Another October 19th

I still feel badly that Peyton's birthday is shared with the anniversary of Autumn's death. But there really is no getting around it. It wasn't planned - it just is. And the Lord knew what He was doing.

I had a good cry on the night of the 18th. Mourning the little girl who never became part of our family - gone before I knew her. I let myself remember not only her death - but life before she died. Both bring tears.

... and yet - my life is full of contentment. My girls bring me such joy.

Peyton is the walking, talking, jumping, rhyming, running definition of life.
Tenley is mischievous, glowing, affectionate and clever.

I wonder what our family would be like if they really were our second and third child.
I wonder what Autumn would look like now. What she would sound like. So many unknowns. Sometimes, when Peyton is particularly amusing (you know, when your child does something you just shake your head in wonderment at and think, "How did you become like this?") I find myself pausing and thinking about the little life which just vanished from mine. Those moments are still challenging.

I wish we didn't have to plan a graveyard visit and balloon release tomorrow. But I wouldn't trade it. Sharing that experience with Peyton and Tenley is our family's way of marking Autumn's life. She is the reason for so many things.

A journey to the graveyard on October 21st is our life. For better or worse, this is the family we've been given. The history we've lived and the future we have hope for. We are who we are by the grace and purpose of God. That's really good to cling to when my heart threatens to break again.

I miss Autumn. But I have peace.

I love you forever.
I'll like you for always.
As long as I'm living -
these three girls
my babies will be.

About Fear

It's funny how things come up.

I'm surfing facebook - linking, linking, linking... and all of a sudden I find a link of a family whose baby boy died last month.

He was 10-and-a-half months old. One and a half months beyond where Tenley is.

It's like a literal fist in the stomach. The way the emotion hits, I mean.
The worst of it is that reading about and feeling that family's pain isn't so foreign. The horror of a life-changing discovery... and the same emotions of "This cannot be happening." run though me as I picture the moment she found her dead child.

I can even imagine what it would be like to call the police... family... friends. How to share the unthinkable...

And so - initially - I just cry. For that mom who writes, "I checked 10 times each night. And that night he just looked like he was sleeping peacefully - but he was gone." For the little boy who is so bright and beautiful in the pictures. For his big brother who is now an only child again.

But in the middle of that grief comes a new one emotion.
One I fight with all my being 'cause it's a bad one.

The fear can be overwhelming.
Ahhhh... why sugar coat it?
It is overwhelming. If it wasn't normal to be this way, Jesus wouldn't have had to tell his children how to fight it.

I had to make a hard choice.
Close facebook. Breathe. Be still. Do not run to their room. Pray.

My children are the Lord's gift to me. I have no guarantees. I know His plans for me are good. All the days of my life are leading me to the moment I will fall at His feet with tears and cry "It was all worth it!" I know this will happen. So I must fight to believe it in this fearful moment.

I ask His protection of my little ones as they sleep. To keep their heart's beating - lungs breathing... and all the while I know it could happen to me. My sweet baby girl could die of SIDS.

But my purpose is not to prepare myself for the worst.

It's to prepare myself for whatever He has for me.
I've lived one "worst-case-scenario".
There was no preparing - no planning in the world that could have lessened the sting of that heartbreak.

But Jesus held me. And I know that He still is. And still will. And will never let me go.

After reminding myself of these things, I did - of course! - go check on her.

She startled and gave an annoyed cry at my prodding.
I opened a window to cool it down. I made sure she wasn't over-bundled - and that the fan was blowing on her every once in a while.
I watched her chest rise and fall.
I loved those little baby lip movements and hand twitches.
Her soft spiky hair after her bath... her perfect round little belly stuck up in the air as she stretched her legs out.
I thought about the way her smile lights up the room. How quick she is to giggle, to give affection and be playful...
I cherish everything about that child. I love her so much my heart breaks.

Perhaps - I won't be so grumpy when that same little baby wants to eat 3 times tonight.
Or when she gets angry that I would dare put her back in her own bed.
Or when she wakes up her sister who bellows, "TENLEY!! YOU'RE TOO LOUD FOR MEEEE!" and chaos and confusion reign in our house between the hours of 2 and 5 am...

:)

I'm thinking that maybe the heartache and fear of tonight have accomplished something that needed to be done.
I am reminded of where I've been. I am reminded of the grace that has been shown to me. And I'm reminded of how much I love being a mommy - with all it's ups and downs and sleep deprivation. I remember what it took me to get here: to get them.

I remember how I longed for my arms to be full after Autumn was gone... and how God has given each of my arms a daughter to cuddle.

I have confidence for the future because of my past. Because of what He's already done.

Thank you, Lord.

A Gift

I bought a lotion today at Superstore - it was kinda random - I needed a brand to deal with winter skin and this one fit the bill.
I didn't remember if I'd ever tried it before - and it wasn't an issue as Kurt and the girls were waiting for me to cash out and I just needed to choose one and go.

When I got home I had a quick bath and broke out the new lotion to get ready for bed.

