I'm a Milkin' Mama :)

Yesterday was a bittersweet day. I haven't shared this with many people, but for a while now I've been in the process of donating all the milk I pumped while Matthew was alive. While he was still with us, I was so faithful in pumping every day because I wanted to give him the best shot at life that I could. Whenever he got a feeding in the hospital (whether through the tube or bottle) it was always my milk. I also wanted still have a full supply when he got home.

Well, that day never came and I arrived home from Charleston with a freezer full of milk that I no longer knew what to do with. It made me mad to look at it and think about all the hours I spent with that stupid breast pump when it was all for nothing. I hated, I repeat, HATED pumping! I felt like a cow and resented that I was hooked up to a machine rather than having my baby in my arms like a regular mother.

I almost threw it all away, but for some reason the idea of donating it popped into my head. I had never heard of anyone else who had done that, but I figured, hey, might as well try. I called MCG and MUSC and neither of those hospitals accepted donated milk. So then I went online and found these twin sisters out in California that have started a breast milk donation site called Milkin' Mamas. The milk they receive is sent to a lab that makes human milk fortifier and is used in NICUs around the country. Most of the babies that benefit from this are premies who have complications due to their small size and underdeveloped organs.

So I started the qualification process about a month ago (lots of questions, blood tests, and genetic screening), was approved, and yesterday I finally packed up all my milk and shipped it out - 425 ounces of it!

I took a picture of Claire with the two boxed-up coolers :)

It sure doesn't make up for missing Matthew, but still, I'm so thankful that I was able donate and maybe, just maybe help prevent another mom from having to go through what I just went through.

Little Miss Sunshine

Claire really is the bright spot our days. She keeps us (me especially) from wallowing in sorrow and she reminds us that life still has joy.

Little miss cute stuff is one and a half now and I thought she deserved a special post. I've neglected sharing about her these past few months because I've been so caught up in Matthew's news. She is still active as ever and her newest activity is climbing! She scales things that we think are impossible for her and she is always exploring. The down side to this is that she gets easily bored just "hanging out". I'm seeing more of a whiny side to her these days. I don't know if it's just a new stage or if it's her reaction to all that's happened with Matthew. Whatever the reason is, she's more clingy and needy right now. But she also gives me more hugs, which I don't mind one bit!

Here are some pictures of her that I took this morning:

Quite the little reader

She wants to come see the pictures I'm taking

Uh oh... something's not right

Aaaah, the sound of whining in the morning :)

Now she decides to be cute again 

I get a hug! 

Ooo, and a kiss!

Cole teaching her "trust falls"

"Hmm daddy, this refrigerator's kind of high!" 

There she goes! (This child has no fear.)

We love our little Claire and are so grateful for the sunshine she brings! (And the patience she teaches us.)

Revelation 21:4-5

People ask me a lot how I'm doing. What a weird question. How am I doing? Some days I'm sad, some days I'm mad, and some days the sorrow is so deep I don't think I will ever dig my way out.

I also have lots of questions. Most of them are directed at God. I want to know why God didn't save Matthew. I want to know why other people around me are having perfectly normal babies and I'm left with empty arms. I'm wondering why God chose our family to go through this.

Many people offer suggestions that might sound helpful but really aren't. I feel like we as Christians want to make sense of loss, so we come up with explanations like, "It was for the best" and "It was his time to go." I know I've even said those things myself. But here's the truth - I have no idea.

I don't know why God didn't heal him. I know God could have, but for some reason He chose not to. I'm disappointed and even mad sometimes that He didn't.

But here's the thing. I know that God knows this whole story and how it's all going to end. And I know that He weeps with me over my loss, not because He's helpless like I am, but because He knows that I can't see the whole picture. Like He wept with Mary and Martha over the loss of their brother Lazarus, He weeps with me because He cares about me. He feels my pain and He aches over it.

He also knows that one day I will see Matthew again. And in that day, death and sorrow will be no more. In fact, He has promised that He will wipe away every tear from my eyes.

So here's how I'm doing - I'm sad and I'm confused and I miss my son deeply. But this is what I know - God is real and He is in control. I don't have the answers but I believe in the promise of eternity and I trust God when He says that He will make all things new.

CS Lewis Song

Tonight as I was making dinner, I was caught off guard by this song that came up on my iPod shuffle. Emotions that were lurking just beneath my calm front came spilling out from me and I found myself wanting to weep and praise God at the same time. The song captured the cry of my heart perfectly. The first verse says, "If I find in myself desires nothing in this world can satisfy, I can only conclude, that I, I was not made for here," and then the chorus, "Speak to me in the light of the dawn, mercy comes with the morning. I will sigh, and with all creation groan, as I wait for hope to come for me."


