Reunions

Today has been one of the greatest days an LDS mother can experience. Today, my brother in law has been reunited with our family. He has been faithfully serving a mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints for the last two years in the Phillipines.

The separation is difficult. We are only allowed weekly emails and bi-annual phone calls home. It has been a mixture of emotions for me and I'm not even his mom! We are so so proud of him for choosing to serve the Lord and the Filipino people. We are grateful he has gained these experiences; but heartbroken for the family vacations, Christmas's, birthdays and just about every other day that we don't have him physically with us.

I was able to FaceTime my in-laws at the Salt Lake City Airport so I could see him arrive and be apart of the emotional homecoming. I could not stop crying! (The boys were totally confused why I couldn't stop crying, they thought I was sad he was home.) The reunion was so full of love. I am sure the tears I couldn't hold back were because this reunion was a small glimpse of what I have awaiting me when I see my Jane again.

As hard as this time on earth is without her, I'm proud of her strong and righteous spirit. I ache, but know she is doing the Lord's work. I wish I could see her right now, but in wishing that I am taking away from the glorious work she has been called to do. I realize that now, it was my epiphany today. I want my sons to serve missions to grow in character and testimony, so I wouldn't wish them home. The same is with Jane. I should not wish away the eternal work and glory she has.

And when that day comes, and it will...I have to always remind myself that it will... our reconciliation will be the most joyous moment! I don't believe there are words to properly describe the celestial and perfect joy I will feel to have my princess back in my arms.

I'm happy today. I am so happy. I am grateful for this truth my Heavenly Father taught me. And using my family to teach it to me. I love them and am blessed to be in their lives.

I read a great talk by Russel M Nelson titled "The Doors of Death". The following paragraph was on my mind this afternoon, "Moreover, we can’t fully appreciate joyful reunions later without tearful separations now. The only way to take sorrow out of death is to take love out of life."

Be still, my soul: The hour is hast'ning on

When we shall be forever with the Lord,

When disappointment, grief, and fear are gone,

Sorrow forgot, love's purest joys restored.

Be still, my soul: When change and tears are past,

All safe and blessed we shall meet at last.
verse 3 "Be Still, My Soul"

(Sorry for the super grainy pictures, but let's celebrate the miracle of FaceTime!)

My take on the Saratov Approach

Our thoughts and experiences tend to color the way we view life and interpret things. That is why a book, poem or art can mean different things to everyone. Tonight we watched the movie Saratov Approach and I noticed so many parallels to my trial of losing Jane. Most of the characters in the film experienced some of what I have gone through.

The missionaries, Elder Tuttle and Elder Probst, were living a good life. They were doing what they were supposed to be doing. They had solid faith in the gospel. But they were chosen to endure something scary. Their fear, then faith, then fear, then faith was so familiar. I feel like that daily, even hourly sometimes. But one of the Elders repeated his first discussion to bring himself comfort. Sometimes when our faith is shaken, we have to make a choice to have faith in what we already know instead of fearing everything we don't have answers to. 

The poor mothers of those missionaries were inspiring. Though some aspects of our situations are very different, there were many the same. They were grieving the loss of their child. Scared, confused, trying to cling to faith. One mother stood in the hallway and stared at a framed portrait of her son, and I thought, that is all she has right now. With Jane's beautiful portrait hanging on a wall right in front of me, I felt the pain that I too have to settle with a picture of her beautiful face for now. As we saw prayers coming from all over the world for their family and all the gifts, notes, flowers and kindness; I found myself getting emotional. We received so much. So so so much. The Probst and Tuttle family may have been scared and confused, but they were not alone. And neither were we. I will never have the right words or ability to express my gratitude for so many people who surrounded us in a bubble of faith and pure, Christ-like love. As I type this, my cheeks are wet. I love you, thank you for loving me.

The moment when the Elders were told to get ready to be executed, they looked at each other and asked how they were feeling. To their surprise, they were calm. That took me back to our time in the hospital. It was crazy, like CRAZY. There were at minimum a dozen people running and shouting around the ER. I was incredibly nauseous, probably from shock and had a lot of anxiety in my hands and legs. But I remember feeling an unexplainable calmness. That may sound contradictory, anxiety and calm, but it's how it was. My physical body was in shock, but I knew, with ABSOLUTE surety that everything was okay. Whatever the outcome, we would be okay. I don't know how many angels it takes to bring a shocked, anxious, mother of a dying baby to that much faith but I don't doubt there was an army of angels with us.

