Reflecting at 5 years

5 Years ago today, 2 young, and very much in love people woke up far too early to start a day that was a comedy of errors, but eventually led to the temple, and a beautiful sealing ceremony.

We were late.
Shaun's shoes were missing.
It was determined Shaun's shoes got thrown away.
There was dumpster diving involved.
No shoes were found.
Shaun had no other church shoes.
Shaun ended up wearing his dad's old church shoes which were polished lovingly and quickly by his mother.
We were so late.
Our photographer beat us there.
It was freezing.
I was the only one without sleeves.
The black trash bag I stood on to protect my dress is visible in most of our pictures......(thanks for that...)

And yet, 5 years later, none of it matters.

If the last 5 years have taught me anything it is to be flexible. Plans are a joke. Plans normally get tossed out the first open window.

5 years in, and I don't think a SINGLE thing has gone as planned. And guess what? It doesn't matter.

At the end of our first year of marriage we were still pretty clueless. Very much in love, and adventurers! In the first year we had driven from coast to coast, or at least that was what we liked to claim. We had driven from Utah to Washington State to meet Shaun's family, and then when we moved from Utah to Florida, we drove. We drove from coast to coast, in Shaun's red Pontiac G6. We learned so much that first year, about each other and ourselves, and about us as a couple. It really was a year of discovery. And that was what 1 year of marriage got us.

The second year of marriage brought a baby, and work, and school and discovery. We personally grew so much this year. As I added the role of "mother" to student and wife, and as Shaun added "father". Bowen was added to our little family, and the love between the two of us grew in ways we never could have dreamed possible. Shaun somehow managed to balance husband, dad, student, and employee, in ways that I still don't fully understand and find possible, but he did it. And with grace, and little to no sleep! We gained such a greater compassion for the world, and each other. My thoughts and beliefs about Shaun's ability to be an amazing father were proven to be absolutely true. And I watched him transform into an incredible version of himself, but better, higher, more determined, right in front of my eyes. I also watched him melt, and transform and mold and discover who he really was and what he was really capable of right in front of me. And that was what the 2nd year of marriage brought us.

The 3rd year of marriage was a big one. With baby in tow Shaun graduated, and we set out on an adventure. I found out exactly how capable Shaun is. How determined he is. How unwilling to give up he is. We moved to Florida, without really a plan, other than "find a job" just to find that job in Vegas. (remember when I said all plans go out the window?) So we moved to Vegas, and we got thrown into a world of social work, and foster kids, and progress notes, and behavior modification. And MAN was it an adventure! And I got to watch my husband SHINE. In case you guys want to know (and this has become more evident in more recent years, but I'm adding it here,) Shaun was MADE for this, when I met Shaun, he told me that he wanted to help people, he wasn't sure how, and as a history major, I kind of laughed at him, "How are you going to help people, with a history major?!" but MAN! He has taken his minor in sociology, and MADE IT WORK. and this our 3rd year of marriage, I got to see the first glimpse of that. He is incredible at what he does, and his employers know it, and value him so much, and that has REALLY become evident in the last couple of months and weeks, but this was the VERY start of it. The seed was planted this year, and we're starting to see the fruits of the labor, and it is incredible. Our 3rd year of marriage, we were stretched, and tried, and in some ways we failed. Not even going to lie, we found out there are somethings we are really bad at.  But we learned. And we grew. And we grew. I think if I had to sum up our 3rd year of marriage, it was a year of growth.



They say the first 5 years are the hardest. I've reminded myself of that, multiple times. "If I can just get through the first 5 years..." the last 2 years have tested us in ways that I'm not sure I can adequately describe.  This day has been my "finish line" for a long time, not that I think everything will be rainbows and butterflies from here on out, but I can tell you that our relationship is so much stronger standing here today, at this quasi "finish line" than it was 2 years ago.  We have truly been through the refiners fire. We have truly been tested. A test I know others have been through, and struggled through, others have failed at, and to be honest, I don't blame them, one bit. Last year was BY FAR the hardest year of our marriage, but we made it through, together. I COULD NOT have survived last year without Shaun by my side. He was my rock. When I wanted to give up, when I was shouting to the sky, crying out for answers, when I broke down into sobs, he was there. He was unshaken. He was my constant, when everything else seemed to be moving, he was there. We lost 2 babies in our 4th year of marriage. And yet, we were unshaken from each other. When my faith was shaken, my Shaun was there. When I wanted to give up, he reminded me why we were going in the first place. He didn't judge me when I stormed out of the house, overwhelmed with everything. He just loved. And when I came back inside he didn't question, he just held, and loved, and soothed. He just loved. "God gave me you for the ups and downs...." That's my Shaun.   I know part of Shaun's job is to help, and to serve without judgement. But to see him, and to witness him, and be on the receiving end of that help and that service, without judgement was eye opening. And I gained a new appreciation for him, and the work that he does.  And that was what 4 years of marriage got us.

