We are a Family of Four

It's hard to believe Evangeline was born 2 years ago. In a way it seems like it couldn't have been that long ago, but it's also hard to remember life before her so in that was it seems like a very long 2 years. I've been stressing a little leading up to this day because I've wondered, how do you mark an occasion like this? November 17th, 2007 was a day of great joy, and I wish that I could just celebrate that joy, but instead all I can feel is what's missing.

I think I'll take the opportunity of her birthday to work with Matt to put all of her pictures into a album. Strangely, even though I have each and every picture of her printed and an album chosen, I have never completed that project. We will have the evening together as a family--please pray for us as we spend time remembering Evie on her special day.

-Nicole

Girl Power!

We had a really great day yesterday! We had our appointment for my 20 week ultrasound, and given our history with Evie, I got a little more than the routine treatment. I saw 3 specialists for about a half hour each: 1 to do the routine ultrasound, 1 who looked only at the structure of the heart, and 1 who looked at all the other organs and bones and such. All in all my belly was abused for about an hour and a half! But it was so fun. One of the very first things we found out was that it's a GIRL! And the best thing we found out is that she seems to be in great health. They can't see everything on the ultrasound, but they can see a lot--including most of our concerns about the heart. Everything is in its right place and appears to be the right size. Thanks to everyone who prayed for us and encouraged us! We feel so lucky.

Interesting coincidence--I knew that the person who would be looking at the heart would be a cardiologist from Children's Memorial, but I imagined the chance of it being someone we knew would be slim because they have nearly 20 cardiologists on staff and we only met with 3. It just happened to be that the cardiologist who came to do my ultrasound was a Dr. we met on the very first day that Evie was admitted to Children's. She did Evie's echocardiogram on that day, but that was the only time we met her. She still remembered me and Evie even though it has been over a year! Such good people.

I feel that while I'm being honest about my joy I should also be honest about my grief. I found that when we discovered that the heart was in great shape I was so relieved, but then also heartbroken all over again that Evie didn't get to have the same fortune. I wish our 2 daughters could have had the same opportunities. Matt and I have seen a therapist periodically since Evie's death and we have talked extensively about future children. One thing he's always noted is that with the joy of seeing milestones in our children's lives, grief will also come. I didn't take that to heart until yesterday and now I can see what he means. While I feel like I have gotten a great gift, I also am bound to remember that Evie got cheated out of the gifts of health and life.

With that said, we are THRILLED! So happy that we got a good health report, and also that pigtails and dresses are in our near future. :) Poor Matt will be outnumbered in his own home!

A Year is a Relative Thing

Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your Presence?
If I ascend into heaven, you are there;
If I make my bed in the grave, you are there;
If I rise on the wings of the morning
or dwell on the farthest reaches of the sea,
even there your hand shall lead me
and your right hand shall hold me.
If I say, "Surely the darkness shall cover me
and the night shall be light about me,"
Even the darkness hides nothing from You,
but the night shines as the day;
the darkness and the light are both alike to You.
-Psalm 139

Tonight marks an entire year since the night we held our daughter for the final time as she breathed her last. Easily, the darkest moment of our lives. Its something I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. There are times when people pass away, and though sad, it is a holy moment to honor a life well lived. Many other times, premature death shatters all we know to be good and holy. The night Evie died was a night of bitter loneliness. I did not know where God was.

Do you show your wonders to the dead?
Do their Spirits rise up to praise you?
Is your love declared in the grave?
Why do you hide your face from me?
You have taken from me...
Darkness is my only companion
-Psalm 88

In the following days, weeks, and months our friends surrounded us with care. They prayed when we could not. I grasped for faith, and occasionally, caught hold of something. Or perhaps, more accurately, someone got a hold of me. My mind still frequently remembers holding her cold body and wondering where God went. Eventually, I learned where God was. Here...

God was in Christ, reconciling the world to himself
-2 Corinthians 5.19

Where was God? He was on the cross, befriending my daughter in his death. God the Father, grieving the grief that we know... that he knows. But that is not the final word.

