A rug from my grandmother

I have this rug. It's one that my grandmother latch hooked for me. She had been trying to give it to me for months, when she first heard that I was pregnant with Noel, she sent a sweet card of congrats on the fourth baby and then sent a picture of a rug she had made hoping that I would like it and claim it as mine. You see then but not even a week later, Noel died. And then I just couldn't talk to anyone.  My grandmother called to apologize of what she wrote in the card, though I think it needed no apology. It was all done with love, it was simply telling me that four babies would be great and how she had such memories with her four own babies. That didn't need apologizing for, not one bit.  I didn't answer the phone and simply had a voicemail, but so it was. She called again a few weeks later and hoped that I was all better.  I don't think she meant any harm in saying that, though it wasn't receptive to my ears and still I wasn't answering the phone because I just still couldn't. This loss hit me the hardest of my two miscarriages I have had. And almost 2 years later, another baby in my arms there are still bits to process. There are still bits of graces unfolding from Noel's short womb life.

My dad called about the rug, perhaps my grandmother thought I'd surely talk to him, but again it was another voicemail as I still didn't answer the phone. We went on a trip to a few cities in the south and I bought a card for my grandmother to tell her that I did want the rug.  But I never wrote out the card and I never sent it.

A few later, my grandmother died unexpectedly from a blood clot that spread to her lungs. It wasn't caught by a foot doctor and it caught us all by surprise.  My first thought was that I didn't ever call or write her. I had wanted to, to say yes to this rug she had made with me in mind, but I just wasn't all there and I wasn't really handling life all that well.

This lady was precious to me and every time we would call for her birthday and the kids and I would sing for her and she would say that this was the best birthday greeting she had gotten all day.  And whether or not that was true, she knew how to make my heart smile.  She would send birthday greetings to all my kids and to me every year and she just knew how to say the right thing to cheer someone up in a rough situation.

Today, for some reason, I was compelled to pull this rug from its buried home in a corner of my bedroom and take it downstairs to use in the house and remember her.  Perhaps, I need more of her now. Perhaps, I've finally forgiven myself for never saying yes to her directly for the rug.  But here it is, I hope that it brings us warmth and softness and memories of love for years to come. 

Joy in the child

As Mother Teresa was canonized yesterday, the quote of hers that came to mind was the following:

“How can there be too many children? That is like saying there are too many flowers.” -St. Mother Teresa

I have always loved this quote, but struggled with it too. However, there is truth here, and I am learning to live it daily. 

When I was pregnant with Noel, I struggled so much with what others might think of a fourth child.  I know I shouldn't have let it bug me, but I did.  There were some people that I still let into influence my thinking at the time that weren't positive about another child.  And in fact sometimes weren't really positive about the ones I already had.  Honestly, this type of thinking stemmed way back to 10 years ago when I was engaged to my now husband, and I'm sure even before. You see, I let in counsel to someone I trusted, and the one objection to me converting to Catholicism along with marrying my husband was that, "those Catholics, they just have so many children." I didn't have the background that celebrated children as always being a gift, instead they were financial burdens or things to fit in to a narcissistic life. 

But Noel, despite my internal battle was a gift, a true gift in so many ways.  I remember the time I told my students about him and just the absolute joy they had in celebrating a new life was amazing. I don't think I'll ever forget that day because honestly, I don't think I've ever experienced that much joy from someone else about something/someone in my life.  It really was eye opening. 

And then as I sometimes struggle with my kids and their well, being kid like, I was upset about something that my one son did in the presence of another teacher.  Later talking with that teacher he recanted it in a positive manner, one which again celebrated the life the gift that the child was instead of a sum of his faults. 

Recently, a dear friend kept witnessing my crying so much at church this past summer, because for some reason the Holy Spirit just brings the tears there, the much needed tears. She gave me a note and a dear little painted heart shaped rock, with the words "Jesus wept". Oh so appropriate words they were and are. My friend remembered my dear little baby, this baby that only was with us for so long.  My friend didn't judge one bit about timing or family size, but loved and saw that I loved, and for this I am so grateful. 

You see, I think to this point I didn't think that there really was a place where every life could be really celebrated in its entirety. I was broken and couldn't see it, I couldn't see it in the people around me, I instead always felt judged or judged myself.  I think its odd to say that death has brought an understanding of joy, but yet somehow I think it is so for me.  I think seeing people have authentic joy over life has been one of many lessons little Noel has fruitfully taught me. And in that joy, I feel like I can finally understand more about gratitude. And while I know there is thanks in the suffering, I think the thanks in the joy, this, this has been missing for me, and I am so very grateful to be learning this now. 