And this year, as we dealt with even more trials and challenges he was there. I know this is going to sound weird, but I don't think I have talked with my husband more about more things than I have this last year of marriage.  If the 4th year of our marriage was a year of spiritual bonding and closeness, this the 5th year of our marriage has been a year of emotional bonding and closeness. We have stayed up to all hours of the nights, talking about anything and everything. Some of our trials forced us to. Other times just because. We have truly just enjoyed being together. I have looked at couples who have been together for forever and wondered how they could feel "close" and "love" talking about the most mundane crap, and I feel like, this year, I get it. This year we reached "old and boring" status, and I AM PROUD of that!!!  We have been through so much this year, more tests and trials. But it has been amazing to witness the foundation we have built sustain us, and hold us, and support us, as we navigated this year, we were able to grow and build and sustain ourselves. And that was what 5 years of marriage got us.

I have often wondered how we would have fared had we gotten our start in a place other than the Lord's house. Would we be here today? Would we be as strong? I cannot imagine that being so.  I am so grateful for the gospel, and for our eternal marriage to be able to give us an eternal perspective through all the trials and challenges we have been through. I think about how much more I know my husband, and how much closer I am to my husband after these 5 years, and in particular these last 2 years, and I wouldn't trade them for the world.


As I have written this I have thought about a few of my friends who are engaged, preparing for marriage, what they must be thinking, reading this. HAVE NO FEAR! Not everyone's first 5 years are like this. And you know what, even if they are, you will be better for it. We all wish marriage could and would be "Happily ever after" and as happy and as thrilled as I am to be married, marriage is not easy. It is WORK. Hard work. But work so worth the effort. Work so worth the reward.

Shaun, we made it! Happy 5 years love! I love you. I am so glad that I have gotten to spend the last 5 years with you. I am so much more in love with you today than I ever thought would be possible.

Here's to 5 more years, love!

On reading

I have been reading SOO much lately. And I love it. I've read blogs and facebook posts and stories for forever, but I've recently started picking back up reading books. I forgot how much I loved reading.

It started when I won a copy of Brona: a memoir. It was beautiful. It's a true story about a women who is a midwife, and becomes pregnant, and loses her baby in the early stages of labor. And how she copes with the death of her stillborn baby, and how she pulls herself back from the brink of suicide. It was beautiful (I know I already said that, but I cannot think of another word to describe how I feel about the book). I related to so many parts of the book. It was so easy to read. I finished in just a couple of days, right before the new year.

I've read just a couple books since. Most recently, I read The Fault in our Stars by John Green (he does the mental floss videos on youtube, but he is also an author! I had no idea it was the same guy for forever!) I picked up the book on Saturday (?) and just finished it today. It was incredible. I found myself at a park watching Bowen play with rocks, bawling my eyes out. I have not had tears flow that freely in a very long time.

The part that I loved the most about the book is the concept that some infinities are bigger than others. I'll use an excerpt to explain.

"There are infinite numbers between 0 and 1. There’s .1 and .12 and .112 and an infinite collection of others. Of course, there is a bigger infinite set of numbers between 0 and 2, or between 0 and a million. Some infinities are bigger than other infinities. A writer we used to like taught us that."

I loved loved loved this. I have often thought about our little time with our little ones. Both those here on this earth with us and those who are gone. I remember when Bowen was a newborn and those days and nights seemed like they were never going to end. He was never going to be big enough to sleep through the night, he was never going to be big enough to not need my help. And oh, how I wish I could go back to that little infinity. Those days and nights were so precious. I remember rocking Bowen at night after he had eaten, trying to convince his little old soul that it was not yet time to wake up. I remember staring at our kitchen towels that I had rinsed of my over abundance of milk and then thrown over the edge of his crib, that he didn't sleep in, so they could dry in the hurricane of a fan we used as white noise. I remember watching those towels sway back and forth. Thinking, this hour is never going to end. Yet, look at me! Our Bowen turned 2.5 this last week!!! We have come so far from the milk drenched towels swaying in the breeze of our fan. 

I remember being pregnant with Emmaline and then Grayson, thinking the days were so long, being sick, and tired chasing after Bowen, thinking they would never end, when I thought of the months I had left to carry them.  And yet, they ended all too soon. 

I stumbled upon one of the only pictures I know of, consciously taken when I was pregnant with Grayson. I was struck. When I took the photo, I had no idea it was going to be the one of the only photos taken of me while pregnant with Grayson. I never would have guessed that 12 days after this picture was taken our little infinity would be over.