In bringing many sons and daughters to glory, it was fitting that God, for whom and through whom everything exists, should make the pioneer of their salvation perfect through what he suffered... Since children have flesh and blood, he too shared in their humanity so that by his death he might break the power of him who holds the power of death—that is, the devil—and free those who all their lives were held in slavery by their fear of death. -Hebrews 2.10, 14-5

God knows. God cares. More than that, God saves. The love demonstrated in the death and resurrection of Christ means not only that Evie is not alone, but that she and I and all who belong to him will not stay dead. Death has been swallowed up in Victory! Where, O Death, is your Victory? Where, O Death, is your sting? -I Corinthians 15:55

=======

Still, we miss her so much. The passage of time has healed a lot of wounds, but in some ways its painful to think about how long she's been gone. Grief is a curious thing. It ebbs and flows and shows up in unexpected ways. Today has been a mostly good day. We've spent it together just being with one another and also finding some holiday activities to lift our spirits a little bit.

Studies have shown that couples who lose a child might triple their odds of divorce. There might be a few different reasons for this. For one, the inevitable depression that accompanies the loss can put incredible strain on marriage. The adage might also be true that "hurt people, hurt people". While certainly the pain of losing Evie impacted our relationship, remarkably our love for each other has been an incredible source of strength for the battle. We know we need each other. We're blessed to have each other to carry one another. We're also blessed to have such a wonderful community of people who look out for us and have helped us along this last year: both our biological family, our many church families, and friends from all over. We'll never be able to thank you all enough.

One Year

She would have been 1 today. I'm not sure what to write. Its a tough day for us, but perhaps not as bad as we feared. Surely, there have been and will be tears; but while our hearts ache I think I can also say that I experience some measure of "peace that passes understanding". I've never been "Pollyannaish" about suffering and redemption, I read the bible too much to believe trite sentiments. Sometimes life really sucks. Still, sometimes grace gives you the strength to suffer today in order to see hope tomorrow. We love her and miss her so much, and today is yet another milestone robbed from us by the enemy. But we honor her short life by continuing to live ours. We spent some time away this weekend, just Nicole and I to be by ourselves and to escape. It was nice. We carry grief in our hearts, but also some joy at the privilige to have known and cared for her. We are also glad for the many kind words shared with us already as we face these painful anniversaries. Happy Birthday, Evie.

Children's Heartlink.

The Plateau

When a couple breaks up, its said that it takes as long as you were ever with that person to get over that person. If you dated for 6 months, it might take 6 months for you to finally get over them. They also say "time heals all wounds". To compare the loss of a child to a break up is a grotesque comparison (though that's obvious, I'll still elaborate later). What I would like to say is that time does not heal all wounds. Some wounds we will carry all our life. That's a lesson I'm learning as today is now 11 months since Evie was born. Its been much longer that Evie's been gone than we ever knew she existed. In just a few weeks an entire year will have passed. While my journey of grief has come along way (I am no where near the place I was in January or March or even June), in some ways I've found that the sense of healing has plateaued somewhat. In fact, pain and grief now show up in new ways and it stings worse than it has. They are fresh wounds.

So what is happening? How could things steadily get better and then not? I think a few things have happened. The first is a simple phenomenon: I have more free time. This spring I was breaking my back trying to finish incomplete work from the fall on top of a full load of spring coursework in addition to an internship. The "busyness" of life was a suitable distraction from the deep grief inside. Then with my new work this summer, I've still filled many hours with work, but its a different kind of work. Its a lot of time spent alone. Its a lot of hours alone in traffic. Its a lot of "body work", and a lot less "mind work". I now have the time for my mind to wander-- and it wanders back to Children's Memorial Hospital. I relive the frightening experiences in unprecedented detail. Images, sounds, smells, and feelings are as clear as day. Memories of these are not as frightening as they once were, but they still hurt.

There is a second phenomenon that is more unique to the premature death of a child. We mourn not only the past but the future. We will mourn the entirety of what Evie's life should have been. We mourn the those life-markers that will not happen: first steps, first words, first birthdays, first day of school... those are all little deaths that we must mourn in the wake of our great loss. While it doesn't bother me to be around the children of my friends, for some reason when I see a stranger with a child about the same age that Evie would be--it feels like a roundhouse kick to the stomach... and to the heart. We grieve the loss we experienced last year, but we continue to grieve the lifetime of joy stolen from us.

