Still here

Even if you haven't experienced much grief in your life, you've most likely at least heard the phrase, "grief comes in waves." And it's so very true. For me, tonight is one of those times when that grief hits like an enormous tidal wave, and the sorrow and the pain is so intense that it even hurts physically.

This New Year's Eve marks the one-year anniversary of Isaac's accident, which is frankly so painful and horrible to remember that I don't think that I will ever be able to write of it. I will say that throughout that day, he had been so sweet, so cuddly and clingy-- grabbing my face to give me slobbery baby kisses-- and I remember feeling so grateful to be his mother.

Before my husband went to work that day, Isaac looked into his eyes and smiled the most incredibly loving smile I've ever seen-- before or since. My husband called to me to look at our baby, and Isaac continued to smile that beautiful smile at both of us. We marveled at the deep kindness and charity we saw in the eyes of a seven-month-old child.

I remember that I held Isaac in my arms that afternoon while reading a long article about blogger Stephanie Nielson's plane crash and lengthy recovery, and making a resolution in my heart that I would truly devote the coming year to my sons, to giving them a fuller, happier life, and to showering them with all the love I feel for them.

I remember that day was the first, and only, time I ever heard him call me "Mama."

And yet... that very night, our world was shattered. And it will never, ever be the same. Nine days later, after many prayers and blessings, after countless tests and examinations revealed our son would not ever recover, we said our goodbyes as Isaac took his last breaths in my arms, surrounded by close family and a few friends. The morning he was born, we had listened to peaceful Beethoven sonatas, and so we played them again for him as his spirit returned to his Father in Heaven.

Sometimes when I realize that we've lived a year now without our Isaac, it feels so awful and terrible to think it has gone so fast. How in the world could we have lived a year already without our little Sunshine? How has life kept going on? Why didn't the world stand still, at least for a little while, to acknowledge the tremendous loss of this perfect little angel? How have I endured life without my baby for nearly a year? It feels so wrong.

For many people, writing about their grief is very therapeutic. I am so grateful to those who are able to share their deepest feelings, to allow others to gain strength from them by bravely laying those feelings bare for others to see. But I don't think I'm really there yet. When I wrote of Isaac's birthday, and how we wished to commemorate it, I was initially overwhelmed by the response. Facebook friends had invited hundreds to spread sunshine for others, and I felt great hope that many people would be touched by our sweet Isaac. But very few people actually let us know how they honored Isaac or what they did. Instead, more people seemed to want to praise us for what we did. And that really bothered me. I didn't want to be praised or congratulated. Maybe it sounds strange, but I did not want anyone to hold me up as an example. Because honestly, I didn't-- and still don't-- feel worthy of it.

Two days after Isaac's birthday, we finally made it back to the cemetery-- exactly a year from the day we had brought him home from the hospital. As I look back on my life, May 12, 2009 was the brightest and most hopeful day I can ever remember experiencing. In contrast, May 12, 2010 was dark, cold, rainy and miserable. I sank deeper into my grief, and the Spring and Summer seemed to slip past me before I even noticed. The loss of our Isaac seemed so pronounced and obvious. Thoughts of all the things he should have been learning and doing haunted me and made my broken heart just ache.

Much to my astonishment, during this period of intense mourning, I was asked to teach Early-morning Seminary, a daily scripture study course for high school students from our Church. Each year has a focus, and this school year's curriculum covers the history of our Church, and also a book of scripture called the Doctrine and Covenants. For more than 14 weeks I was immersed in my teaching materials, and while I would never have aspired to teach teenagers at 6 a.m., it has blessed my life. I have gained strength from reading of those early Latter-day Saints, who willingly endured great hardships because of their testimonies of the gospel. One night, while reading from the Church History institute manual, I came across the following account:

Jane Richards (1823–1913) made the trek across Iowa late in 1846 without her husband, Franklin D. Richards, who was on his way to England... Jane’s little daughter, Wealthy, was ill and died at Cutler Park after weeks of incredible suffering. Sister Richards recounted the incident:

“A few days previously she had asked for some potato soup, the first thing she had shown any desire for for weeks, and as we were then travelling, we came in sight of a potato-field. One of the sisters eagerly asked for a single potato. A rough woman impatiently heard her story through, and putting her hands on her shoulders, marched her out of the house, saying, ‘I won’t give or sell a thing to one of you damned Mormons.’ I turned on my bed and wept, as I heard them trying to comfort my little one in her disappointment. When she was taken from me I only lived because I could not die.”