It seems like forever ago I lost my babies, both of them. And yet, it hurts like just yesterday.

All of this comes back to the fact that all this reading makes me want to write more! It does. And I'm trying to figure out how to put all my thoughts down into this blog, heavens knows I don't keep a journal, in a timely manner. That I am still working on. 

It was been requested of me to write a post about appropriate was to interact and talk about losses with friends and family. Things to say to parents of loss, and things not to say. So, that post is coming, soon. I think.

No one has dared say it to my face, but for those of you out there thinking "She's STILL talking about this?!" 

Yes.

I am.

And I will.

I know I've lost several friends on facebook due my inability to talk about nothing else some days. And if that is you. I understand. 

Grief has no time limit. And I have no plans to impose one on it.

The excerpt I quoted earlier, goes on to say..
"I cannot tell you how thankful I am for our little infinity. I wouldn't trade it for the world. You gave me a forever within the numbered days, and I’m grateful.”

On Fear and Change

The new year is upon us, and with that change, lots and lots of change.

In approximately 3 weeks our apartment contract is up, and we will be without a place to live, if we cannot find a new place and make a decision on it, in that time. We have seen so many places, and all are either too much for us, we don't feel are right or are staffed with incompetent people, and we are forced out the door.

It has been miserable. The one thing that is keeping me from losing my mind, completely, is the blessing Shaun got from our home teacher a couple weeks back. And he said "Nothing will make sense for a while." and that is the most true thing I've ever heard. Nothing is making sense. But I know something will have to work out eventually....

Shaun applied for and got offered a full time job working for Boys Town, and we turned it down. I wish I was exaggerating when I say that we wrestled with the decision for a week. We tried to make it work in so many different ways, and couldn't. Simply couldn't. It was extremely hard on all of us. Wanting so badly to make it work, and just not being able to. But, the incredible thing is, it's ok. It is ok. We're not any worse off just continuing to do what we've been doing. As hard as it has been on us. We have enough for our family. And in that regard we are incredibly blessed.

Emmaline's due date came and went before I could blink my eyes. I woke up the next morning and felt lighter. I think of my sweet baby girl often, but not in the same way. I wish I could report that this means I'm doing so much better, but that is not the case. I'll explain why in a moment.

Christmas went much better than expected. But I expected to be a heap of sadness and tears on the floor, it didn't take much to be better than that.

For the last 4 months of 2013 I kept telling myself, if I can just get to the new year, I can be ok. If I can just make it to the new year I can put this year and it's awfulness and it's trials behind me, I can focus on my babies and not the fact that I lost them. I can have hope for the future.

Well, the new year came, and with it, a giant brick wall. Of fear. Of doubt. I ran smack into it.

This giant wall shouts questions at me, questions I hate. Questions I wish I didn't have to hear. Or think about. Or worry over. Or lay awake at night contemplating.

But most importantly questions I don't want to spend the next 10 of my child bearing years answering.

I cannot spend the next 10 years of my life (or more!) living in fear of losing another child. I cannot. I will not subject myself, my heart, my body, my emotions, my family, and my faith to that.

I will not. I would not survive.

We are two months away from marking a year of turmoil. A full year. Of grief, of doubt, of faith shattering life. That I cannot believe.

As we've packed up our apartment, I cleaned out the bottom of our bathroom sink, and came face to face with my (seemingly every growing) stash of positive pregnancy tests. Stored with almost reverence in a plastic box that also keeps our sun screen and lotions. (Where else am I supposed to keep them?)  four of them. (Grayson has two) I'm sure some of you are thinking "why on earth is she keeping those?" Some days I wonder the same thing, and I think of throwing them away, but then again,  they are tangible evidence I carried those babies. I carried them. They grew in me. They did. Not for long. And they didn't get very big. But every second of every day they grew, they were a part of me. How could I throw that away?

Maybe one day I will find a home for them better suited than a clear plastic box. But that's what I have for now.

I have great fears of someone naively asking about them when they help us move.  I dream of telling them "those remind me of my dead babies" just to make the questions stop. I have fears of moving into our new ward and to have to answer all the questions again about how many babies I have. To have to deal with the "well, he's two, you ought to be ready to have another(s)"

It has taken me forever to write this post. Snippets here and there when I feel I have the strength.  It has taken me more than three weeks to get to this point, who knows how long it will take to get me to publish it.

I have been doing "necessary" things. Gaining as much information and knowledge as I can. And I feel no better off. Nothing is under my control,  and that is an awful feeling. Heaven knows I don't have enough faith for much more of this.