The scent was familiar at first - and I vaguely registered I had used it before.
But like a sudden flash of lightning the memory became crisp and clear - bringing tears.
I pressed my eyes shut and sat on the edge of the bed and let my mind go back in time.

I had bought that lotion before Autumn was born - to take to the hospital in my bag for use after delivery.
The day she was born, I used that lotion after I showered. When I held her, I smelled it. Her blankets I brought home smelled like it. In the weeks after her death I would go into her room and hold that yellow blanket and weep... clinging to something physical - trying to create and maintain connections with the child I never had a chance to know.

Eventually, the blanket lost it's scent. The lotion ran out and I never bought the same kind.

Life moved on - and I have felt for a long time all I had was the pictures. On October 21st, 2007, I was in physical pain, as well as shock. I've not even been sure I have any real memories of that day. It's kind of like looking at pictures of your childhood: you might think you remember something... but it's really only just a vague impression that has been reinforced by the snapshots you see in photo albums. I'll be honest: this has grieved me deeply. It's like the most momentous event in my history: and I don't even feel like I was fully present.

That's the incredible impact of today.
I had no idea, but my aching, inexperienced, brand-new-mommy heart did take measure - even in the shock and grief - it latched on to something to remember.

Like a perfume, or a particular brand of laundry detergent often characterizes people to us... this lotion is the smell of Autumn. It's in my heart. And my heart is remembering more clearly than it has in a very long time the feel of her tiny body - her little fingers and toes... and her scent.

3 years and 3 months after the most horrible day of my life, I'm faced with the bittersweet discovery that I do have more of her than mere pictures. My heart has stored a memory of her as clear as those of her sister's baby-fresh scents.

It's like finding a long-lost treasure I didn't even know was missing.
It hurts, though. Enough to bring tears.
But it's something 'new' of her that I can have for me for the rest of my life.

I love you forever, Autumn. Tonight more than ever... because with every breath, it's like you are in my arms again.
I miss you so terribly, baby girl... but I'm grateful.

Thank you, Jesus.

Happy Birthday Autumn

3 years already...

We purchased 3 balloons, which worked with with it being her 3rd birthday - as well as there being 3 of us. We sang "Happy Birthday" with Peyton filling in the "you" parts with "Autumn".

Peyton released not only her own balloon - but helped with mine as well. She watched them fly away for as long as her little eyes would allow.
When she turned and noticed her mommy and daddy's tears, she came up to us and hugged both our legs.

The story of the puppy...

We bought this little dalmatian puppy for Autumn's grave last year - and took it home a few months ago to get it cleaned up. But after it was washed, Peyton noticed it in a batch of laundry and became quite attached to it. She refers to it as "Autumn's puppy".

We asked her to leave it for her sister on her birthday - but I wasn't going to force the issue. I told her if she left it for a while, we would come back in a few months and take it home again to clean up and care for.
She teared up and said, "No, mommy." and I was prepared to let the whole thing go. She's only two, after all...

But to my amazement, she gave it a big hug, then walked over and placed it on Autumn's grave all by herself... and then started to cry in earnest - that's the above picture.
But she never once asked for it back. All she said was, "Autumn's bushdee."

She clung to her Daddy for a few tearful moments after he picked her up. She rested her head on his shoulder, then sat up, wiped her eyes and said, "Come'mere, Mommy."
When I got close, she reached out and put her little arm around my neck - then held us both close and gave us kisses on our cheeks.

Her sweetness brought more tears - but joyful ones at just the right time. She truly is such sunshine in my life... and having her be both aware of her sister - and to hear her little voice say Autumn's name were both gifts of today.
It was a good day - thanks to those who I know are praying for us...

Autumn Remembered

It just so happens that the official day chosen to remember little ones lost was her due date.

Robert Munsch has given me the perfect words of reflection regarding my feelings on the life and death of my firstborn daughter.

"I love you forever. I love you for always.
As long as I'm living, my baby you'll be..."

"To lose ones parent is to lose the past.
To lose ones spouse is to lose the present.
To lose ones child is to lose the future."

--unknown

I know my future was not truly 'lost'. I still live. And I love my 2nd and 3rd daughters with renewed hope .

But when I look at this picture - especially Kurt's expression - I experience, again, how it felt to lose the hopes and dreams we held for her.

One short day was not enough for this Mommy.
We miss you, Autumn.

The Bus Stop

I have always enjoyed watching people: facial expressions, the way they walk, dress... trying to guess what it is that has made them 'just so'.

But after a few months of university, it can get overwhelming to observe the masses. I began to tune it out. Stand and blank out... just think about my own needs, wants - stuff.

Several years ago I stood waiting for the city bus on College Drive and Cumberland after my classes were done for the day. I think it was before I started nursing - and I'm not even sure if I knew Kurt yet. It was what felt like centuries before my own grief and heartbreak shaped me as a woman and a christian.

As I stood there in my self-induced trance, a car pulled up in front of me and stopped at the stoplight.

It was a sports car: a black Eagle Talon, I think.
A beautiful young Asian woman was in the drivers seat, and she was crying.

