understand what a gift to have gotten to hold him for those 11 hours.  And I am so grateful to have realized that I needed to hold him in all those positions.

This Man

On New Years Eve it was the 17 year anniversary of our first date.  Tim and I have had a jam packed, adventure filled 17 years.  I'm grateful for all the years, even the really hard ones.  No matter the season, good or bad, three things have always been true:  he sincerely is the love of my life, I am really glad I married him, and I honestly always think he's the most attractive man in the room.  

The season of pregnancy was a good one for us!  He was thrilled to be a dad and took on the role of caring for the baby the only way he knew how, through caring for me.   From early on in pregnancy, even before I needed more help with things, Tim cared for me.  As I look back on those 9 months I see it as such a gift and such a blessing that he took on the dad role so seriously even before Enoch was born.  

In preparation...

I love that he had our whole household watch a video on the five S's in calming a baby.

*Our household = Two friends, Julie and Bethany and my nephew Johnny.

I love that afterward he made Bethany and I practice one of the S's by swaddling Julie. 

I love that he made all of us practice swaddling a stuffed moose.  

In the moment...

I love that he then swaddled Enoch.  There really is no way to express how much I loved him in the moment.

I love how much he loved and cared for Enoch.

I love how he was overprotective as any new dad would be.  

I love how he stayed up all night to be with our son for the few hours we were able to.

And now...
I love that he is by my side as we figure out this season of grief.
I love that he is my comfort in the middle of the night.
I love that he continues to care for me well even on his hard days.
I love that he is who is by my side when visiting Enoch's grave.

Most of all, I love that through 17 years of some extremely hard and many joyful days, that he continues to be the love of my life and the father of my child.

Thank you isn't enough...

Tim and I have been humbled, to the point of tears, because of your love and care for us.

On Tuesday, December 8th Tim and I woke up excited that any day our first born would enter the world.  In a matter of hours our lives were turned upside down when we found out Enoch had no heartbeat.  Within mere minutes of sharing our heartbreak until now, six weeks later, there has been an outpouring of love, support and care.  This is our attempt to thank you all:

• Thanks to all of you who helped plan and host Enoch's funeral.  What a hard day!  So many decisions to make when we were in such a difficult state, and yet so many of you helped walk us through it.
• Thanks for all of you who have brought us meals! I don't love cooking on a good day.  I'm not sure we would have eaten anything outside of cereal if it weren't for the meals brought.  Thank you!
• Thanks to all of you who gave to our medical bills.  We were nervous about the large and unexpected costs with no maternity insurance and the way Enoch entered the world.  So thank you for covering those costs!  What a blessing!
• And our desire really was that people would donate to First Glance, the ministry we love.  Your donations will continue to impact the lives of the teens and young adults we work with.  Thank you for those that have and may yet!  www.firstglance.org
• Thank you for every text, card, email, FB message, etc. that has expressed your sympathy and your prayers! Your support and thoughtfulness is encouraging.  We even go back to cards and messages to help get us through the dark days.
• Thank you for praying and continuing to pray.  We really do believe prayer changes things!  Thank you for praying for us during this time.  We have felt the effects of those prayers.
• And most of all thank you for sharing about how Enoch has impacted your life or the lives of those around you.  The truth is the loss of Enoch is a tragedy.  But when you share with us the things that Enoch's little life challenged you with, then it brings God glory, and it's no longer JUST a tragedy.  So thank you for telling us about these things.

We wish so much we would have had a chance to greet all of you that came to the funeral or personally thank all of you that have prayed and given and loved, but it just hasn't been possible due to the overwhelming number of you and the loss of capacity in our grief.  Please know it has not gone unnoticed!  We really are so thankful!

I love them all so much!

These three are dear friends of mine.  When I look at this picture it makes me smile for couple reasons.  First of all, I love each of these girls so much.  Oh the stories I could tell you about the entertaining adventures and friendships I have had with each of them over the years.  The other reason this picture makes me smile is I remember how annoyed I was that Jessica was making us take this picture as we all happened to be in the FG office that day.  I didn't love taking pregnancy photos, but now am so glad to have it!