As I sit at a friends house doing laundry (we have no laundry room currently) I reflect on my last therapy session, and it just freaking blows my mind how much of my life, just regular general life is connected to my losses. I am mourning the loss of so much more than just babies, as if that wasn't enough. I mourn the loss of Bowen's siblings and his potential relationships with them. I mourn the loss of potential memories we could have made, they could have made. I mourn the laughs, and giggles, and smiles, and dances in the kitchens. I mourn the pillow fights that will never be. I deeply deeply mourn the fact Bowen will not have a sibling close to his age, to be his buddy, his built in friend.  I so deeply deeply mourn that.

As we went to dinner at a friends house this weekend, I was nearly in tears watching Bowen smile and laugh as he watched their kids play. He loved it. Deeply. And I cried when I got home.

I feel my ship has sailed, and I am stuck waiting on the shore watching it disappear into the horizon.

On time

I have wanted to post on here for weeks, but my shame and my weakness have kept me from doing so. I feel like I have set this incredibly high bar for my self, and if I fall short, then, I tell myself, no  one wants to hear about it. But I know that is not true, and I owe it to my self to be honest with all of you about my struggles, because, this is real life.

I have been struggling. A lot. There, I said it. A ton. Like more than I feel I ought to. More than I think is appropriate. Every day. With out fail. Struggle.

My anger towards God is so great. Greater than it has ever been. I refuse to talk to Him most days, yet, I know He's still there. When I do talk, angry, harsh, words come out. I yell at Him a lot. A lot. I feel as though He is all powerful, all knowing, and yet, He puts trials in every path I take.   Some times it's stupid little things, like a newborn sized Christmas dress hanging on the end of the aisle in Target. Other times it's big things like a baby girl being blessed today at church named Emma Jane. Other times it's a Christmas ornament that would have been prefect for Grayson. Other times it is bigger more personal things that really just feel like a slap in the face. If He is so big and so powerful, why doesn't He just change it for me? He knows I'm having a hard time, a really hard time, and yet, trial after trial, thing after thing, slap after slap. I know He is blessing us too, I know He is, but I cannot see through my anger and my tears enough to fully appreciate what He has given us.

I was talking with a friend who has also lost a baby, and she asked me how I was doing. I told her that I was having a difficult time coming up with something to be thankful for for Thanksgiving. All of the little thing we have, aside from my family and the gospel, I would give up in a heart beat to have my babies back. In a heart beat. It's difficult to be thankful for that when what you really want has been taken from you. Like I said, I'm angry.

Today is the first of December. In 21 days, exactly three weeks, I was supposed to be due with our baby girl. 21 days. How has time passed so quickly? I feel like it is slipping away from me. I keep hoping some how, some way, my baby girl will come to me. But as her due date approaches, I know, she's not. I will never in this life buy her a Christmas dress, or curl her hair or dance with her in the kitchen or cuddle with her on the couch or tell her not to fight with Bowen or the million other things I wanted to do. I planned on doing. None of them. All of those dreams and hopes I had for her, gone. I think that is one of the hardest parts about losing a baby, coming up with new dreams and hopes and plans, not only for your baby, who is now gone, but for yourself, for your family. Like, Shaun and I had this stupid idea to space our kids 2 years a part. And we had all these reasons and ideas behind it. And well, my kid's two. And no new baby. And if you would like to obsess over the math with me, you'd find out that this month would produce a kid exactly three years younger than Bowen. Now I have to come up with new reasons and ideas why three years is great! Why that's what I want for my family. Do you know how hard that is?  I keep telling myself we have to bring home a baby next time. We HAVE to. I never thought I'd live through losing a child. And yet, I've survived the unthinkable twice now. I cannot do it a third time. Cannot. I know friends who have lost nearly 10 babies! 10! Here I am with just two, and I feel shattered, broken.

I've been watching the movie Charly a lot lately. There's one scene in the movie where the wife, who is dying of cancer, finally confronts the husband.

Wife: what's all this?
Husband: it's your studio, I decided you could use it more than I could.
Wife: I never told you why I first fell in love with you did I?
Husband: you have a lifetime to show me.
Wife: no I don't.
Husband: knock it off.
Wife: who's going to use this thing once you finish it? The paints got a longer guarantee on it than I do.
Husband: you don't know that! We have lived good lives, we have been faithful, and God will keep his promises.
Wife: God, never promised us He would cure my cancer! He promised us we could be together forever, even after death. Dying is just a part of the deal. Sam, I am going to die.
Husband: we don't know that.
Wife: I knew it the night of the blessing. So did you.
Husband; why are you giving up?! You can't give up! He says he's a God of miracles? Well why not now? I've done my part!  All I want is one, lousy, little, miracle. Is it too much to ask?