There is more, but I will save that for another time. 

Fitting

I was driving home from visiting a friend today with the kids when I saw the cemetery and decided that I needed to visit. I was supposed to visit yesterday but didn't.  So at the last moment I got off at the exit and went. There was a new monument right in front of Noel's grave, a crucifix, and no it wasn't for Noel. I honestly don't know the reason its there yet, but it seemed fitting.  I went today and cried yet again, and none of the kids wanted to visit today so I left the hang out by the car. But it was good to be there alone, even if my attention was divided.

You see there are little things, little moments that sometimes give me glimpses of grace and other times they are bits of sufferings. Both, well both share in Jesus, and thats grief journey I'm on, both part of my cross as I was reminded today on my visit.

My oldest in his 6 year old grief has basically uttered one sentiment for his lost sibling. He didn't get to know what he liked.  And if I sit with this for a minute, I tear up, because in his limited understanding of life and death, he understands so much. It is sad that we didn't get to know him, and while I am glad to have an intercessor in heaven, I am sad about not knowing him too.

A few weeks ago a friend and I were able to have dinner and chat and she theorized that maybe so many Catholics end up with miscarriages because they need intercessors to help them get through this life as a Catholic. A while I'm not sure about the theology of it all, I do know that I do have two intercessors in heaven now, and as I thought about it today, I realized just how hard it really is at times and how much of a grace it is to have people in heaven praying for our family.

Because I had traveled this road before, I struggled with knowing that I had to go through all that losing a child entails yet again.  At times it seems harder, but other times, its odd and it feels like maybe its a grace pause.  Like for so long I have been working on either being working towards something or being afraid of a new life coming too soon, that this time where I know I can't do anything about it, I get to step back and see what's in front of me in a new light.

So whether it be that I am reminded of losing Noel through my hair falling out or other effects of my hormones, I'm thankful that I got to know him and love him for as long as I did.  I already think he's interceding and making me stronger and for that I'm thankful.

Two weeks later

I'm still sad.  I still don't get to bring a live baby home, but life has returned to its normal amount of chaos at least for the children. Driving is hard if I'm by myself, because by myself, I think and I sob.

This week we got the pathology report and learned it was a placenta separation issue, and that sent me spiraling for a bit.  I want to say that I won't have this fear of a repeat next time around if there is a next time but I know somewhere it will be there.

Some things that are different now, heat doesn't bother me like it would if I was pregnant. I get to teach a full class of chemistry next fall. I may consider starting Ephraim with kindergarten this year since he's a borderline birthday and he's interested anyway.  I don't feel pressured by myself to give up nursing the toddler.  She nurses minimally, but somehow that is comforting.  Someone is still growing by me.

I think that this tragedy is helping me to figure out boundaries a bit more.  I realize I'm vulnerable and I need to turn off the people who could hurt me right now.  The people that think I need to be all better now or not be sad, the people that need to explain instead of just sitting and listening or just being there.

I'm thankful for this greater sense of church that has come about in this whole experience.  As a convert who came with a lot of baggage, this sense that people can actually be there for you is amazing.  The fact that people actually care about you and pray for you and send you cards and meals and will take your kids for the day because you can't figure out life, its just really good. It makes the hurt and loss just a little more bearable. Thank-you all.

And lastly, I think because this whole experience brings up all the feelings from 7 years ago when I lost my first baby who we named Edmund where I miscarried in a stadium bathroom. I'm thankful that I have a place to go visit Noel and be still. I need that. There's a lot of chaos in my mind still but going there helps me to know that God is watching out for me and for my little family.

So I sift and I wait and I pray to trust in the slow work of God, because that is what is going to get me through.

Bury the dead

I definitely didn't think I would be doing this particular act of mercy in this year of mercy, to bury the dead.  And yet somehow I am.  And maybe, maybe this feels like a bit, because well it was just a little baby, not more than 3-4 inches long. Just a little over 13 weeks along when he was delivered. I delivered him and saw him, this little tiny person, so beautiful so st peace, so unaware of the turmoil constantly inside his mama's head. So, this what I need to do, what our family needs to do.  Because this little one, even though so little was already so loved.  And I can't imagine it any other way. Tomorrow, we bury him.  We named him Noel. Our little Noel Kurak, we love you so much.

St. Noel Chabanel was man that struggled with so many things as an early settler to North America. He couldn't handle the new environment very well, and yet he knew he was there, and he didn't know if his circumstances would change any time soon, so he decided to follow the will of God anyway, even though it was tough.  Oddly he said this and then was martyred the next day, but he didn't know that was going to happen.