We feel anger, sadness, and a bit of "lostness". Still, I've considered this new phase of grief a necessary stage of the journey. Grief is work. Its work that I may have set aside in my busyness this spring, but like all things there is a time to collect on debts. What I'm realizing as I return to the work of grief is that the payoff might not be what I initially expected. Healing might not look the way I think. What I mean is that I now no longer ever expect to be "fully normal" again in this life. Everything is different. Its not unlike a physical injury. Surgery and therapy might return you to function, but it is still likely you'll continue to walk with a limp. The process of grief has and will continue to return me to functional, but I still live and love "with a limp".

As I have always said, writing about these things is not to fish for sympathy. Its merely that there is something cathartic about talking about it. It feels good to tell our story. Thanks for listening.

The Shape it Takes

Today is four months since Evie died. Our grief counselor says that we're appropriately moving ahead through the stages of grief. Yet there are days like today when the wound hurts as much as it ever has, but it is different. My stages of grief have a different feel to them as time goes on, but the extent of the pain seems to heal oh so slowly. We've been able to put on a good face most of the time, but the truth is that we are still incredibly wounded.

In the first weeks after Evangeline died, I can't really remember what it all felt like. I'm sure it was horrific, but perhaps as a coping mechanism my mind is protecting me from those memories. What I can remember was the fear. The first 6-8 weeks of our grief were compounded by a kind of Post-traumatic stress disorder. Both Nicole and I would have flashbacks to the frightening episodes at the hospital. Sounds and images haunted us. Fortunately we're both struggling less with those experiences.

In more recent months, the pain has become a kind of enduring ache. The overwhelming feeling is that something is missing. Every moment and event of the day is a reminder that she's not here. For the first three months I had very few dreams with Evie in them. In recent weeks, I've dreamt about her more--but they all end the same. I dream she is still alive, but the moment I realize its only a dream I wake up. All kinds of things will everyday remind me of what I've lost.

There are some sensitive souls out there who are mindful of us still, especially as we find ourselves around other babies. Yes, it is hard to see you laughing and enjoying your child, but we can't be tip-toed around forever. This is the way life is right now. We don't hate you or your babies for your happiness--except sometimes the jealousy is enough to make us angry. Its not because of you. Its the anger in me. We don't expect people to tip-toe around us. All I ask is that you never forget how lucky you are.

The greatest fear we face is the fear of forgetting. As life goes on and we continue to become more normal, how will we still honor the life of our daughter? Its a dilemma that I couldn't have expected when we first began this journey: Feeling normal and feeling good feels bad. I feel guilty about many of the things I enjoy now. Nicole and I might share a nice evening out and have fun, but in the back of my mind I think, "the only reason we can go out is because our daughter is no longer in the hospital." It feels bad to feel good.

So when people ask, "how are you doing?" I don't often have the energy to say what I've just said. We're doing okay. We make slow progress in healing, but it is progress and it is healing. We are most of the time able to put on a good face, and our lives function nearly normally again (not quite 100%). We're not stronger or weaker than most people. There are still a lot of bad days. There are some good days. Its very hard, not much easier than it has been.

Thats the shape it takes.

Droopy music

For many weeks after Evie died, I was way too fragile to listen to sad music. I didn't think I ever would be able to again! This doesn't seem like a big deal, but most of my music collection is filled with artists who are prone to focusing on the dark side of life (see Neil Young, Lucinda Williams, Emmylou Harris, Ryan Adams, Johnny Cash, and so forth). A lot of the songs I used to love are filled with themes of death and love lost, and up until recently my favorite music just made me feel worse. But now, it kind of makes me feel better. The lyrics mean more to me, and sometimes it's reassuring to have someone else express how I feel in an artistic way. I'd like to share this verse from Emmylou Harris' Hour of Gold:

The world will be my witness
when they excavate my heart
and find the image of your face
imprinted there like some Shroud of Turin
that neither time nor tundra could erase

Good stuff.

Another thing I was unable to do was watch sad or violent TV shows or movies. I thought that actually would be good for me, to have violence out of my life. But, alas, I finally popped in a disc of Season 6 of 24 that I got from Netflix and now I'm once again addicted to the most violent show ever on TV. Darn you, Jack Bauer.