Husband: I had always taken solace in god, that he was in control, but now, now things were so terribly wrong. Did I know him well enough to trust Him now? To trust Him with her?


The movie is great. Really. If you don't own it, you ought to buy it, or watch it on YouTube, if you don't mind Spanish subtitles. You will cry like a baby. You will, unless you don't have a heart at all. Bring tissue!

So there's some dialog in between the two pieces I decided to focus on, but I don't think it is important right now.  The first part I just love, because it helps me feel not so alone. I'm not the only one who gets mad at God. One little miracle, that was all we wanted. 

The second part, to be perfectly honest, I would guess my answers would be no. I didn't know Him well enough to to trust Him. Or maybe I did, but I just do not understand how this could be His will. How this could be the best thing for us, for our family. And if it's not His will, or the best thing for us, why didn't He stop it? Why didn't He change it? He is all powerful, all knowing, and yet.... I guess I lack enough faith for that. 

Like I said, I've been angry, really angry. 

Luckily I haven't had a single question about future kids in a while, Shaun on the other hand, has. Which I find interesting. 

I'm less than a month away from my due date. Three weeks. 21 days. I feel as though I am not looking forward to Christmas this year, but more that is it looming. It is hanging over my head, waiting to disappoint me, with what it won't be bringing, a baby girl. 

As you do your shopping this Christmas season, please, look for those who are hurting around you, I have been known to walk up to strangers who are sad or crying, and ask if I could help. If I could give a hug. There are so many others hurting, please, reach out to them, because I know I'm not the only one who will be walking through Target with tears rolling down my face. 

My therapist tells me, grief typically takes 6 months. 6 months of misery, 6 months before you feel less consumed again.  So as I wait for the time to pass, I will leave you with some quotes that have been on my mind. 


"Jesus, I wanted to sit my babies on my lap, and tell them all about you. As I can't now do that, will you sit them on your knee and tell them all about me?"

"And to think, when their little eyes opened, the first thing they saw was the face of Jesus."

"Your most profound and intimate experiences of worship will likely  be in your darkest days- when your heart is broken, when you feel abandoned, when your out of options, when the pain is great- and you turn to God alone" 

I know that is where my peace is, where my hope is, where my comfort is. But I am not yet at a place where I can suck up my pride enough and be willing to admit, that this pain, this awful awful crap we've had to go through is really for my benefit. I am not there. And I don't know when I am going to be there. 

On being gentle with myself

I read this story several weeks ago, about a women, who's husband suffered a brain injury, and because of that injury, was not himself, for years, the women did all she could to help keep up the house, and their property, and their business, but it was too much for her to handle, and some things where neglected.  One day, during a moment of lucidity she was able to talk to her husband about how desperate things had gotten. He got on the phone and ordered a giant sign and put their phone number on it, and drove all of their vehicles and their boat down to the road, in an attempt to sell all of them. Just a few moments later the mans phone rang, it was a neighbor, who was yelling about how he was turning their property into a used car lot, and how the large sign couldn't be legal, and how his property with the large sign and all the vehicles was bringing down the value of the neighbor's property. Finally the neighbor was finished. And got quiet, and the man said "there was a time in this country when, if you saw your neighbors yard hadn't been mowed in 6 weeks, and all of his belongings for sale at the road, you would call and check on him, because something was obviously terribly wrong." The neighbor was silent, and the man went on to explain his injury and how it was affecting his family. The neighbor apologized, really apologized, and even said he would call his friends to see if they would be interested in buying any of his things.

This women told this story to tell this point. If we all went about with signs hanging from our necks, saying what was really going on in our lives, how much gentler would we be towards each other. This women talked of how she longed to just be able to wear a sign around her neck so people knew what was going on without having to fake being ok, but also without having to tell everyone she came in contact with. She longed to be honest. Truthfully, rawly, honest, not only with others, but herself as well.

This article has changed my perspective a bit. How much easier would it be to face the challenges of everyday with everyone understanding where you're coming from? I have been brought to tears lately at the unintentionally hurtful things people have said to me. I believe they don't mean to be hurtful or rude, but they honestly don't know any better. They don't know what I've been through, and what I'm going through. I haven't told them, and I've found it's easier to fake the smile, and make up an answer than to say through tears the truth.  I long to be able to wear a sign around my neck that says, please, be gentle, I've lost two babies this year, I'm still grieving, I'm still mending, I'm still healing, please, be gentle.