The last significant parallel I can think of now was when the missionaries were released. It was in a field of white snow, completely white. I love snow. I especially love big heavy snow storms. They feel celestial. I wish I could know what Jane saw when she was received into heaven, but endless white is what I imagine. As the missionaries ran with pure relief and joy because they were safe, I was reminded that my Jane knows pure joy and she too is safe.

The reunion those missionaries had with their family and friends was 1,000 times more sweet because they had tasted something 1,000 times more bitter. They knew what was truly good because they had experienced truly bad. I dream of that reunion with my baby girl and am anxious to see her again.

Thankful

I had a hard morning. My moments of overwhelming grief tend to be random, they just hit me and I can't move. This morning I hadn't gotten out of bed when it just hit and I couldn't stop crying. My family was leaving for church and I just couldn't move to get myself ready. So I stayed in bed crying until they left.

The moment the door closed and the house was quiet, I felt Jane with me. In church we always learn you have to be still and quiet and patient in order to feel and receive direction from the Holy Ghost. That is exactly how it is for me and Jane. When I feel her I am still and quiet and alone.

She brings so much peace with her. It always calms my trembling body and aching soul. After a few minutes of feeling her so close to me, I had gratitude in my heart. What an incredible girl she is. She turns my moments of grief into gratitude.

I am thankful for my Jane. I am grateful I get to be her mom, what an honor. I am grateful for the opportunity I have to try and be a better person everyday because I am always reminded of what I have waiting for me if I can live a good life.

I am grateful for an all-knowing Heavenly Father who needed his daughter back, but in the meantime would look down on me so compassionately and send me so many tender mercies I don't have room enough to receive them all. He knows I ache, and knows that what was taken can never be replaced in this life, but has provided so many other blessings to help me navigate through the grief and pain.

"I testify that when the Lord closes one important door in your life, He shows His continuing love and compassion by opening many other compensating doors through your exercise of faith. He will place in your path packets of spiritual sunlight to brighten your way." -Richard G Scott

I am grateful for the revealed truths that God gave to Joseph Smith that children who die in infancy are saved and perfect. That they are "too pure, too lovely, to live on this earth." I would be in a scary place if I didn't have so much knowledge of where we go and our state of happiness after we die. I don't worry about Jane. I know she is happy. I know she is safe. That knowledge is an incredible gift. One that I am always, always thankful for because I am constantly thinking of Jane.

Jane's Official Diagnosis

Bittersweet. 

That's how it feels when you finally get the cause of death for your daughter. It has been 8 months since she passed but we just received her cause of death yesterday. 

The result? Systematic Inflammatory Response of an unknown origin.

I will let Bryan explain that to you in doctor terms: 

systemic inflammatory response of unknown origin: an inflammatory response of the whole body usually related to infection but not always so. The criteria for SIRS is two of the following four: tachycardia (fast heart rate>90), tachypnea (fast breathing>20), fever, or high white blood cell count.

So basically, they have no idea why Jane died. It could have been an infection, but not necessarily. It has been a very weird evening for me since we found out. Like I'm stuck in limbo. Not having real closure. I feel like I should be upset, but I can't be because I don't know what to be upset at. I'm upset at nothing. Nothing being the lack of diagnosis. 

I am not okay tonight. I just want to curl into a ball and not come out for a week. I can't believe this is really real. It can't be. I am not this person who can survive tragedy. 

I do take comfort in my initial reaction to hearing the news. That this "nothing" that Jane apparently had was God's way of getting her home. If it was meningitis or cancer or "nothing" the end result would have been her mortal death and return to her Savior. At least the way He took her was so quick and painless; it was very merciful. 

Surviving Intern Year

For our (almost) 9 years of married life, years have been measured by school. They begin and end in May/June. Even though Bryan isn't a student anymore, his years of training are still measured this way. Today he finishes his first year of residency, or Intern year. Today, I feel more like this is our New Year then January 1st.

Intern year is tough, to put it lightly. It is equally demanding physically, emotionally, spiritually and mentally.

One year ago:

We moved away from Vermont, the state that will probably always have my heart. It was hard. We started our lives in a new area, which is always intimidating. Making friends, finding a new routine and figuring out where we fit in again. Bryan started a new job, where he felt responsible for people's health and lives. He was humbled, scared and had a constant feeling of inadequacy. His hours were long. We didn't see much of him and when we did he was exhausted.

All of this is typical to a medical Intern Year. It caused a lot of stress in our family and depression in my life. It was a dark and difficult time from June to November.