Lake Michigan and my guy

For some reason I really struggled today with a lot of grief and stress. Getting through work was tough enough, and when I came home I was tempted to just feel sorry for myself--but Matt was smart enough to drag me out into the world. A drive around town and a walk at Lake Michigan did me some good.

When I was doing my "Prepared Childbirth" class in October, Matt would of course join me in learning about the process of labor and delivery. The people who accompanied the pregnant women were called their "support person," so I came to use that term for Matt both jokingly and endearingly while I was pregnant. If he would help me with something I'd say, "you're the best support person!" or if I was trying to convince him to do something for me I'd say,"Aw c'mon, you're my support person!" On nights like tonight it's clear that he is still my support person.

EDIT: Oh, one more thing I forgot. This is my favorite exchange from tonight as Matt and I drove and talked (the context is that I realized we were in a familiar neighborhood and I hadn't paid attention to how we got there)
Me: "The nice thing about never knowing what's going on around me is that I get surprised a lot."
Matt: "It must be very exciting being you."

What a difference a year makes

Today marks 3 months since Evie died. That really isn't very long, but yet it feels like ages since I was still holding out hope for her. All the while I realized that she may not make it, but I knew that if she did I would throw her the biggest party after she came home so everyone who cared and prayed for her could finally meet her. Sometimes I just can't believe that I'm not planning that party.

This past weekend also marked one year since Matt and I found out I was pregnant. Realizing the significance of this made me reflect on the past 12 months and all that I've experienced. The standout moments (no surprise) are Evie's birth and death. Though her death is the most devastating event in my life, her birth is still the most important--her death does not overshadow it in my memory and I am so thankful for that. Sometimes I feel like I've lost everything, but the truth is nothing can take that amazing day away from me and it will always be mine. I guess I find it kind of strange that the worst year of my life also contains the greatest day.

Her very first birthday photo (it's not an easy feat to be cute from the very beginning, but I think she accomplished it like a natural) :

Now, Anxious Heart...

This semester I have the privilege of being classmates with Matt again. I decided to audit a class he's taking called "History and Theology of the Covenant Church." Since I'm auditing, I get the benefit of sitting in on lectures without the accompanying homework! One cool thing about the class is that we begin each lecture by singing a hymn and learning some history behind it. I love hymns, and many of these are ones I haven't heard before. I learned a great one that really comforted me today called, "Now, Anxious Heart, Awake from Your Sadness" written by Carl Olof Rosenius and most recently arranged by A. Royce Eckhardt (who incidentally played the organ so beautifully at Evie's memorial service). For those of you who may own the blue Covenant hymnal (It's probably also in previous editions, but I don't know the page number) it's hymn #472.

Now, Anxious Heart, Awake from Your Sadness

Now, anxious heart, awake from your sadness,
have you forgotten the things that remain:
grace and communion, unbroken union
with Christ arisen and ever the same?

Is God not still your heavenly Father,
has Jesus changed since he suffered and died?
Is not the Spirit, pleading and leading,
ever the counselor, helper, and guide?

Are not the saints a trifle confusing,
they speak of joy but great trials endure,
kingdoms possessing, pleading a blessing,
safe in God's keeping but never secure?

So, anxious heart, awake from your sadness,
rise to remember your blessings to claim.
Though skies be clouded and the sun shrouded,
never forget it is there just the same.

Expecting to be Surprised

It's funny, I didn't know Matt had written the previous post about faith issues, yet I felt compelled to write something along those lines today, too! I was prompted to think about some things today after reading a devotional that our friend (and one of Matt's classmates) posted on her blog, bornoriginal.blogspot.com. I want to share it here (I got her permission first, of course!) because it both comforted me and affirmed some of my current thoughts on God.