That's how I feel right now. I have these longings for my son that nothing else can satisfy and I know that's because God created me to be a mother and also because He created me as an eternal being who's only on this earth temporarily. Before Matthew died, most of my thoughts were consumed with the here and now. Eternity didn't ever seem real or pressing. But now! Gosh, now that's all I think about! I imagine heaven and seeing Matthew there. I literally groan with the desire to be reunited with him. I find that things that used to get me all excited now seem pretty lame in comparison to the longing and excitement I have when I think of holding my little boy again.

I am so thankful that this song reminded me of the hope I have. There are so many days where I move about in a fog, wondering if life will ever hold promise again. It's good to remember that hope is coming for me.

I hope you'll take a minute and listen to this song - it's absolutely beautiful! (Please excuse the corny photo montage.)

Scenes from our trip

Lake Jocassee was wonderful! We laughed, we cried, we remembered, and we made new memories. I definitely had moments when my heart ached for our little boy to be with us, but the fam was great about loving on us and keeping us occupied. We spent all day, every day out on the lake skiing, tubing, wake boarding, and exploring the many waterfalls.

Here are a few pics from the week.

Hard Day

As you can tell from that last post, today was a hard day. I just really miss my little guy. I want to hold on to the memories of what he smelled like, what he sounded like, and how he felt in my arms, but all of that is already starting to fade. I know it's inevitable, but it's so hard to let go.

I went by the cemetery in Columbia today. I had to fill out some last paperwork and I figured I might as well stop by his grave (even though the headstone isn't there yet). It was very hard. The ground is still soft where they buried him and the flower arrangement that my sweet grandmother put together was lying on top of the dirt, wilted and dead. Altogether, it was a sad scene. As I stood there, I kept thinking about the fact that my son's body was lying beneath me, and although I know that his soul is in heaven, I couldn't help but feel that I had abandoned him and that he was scared and all alone in this huge cemetery. I know that sounds crazy, but anyone who's ever lost someone understands what I'm talking about. As earthly beings, it's hard to grasp eternity and we struggle to understand that the soul lives even though the body dies. So while my intellect tells me that Matthew isn't really there, my aching heart clings to the physical reality and can't get the picture of his sweet face out of my head.

On a lighter note, tomorrow we leave for vacation and I'm hoping that we will be refreshed and rested when we get back. I probably won't blog much, but I'm sure Cole will take pictures of Claire that I will post as soon as we get home :)

FYI

Just so you know, that last post doesn't mean everything is ok. It doesn't mean that I'm coasting along in the grief process. Because I'm not. I still cry every day. I still have days where I don't really want to live the rest of my life without Matthew. I still yell at God from time to time and demand answers from Him. I want to to walk around with a shirt that says "I just lost my son... Feel sorry for me." I get mad at people who cry over small things because I think that they have no idea what real sorrow is. I want everyone to constantly think about Matthew and let me talk about him for hours. I get offended when they talk about their own lives. I avoid babies and can't help but feel jealousy when I see a mom holding a newborn, especially if it's a boy. I can't sleep at night because I can't stop thinking about Matthew. I want to go back in time and hold him and kiss him again and again. In fact, I kiss my phone every night because his picture is my screen saver. And then I cry. And cry. And cry. And wonder if my tears will ever dry up.

BUT - because of the things mentioned in the post below, I know I'm not going crazy. I'm able to get through these awful emotions and still smile and have normal moments. By God's grace I know we will make it through this storm and enjoy many happy days ahead.

I just wanted to make it clear that we're not there yet.

Looking back

Grief is a weird thing. Just when I think I'm doing ok, the sadness will hit again and take me by surprise. For example, I'm in Asheville right now visiting my parents because I thought it would be a good distraction and a fun trip, but I've cried several times a day since I got here. I don't know why. There's nothing here to remind me of Matthew and I do have plenty of distractions, but for some reason, I can't get him off my mind. I guess I'd always thought the next time I came back here, he would be with me.