(This is a bit of a rant, and for that I'm sorry) but I long to wear this sign, so that, that way, during my WEEKLY questioning by some lady who I don't even know at church (it seems to always be at church) when they ask, "is this your only child?" Or "how many kids do you have?" Or "you want more kids, don't you?" I don't have to lie to be socially appropriate. And I don't have to lie to keep from bursting into tears.

This past week, some poor sister asked if Bowen was my only child "so far". That really struck me. I think I got so caught up on this poor sisters question I was super rude and didn't even answer it. But this past week was a rough one for me, I even had a sister tell me that because my son is two years old, I "ought to be ready to have another" I literally stood up from the table and walked away, without so much as a goodbye. I have zero grace and poise when it comes to these things. But seriously, who says that?! I have even had a sister ask me, after finding out Bowen is two, "well, are you trying to have another?!" I honestly have no idea what I said to her, I was so taken aback by her question. I'm sure it was something along the lines of waiting until it was right for our family, and she stopped talking. Just a few minutes after having that conversation I realized, basically what this women asked me, was if my husband and I were having unprotected sex with the intent to conceiving a child. How personal of a question is that?! That's akin to asking what position we have sex in. Who asks that to a basically random stranger?! I'd like to make it clear that, I do not know these women, yes they go to church with us, yes, they are in our ward, but I'm in nursery the entire time, and don't know any one outside of that little bubble. If I ran into these women in the hall of church I would not even remember having a conversation with them. That's how brief and informal these conversations where.


Sorry for the rant, moral of the story is this, don't invite yourself into anyone else's bedroom. It's awkward, ridiculously awkward for those involved.

I say all of this to get to my point. I'm working on being gentle with myself, and not beating myself up over stupid answers to awkward questions in hallways. I met with our bishop a couple weeks back to get some resources, and he told me to not let Satan's voice into my head, and that Satan would try to convince me that I'm not as worthy as those with bountiful wombs (my words, not his) and that I am no less than those women, and that I am just as worthy, and just as precious in the sight of God.  Before meeting with him the thought did enter into my mind, just twice, that maybe I was less, in terms of being able to multiply and replenish. But I'm beginning to understand, that he also meant in terms of being gentle with myself, and to not beat myself up over my stupid answers, and because sometimes I have stupid answers that doesn't make my babies matter any less.

I'm working on being brave. It is so difficult to do. To be raw and vulnerable to people you don't know, about the death of your children. But I'm trying, and I hope that one day, when someone asks me "How many children do you have?" I'll be able to proudly and confidently say, something along the lines of "I have one, here on earth with me, and I have two in heaven."



We feel impossibly small to be a family of five.

A short film

Please, take a moment and watch this video. It's only 2 minutes long. And incredibly powerful.

I hate Thursdays.

Thursday, August 15th. This was supposed to be a joyous day. My son's second birthday. And it was joyous, briefly, but the majority of my day was spent anxious. I sat in a waiting room wondering if the reception desk would honor the doctors offer. I spent 15 min, bleeding sitting on an exam table waiting for the doctor to come in. He came in, I explained my history to him. And he understood. Finally after medical history and current symptoms, the ultrasound screen lit up. I knew exactly what I was looking at before he even said anything. A beautiful, wonderful, little fluttering heart beat. The doctor said, "this is where your new journey begins. Do you know what that is?" I did, and I said through tears, our baby's heartbeat. He was thrilled, I was crying. Shaun was thrilled. I walked into that office thinking I had already lost the baby. But no! There he was. Fluttering away. The doctor took a couple pictures for us. And explained that sometimes, even with a heart beat, things don't go well, and the pregnancy results in a miscarriage. He told me he wanted to draw blood for progesterone levels and see me again in two weeks. He left the room telling us to "think positive thoughts, I want you guys to think about bringing a baby home from the hospital."

Went and had my blood drawn. And went home to wait to be told what to do. I got a call back three hours later. My progesterone was low. Very low. 4.2 when it should have been in the 20s. That coupled with the bean measuring a week behind, immediately had me worried. I was given a Rx that I was told to pick up and start taking immediately. It was supposed to start working instantly, and it did, sort of. My symptoms improved. For 24 hrs. I felt hope. For the first time in days. Hope. Maybe everything will be ok. Maybe we WILL leave the hospital, with a bouncing baby. It was a very short 24 hrs. All hope faded. I texted my doctor, (yes, texted, after hours on a Friday, this guy, is seriously a saint) and explained, asked for suggestions, for hope. He told me that it was most likely a miscarriage. And that he would pray for me.