All four of us were due within weeks of each other, and I had plans with each of them for our shared maternity leave.

• Kendra and I always do Swensons, so why not have Swenson dates with our babies?  It was a solid plan!
• Sarah and I were going to be first time moms together.  We shared a baby shower and hoped to continue the sharing with mom advice, frustrations and middle of the night texts.  
• Jenna and I meet monthly to talk about leadership in ministry, as she's the Director of The Mother's Nest.  We planned to keep our monthly meetings, but just tell everyone it was a mom date that way nobody could yell at us for working on maternity leave.  

When mourning the loss of Enoch I also mourn the loss of the plans and parenting along side these ladies.

After Enoch it took a minute for all of us to figure out how to interact with one another.  Kendra already had Zelda, but was afraid her little baby girl would bring me pain.  Sarah and Jenna felt bad to express their joy of their expected little girls, and I was fearful that I was the walking embodiment of their worst nightmare.  We had some good conversations.  We worked to be sensitive toward one another.

The truth is their babies and pregnancy didn't bring me pain.  The only thing I prayed for consistently and fervently after Enoch was for Sarah and Jenna's babies to be healthy.  As much as these ladies wanted to protect me from the sadness their babies might bring me, that's not what I wanted.  Their little girls don't bring sadness, and I am so excited for my friends to have their babies.  Honestly I never want anyone to go through what I did!  I'm not jealous or bitter... I desperately want them to hold their babies close as every mom should.

This week Jenna was the last of the four of us to give birth.  And so the next day I went to the gravesite and told Enoch about his friends: Zelda, Evangeline and Reyna.  I told him how he would have been outnumbered for sure.  I cried most of the time I was there.  The mourning, the loss, and the grief is real, and there are so many layers... I wanted Enoch to meet these little girls; I couldn't wait to parent with their mom's; and I simply want Enoch to be alive.

I have to say as much as I grieve, I also rejoice.  I am so grateful for the friendships I have with these ladies and I am thrilled to get to meet and know and love their little ones.  I really do love them all!

The Nursery

The door is closed to the nursery at our house.  Before we arrived home from the hospital friends took all the baby stuff throughout our house, neatly put it in that room and closed the door.  I don't open it.  I'm not quite ready to feel the void of what should be in that room.

In all honesty part of the reason I don't want to go in is because I have such good memories of getting the nursery ready.  For me it represents joy, anticipation, and projects with my husband and friends.  I smile when I think about:

• Tim and I having a hard time picking out a color for our room, so he let me pick the nursery color.  I chose gray, of course.

• Alicia helping me paint the nursery, since Tim hates painting.  I helped with trim, and she rolled it.  Two coats in two hours.  We were up against the clock, but don't worry we still made the meeting we were in charge of on time, with just a little paint on our skin.

• Going to Lauren's to get a pallet and hearing Xavier convinced he saw the helium balloon that Emery let go of a week earlier.
• The difficulty we had in taking apart the pallet...  It's a lot harder than it seems like it should be.
• Asking Tim and Andrew to help us attach the letters to the pallet project.  They may have laughed at and fixed some of our handiwork.
• The pizza party we threw to get so many friends to help us move all Tim's office stuff out of the soon to be nursery.  
• The many gifts piled in the room to the point where there was no where to walk.  Thanks to everyone who came to my four showers.  Yes, four! 
• Marlies' excitement to organize all the gifts, and even thanking me over an over for letting her have the "fun job."

• How much harder it was to get the dresser than anticipated and having to order it.  Who knew they don't keep those things in stock?
• Tim and I sitting on the floor forever putting together the dresser and crib.  It took forever even using Tim's drill instead of the itty bitty allen wrench they give you... We laughed about their time estimation.
• Alicia being a much better painter of the pallet than I was, but she never admitted it.
• Tim literally making 19 holes in the wall trying to hang the pallet.
• Tim doing a pull up on the pallet after it was hung, telling me he wanted to make sure it wasn't going to "fall and squish the baby."  