As I read those words, I couldn't stop my tears. Although Jane Richards' daughter died 164 years before our Isaac, and under different circumstances, I felt a deep kinship with this woman I have never met. I felt that here was someone who knew and felt what I now felt. And she did not give up. She did not die when she buried her precious little one. She kept going. Like me, she didn't know how to keep going. She just somehow did it anyway.

So while it seems incomprehensible much of the time, we still get up every morning and keep trying. I wish I could say I've been strong, and cherished every day and become a better person-- but honestly, grieving is hard. It is exhausting, and draining, and isolating. It can make a person question everything she knows and believes. It includes not just profound sadness, but also deep feelings of fear and regret and anger and jealousy. And I'm not sure how much of that to share, or how to share it.

Another somewhat surprising thing has happened in the past several months...

I became pregnant again. We weren't trying to prevent a pregnancy, but being under such intense stress and grief, we honestly didn't think we would conceive any time soon. And even once I'd had two positive pregnancy tests, I was convinced that I would most likely miscarry. I was fearful not only of that possibility, but also of negative reactions from others. And, truly, some people, when they have been told, have shown no reaction whatsoever or still have never offered any congratulations. So I've kept a lot of that, too, very private.

I suppose there are some who think we are foolish to have another child when we continue to struggle financially due to this crappy economy. Despite his ceaseless, heroic efforts-- not to mention his intelligence and abilities-- my husband has not been offered a job in his field and has worked willingly and diligently at the most thankless job I've ever seen-- for over a year.

I think more likely, though, the others find it distasteful that we should have another child so soon after Isaac's passing. Perhaps they mistakenly feel that we are trying to replace him. But NOTHING could be further from the truth. NO ONE EVER could replace our Isaac. No one will ever be just like him. No one will ever fill that gaping hole in our lives. It's just not possible. We will continue to miss him every day of our lives.

24 weeks pregnant, late September

However, this new baby boy, whom we will welcome in just a few short weeks, will help fill our empty arms. He will be a companion for his oldest brother. He has given us hope for the future. He will bring us joy, and we are grateful to have the blessing of being able to love and nurture another sweet little child. And truly he deserves to have parents who are happy that he is part of their family, too-- even while they grieve the loss of his brother.

So that's where I've been, in a very simplified nutshell... In time, perhaps I will be able to share more. I would like to, if I can figure out a way that feels right and fitting. For now, I'm still working on just getting through each day.

What We Did for Isaac 2010

Well, we are still in the process of finishing up our goals for Isaac's birthday, but I thought I would post what we have been doing.

Yesterday morning, I awoke at 5:45 am to the sound of a mourning dove outside our window. I think this was more than a coincidence because mourning doves have a special significance to my family, and because Isaac was born at 5:50 am. So I was awake at the very same time my sweet little boy made his earthly debut. At 5:50, I sang "Happy Birthday" to him.

I then came down and read the many Facebook postings you, my friends and family, had written about your intentions to honor Isaac on his birthday while listening to Beethoven. We had listened to Beethoven in the hospital on the day Isaac was born, and also on the day that he passed away in my arms. I have always loved this music, but since Isaac returned to his Father in Heaven, it has been very hard for me to hear it. I then listened to Elizabeth Mitchell's recording of "You Are My Sunshine," our favorite song to sing to our little ray of sunshine. Then I played a few songs from Ziggy Marley's "Family Time," and Taj Mahal's "Don't You Push Me Down" because those were songs he liked to "dance" to.

We got ready for the day, and woke up our older son, "Kiddo", so that he could go play with a friend while the Daddy-O and I went to the Temple. We were running late, so I packed some Cheerios for all of us to munch on in honor of Isaac's love of Cheerios. When we crossed the toll bridge on our way to the Temple, we gave $5 instead of one and asked that we could pay for the next 4 cars to cross the bridge.

We spent 4 hours at the Temple, and it was a sweet experience. We rarely have anywhere near that amount of time to spend there. We were able to help, in a very small way, a couple who was there to do work for their family. Their enthusiasm and gratitude was amazing, and we were thrilled to have a tiny part in putting those huge smiles on their faces. Our broken hearts were very full.