Weeping, actually. She sat there and looked at the stoplight while wiping her eyes over and over as tears ran down her face. She didn't look left or right: and not because of self-consciousness, I could tell. She was completely caught up in her grief.

All sorts of questions flashed though my mind.
"Did she break up with her boyfriend?"
"She came from the direction of the hospital: has someone she loves been hurt or died?"
My heart began to hurt as I watched the tears continue to roll down her cheeks, and her inaudible gasps for breath.

I stood there and stared at her, actually hoping she would look to her right and see me. I wanted to somehow let her know that she wasn't alone - that someone - a total stranger! - had noticed her tears and was concerned for her. I wanted to knock on her window and ask if there was anything I could do for her. The logistics, however, of a busy street and a light that would soon change colour made that impossible.

So instead, I began to pray for her. To ask God - who knew who she was and what she was feeling - to comfort her. As the light turned green, and she pulled away, I continued to talk to God about her. The whole way home on the bus, the memory of her tears stayed with me.

Strangely enough, years later, I was the one in the car weeping. Going to the hospital to deliver my stillborn daughter I cried silently. I was not conscious of anyone or anything else - only my broken heart. But as Kurt drove past the bus stop at College and Cumberland, I remembered her and her tears. It gave me comfort to know the same God I talked to her about was watching me - maybe even causing a stranger on the street to pray for me as they noticed my grief.

I still think of her to this day. Even last night, I found my mind wandered to that afternoon: wondering who she was and what she was dealing with. I prayed for her again, as I have continued to over the years.

As a christian, it is pretty easy to simply reflect on myself. My goals, my struggles and weakness and downfalls. But I am reminded that the ultimate purpose of being a child of God while I am here is to reach out to others - and tell them about the One who held me when no one else could if they want to listen. To be with them in their weakness - and to cry with them. Especially now, after my heart has been opened to grief, I can ache in a way that I was never capable of before. But first, I have to look. In my deepest heart-of-hearts I want to be like Jesus - who looked at the crowds of broken people and loved them, gave himself to serve them and cried for them.

So that's my thought for the day. Strange and somewhat random, right? (chuckle)
But maybe you're in a place where you are just kind of existing in your own world.
Maybe you need a nudge - like I did years ago and still often do - to step out, look around and remember why you're here.

But just maybe. :)

Ski Pants

Just over two years ago Kurt and I went up to Elk Ridge with Kiley, Jessica and our friends Graham and Chelsea for a couples retreat through their church.

It was a good weekend - but very emotional. We talked a lot about our recent loss and the acuteness of Autumn's death was severe having only buried her 2 months before.

There are only so many things to do in northern Saskatchewan in January: sledding, skating, and hot-tubing, being pretty much the limit. (I do not cross-country ski.) So we packed up the appropriate clothes for the outing when we left for the weekend.

The day we were going to go sledding, I pulled out my ski pants and tried to get them on without much thought. To my dismay, they didn't even go past my thighs.

It wasn't so much the fact that they didn't fit - as much as why they didn't fit. The weight gain, the discomfort, the agony of missing Autumn, and the seeming uselessness of it was more than I could handle. I locked myself in the bathroom and bawled my eyes out. I hated it - my situation, my body which had betrayed me, my weight... Everything was wrong. And there was no escape.

I walked that valley. The memory makes me kinda shiver... I hope I never feel such despair ever again. For this, I tell the Lord my fears, and leave it with Him. That's enough for me today.

But two years have passed, and my husband decided he wanted to go skiing for his 30th birthday (only a week later). He arranged for his parents to come babysit, and he and I are going to go for the day to a local ski hill and just be together. Like a couple. Imagine that! ;)

But skiing requires ski pants. And I haven't tried those suckers on since that day over 2 years ago. I know I've lost a lot of weight - but that feeling of shock and dismay was still pretty clear in my memory - not an easy thing to shake when it's so tied to the emotions of the time period.

So I took a deep breath and pulled them on. They not only fit, but they were lose enough to squat in comfortably. Yay! :)

It's funny how little things can bring it all back, though. I have a feeling the rest of my life will be filled with little nuances like that. A little PTSD of my own, I suppose...

I told someone the other day that the grief has faded from a hurricane - violent and all consuming - to a sun shower. It's still there persistently - but it's gentle - and the sun shines through. Some days the effects of the rain are more obvious - but my sense of joy has become more consistent.

I have peace.
Wow God.
Wow.

That's even better than the ski pants fitting again.

The Dance

My blog-world-friend, Heather, posted this on her blog a few weeks back.
She was contemplating the strange existence of rejoicing while grieving when she wrote it - having had a newborn son after the death of her twin daughters. I was blown away by how well her story describes it, and asked permission to reprint it here.
She granted it. :)
--
I entered the auditorium, eager and ready. My hair was just so, my dress beautiful, my make-up perfect. Anticipation filled me as I walked through the door.

