Benjamin's 3rd Birthday: His Place in Our Family

Who can say for certain?
Maybe you're still here.
~ "To Where You Are," Linda Thompson

I wrote Benjamin's story here on the blog in the weeks following his death. Something I wrote at the end has bothered me ever since: "And now it is time to learn to live without this precious son."

A paradox of parental bereavement is that while you are physically separated permanently from your child, you are so consumed by thoughts and feelings about him that it is as if he is always with you in your heart and mind, perhaps even more than if he were physically with you. Yet all that is invisible. For the first few months and even years you walk around with an agonizing hole inside, every heartbeat longing for the child missing from your arms, and the Walmart worker or the new neighbor or the man walking down the street has no idea. There is a sense of almost panic that everyone but you will forget about your child who is so deeply loved and important to you. I struggled with reconciling the lack of physical presence with the intense desire to feel him close, knowing that it was possible.

I am acquainted with two very special people who have dealt with loss in ways that have inspired me. One is Ruth Flake, a sister in the small town in Arizona where my parents live, whose husband was a cattle rancher. They raised a large family, and looked forward to serving a full-time mission when he retired. Not long before they would have been able to go, Bro. Flake contracted serious pneumonia and died. This was of course a crushing blow to his family, and what Sis. Flake did next filled me with awe. She went on a mission. She said that she knew her husband was serving on the other side of the veil, and this way they would be serving together. She included mentions of him in her letters home.

The other inspiration for this post is from Megan. Her two beautiful twin daughters were taken from her even earlier than my son was taken from me. She wrote one time about adjusting to living with her girls "on another sort of plane. They are not gone far. Whenever I go into our backyard, I like to think of them on the other side of the fence." I loved this. It immediately helped me shift my mindset a little bit towards the amazing faith of Ruth Flake. I wanted to learn to live with my son, even though he physically is not here.

The past three years have been spent carving out Benjamin's place in our family and in the world--the place he would naturally have if he were here whenever possible--the place he deserves as our son, brother, nephew, grandson, and cousin. I feel blessed well beyond what I deserve to have family and friends who have supported us so completely and lovingly in this process. The panic I used to feel has dissolved into a peaceful reassurance that no one who loves us will forget our son Benjamin. They love him, too. And that has allowed me amazing peace and healing. It has helped me more than anything to return to enjoying life.

Maybe sometime I will post about specific things family members have done for his birthday and Christmas, or how friends have showed compassion at just the right times. But in many cases it almost feels like that might tarnish a little bit the beauty of what they have done--the quiet privacy of these acts was part of the love shown. So this post will be about our immediate family and the ways we have found to include Benjamin in our family right now, buoyed up by the fact that we are not alone in remembering him.

Some ways we have found to live with Benjamin. . . .

~ We talk about him often, and usually without tears. We always include him in the count when people ask how many children we have. We wonder aloud what he would be doing if he were here.

~ He is on our Family Home Evening chart! This was Hummer's idea. I made the chart back in 2004 with two blank name cards, just in case. :) They stayed blank until a few months ago, when Hummer decided to rectify the situation with a permanent marker. At first it made me sad, but then I realized it was a great way to include Benjamin. If he's on "Prayer", someone gives it for him. If he's on "Share", we look at a page or two in his scrapbook. If he's on any of the others, we just try to think of what he might like to choose if he were here. And I believe he often is here for FHE. :)

 

~ We have rituals and traditions that include him. Nearly every Sunday after church, we go to the cemetery. Exacto, Fluffy, and Hummer don't always actually come to his gravesite, but spend the time down at the lake, chasing the Canadian geese or inspecting the fish and turtles. Rosebud and I walk to his grave and just stand and think for a while, and I usually take a picture. We plant live flowers there in almost every season. We decorate with things that we think are beautiful or that remind us of him.