My mom treated us to lunch, and as we were finishing a song came on that, I must confess, brought me to tears again. Last fall, Amazon had offered a free download of a song by a CMA-nominated artist, and I had chosen "I Just Call You Mine," by Martina McBride, because it reminded me of my children, especially Isaac. Particularly fitting are these words from the chorus:

Everyone that sees you
Always wants to know you
And everyone that knows you
Always has a smile
You're a standing ovation
After years of waiting
For a chance to finally shine
Everyone calls you amazing
I just call you mine

As I tried to stop the tears from flowing, my mother gently reminded me that I do still get to call Isaac "mine," even if he is no longer here with me on this earth. After composing myself, we geared up for the next phase of our plans to spread sunshine. We went to the grocery store to pick up some items for a dinner we planned to make for 8 widowed or single women from Church, two of whom still have children at home. James 1:27 reads, "Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this, To visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the world." Our Isaac is completely pure, and radiated charity for others while he lived, so we felt this would be a way to reflect his goodness and love.

When we picked up our Kiddo, he had done his part to spread sunshine by being his own silly, clever self with his friends, and by miraculously managing to "stay dry" the whole time we were gone. :)

While the dinner was cooking, we again read some of the posts in honor of Isaac, and I found the information for another project we had planned. A few months back, I had read on www.jennifermcguireink.com about a project called "Cards for Kids" -- a drive to send homemade cards to critically ill children. There are currently 10 children on the list, so Kiddo and I set out to make 10 cards. WELL.... let's just say we are still in the process of completing this goal. Kiddo thought it was more important to start out by making cards for South Dakota and Utah... sigh. Today he seems more excited about creating something for actual children! :)

The grocery store hadn't had all the components of our meal, so my mom ran to another store to get the remaining items. I printed out pictures of Isaac in his high chair, and stamped "SMILE" in the corner. On the back, I wrote "Please enjoy in honor of our Isaac. Love, Our Family" and attached them to the meals.

Initially, we had planned to take Kiddo with us to deliver these meals, but he was just worn out from his fun playdate. We fed him dinner, and my Mom had brought an angel food cake for Isaac's birthday. We put a candle in it, and as a family, sang to Isaac. Then Daddy-O and I loaded up the car and went off to deliver the meals.

We were excited to find 7 of the 8 "sisters" at home-- this is especially noteworthy, because we hadn't called ANY of them to see if they would be there. We took a minute, or a few, at each home and explained that it was Isaac's birthday and that we wanted to make them smile, because Isaac always loved to make others smile. Some of these women remember Isaac very well, and know just how true that is!

When we got home, Kiddo was in bed, but waiting for me. I read with him, laughed with him, and talked to him. Shortly before he fell asleep, I sang some of the Primary birthday songs for Isaac. Kiddo didn't want to participate, but I soon heard him singing "Happy Birthday, Dear Isaac" softly, almost to himself.

Then Daddy-O and I finally ate our dinner and cake. I ate my strawberry ice cream, and had some Coca-Cola, and we tried to wind down from our whirlwind day.

You may notice that we didn't make it to the cemetery yesterday-- sadly, there was just not time for the 4 hour round-trip, but we WILL go tomorrow and bring him some flowers. I guess then we will "report back" to him about all the joy that was spread yesterday in his honor. There are at least a dozen other things I wanted to accomplish on his birthday, but I guess that will just serve as our motivation to continue spreading Isaac's joy in the days to come.

Isaac's birthday was still a difficult day for us-- we missed his presence so very intensely, it is hard to describe. But deciding to use his memory as a motivator to help others added a measure of happiness where there would have only been pain. We have decided that we will honor Isaac through love and service every year, and hope that all those who were touched to help someone this year will join us in spreading sunshine for Isaac next year, too. We thank you from the bottom of our hearts, and pray that the Lord will bless you for your efforts.

photos by my Aunt Karen

In Honor of Isaac's Birthday

My heart has been particularly tender these past few days, and as it gets closer to Isaac's birthday (May 10th), my emotions grow more bittersweet and poignant. How grateful I am to be his mother, and to have had such a sweet, precious child in my home-- albeit for far too short a time. But how my heart aches to have him here with me to celebrate his first birthday, and every birthday after!