I spotted him across the floor. He was breathtakingly handsome. His suit fit perfectly, his smile was amazing, and although I was too far away to be sure … I just knew his smell would be heavenly. We hadn’t been introduced, but I knew his name, everyone did. He was Happiness – and I was about to dance with him.

As I took my first step onto the floor, a hand grabbed my arm. Alarmed I turned, only to find a complete stranger staring down at me. Not attractive in the least, this man wore soiled clothes and was frightening in his overbearing ways. He forced my hand in his, hissed out his name, and before I could speak, Loss and I were dancing – an awful, macabre version of what I had originally planned.

Loss swung me round and round. At each turn, I frantically looked for Happiness, hoping he would save me from this horrible mistake. I saw him in the distance, always with a multitude of new dance partners … I tried to call out, but found my voice was missing.

Over time, the dance became less frightening. Our moves were more coordinated, and I found that there was a certain familiarity to Loss that I couldn’t discount. I still longed to dance with Happiness, but he seemed unaware of my presence, and Loss, well, at least he was comfortable.
I watched as other girls entered the dance, eyes only for Happiness. Some managed to catch his eye, but others were caught up by others like Loss – Grief and Death among them. Although I knew they didn’t want to dance with their partners any more than me, I found I was able to teach them a few steps, show them how to make the most of this new and unfamiliar dance. Most of all, we were comforted to know that not every girl got Happiness, and were able to share in that together.

Resigned to my dance partner Loss, I was stunned when I felt a touch on my shoulder. I turned, nearly giddy with excitement to see Happiness offer me his hand. Without a look back, I left Loss alone on the floor.

To my surprise, I found dancing with Happiness was not exactly as I expected. He was wonderful no doubt, but the moves were new, the unfamiliar unsettling. Despite the awkwardness, I nestled into Happiness’s shoulder, drank in his smell, and let him lead me in this new dance. He was everything I had anticipated, and so much more. He overwhelmed me with his mere presence.

Before long, I felt as though Happiness and I had been dancing forever, Loss soundly put in his place. But as we rounded a bend in the dance floor, a familiar face loomed at me from the dark. With no time to resist, Loss claimed me for another dance.

Ever the gentleman, Happiness stepped to the side, unwilling to claim what Loss thought was rightfully his. He whispered in my ear that he wasn’t leaving forever, only gone for a short time. I clung to this as Loss and I again took to the floor.

As Loss led me across the room, I kept my eyes peeled for Happiness, longing for his return. Although familiar, Loss wasn’t any less appealing than when we first met. And I got the sinking feeling that he had been following Happiness and I around, waiting for his chance to reappear.
Thankfully, within minutes, Happiness reappeared. I gratefully let go of Loss, and while his grip was strong, Happiness’s was stronger. Again wrapped in his arms, I let all thoughts of Loss disappear. Happiness whispered, “you’re mine” in my ear.

As I snuggled in, I was dismayed to see a familiar figure lurking behind my hero. A deep sigh escaped me as I realized that while Happiness had claimed me as his own, Loss would never disappear. And as a gentleman, Happiness would let him have a dance – occasionally yes, but a dance none the less.

And I then knew, us three – myself, Loss and Happiness – we would forever be locked in our strange, three-way dance.
--

I think what struck me most was the part about loss becoming familiar - not appealing at all - but almost comfortable.

I have learned - and am continuing to learn - to live with the permanent loss of my firstborn child. I no longer try to escape the grief when it comes... but settle in and dance until Happiness finds me again.

I know there are a lot of other women out there who can relate to this story as well. I hope it blesses you like it did for me.

Thank you so, so much Heather. :)

Still Clinging

A random series of events led me to my own archives this morning. This post jumped out - and brought back both renewed tears, and renewed faith.

Some days I'm not that far from where I was one-month-plus-a-day after Autumn died. But the fact that I am still here - despite the weakness and sorrow - proves how real, faithful and good Jesus is.

Reading that post gave me a glimpse of how deep my grief was. Some of you were total strangers to me and yet you entered into my grief willingly and with whole-hearts. For those of you still continue to grace us with your love and care - thank you. It means more than I can say.

With love,
kendall

Tears

To all those who have been and continue to pray for our family - thank you. The comments and emails have been so good for my heart.

Today the tears came. The timing was strange, though. I was about to get on the treadmill and checked email before I turned on my blog music. The comments poured in - and just reading them, I broke down. I felt my way over to the chair in the corner of our office and wept.

I'm so thankful Kurt was here to hold me... but my tears brought such a sense of relief. The catharsis was almost tangible. I felt I could breath again - deeply and down to my toes - and that has been a challenge as the grief has built up over the past few days. I am thankful to my faithful God... I know I am not alone. I am blessed to have so many carrying me to Him when I feel too weak to do it alone.

I'm not out of this yet - but I am feeling the glimmer of hope. So thank you again.
With love,
kendall

In The Rough

For some reason, this day has felt all wrong.
I'm discontent.
Moody.
Ugh.
I often scoff at the hormone excuse... but I'm in a real battle for happiness... for no apparent reason.