During our church's women's session of General Conference, the Prophet, Thomas S. Monson gave a talk which hit close to home about a wife surviving residency. I sobbed as I listened to it and felt like it was just for me. One of my favorite quotes now has come from this inspired talk,

"My dear sisters, your Heavenly Father loves you--each of you. That love never changes. It is not influenced by your appearance, by your possessions, or by the amount of money you have in your bank account. It is not changed by your talents and abilities. It is simply there. It is there for you when you are sad or happy, discouraged or hopeful. God’s love is there for you whether or not you feel you deserve love. It is simply always there."

June through November of 2013 was the hardest 5 months I had been through to date and I knew I still had 7 more months of Intern Year to go.

November came around and his schedule was lighter and we saw some happiness returning. Only to have our life thrown into the eye of a tornado just 2 weeks later when our baby daughter died.

No, THIS is the hardest thing I have ever been through.

So for the next 7 months we balanced the demands of intern year with the grief of losing our princess. But to be honest, intern year felt a lot easier now that we truly knew hard.

Today feels like we reached the peak of a mountain. We did it, we survived intern year. It isn't our Everest, that will come in 3 years when he finishes residency. But this is a significant triumph.  When we started medical school a good friend of ours was finishing. And she said "you will be amazed at the person you will become and the things you can do when medical school is over." She was absolutely right. And that still applies now. I am amazed with what we have had to survive and endure. It wasn't always pretty, but we did it.

I am grateful for our "Sherpas" who guided and helped us along. We have been blessed with the most incredible ward family who has taken our load many times. We have felt encircled in the most loving, protective, supporting and patient embrace by everyone around us. Including many strangers who have sent us messages and letters. We truly are blessed.

Life is hard, but it is not meant to be endured alone.

"We were not placed on this earth to walk alone. What an amazing source of power, of strength, and of comfort is available to each of us. He who knows us better than we know ourselves, He who sees the larger picture and who knows the end from the beginning, has assured us that He will be there for us to provide help if we but ask. We have the promise: “Pray always, and be believing, and all things shall work together for your good. (Doctrine and Covenants 90:24)”

"I am done!!!" happy dance

Always on my mind.

It's been a while since I wrote on the blog. It's not that I haven't wanted to, I just haven't felt impressed by anything in particular to write about. It has been a really hard month in my grieving. I feel like I am back at square one. Confused, anxious, overwhelmed, sad and full of "why's."

I was reading in a book yesterday that a good friend of mine sent me, "This Is How We Grow." The author is a clinical psychologist and has been through her share of grief. She says,
 "I have been filled with an abundance of "why's" in my days. Some can be answered and provide deeper understanding, but many will never be answered in this life. Sometimes, in choosing to question "why," we choose to remain stagnant in our learning. We choose to stay in the dark- alone, frustrated and angry. The question I find more helpful is "How?" "How do I carry on?" "How do I do what I'm being asked to do?" "How do I learn from this?" "How" is a question of commitment, a question of action, a question of faith. Though we may not understand "why," the answer to "how" is always there."

So I got out my journal and wrote all my "why's." She is right. All but one of my questions will not be answered in this life. Then I wrote my "how's". All but one of those questions I could answer. And the answer to all of them required more spirituality, more holiness, more faith and more patience.

Why does Heavenly Father command us to read scipture, pray and think of Him everyday? It is for our own peace. So our spirit can be mighty enough to challenge the "why's" and keep moving forward.

There is not a minute that goes by that I don't have Jane on my mind. I am constantly thinking about her. Constantly. When I get to say her name and talk about her it is like a little release of all that is stirring in my brain. I love my perfect princess and all that she has taught me.

I'm going to make it a goal whenever I have a "why?" to turn it into a "how?" I am hoping this will be the change I need to have a better month.

To the mothers who have lost a baby.

I have had many privileges to meet women who have lost a baby and connect with them. It is genuinely my privilege and honor to be trusted with someone's deepest parts of their soul and anguish. I wish I could give them all a hug so tight that it would keep them from falling apart. I have been thinking about these women and the thousands of other women I don't know that may need to connect to another "Angel Mom". I wrote this with them in mind. All the things I wish I could say if I could meet them.

You will survive.

I know you feel like you can't breathe. I know your arms physically ache for your baby. I know you feel like there is no possible way you can keep moving forward. I know you feel empty, lost and scared. Like you have anxiety and depression running through your veins.

But I promise, you will make it.

Your breath will come because you're still alive, even though sometimes you wish you weren't. Your arms will be filled again with the love of others; other children, friends, family, neighbors, even strangers at chick-fil-a. You will keep moving forward one second at a time, then one minute at a time, then one hour at a time until one day has passed. It will be like that for a while. But the clock will eventually speed up and the days won't seem to last forever.