• Asking Tim to hang and then move the picture Ashely made for us.  
• Having Julie help us hang the converse shelf... Is it straight?

• Filling the dresser and putting everything in it's place.
• Putting on top the black t-shirt with tattoo sleeves that my family got the baby.  

• Tim laying on the changing table pretending to be a baby and crying.  

• Hanging pictures that Tim's family made during their shower for us.  

As I consider this pregnancy a gift, preparing a nursery fits in that category too.  Tim and I really enjoy doing projects together, and getting a space ready for our anticipated baby was all the more fun.  I am so grateful for that time with Tim as well as with the friends who helped.  

Clinging to truth!

Some days I feel like I'm drowning in the unrelenting sadness & grief.  I can't catch my breath.  There seems to be no hope.  It's on these days I work hard to remind myself of this truth.  A truth I know so well, and at times so easily forget.

Deep down I know it... I cling to it.  God Wins!

"Over the years"

Xavier and Isaiah are four and seven and two of my favorite little humans on the planet.  When I found out I was pregnant I waited to tell them because I was not sure how well they could keep my secret. It's a good thing because Isaiah told everyone... not just when I was there, or people who knew me, honestly anyone who would listen.  I never expected him to be so excited about it, but he was.  Over the months, Xavier would often acknowledge the size of my belly and ask if there was a baby in there.  Yes, and thank you for telling me that my belly is fat (nothing like a little honesty from a four year old).  I asked them what we should name him/her and they had fun picking names, surprisingly neither Elsa nor Darth Vader made the cut.  And from July until December almost daily Xavier or Isaiah or both would ask when the baby was coming.  My response was almost always, "there would be a baby at Christmas."

And since you're reading this blog you know, there was no baby at Christmas.  I remember in the wee hours of the night as I held Enoch, thinking about these two little boys and worrying how they would handle the news.  Of course Xavier and Isaiah's parents handled it well in telling them the sad news about baby Enoch.

Recently these two boys came with me to Enoch's grave, because they had been asking to go.  They asked good questions and tried to understand as well as their little minds could.  As we drove away Isaiah asked if he could bring some legos to the gravesite for Enoch.  His mom said, "Yes, over the years we will come visit Enoch and we can bring him different toys or gifts when we come."  

"Over the years."  The phrase pierced my heart and caused tears to well up.  "Over the years."  I will be coming to the grave for years.  This isn't a phase.  This isn't a season.  This isn't going to be part of my life for a stint of time.  The grief, the missing Enoch, the visiting his grave is going to be the rest of my life.  Quite honestly that thought is overwhelming to me.  I often don't know how I am going to get through the next minutes in this world with the gaping void and relentless pain I feel.  How am I ever going to survive years?  I never said anything in the moment about that phrase.

A few days later I received a text from Isaiah's mom with this picture.  Isaiah built Enoch legos and left them at the grave.  It brought me joy to see his love for Enoch and it brought me sadness that this is only way Isaiah will ever know him.  I had so many hopes that they would grow up playing together.

The lego on the left says Enoch

I have to be close

"He's gone, they took him and he's not coming back."  I would say this to Tim every day for days after Enoch had passed away.  The truth is nobody took him, rather we handed Enoch to a nurse.  I remember her black hair and short stature so clearly.

At the hospital throughout the night we were told we could give Enoch to the nurses at any point.  Nope, never.  I'm going to hold onto my son for every minute until I am discharged.  That's how I felt, and that's what I did.  At 9:30 Wednesday morning they told us we could go home.  A few more minutes, I needed just a few more minutes...  Really I needed a lifetime, but that wasn't an option.  So we took our time, I kissed his head as many times as possible knowing I wouldn't be able to again.  And I didn't just kiss his hat, I needed to feel the skin of his forehead against my lips.  Eventually Tim handed our son over to the nice nurse with the dark hair and short stature because there was no way I could do it.  I remember watching her walk down the hallway; it was unbearably hard.  Sometimes I think it's a good thing I was in shock, because thinking back on it now I don't know that you would have been able to pry him from my arms.