As the hours and days past it became evident that he was right, and that I was going to be losing a second baby this year. Devastated does not even come close. I cried ugly, angry tears, for days. I was so angry at God. I could not understand why, why he would say "trust me" when I wondered if it was right to try to have another baby after losing Emmaline. I didn't understand why, why I would have to lose another baby, what was the lesson I failed to learn the first time around. I didn't understand how I could have a normal pregnancy, resulting with a healthy happy baby, and then lose two. I didn't understand who, who would choose this life. Was this really the life I chose in the pre-existence? Who was that crazy girl that chose this life for me? And where is she now? Needless to say, I was angry. Soo so angry. I didn't want to pray. I didn't want to read my scriptures. I didn't want to go to church. I wanted to sit and be angry. And I did for a while.

I don't know what changed. I don't. I think one day I just got exhausted from being so angry all the time. And I think I decided, you know what Lord, YOU can carry this burden, because I'm not any more. You're the one who gave it to me in the first place. So here ya go, take it. (Not in a grateful, using the atonement, kind of way, but in an angry spiteful, kind) but you know what? He did. He took it. And I cried from the relief I felt. I had been carrying this huge burden for a long time, and it was literally weighing on my soul. My heart was then changed.

I wish I could say that's been rainbows and butterflies since, but that would be a lie, and completely unexpected. There are days that are so hard, mostly Thursdays, where I sit around and calculate, at this time, four weeks ago, I heard my sons heartbeat for the first and last time. And I cry ugly tears, and make sounds only grief can make. And I lie around waiting for it to end. For the day to pass so I can move on for a little bit. There are days where eating is too difficult a task. Days where I am so overwhelmed, and storm out of the house at the first hint of criticism. Because I. Just. Can't.

My two week appointment came, and I debated canceling it, but decided I ought to go. When they
called for the reminder I asked if I could still keep the appointment, and just not do the ultrasound,
because I didn't see the point. Apparently, I was supposed to call the office and confirm the miscarriage with them, because they knew nothing of it, and I was immediately transferred to a nurse. I assured her that I was no longer cramping or bleeding, and that I was positive it was a miscarriage, and that I was doing ok. The registration lady said that I should keep the appointment and that they would still do the ultrasound because the office needed proof for my file.  The ladies both expressed sorrow. And wished me well.

The next day, I sat in the same waiting room. Full of pregnant bellies. Trying not to cry. Trying not to have a panic attack. Trying to remember to breathe. (Shaun could not join me, I was alone.)

I walked back into the same room I was in two weeks ago, the same room where I saw and heard my sons heartbeat for the first time. The nurse was very kind, and took my blood pressure, it was through the roof. She came back to talk to me after she wheeled the bp cuff into the hall. She noticed on my chart my miscarriage. I told her that that was way my blood pressure was so high, I could feel my heart racing. She and I talked for a moment. And she and I shed a few tears together. Compassion. I didn't experience any of that last time. It was refreshing.

She returned with the doctor a few minutes later. He came straight over and hugged me. Compassion. He said things like, this sucks. And I know this is not fair. And that he would continue to pray for me, because medicine only goes so far. He said that this is not how it's supposed to be, your supposed to get pregnant and bring home a baby, and not lose the baby, especially not twice in one year.

He did the ultrasound. Seeing my empty uterus was sobering. I think I held on to some hope that I was wrong. That he was fine. That I was wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong. But I wasn't. I was right. I didn't want to be right. I wanted to be wrong. But I was right. My baby was gone, and no medicine in the world could have saved him.

My doctor took me by the hands and talked to me for a while. The thing that stuck with me the most was about the difference between strength and courage. He told me, I didn't have to be strong. That it was ok to not be strong for a while. But he talked at length about my courage. He told me he knew how difficult it must have been to show up the the appointment that day. That it took courage to come, when I knew it was going to hurt. Courage to sit in the waiting room with the pregnant mommies. Courage to sit in the same room I sat two weeks ago. Courage. Before that day, I would have said that strength and courage were the same thing, but now I know the difference.

It has not been easy, I will not lie about that. I am collecting names of babies, dead babies, with what feel like are empty arms. I have more dead children than alive.  The statistics are staggering.  The odds are officially against me.

Grief is so strange.

Baby, sweet baby boy. I miss you. I knew from the first time I saw you, how much you loved your sister, how much you wanted to be with her, and how much sorrow it brought you to be apart from her. I understand sweet baby boy. I get it honey, I miss her too. Baby, I have tried to tell people about your connection to your sister, but words fall short, but honey, don't be afraid, I understand. I get it. Take care of each other, sweet babies.

Grayson Wyatt, you were a fighter, as your middle name suggests, a little warrior. I will forever miss your bright green eyes, just like your Grandpa V's. They were beautiful. One day, little fighter, little warrior, my Grayson, I will hold you again. And for that day, I pray, and I wait.