You will make it because you don't have another choice.

Your child is happy and safe

I have always believed in Jesus Christ and had a strong religious upbringing. But there comes a time, even for us who are raised going to church, that we figure it out for ourself.

Immediately following Jane's death, even while we were still in the hospital, I felt confused and unsure. I had heard the answer a thousand times in my life; she is in heaven (aka the spirit world). But I just wasn't sure. My faith had been completely shaken.

I called one of my best friends Heather and her husband Jacob while in the hospital. A couple who had a stillborn baby boy, Levi,  16 months before Jane died. What I remember most is how much crying we did together, 3,000 miles apart. I needed to know how my faith could survive such tragedy. She said the most perfect thing to me. Her faith didn't, but she has re-built it piece by piece and the pieces she has are more treasured then before. So that is where I started. And I found that it came back together quicker and stronger then before.

I know personally how easy it is to question God and His plan for us on earth. What is his purpose in taking beautiful children away from parents? I had a very simple decision to make.

Choice A:

Do I choose to believe Jane is in a happy place, surrounded by love and beauty? That she has occasion to be with our family in spirit and bring us her love. That God had a specific plan for her and she was needed back in the spirit world.

Or Choice B:

I can choose to believe she is gone. She has left us and either a cruel, misguided God has taken her or there is no God, therefore no life after this and she is gone forever.

Which one sounds more pleasant? Ya...I choose A. And it isn't naive to believe it. One makes me happy and brings me peace. The other causes insurmountable anxiety and fear. Why wouldn't I choose A? It is absolutely the logical choice.

You will become a different person.

In my first post on the blog I mentioned how I didn't know who I was anymore. I didn't recognize myself. I couldn't feel happy. I couldn't smile, laugh or show any emotion besides grief. It scared me to not recognize myself. Losing a child changes you. But it's mostly for the better.

My anxiety and depression have gotten worse. But my patience is broader. My sympathy for strangers has increased. My desire to do good and be good has grown. I don't care as much what others think about me, as long as I am doing what is best for myself, my family and what makes me feel complete. I desire more compassion, more sympathy, more love, more patience and all other good things. I like the new me better then the old.

You will be happy again

Everything has an opposite. Cold/hot. Happy/sad. Joy/grief. Our grief has gone as deep as any human can probably endure. With that, comes joy that is beyond comprehension. The huge joyful moments are still few and far between, but when they come they are a whole new level of understanding and peace.

Sometimes you have to choose to see those moments; but they are there.

Your grief will always be a part of you

(this one is added from my sweet friend Heather Dahle who I mentioned above)

"Loss isn't something you get over.  It is something you work through.  Grief is the process of working and adjusting to your new "normal."  It isn't always a linear progression.  It can be messy, and sometimes it doesn't make sense.  There are relapses, backtracking and detours.  I might never be done grieving the loss of Levi (Heather's son), and I'm okay with that.  I recognize that many of my most sacred and cherished experiences are a result of working through my grief."

I want to add to what Heather said my own confirmation of this truth. I know I have only been through this process a short 6 months but I have experienced those "backtracks, relapses and detours". The hard days truly are so difficult, but they are so important. They bring me to my knees, they draw me closer to Jane and to my Heavenly Father. They are part of becoming that new and better person.

Talk about it

I think one of the worst things you could do right now is to keep your thoughts and emotions bottled up. Talk to friends. Don't stay silent. The more opportunities you get to share your babies name or stories about them the better you will feel. If you aren't ready to open up to other people, get a journal and open up there.

You are not alone

There are so many moms who have lost babies. When you become a member of this special club, you feel the need to help the other members. Especially the newest ones. Reach out to us and let us comfort you and help you. Send me an email or Facebook message. I would love to hear about your sweet angel and how you're feeling. We can help each other!

Not only are there other "angel moms", but there are neighbors, friends and family who want to help. Open up to them and let them in.

Though all of us can sympathize with you, your journey is unique to you. But even then, when you feel nobody truly understands your pain, you are not alone. Your Savior knows your pain exactly. He has already carried your sorrow. You are not alone! There is absolutely no way you can do this yourself, turn to Jesus Christ for relief.

Even though I haven't met every woman who has lost a baby, I love them all. Truly, truly love them. They are my sisters and comrades. And this was written based on the specific circumstance that I know, but I would imagine many of it applies to anybody who has survived someone close to them.