So as the days passed I would continue to say, "They took him and he's not coming back." It's amazing to me how God created moms with this instinct to be near their babies.  It's not taught.  I hadn't learned it from being a mom before.  Nope, as a new mom it was against everything in my being to be far from Enoch.  He was with me for 40 weeks and 5 days.  He grew in me, I felt him move and kick; I heard his heart beat; I would talk to him; and I took him on adventures.  He was our son.  I loved him with my whole being, and suddenly he wasn't with me.  He wasn't in me, he wasn't in his crib, he was so far, and he wasn't coming back.

I knew where he was, at Prentice Funeral Home in Kenmore.  He was with Lori, a friend, and the only person I trusted with our dead son.  I knew he was being well taken care of, but it didn't help.  Our son wasn't with me, and that's all that mattered.  

It wasn't until we buried him the following Wednesday that I realized not knowing exactly where he was gave me such unrest.  Now I know, and I can go visit his physical body which is 2.9 miles and 8 minutes from our house.  I go everyday.  I need to be near him!  It's not the same as holding him in my arms and kissing his forehead.  It will never be the same, but it's all I have.  And I have to be close!

The reality of him never being with us physically is paralyzingly sad.   And on hard days I still find myself saying, "They took him and he's not coming back."

Enoch's gravestone isn't in yet, and it was so sad there was nothing at his grave, no toys, no marker, nothing.  So Tim and I took him a pair of converse, one's we hoped he would wear.  Instead, they mark where our little baby lies.

Why is everyone acting normal?

As we prepared for Enoch's arrival, I had lots of hopes and dreams for him, but there were only a handful of pictures I had in my mind for upcoming events including watching the Grinch (like we do every year) with our friends & their kids, taking him to each of our family Christmas', Sunday morning church, bagel Friday, and a few others.

This past Sunday is the first we attended church since Enoch died.  I knew it was going to be hard. For the weeks prior to Enoch's arrival I would think to myself, "I hope I'm not here next week because the baby was born."  So the idea of him being born but going without him, was unbearably sad.  As we sat there that morning, people were worshiping, listening, and taking notes.  They were doing all the things you're supposed to do in church.  But didn't they see?  Didn't they see the huge void?  Enoch was supposed to be there!  My friends were supposed to hold him during worship.  I was supposed to leave the sanctuary when he started to cry.  He was supposed to be passed back and forth between our church community.   He was supposed to be there, and yet everyone was functioning like normal!  It wasn't that the sermon was disconnected... in fact the pastor is a close friend, and was talking about our story.  It's not like the whole audience didn't just hear that our baby died.  They did, but they were sitting there, just like any other Sunday.  But it wasn't any other Sunday; not to me!  Suddenly all I wanted to do was throw my bible and anything else near me... coffee mugs, books, purses, over the balcony.  I couldn't handle it.  I couldn't handle the normal.  There was a big gaping void, and nobody saw it.

I knew logically it wasn't their fault that they were functioning like normal and weren't acknowledging the void that I felt so deeply.  So instead of harming those below, I walked out  of the sanctuary and into the bathroom.  I needed a break. I needed to regroup.

Attending each of these different events has been especially difficult, but it wasn't until this past Sunday that I completely understood why.  It is the feeling of the void.  I had anticipation that Enoch would be with us at these places, but he isn't.  And that is a tangible reminder of the loss of our son.

325 Days!!!

God healed my mind 325 days ago today!  I remember it so clearly, the complete despair and desperation I felt going into that time, sitting on the cold floor while women gathered around to pray, and the feeling of release when they prayed in Jesus' name.  I remember all of it.  God did it, and it was amazing! Click here to read that whole story.

Today also marks four weeks exactly since I had the privilege of meeting my son and the heartbreak of saying goodbye to him all at once.  It has been the hardest four weeks of my life!  I've felt pain and sorrow so deeply... paralyzingly and unbearably deeply. 

As sad as I have been, I have been grateful to God for the healing of my mind 325 days ago.  It is a healing that has kept me from depression and suicide;  a healing that has allowed me to know God really does interact in our lives, and a healing that has given me a sense of freedom to be sad without worry of the deep depression I once felt.  