I have been contemplating how best to celebrate his birth, and I don't have it all totally figured out yet. I know I'll start the day eating Cheerios, because Isaac LOVED Cheerios. I know that my husband and I will spend part of the day in the Temple, because there we feel peace and comfort from our Father in Heaven. Isaac LOVED music, so I know I will listen to some songs he liked.

He also LOVED to eat, but since he mostly only nursed, I'm not sure what his favorite food would be. I know when I was pregnant for him, my biggest cravings were strawberry ice cream and Coca-Cola (gasp! Please don't judge me!), so I will likely have some in tribute to him. We'll have a cake and sing him "Happy Birthday," in the hopes that maybe somehow he'll hear us all the way in Heaven. I dearly hope we will be able to make the 90-minute drive to the cemetery to take him some flowers.

These are all small things, and I want to do more. I have thought a lot about the kind of boy Isaac is, and the joy and love that just radiated from his chubby little body. He had the most beautiful smile, and he shared it so freely, in turn making everyone around him smile. I think he just brought smiles and sunshine with him wherever he went. So, in honor of him, I want to do something to make someone else smile and feel loved, just as he did for me.

This is not entirely my idea alone. I have been reading the blog of another mother whose young daughter died tragically in an accident, and who is very inspiring to me. In honor of her sweet daughter, Camille, she asked others to do something kind for someone else on Cami's birthday (which, coincidentally, also happens to be my birthday). And so, I encourage all of you, anyone who ever met Isaac, or who simply read about him or saw his photo and loved him, to do the same.

On Monday, go out of your way to make someone happy. Do something compassionate and loving. Help someone else feel better, even for a brief moment. Think of my dearest little Isaac, and the joy he would have spread each day had he lived longer. And try to scatter some sunshine of your own, in honor of him. Then, if you don't mind, please let us know what you did. It would mean a lot to me, and I think it would also mean a great deal to him.

The Road I Thought I Could Never Walk

How much has changed in our lives since that last post in December. The end of 2009 was mostly sweet, celebrating Christmas with our two beautiful boys. There was stress in our lives, yes, but mostly profound gratitude for the joy of the Gospel and of our little family. My sons were growing up so fast, learning so quickly, filling my heart with such love and happiness. And then, suddenly, what has seemed like a long and terrible nightmare... but, tragically, is now our reality. Certainly by now the few of you who have followed my humble blog know that our dearest, sweetest little Isaac passed away on January 9th. My heart has been broken in a way I could never have imagined, and I have struggled to know what to say, to know what to do about this blog. I have known that I couldn't keep up the light-hearted blog with the whimsical title that this once was. But I have felt the need to continue to write about my children, and wondered what on earth to do.

As I look over the few posts I wrote since Isaac's birth, it seems so very wrong that there is so little recorded of his beautiful life. He was such a joy to me every single day, no matter how tired or inadequate I felt. It has been the great privilege and honor of my life to be his mother. Isaac was the most loving and darling child you could ever meet, and I've done so little to share that. My one consolation is that I wasn't writing about him while he lived mainly because I was busy holding him, nursing him, singing with him, talking to him, enjoying and loving him instead. I felt his babyhood was rushing by, and I kept wishing I could slow it down. But I never dreamed that he would be gone so soon. Honestly, my greatest and deepest fear has always been that something would happen to my children-- but I really thought the Lord knew I could never live through that. Yet here I am, my little Sunshine gone ahead of me.

And I wish you could have known him. Oh, how much I wish you could have seen how his smile lit up his face, how his joy could light up a room. It was impossible to not smile back. I wish you could have watched him scoot around the room, or grunt as he "chased" after his soccer ball. I wish you could have seen how much he liked music, and how he would wave his arm in time to it. I wish you could have seen how deliciously chunky and adorable he was; we called him "The Plumpiest." How he loved to eat! I wish you could have heard him babble and talk and click. Oh, how very much I wish you could have known him!

So I will need to pay tribute to him, somehow, in some way as I get stronger. But I haven't decided how just yet. I have posted some videos of him, and the tribute I wrote for the funeral, on Facebook. I may post them here as well. Or I may create another blog, just dedicated to my sweet, precious Isaac. I'm not sure. So please, bear with me as I stumble along this difficult road. I am grateful for your love, concern, and prayers.