Somehow this reminds me of our little saint now in heaven. Because for a long time on the inside I was grappling with this pregnancy, some things were said to me that were like a knife in my heart, and so I wasn't wanting to shout with joy that I was carrying new life, and so I kept coming back to this Saint, because he was in tough times but saw God's greater hand at work. I'm not sure I ever really came to grips with everything 100% before tragedy struck, but I think that's gotta be okay. It's where I was at, God was there with me in my struggle. And maybe that's what I need to see in this overall,  in this loss of a life that I never get to see grow up.  God is here, even if I don't understand it.  Even if its painful and sad and is long and is going to take a lot of time to heal, he is here. And because he is here, I can do his will.

And so tomorrow we bury our son, so little, so loved, so precious to us. I don't want to be doing this, I want to still be growing a baby, but this is God's will for me, for our family, and I am going to find him in the sadness of it all.

Sadness part 1

I think to say I'm sad feels just not enough. There's this whole sense of vulnerability and rawness and its just so very hard. I don't think I even want to put a name with it, but just to know its there.

This year was already hard enough, Helena was diagnosed with an extra membrane near one of her aorta heart valves and just coming to terms with that was enough.  You see the week I found out I was pregnant was the same week I also had to bear the heaviness of my kid maybe not being okay.  There was a lot of emotion, happy and sad.

And then this week happened. I was not warned by anything. I was nearing 13 weeks and I was just beginning to tell people about a baby coming. I was thinking it was okay to do that and not have to untell everyone just a few days later.  I thought I was going to meet my fourth live baby healthy and happy come this November.

 I woke up on Tuesday night with blood soaked underwear, but felt nothing, there was no warning sign of anything being wrong.  Yes Monday had been a rough day, but we all have those. Last time I miscarried it started with a little trickle and then got worse.  This time wasn't like that.  I felt fine and pregnant going to bed but that changed. I don't even know how to write the next part, except to say that there was sadness and flashbacks and me calling a friend, and Keith calling the midwife.  She was so calm and said if I wasn't in any pain I could wait till morning to get checked out.

I cried a lot that night, I texted friends who I thought would listen. One happened to be up in the middle of the night and was kind and listened. I couldn't talk, but I wrote.  I cancelled appointments and called off work because at least one thing had changed, and unlike last time where I tried to go on and ignore everything, I knew that I couldn't this time. So I didn't.

I called the midwife, and for a bit because of how the bleeding was she wasn't convinced it was a miscarriage, but she thought at the very least I needed to go in and see an OB to get Rhogam due to my Rh negative blood and having a significant blood loss and hopefully he would give us good news with a ultrasound.  So as soon as his office opened I called and I got a standing appointment for that afternoon with knowing that we would be waiting since we were last minute.

There was a lot of not knowing what to do with myself.  A friend came over and brought food with her knowing I probably didn't eat and she was right, I didn't.  Food never appeals to me when life is rough. She sat with my while her kids played with my kids, it was nice.  And then another friend just happened to be in the area that day and said she would come over to babysit the kids when we needed to go to our appointment, she didn't have anything pressing and just wanted to help.

And you guys, that's the one thing that I feel that God was there.  Because lately, when I'm struggling, I remind myself that God is there in that moment. That I'm not alone, and at this moment I could feel God's presence in the way that people were willing to come and help and be there for us.

So we went to the appointment, and it was a bit of a drive to this particular doctor, and the one thing that kept coming to my mind was that I couldn't will this away.  That no matter what, the outcome would be the outcome and while I was hoping that it was just a bleed from the placenta lifting, I had no idea what we would find out.

The OB came in and he was really kind and funny, and oddly he brought in two med students with him that day too, and at this point I've come to not care about those things, but I'm sure it was awkward for them, since I would think for the most part they haven't experienced the ups and downs of being in the field yet. But the doctor, he was really nice and just had a comforting presence.

As soon as he did the ultrasound, he was sad to say that he didn't have good news. He instead had to tell us our baby died and it looked like it died a few days before.  There was no heartbeat and it had stopped growing. Even though at this point my heart already had some sadness, at this point my heart offiically broke.

For Life

Today is the day that is always a hard one.  I can remember the second time I marched in the March for Life in DC and the suffering that was occurring at the same time. You see, I had just found out that I was pregnant not too long before I was set to go on the bus trip to the march.  But alongside the joy, I knew something wasn't right, I was bleeding.  As I went to the march my mind was a mess, but I carried on, maybe aloof, but nonetheless carried on, because I didn't want to process.  I had gone in for blood work a few times before and was awaiting results, though honestly I already knew them.  I just didn't want to accept it. I wanted this...a baby... to be pregnant.  So I kept it all in and marched, miscarrying a baby all the while. It sucked.