Or - depending on how self-justified I'm feeling - I feel like I have lots of reasons.

I miss Autumn. Worse than it's been in a while.

I got an email today notifying me that someone has subscribed to my YouTube videos. I checked it out, only to find that this person also subscribed to a number of heartbreaking videos from parents with children who had either died, or were sick.
I know - I know better! - that it's not a good idea for me to look at that kind of stuff. Even on a good day, it's an area I have almost no tolerance for. My own grief is magnified in the face of other people's sufferings. The covering on that wound is fragile and soft - easily breached.

And yet I watched. Or linked to blogs and read.
With tears.
I hate suffering. I hate that babies die.

Over 2 years ago, I said goodbye to a daughter I never got a chance to know. And today - reading other people's stories - it's all right here. (pointing to my heart) Heavy, achy grief that sinks down deep.

Like I said: a rough day so far.
I need time with God - but today the Casting Crowns song, "East to West" is speaking to my mood.
"I start the day, the war begins - endless reminding of my sin. And time and time again your truth is drowned out by the storm I'm in.
Today I feel like I'm just one mistake away from you leaving me this way...."
Fighting for joy is hard work. I'm weak.
If you could pray for me, I'd appreciate it.

A Cake of Tears

There is a desert called a "Score" Cake that I really like.
Basically, it's chocolate with holes punched through and then those holes are filled with caramel sauce. The overall effect is eating chocolate cake with bursts of that buttery "other" flavor. I'm no baker, but that is the best way I could think of to describe the overall vibe of yesterday.

Depending on the time of day, grief and joy took alternate turns being the chocolate and caramel. One could not be completely separate from the other. I could say that they enriched each other - and maybe someday I'll come to that conclusion. But for the most part it felt like a battle that I didn't want to fight. I didn't have the energy - and it ended up being a really hard night.

I'm not sure what I was expecting. I do know that the day I've set apart in my mind to celebrate Autumn's life is tomorrow. But at the same time was the inescapable knowledge that the 19th was the day my life changed forever with the realization she had left us.

The day was mostly joyful: just me and Peyton playing and cuddling and walking. She "helped" with laundry (which means I had to do it twice) and it was relaxing and reflective. But the back of my mind was keeping an eye on the clock with the knowledge that at this time of day two years ago it wasn't known to me yet that Autumn had died.

As the day moved towards 5 pm, I found myself clinging not only to Peyton tighter, but crying out to the Lord in my heart-of-hearts... because I was remembering. The choking despair. The grief. The agony and disbelief. I told my mom it was like darkness at the edges of my sunshine. I knew it was there waiting to be acknowledged and dealt with.

After Kurt came home I let him take care of Peyton and then went to spend some time dealing with the memories that were pushed aside by the joyful circumstances of last year. It wasn't even a conscious thing. I was brushing my teeth remembering the nurses carefully schooled calm manner after the heartbeat wasn't found. The doctor's approaches - the one who told us there was no heartbeat and the one who came in and almost cheerfully told us what we would have to do the next day. Other than the perfunctory "I'm sorry for your loss", it seemed like it was a mere medical issue for him: get the "fetus" out. (We both dealt with a lot of bitterness towards him... whoever he was.)

I keep two prayer journals: one for myself and one for Peyton. (My goal is to have a gift for her someday that shows the ultimate love possible: carrying her to Jesus. I hope I can keep it up if the Lord gives us more kids...) and I crawled into bed and poured out my heart to the Lord in a way I haven't in a long, long time.

In some ways it feels unfair to Peyton that she should share her birthday with my loss. It obviously wasn't a big deal to her this time: she's only one and oblivious to anything but her own needs. But what about the future? How do I explain to a little girl that I am joyful for her if she sees tears on my face? I think, "This is why I didn't want this day!" and yet - as I've said numerous times before - God gave her to me on this day. It's as close to saying, "I told you so!" to the Lord as I can get.

... since I typed the above, my daughter has awakened and given me a smile that would light up the night-sky. :)
Weeping came last night - wrapped in Autumn's blanket and overcome with memories of loss. But God's mercies are new every morning. Today they took the shape of a gap-toothed one-year-old who giggled, "Ma-ma!" when I entered the room. She is here. And He did not leave me on October 19th, 2007.

October 19th, 2008 did happen.
And now - so has October 19th, 2009.
He is faithful.

And this morning, my heart can be peaceful because of that truth. I'm bruised - achy in spirit... but I'm alive and clinging to Him with the sure knowledge that He has held, is holding, and will continue to hold me for the rest of my tomorrows.

Thanks to everyone who continues to pray for me.

October 19th

And then (some story left out... this is the edited version) there you were!

Beautiful. Warm. Squirmy. Crying.
Looking around like you were oh-so-puzzled at the scenery change.

Everything was so opposite the year before. It was stunning. Even a year later I can't quite wrap my mind around the significance of it all.

It was the 19th of October. One year (plus a half-hour) since the last time I felt your sister move.

Who am I to question the wisdom of a God who gave, then took and then gave again in an abundant and incomprehensible way?