I believe Grayson and Emmaline where meant to be twins. I know the color of their eyes, but I only believe they were meant to be twins. I know I will see them again one day. I know of their love for each other, and for us.




While I wait, I'm going to work on not shrinking.

                     

"I could finally stop looking for the magical answer to my grief and simply sit still with it."

Camping!

We went up to Mt. Charleston to go camping last month (Holy Cow! has it really been a month?!) and we loved it. Spent some time hiking and more than an hour of just letting Bowen play with some sand in the middle of a meadow.  It was therapeutic. And just what I needed.

Here's some pictures of our trip. In backwards order. Sorry about that. If you want from start to finish, start at the bottom and scroll up! Problem solved! :D

Our happy little camper. Bowen loved every aspect of camping. He has a new found love for dirt, tents, bugs and trees.

Photo courtesy of Shaun, thanks love. :D

This was the opening of one of the slots we hiked. It was beautiful.

I was obsessed with the rock. I thought it was the coolest thing ever. So many tiny rocks and shells and so much pressure to help it become something so much bigger than itself. I love that idea. Just check it out for your self!

He was Mr. INDEPENDENT this trip. I do it my self! Yes sir, you do!

This was like Shaun's only photo request. The moon was beautiful that day.

Such a cool rock formation.

No, he didn't like camping at all. Such a happy little energetic boy!

We brought the Ergo with us up these slots because we didn't have a clue what we were getting ourselves into, and didn't want to be stuck carrying him if he couldn't walk it himself the whole time. But luckily we were wrong, and it was PERFECT for Bowen.

Loved these flowers. It amazes me the beauty of the desert. 

Close up of the rock. How cool is that?!

This rock appeared to had fallen and then split. So cool.

Our slot.

Do you see the faces in the rock?! There's two in this picture. One in the slab that has fallen and another in the rock just to the right of it.

Love my Subaru! 

That slot in the middle is what we hiked. We drove off road for a mile or so to get there. So cool. So worth it!

On the way up and down the mountain we hiked our first day camping Bowen was a trip. The thing we loved the most was him yelling at trees. Where on earth he got that idea, I have no idea. But anytime there was a tree hanging down over the path or near the edge of the path Bowen would stop, yell at it, and then continue on his way, like nothing happened. Shaun and I were laughing so hard.

Handsome boy!

More yelling at trees.

Squishing bugs. Not a clue where he would have gotten this from.... oops. :)

Shaun decided that there needed to be more pictures of me, thanks love!

Trying to get a picture of his dirty butt and shoes. He fell a couple of times, not hard, but missteps and it took a toll on the cleanliness of his shorts.

His shoes took on a whole new shade.

More yelling at trees. Seriously, every tree he had to tell his peace to, and then we moved on. It was so funny!

I believe this was 'Robbers Roost' that we hiked.

I know this was up Robbers Roost. Check the smiley face, middle of the rock. The mountains sure were happy to see us!

Smiley face is in this picture too! extreme right hand side, middle of the picture. This was up that same trail.

While hiking Bowen was very proud of himself. He'd get to a part he thought was going to be hard....

And then he would tackle it......

And smile, and laugh, and be proud of himself.....

And there was pride to be had, and then.....

Clapping. Lots and lots of clapping! "Yay Bowen, you did it!"

That's my love!

Ok, love these pictures. No editing was done, the naturally darker and lighter areas are just shade and light coming through the trees.

On happy camper.

If breastfeeding photos bother you, scroll past the next two. If not, I promise hardly any skin is even shown. Enjoy the precious moment between my son and I.

And there was a milk break, or two. Hiking is hard work!

We love this shared time. I have no idea what we're going to do when it is gone.

The trail we hiked.

Happy Happy camper.

At the very start of the trail.

Handsome husband.

The view from our camp site.

Our little tent. Ok, well it is our friends tent, but it was ours for the weekend.

There are more pictures from this trip, but I guess I didn't finish editing them, so that will have to be another post, and the whole set of Bowen playing in the sand in the meadow is worth it's own post anyway.

This trip was much needed break from Vegas. We were able to spend some time as just a family, without any cell phone service! Didn't even know places like that existed any more! 

It was wonderful to just be able to take a bit of a break from life, and the stresses of this world and put our selves in a bit of a different perspective. 

Sometimes our problems seem so big. Too big. And some times they are big problems, and trials. But being out in nature, helps me remember that He is the one that has created us, and all of this world. He cares for all the little bugs that Bowen squished, and the trees he yelled at (sorry guys) he cares about our problems too. He will not leave us. He will not forsake us. Ever. But especially during times of trials and troubles.

And that is my that is my hope and my prayer that He will continue to comfort us. And help us on this path.

Kirsten