 

~ We try to find ways to include him in our family portraits. Some ideas we've used are: photoshopping an actual photo of him into the picture, holding a white rose to symbolize him, and this summer at our family reunion, a cute little snail stood in for him. I thought this was appropriate, since Benjamin would have been 2 1/2 in this picture and probably quite enamored with snails. :)

 

~ His birthday includes special meals just like all our other birthdays, and a particular cake. His birthday cake is the most delicious carrot cake you'll ever have, made with whole wheat. Here's the recipe I use:

Benjamin’s Birthday Cake

CAKE

2 cups whole wheat flour

2 cups sugar

2 tsp. baking soda

1 tsp. salt

2 tsp. ground cinnamon

1 tsp. ground ginger

4 eggs

1 cup vegetable oil

4 cups shredded carrots (I buy matchstick carrots, then chop a little more)

1 cup chopped walnuts (DC leaves these out)

2 tsp. vanilla

FROSTING

3 oz. cream cheese

¼ cup (½ stick) butter

2 cups powdered sugar

1 tsp. vanilla

Butter & flour two 8” round cake pans. Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Sift together dry ingredients. Beat together eggs and oil. Beat in dry ingredients. Add carrots, walnuts and vanilla.

Pour batter evenly into two cake pans. Bake at 350 degrees for 40 minutes until done. Do NOT overcook. Cool in pans for 20 minutes. Remove from pans and cool completely. Frost and refrigerate for 12 hours or more.

Frosting: Soften cream cheese and butter. Beat together until fluffy. Stir in powdered sugar gradually. Stir in vanilla. Frost cake lightly. Keep refrigerated.

 

~ We have written a special FHE lesson that we give on the Monday night near his birthday. It is always a beautiful spiritual experience to talk together as a family about Benjamin and the hope we have through Jesus Christ of really being with him again. We each take a turn saying what we look forward to doing with him.

Please, No Empty Chairs - FHE Lesson

 

There are many others. I always love discovering new ways to include him in our everyday life. Someday I will know how close he really is right now, and how often he was actually with us when we couldn't see him.

Day 49 - { time }

Look back on time with kindly eyes,   
He doubtless did his best;   
How softly sinks his trembling sun   
In human nature’s west!

~Emily Dickinson

This past Sunday was our 3rd opportunity to attend the annual SHARE memorial service and balloon release, held at the hospital where Benjamin and Rosebud were born. I groaned and started praying when I saw the forecast -- heavy chance of rain and possibility of tornadic activity.

The highlight of the event is writing notes to our babies, attaching them to the balloons, then riding the elevator to the top of the parking deck, where a song is sung, and the balloons are released. To have an Arkansas-style storm, complete with tornado sirens going off, would put a decided damper on things. I know I wasn't the only one praying for the skies to be clear at least during the balloon release!

When we arrived, it was threatening but not actually raining. It had already poured buckets that morning, but seemed to be holding off for a while. The service was beautiful, and we proceeded with faith to fill out the notes for the balloons.

 

 

Our family's balloons got tangled together as we went through doorways and rode the elevator, but we decided that was nice and symbolic. :) Some of us still held on to our own string so we could feel the pull skyward. Still no rain.

 

 

It was pretty windy, and when we let go, the balloons quickly drifted behind us, passing right over the hospital.

 

 

Rosebud's balloon got stuck in one of those lower trees (you can barely see it in the picture above), but soon the wind pushed it out and it wended its way up alone.

 

 

Such a feeling of peaceful contentment comes when I am with my husband and my living children and we are remembering together our Benjamin, who is so present in our hearts, but invisible to all who see us. Something about being with people who recognize that there is one more person in our family--who look at the 6 of us together and visualize 7--always makes me happy.

 

 

We came in and gorged ourselves on sugar (especially those younger male members of our family :) and as we headed back out to our car to go home, the rain started to fall with a vengeance. The tornado sirens went off, and suddenly there was lightning and thunder and all heck broke loose. We ended up having to wait in the parking garage for a while, listening to the radio to know when it would be safe to get on the road.

What a miracle! We thanked Heavenly Father for holding back the rain until after that special event.

But the really amazing thing was this:

I realized that earlier I had been praying for the sake of the new babylost parents, and not so much for me! I couldn't stand the thought of those recently bereaved moms and dads, with that awful rawness of grief that I remember all too well, missing out on this special chance to have their children recognized and remembered. I would have been disappointed, but okay if this time we couldn't release the balloons!