I had to remind Daddy to get the camera. It was good it was ready to go - because all he wanted to do was stare at you. It is amazing he found it with his eyes trained on the warmer where our doctor was giving you your first check-up. :)

There were no tears for either of us, much to my surprise. I think I was just in shock that after everything - all the waiting, praying, fighting anxiety... you were here.

I called your Nana and Papa at 4 in the morning with the announcement that I was ready to tell them your name. :) They were the first of many who shed tears of joy one year ago with the words, "Praise God!".

And today, Peyton Grace Elaine, I shed tears of pure happiness for the gift of you.

Your preciousness is magnified one-million-fold because of the events that preceded your birth. I have been changed by God for you. You're sick and cranky with a runny nose... and I am still so humbled and awed by the opportunity to become your mother exactly one year after I had to say goodbye to Autumn.

Happy birthday, my little-love.

Longings...

Yesterday Peyton found Autumn's bear. She was really quite fascinated by it and proceeded to climb all over it and give it crazy kisses.

As I watched her with amusement, I found myself wishing I could be telling a certain 22-month old that she has to share with her baby sister. The whole scenario played out in my mind - complete with a tantrum on Peyton's part after her sister ripped the bear out of her arms with a vehement, "MINE!". (small smile)

There are some days when the business of life makes the loss feels far away.

Sweet moments with an (almost) 10-month-old and a teddy bear can bring it back close enough to cause tears...

The Graveyard

*I actually typed this post back in April - but felt I could actually post it today.

I visited Autumn's grave today for the first time since we had Peyton. It wasn't a planned trip. I had dropped Kurt off at my Aunty's house to help finish her garage, and had Peyton asleep in the back seat. I didn't have to go home the way that took me by the graveyard... but it was kinda like I was pulled.

I actually had to get out of the car and open the gate of the cemetery because the wind had blown it shut... and even after I drove up beside the area she's buried I shut off the car and just sat there staring at her headstone. It was so surreal. So strange to have one baby girl snuggled in her car seat on this blustery day, and another deep within the earth only feet from where I sit.

The hard part is not knowing what to feel.

Should I cry? Is it strange that I'm almost numb? Unsure of how to act... whether I should even get out of the car? My emotions at the graveyard are almost entirely attached to the day we buried her.

It was so horribly, brutally cold. The sky was bright blue, and it felt like snow was coming.

The wind was howling so strongly I could barely hear Murray read from scripture or my dad and Kurt pray. My body ached, the tears felt like they were freezing as they ran down my face. I remember looking at her casket wondering how it was that the child that had moved in me only a week before was about to be buried.

I remember my dad placing his arm around me and squeezing tight as Kurt helped his brother and both of mine lower her into the grave. I remember watching our parents toss pink roses into the grave. I remember wrapping my arms around myself - around my stomach - and wishing with all my might that it was all just a horrible dream as I stood - alone - in front of the hole with tears running down my face and a lump in my chest.
I remember the man who had been hired by the town to dig the grave and fill it in telling me how sorry he was for our loss, and then shake his head muttering something about the hole being "so small". He was kind of a rough-looking character... but there was genuine sadness and compassion written all over his face. My mom thanked him, and then she guided me over to where Kurt waited for me. I remember first taking his hand, and then needing to grip his arm tightly as we walked back to our truck where Oscar waited - expectantly - in the drivers seat. In hindsight, it was a God-given moment of humor.

Life since then has seemed dazzlingly fast - other days it has been achingly slow. I can appreciate now - on this side of having a living child - what I missed in those months that followed her death. Sometimes at night I actually just sit beside Peyton as she sleeps and watch in amazement as her chest rises and falls with deep, even breaths. She is perfect - but she is not my firstborn.

So I did eventually get out of the car and kneel beside Autumn's grave. I remembered that day a year-and-a-half ago where the world felt as though it was collapsing around me. The only words I said were, "I miss you, sweetie." And then I just sat there for a while.

When I did finally get back into the car I spent some time talking to the Lord. Thanking Him for holding me though the darkest days my life has yet to see... praising Him for continuing to be my anchor in the continuing grief that can well up with surprising strength at times. But mostly, I thanked him for His compassion in giving me another child to love.

It is true that because of losing Autumn I have become a changed woman. Although I am no where near where I want to be, He has grown me. Gentled me. Humbled me. Given me compassion that I was incapable of feeling before for other hurting people. As a woman who is striving to be more like Jesus I understand that these things are true and lasting and give glory to the One who saved me. I miss my baby every single day. But the knowledge of Jesus as a friend who heals a broken heart... how could I even place a value on that? Strange as it seems, I am more secure in His love than I ever was before.

I know that one day, Peyton is going to ask about a baby in a photograph that she will think is her - and I will have to explain that she had a sibling who died. My heart's deepest prayer is that one day, I will get to share with my precious baby of grace just how much the Lord used her big sister to make me the mommy I am today. I pray that she would grow to love Him, too.

Thanks for reading...