I never used to think that my faith could be changed by circumstances. God is always the same, regardless of what happens to little old me, right? But then again, I had it pretty good. Now, after losing what was most precious to me, I often ask myself those hard questions: Does God exist? Probably he does, but if he does why didn't he care enough about my family? Or maybe he cares, but isn't as powerful as I thought. These are thoughts I never imagined having (in truth I had never been forced to have them before), but I think just about anyone who encounters sorrow will have to ask these things, whether it be seldom or often. The fact is that right now God is not apparent to me--I don't see him, and I don't feel him. But that doesn't mean he's not there. And I don't expect him to be hidden from me forever. I anticipate that God will reveal himself to me in surprising ways. Just read what Ingrid had to say, if you have a minute, because she puts what I mean into better words than I can:

Chasing Denali

“The Mountain is Not Out.” So say Alaskans of Mt. McKinley (Denali is the native name) when the snow-covered titan lies hidden in the clouds of its own personal weather system, to which it has every right considering its status as the tallest thing on the continent. Such was the case when I was in Denali National Park this September during a visit to my dear friend Katherine. We drove 150 miles to the park through a heavily overcast morning. The tundra slopes lining the highway were rich in fall colors, and I was enjoying the immediate terrain too much to mind the low visibility ahead. Once we were in the park, the clouds started to lift, and by the time we had summited Mt. Healy, a nice little 3,400-footer, we could see mountain ranges all around us, but still no Denali. I became considerably exasperated with the elusive giant for refusing to reveal itself even as the sky cleared everywhere else.

Word has it that Denali is visible only one in four days, and even locals get really excited when the Mountain deigns to permit onlookers. The Mountain will not be taken for granted. This is for me a great deal like faith. Most of my experience of God comes from stories, reflections, and echoes. Only on rare occasions do I meet God in any way more solid than a subliminal nudge. I think that’s a large part of why we create idols. We want something that is tangible, predictable, and safe. God is not subject to our whims, and seldom appears how and when we expect.

This excursion to Denali was only for the day. We were spending the night at a cabin in Talkeetna, a little backwoods town that serves as an outpost for wilderness recreation. We peered between trees and into the sunset the entire drive home, straining for a glimpse. Even from designated viewpoints along the highway there was no sign of the Mountain. One starts to question, if not its existence, at least its magnitude. (What presumptuous creatures we humans are.)

At dusk as we arrived in Talkeetna, the veil dissolved, and there it was in the fading light, towering even from 100 miles away. Wow. The following morning was perfectly clear and we stared awestruck at the Mountain for awhile on our way out of town. It was plainly visible all the way back to Anchorage. Wow again. Breathtaking.

God hears us, calls us, seeks us. And we are to seek him, not merely in order to confirm his existence or to check it off the list of things to do, but because the rumor of his glory compels us through the journey that is life.

God’s unseen presence does not become more or less real with the changes in our lives. We can put distance between ourselves and God, have our senses cluttered with mundane details that obscure His majesty, or get our perspective distorted by mindset and circumstance. Yet He is there. He reveals Himself according to his perfect timing. We can no more discover God at will than roll back the clouds.

“Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundation? Tell me, if you understand. . . . Have you ever given orders to the morning, or shown the dawn its place, that it might take the earth by the edges and shake the wicked out of it? . . . Have you comprehended the vast expanses of the earth? Tell me, if you know all this.” – Job 38:4,12-13,18

“Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. This is what the ancients were commended for.” – Hebrews 11:1-2

Author of the Universe, Help us to trust and find comfort in your greatness. Heal our fear and confusion, and teach us peace. Give us the strength to be still and know that you are God when our questions have no answers we can understand. Help us open our hearts to wonder and joy. Amen.

Continuing Adventures

Throughout our whole ordeal with Evie, we simply wrote her blog from the heart. After it was all said and done, many had commended us for the way we presented her story and shared our own inner life. While being praised for quality writing was not at all consoling after the loss we experienced, we are glad that by presenting Evie's story that so many felt close enough to us to care for us. Many were interested and concerned enough to journey with us through our tragedy, its fair that people also have the opportunity to journey with us through recovery. Our lives go on, and so we hope to share some of that here. We'll try and share some thoughts, stories, pictures, and news from our lives. We're just that interesting...

A time to blog

Before our daughter was born, I didn't dig blogging very much. I had one, but I never wrote on it. Matt was more into it than me. But after Evie got sick, there was something that felt good about writing out what was happening--to "tell our story" was cathartic. I'm hoping some periodic writing will have the same effect now that we are grieving her loss. Also we can use this to post pictures and write about all things in general to help ourselves remember that our life is going on.

If you know us you probably know the story of our daughter's life and death, but if not we had another page just for her which was http://www.eviemarie.com/.