I was not in the place where I dealt with things at the time though, so on I went, sleeping on a hard gym floor with a bunch of teenagers fighting for life, miscarrying my first baby. I don't think I told a lot of people for a while, I just didn't.  Instead, a few months later, I bawled my eyes out at a mass where I knew no one except my husband and Jesus. It was so needed. I finally understood that I loved that tiny person that I never really even got to know.

So I wanted to say something profound about life, about people mattering, because they all do.  This baby that I barely knew that seemed to be doomed from the start did matter.  I may not have understood then anywhere close to what he or she meant, but he mattered. I think these experiences, the ones that a person doesn't fully process at the time do build our character. I think maybe this experience does say a lot about me, that I am full of fear, of appearing to be off centered or just not okay.  I'm working on that.

I have grown in my understanding of love since then, I don't think it means that I am any bit more okay than I was then.  But I think that I'm more okay with being vulnerable.  And that's kind of what love does, it makes us vulnerable.  And bringing another life into the world, that is vulnerability at its finest.  With this vulernability comes suffering and through that suffering we learn to love. Love is always worth it.  Life if always worth it.  And so we march, or march by proxy or just take a stand and a chance on love. The joy that love will bring is so much greater than we can imagine.

For life

I started writing down my thoughts for this post on actual paper and I hope this goes well because well, I'm writing this on my phone which is okay, but I can't type the same so the words might be not be the same.

Yesterday, the family trekked downtown on the bus to the Cleveland March for Life. It's an odd thing to go to a March or maybe just pray in front of a clinic when pregnant. Why? Because the emotions are so different and you can actually put yourself in the shoes of the woman wrestling with this heart wrenching decision.

One of the things that pained me was the carrying of the graphic images by those around me. To me, I feel like those images are more hurtful than helpful especially when pregnant. They just made me sad and really had me crying. Because while yes they are accurate, I'm not sure who they are really trying to reach. Maybe they are going after the guy counterpart involved, the one that operates off of logic and facts, but even then I'm not sure if it's making them colder in the issue or actually helping. It was ironic to then read Simcha Fischer's post which basically said something similar but with more proof.

And here's the thing. I love marching for life. I really do. I just don't think it needs the gruesome to support the truth and beauty that life is.

You see the March and I have an interesting history. I lost my first baby around the time of my second March experience. There I was marching for life for saving it while at the same time I was my baby. And while I didn't medically know the exact moment or if they were still hanging on at that moment it was still really hard. So the point in March where those graphic images were huge and clear I cringed. I hope one doesn't need to lose a baby to know those images hurt more than help to try see and be more compassionate but maybe it does take that.

To me it's similar to taking the approach to sharing the gospel of Jesus as a crazy street preacher would. It may be true, but there is zero compassion there. I remember even having to take a class my Baptist university before mission work about how not to shove Jesus down people's throats. They knew that forming that trust and having compassion to know where some one was coming from much more effective. So when it comes to life issues, I feel like there is a distinct parallel. These women seeking an abortion are people and they usually are in a tough situation, while those may be truth they are also scary make you want to run away from the problem as quickly as possible which means having the abortion, despite the aftermath years later.

I think about the women in my life who have had to face difficult situations where people told they to have an abortion versus carry the baby, because it would have been easier. And yes, externally it may have appeared easier, but I'm glad that they choose differently. I'm glad I was able to support them and others too so that they could give those babies life. It may have been rough, but I know each one of those women is so glad to have those children in their lives. They are blessings and not burdens.

The thing is, I know the support isn't always there. We live in a broken world full of broken homes and big problems. Even those of us who appear to have it together don't really as this life is messy and we can be easily influenced to justify something wrong as right. My prayer though is that the pro-lifers want to be that support and are. Instead of these hurtful rash statements we listen and talk and be there. I remember movie Bella in which the guy actually goes and helps the woman by raising the baby for her. This is the point we need to be at, as hard as it is to uproot our lives to do it. And the thing is so many people do. There are saints living and breathing out there doing this and I'm so thankful for them. To be completely selfless in that manner is amazing to say the least.

But one more thing, I feel like the March for Life doesn't just stop with the issue of abortion. I feel like it should incorporate those who have lost that baby due miscarriage or stillborn or ectopic pregnancy or disease or yearning and praying for a child to be theirs on this earth. We are all effected by life in its brevity or loneliness or its pain, and some how, through the tears we realize what an amazing gift it really is. And when you do, you don't want to take it for granted one bit more. Because that gift, the chance to experience life, that is definitely something worth marching for...