Spring (and Assorted Thoughts about God)

I'm so thankful that the past 5-plus months could be summed up with the word contentment.
This time last year I could not imagine writing that. I feel like I have spent so much of the last 2 years waiting and anticipating the future.

Hurry winter - end!
Hurry spring - move into summer!
Ugh! Summer is so hot and I'm so pregnant - come on fall!

As those last few weeks moved so agonizingly slow towards the hopeful meeting of our daughter I couldn't even let myself imagine the winter to come - let alone seeing the snow melt!

God's faithfulness is pretty obvious in the whole seasonal-change thing. I mean, even though (especially in this part of the world) it seems as though winter will never end spring always eventually comes. The other day we saw Canada geese back. Soon it will be the crows... and then I'll see little green hints on all our trees. And then one day we'll have to turn on the air-conditioner! The joys of sharing all these things with Peyton is exciting. And for the first time in two years, I hope that summer lasts a really long time. :)

I've been reflecting on the fact that although I couldn't have pictured this time, God always knew it would come. Through the darkest valleys and the deepest pits, He knew the time would come when I would lift my eyes heavenward, take a big cleansing breath and announce to all who would listen, "He carried me through!"

I can still see the dark valley's rim behind me - but I don't feel like I'm teetering on the ledge anymore. The sadness over my beautiful Autumn is still there - always at the edges of my joy.
We still have a few pictures up through the house - some favorites - of our first and only day with her. Some days I pause in what I'm doing, sit down in front of them and the tears come as I just wish... to know what she would look like, sound like, feel like - if she would have been more of a cuddler than her sister (who always needs to be looking around), if I'd be having toddler challenges and tea parties and tickle times...

Peyton is not a replacement - but her birth and life are the proof that - like the seasons that change - God has been faithful to me. He was not obligated - I didn't expect her. But she is here and - by His grace - the joy that she gives me is a true joy. When I look at pictures of myself holding her or if we spend time playing in front of the mirror I can see the difference that 5 months of contentment have made in my countenance.
After we lost Autumn the Psalms of sorrow and grief spoke to my soul. I felt forsaken, alone, bruised and broken. I was lonely and incomplete... and the knowledge that the Lord draws near to those kind of emotions was a special comfort and strength. But today my heart cries out "You have restored me, Oh God my salvation!" And the neat part is that having been broken makes the recovery more complete.

It's like always having been thankful for health - then getting cancer. If you make it through surgery, radiation and chemo, endless blood panels and the illness that comes with all of it and hear the doctor say "remission" - the realization that you are "healthy" is never taken for granted again.

I believe with every fiber of my being that all things are from His hand - joys and sorrows. Otherwise He wouldn't be God. If losing Autumn was somehow out of His control then I could justifiably wonder what event He would lose control of next. The comfort would always be questioned and never complete - always wondering "what next?". But for me, knowing He did it made it a given that at some point - in some way - I would make it through the all-consuming pain of lowering my firstborn child into a grave. I didn't - and still don't - know exactly how it all works... but I had confidence that He is faithful and He has a purpose and that I could rest in it. There were days when that was all I could do... my blog is full of those posts which if I sit and read them brings all the heartache rushing back.

Seeing the cardboard testimonies video was further proof. There are others who have suffered so much more pain than me - but the same God carries His children through each trial.

So spring - with birds and mud and weather that seems so warm (but is actually still too cold to open my windows at night) is really proving to be a season of thankfulness for me this year.
Wow - praise God.

Thanks for reading, everyone...
kendall

Cardboard Testimonies

I watched this not knowing what to expect but soon had tears running down my face.

I am not only impressed with the God who saved and has held me - but who has held others in even harder situations. With each person who walked out on the stage - especially the few whose cardboard testimonies that hit really close to home - my heart cried, "Yes, yes! This God is so, SO powerful!"

These people are proof that He heals brokenness.
And so am I.

(make sure to pause the music on my player)

This Time Last Year

I'm realizing how much fun an almost 4-month old baby girl is.
And that's a double-edged sword.
This time last year we were in Phoenix. My "." had started and I realized that I was not pregnant after a month of (ahem) all the human effort possible. I was full of grief, fighting despair, and so very sad to come home to an empty home with an unused nursery and an unknown future.

Boy. A year can sure change things!

I need to remember - when tempted for feel far from God in the midst of this mind-numbingly busy and yet wonderful season - how closely He held me through what was without doubt the darkest valley I've ever walked though.
He is so good - and I love Him so much. By His grace I've been able to say that in the worst parts of my life and now - one year later - in the best.
Thanks to all of you who continue to honor me by sharing in my delights even as you did my heartache. I feel kinda boring now - but what a blessing that is! :)

5 Minutes

I have only a few minutes to spare so I thought I'd do a stream-of-consciousness post. Brace yourselves:

- I let Peyton cry herself to sleep for the first time today. She was happy for the first 4 minutes, cranky for the next 5, and enraged for the next 6. Then she was silent. I peeked on her and she was sleeping peacefully in her crib. Score! (I should note that I tried it yesterday and stood - like a total dork - by the baby monitor on the counter for 15 minutes as she screamed. I couldn't take it - I went and picked her up as her sobs got more heartbroken.) This time, I plunged my hands into dishwater and literally couldn't go to her. I'm glad for the distraction of housework (tongue in cheek). Plus, today I was sure she was really and truly just tired: not hungry, wet or gassy. I feel like I've passed yet another mommy rite-of-passage.