Asheville is a very special place for me. It was the only place I'd ever lived (besides college) before marriage and my parents have lived in this same house for 21 years. All my growing up and maturing was done here. In fact, as I look around my parents house, I remember that this is where I first learned about grief. The bed I cried in last night is the same bed I cried in 10 years ago. You might not know this, but when I was 14 years old, some family friends were in a car crash that killed both parents and four of the six kids, including the twin girls that were my close friends. A few months later, I lost another close friend to a brain tumor. It was devestating. In fact, I remember that year and the following years being full of suffering. It seemed like our church in particular lost a lot of people within a few years. Some were old, but many were young. What I remember most though, was the way people handled their grief. I saw them hurting and asking why, but I also saw them praising God through it all. They cried with hope and they sang through their tears. My friend's parents in particular were good examples of trusting God in their sorrow. I remember seeing her mom crying and smiling at the same time and wondering how she was able to do it. I could've never dreamed that God was preparing me for losing my own child.

Now as I look back, I'm so thankful that God used that time in my life to answer a lot of the "why" questions and to teach me what faith through suffering really looks like. I'm so fortunante to have friends that have walked this road before me, who can encourage me through my doubts and tears. Obviously grief is never easy, but seeing good examples of it in my early years has helped me. It gives me hope that I too will make it through this and still have joy again. I think if I had never experienced grief before, losing Matthew would have been much more of a shock and much harder.

I miss Matthew

Just when it feels like my days are starting to get back to normal, something always reminds me of Matthew and sends me back into sorrow and longing. I'll hear a song, see another baby his age, hear someone talk about Charleston (yep, that city has been ruined for me for a while), smell something, look at Claire, or catch a glimpse of a picture of him as I walk by my fridge and I feel that horrible ache in my heart all over again. I feel like I will never again be perfectly content. Isn't that horrible? To think that no matter how good life is, I will always feel an emptiness? It just feels so wrong. I'm only 25. I have the rest of my life ahead of me, yet I already feel so old and tired. The worst part is, I know that this ache will never go away. I've talked to moms who've lost children anywhere from 2 to 45 years ago and they all still feel the ache and long for the child who's gone.

Gosh, I should be celebrating his first smiles and giggles, watching him sleep contentedly, taking pictures of him in cute outfits and posting them on facebook, but instead I'm sitting here with empty arms and wondering what happens next. What are God's plans for me now? I know He has them. I know there will joy in the future, but right now, right this very minute, what do I do?

A few ideas

For the past week or so, I've been reading grief help books and blogs of other moms who've lost children too. I've found it incredibly helpful and just wanted to pass along some things I've learned. Before losing Matthew, I didn't always know what to say to people who'd lost loved ones. I didn't want to hurt them by saying something unhelpful but I didn't want to say nothing and ignore the fact that they were hurting. So I understand that you may find it awkward to be around me sometimes for this same reason. Here are some ideas to help with that. 

In our conversations, sometimes I might just want to feel normal. In public especially, I don't want to be walking around with mascara streaks and constantly be a blubbering mess. Last night I went out with a bunch of friends and was able to laugh and talk like I didn't have a care in the world and it was so refreshing! For just a few hours, I was able to feel normal again. You see, I'm not always comfortable crying in front of people I don't know well, so having a "moment" in the middle of the store or in church isn't really my style. I'd rather save that for another time. So when you see me at the grocery store or at church, feel free to treat me normally, like you would before all this happened. I'm not normal, but yet I am normal. Don't feel like you have to tiptoe around me. 

But then again, don't act like it never happened. Last week I saw someone that I hadn't seen in months and they talked to me for a while without ever saying one word about Matthew. It was so hurtful! I want to know that you haven't forgotten about what we're going through. Don't be afraid to bring up Matthew for fear that you'll make me cry. It's ok if I cry. Sometimes it feels really good to just let it out! As long as you're ok with me crying (and we're in a relatively private area), then I'm ok with it. I LOVE to talk about Matthew because he was and always will be such a big part of our lives. Sometimes talking about him will bring tears, but sometimes I might actually be able to smile and laugh about the memories. Just please don't ignore the fact that I had a baby and that he died. 

Here's what another mom posted on her blog: "If you are an acquaintance of a grieving person and you try to find out how she’s doing (out of sincere love and concern) you might get a response like, “Today’s a good day. Thanks for asking,” or “Today has been kind of hard. Thanks for asking.” This might not be what you expected. Perhaps she’s not letting you in emotionally the way you were hoping. But please accept whatever she can give you even if it’s not much. In your conversations, it can be really refreshing if you help her feel normal. And other times it’s best if you make sure she knows that you are thinking of her special circumstances and have by no means forgotten her or her child."

I hope this is helpful. Cole and I don't want to be a source of awkwardness, but we understand that sometimes it's hard to interact with grieving people. Please bear with us as we navigate the coming months and years. We have so appreciated the outpouring of support for our family. Just knowing that you love us and are praying for us does our hearts and souls good.