Praise God for complete healing of my mind!!

Screen shot of the app I use to keep track of God healing my mind

**Although I'm confident God does interact in our lives, he doesn't always answer prayers the same way for everyone.  So, please don't hear me saying that if you pray, you won't be depressed anymore. 

Crying in Hobby Lobby

I went to Hobby Lobby today, which is a pretty big deal for me these days.  I haven't gone out much since Enoch died.  Crowds, people, shopping.  It's all overwhelming to me.  Today I got out though.  I needed to get some supplies to create a memory book for Enoch.  I need to write down his story, his impact, and document the eleven short hours we had with him.

We were in the aisle with all the scrapbooking paper.  Who knew there were so many kinds?  My friend Alicia looked over and asked what kind of paper I wanted.  I began to cry.  The paper wasn't as overwhelming as the void.  You see Alicia and I talked about how on my maternity leave we would go to Hobby Lobby.  She would push the baby in the cart, and it would get me out of the house.  But now I'm on my maternity leave, and instead of looking at frivolous things we don't need and shouldn't spend our money on, she's pushing a cart full of supplies for a memory book.  And since a memory book is the only thing Tim and I will have of our son,  I cried in the middle of Hobby Lobby.  Luckily Alicia is used to this; let's me cry it out, gives me a hug and then we move on.

And who in the world would have thought I would be taking up scrapbooking in the new year?  Not me - ever!

Am I a Mom?

I used to joke with my friend that I wasn't in the "cool moms club" because I didn't have children.  When you don't have kids but most of the people around you do, it's hard not to feel like an outsider.  They talk about their kids, parenting issues, and you know "mom things."  In addition they go on play dates with each other.  You're not invited because they don't think about it, or it's their effort to protect you from feeling bad for not having kids.  It's never on purpose.  It's never to be hurtful.  You just realize in these social situations you're not part of the "cool moms club."

I was going to be in it... finally.  I even noticed conversations changing as I was pregnant.  Conversations about kids and pediatricians, and play dates already set up as we talked about how we were going to push our babies around stores together.

And then suddenly all of that changed.  You see my baby died.  He technically died before he ever entered this world.   So what does that mean for me?  Am I a mom?  According to the state and the hospital he doesn't even merit a brith certificate.

I didn't realize I was wrestling with this question until a couple days after his death.  I asked some friends to shop with me for clothes for the funeral.  It's odd to think about buying clothes for your son's funeral, and it seems like an impossible task.  How do you choose clothes?  You don't even care what you're going to wear.  You also know you're never going to want to wear it again.  So in order to get through this seemly impossible task, having just given birth, knowing in two days you will bury him, you ask friends to come to help make all decisions because you're certain your mind can't.

As the five of us were crammed in a dressing room trying to figure it all out, one of my friends asked about jewelry.  She asked if I wanted to get a necklace with the letter "E."  You see I had thought about this jewelry that moms wear displaying letters that represent their kids.  I even saw some I thought I might buy one day.  But in the moment this question paralyzed me.  Within seconds of her asking I began to cry.  It suddenly and unknowingly brought up this question in my mind do I still get one of these necklaces?  Am I a mom?  Do I still wear it even though my son had died.  I was wrestling with this in my mind, but never said any words.  Seeing the struggle in my eyes, my friend simply placed her hand on mine and said, "we don't have to decide that right now."  We moved on, and I didn't think about it again.

The day of funeral another friend, who was in the dressing room previously, handed me a folded up piece of paper.  She said, "I got this for you.  It's a necklace."  And moments before the funeral started, I put on this necklace with the letter "E."

I will admit that I continue to struggle with the idea that I am a mom because it doesn't look like I anticipated.  I don't get to care for and raise my child.  And I'm not certain I will feel any less like an outsider with the "cool moms club."

But I haven't taken the necklace off since.  To me it's a reminder that I am a mom.  I have a son.  His name is Enoch, and I love him with my whole being.