- Have I mentioned the snow and the cold? Sheesh. They both just keep coming - minus 30 Celsius (-22 F) with windchill today. At least Peyton is dressed for it. :) Yes, red pants with a pink vest and pink baby Ugs. I love it. Clearly she does, too. (chuckle)

- I need to get a Bumbo.

- We're going back to Arizona in March! We need to get Peyton's passport. I hope she flies well... (this thought will have to be truncated for time's sake)

- Whoever invented the diaper genie deserves every cent their patent earned them.

- (Almost) 3-month old girl spit-up is one of my least favorite smells. And I think my shoulder is giving off a suspicious odor right now...

- I like margarine better than butter.

- Facebook - while enjoyable - was a little more overwhelming than I thought it would be. But thanks to everyone who has accepted or sought my friendship. :)

- Today, while nursing Peyton, the song I had used for Autumn's slide show came on the radio station I had playing. I cried and thanked the Lord for both girls: but the pain was fierce for a few minutes. That song expressed the depths of my heart during that time. The cry for faith: the trust that the Lord would take care of me because He is there always. My favorite line? "You were there in the midst of the unclear." Amen. I've only just mustered up the courage to put it on my player on the side - it really evokes a lot for me.

- I had the most tender moment yet with Peyton. While nursing her the other night I had my eyes closed and my head leaning back on the rocking chair. She paused (as she often does) so I didn't think much of it. I heard a soft coo, and looked down to find my baby girl looking up with a big smile on her face. She then proceeded to "talk" to me with big smiles and happy eyes. I couldn't help it - I laughed with tears. It felt like it came from my soul. Praise God.

- There is some sadness in setting aside outfits that are now too small for Peyton. But mostly thankfulness (and the knowledge that if I have another girl someday she'll be just as well-dressed as her sister).

- The lactation consultants (and me when I told ladies this in the hospital) are correct: although it seems as though your baby isn't getting enough milk when breastfeeding, if you keep at it (even if she has to eat every hour for a day-and-a-half... sigh) your supply will increase. We had a couple of trying days, where she needed to eat a lot more often, but she's evened out, and my supply is rocking. Truly. I'm actually gonna have to start freezing some of this stuff. :) It's so neat how God created women to meet that need... I'm amazed at my body's capability to produce.

- I'm gonna go fold the first of my 4 loads of laundry now.

- Later gators!

Watching the Rose Bowl with daddy... whom she loves in case that isn't clear. (chuckle)

My Burden

Why is it that every shirt I own suddenly has a tag that is itching me? Did my neck suddenly change shape? Due to... oh - I don't know - a tremendous amount of weight loss? (heh-heh... sigh)
I'm not joking, though. The last 4 days I've had to cut (or rip - depending on the level of frustration and the value of the shirt) the tags out of at least 4 tops - all of which I've owned for at least one year.
Go figure...
And a picture for today!
Hmmm.... okay.
Well, Kurt is kinda squinty, so I'll add another of them because I know Kurt is gonna laugh/groan and say, "Kendall, I look terrible in that picture." :)
I've really been missing blogging. Hopefully I'll remedy that in this new year - I've thought of numerous posts that I just - simply enough - haven't had the time or ability to sit down and type. And I'm a pretty quick typist. :) But - like I said - I'll try to make some time... and thus the super-short post. I figure better something small than nothing at all. (That rhymes, fyi... chuckle)
On another note, I've been thinking about Autumn a lot lately. I even shed some tears last night. Seeing Peyton grow and develop, taking pictures and passing milestones... sometimes it's a painful reminder of how abbreviated Autumn's life really was. My picture box for Autumn never changes - the number is set. Peyton's keeps growing and so does she. The contrast is just hard to miss at times. The strange part is that the grief is ringed by happiness. In our living room we have two pictures in matching frames: our girls. Girls. Plural. I love Peyton so much... and I remember the excitement and anticipation we had for Autumn. I'm so proud of both of them. But I do wish - with tears - that I had both here to love, cuddle and enjoy.
More to give to the Lord, today. (small smile)
Big sigh.
To end this post on lighter note: Peyton got her first shots yesterday (yes, I believe - quite strongly, actually - in immunization) and we found out she is hitting pretty much every developmental change she should. Not that I was worried but it's just nice to have someone else point it out. (grin) But she took the needles like a trooper - and it was nothing a quick little feed in the nurse's office couldn't make better. :)
Oops - so she's crying now in the other room and it's been 4 plus hours since her first breakfast... so I should jet. Thanks for keeping up despite my inconsistencies, everyone.
Blessings!