Now that is a miracle!

 

Thinking back on the past two October 31st's and November 1st's. . . . there was a sort of panicky desperation to those days. . . .I wanted to avoid any reminders of what had happened on those days in 2007.

This year it is different. I still have no intention of celebrating Halloween. I think that will always be too painful (which is too bad, because Rosebud would be awfully cute in a little costume. :) As we approach those days of significance again, I am amazed and grateful at what I feel now, three years later. It is more of a peaceful longing sort of feeling, rather than fear or depression.

How grateful I am that the grief has indeed lost its sharpness. It is not unbearably heavy anymore, although its bittersweet pang still comes daily.

It will be okay.

Thank You, dear Heavenly Father, for bringing me through three years' Time .

Day 47 - {arms filled again}

One of the difficult symptoms of my grief after Benjamin died was painfully Empty Arms. It is strange. I don't know if I could really understand it without having lost a baby myself, but even though I held him for only one day, my arms seemed to think that he was still there. For literally months afterward, it felt like there was a huge empty chasm between them almost all the time.

At night it was the most torturous. I would sleep with the blanket that he had been wrapped in, only that didn't feel substantial enough, so sometimes it was a pillow, too. Maybe it's kind of like an amputee's phantom limb pain, only less physical and more emotional.

Church could be agonizingly difficult. My arms and lap stretched so terribly wide open. The only thing that helped was to hold one of my other sons. Luckily Hummer was up to that, so I would hold his huge 4- and then 5-year-old self on my lap and squeeze, trying to make the pain go away.

Even though I never heard Benjamin cry, I kept thinking I could hear him crying. With the boys home from school making all kinds of noise, and me trying to fix dinner, I would often pause suddenly because I thought I heard Benjamin and needed to go take care of him. (Incidentally, even now that Rosebud is here, I can be sitting in the recliner with her and Exacto, Fluffy, and Hummer all around me, and still have this sense of, "Where's Benjamin? I need to go make sure he's okay.")

When Rosebud was first placed in those aching arms of mine, the relief that swelled over me was like a tidal wave mixed with love specific to her. I couldn't stand to let her go to anyone else. But my blood pressure was so haywire from the recent surgery and epidural that I was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane, so that did kind of make it necessary for me to allow, say, DC to hold her.
And my parents, I guess. :)


I imagine the nurses who took care of me afterwards thought I was a nutcase. I literally held my new baby all night long most of the nights we were in the hospital. I groaned where the nursery came to get her. It was slightly ridiculous. But how could they understand the relief and gratitude I was finally feeling? From pain that had yawned open like a grand canyon I was finally delivered!

The relief of this seems to be quite separate from the grief of missing my youngest son. I have actually been a little surprised at how strong the sadness still is when I think of never seeing him again in this life--I still cry over his absence.

I would give absolutely anything to have Benjamin still here. Every time I take a picture of my boys with their new baby sister I yearn to see what that picture would have looked like with all of my children. I hate it when people look at our family and say, "Wow, three boys and now a girl finally!", never knowing that actually we have four sons. For the rest of my life, it will never be "the whole family" anywhere we go. That hurts and always will.

 

But at least I don't have that horrible emptiness in my arms anymore.

 

Oh, how grateful I am to be toting around a 9-pound-6-ounce baby all day! Yes, all day. :) I still am ravenous almost all the time to hold her. I have been known to hold her through a 2-hour nap or longer. We sleep most of the night with one of my arms around her.

I Thank Thee with all my heart, Heavenly Father, for filling my arms again!

Day 40 - { time }

 

Today as I returned to the work of scrapbooking Benjamin's time with us, I sighed. Sighed because it is work for me. Scrapbooking is an unnatural activity in my book. I've never felt talented at making things LOOK nice; my gifts tend toward making things SOUND nice. :)

So, while I know there are millions out there who just love scrapbooking and find it relaxing and fun, I am not one of them. Each page has been challenging for me technically.

I also sighed because documenting those last few weeks of pregnancy is really tough emotionally. Looking through the pictures and reading my journal entries or emails from that time often triggers deep pain over some specific memory that hadn't been expressed yet. But it's worth it! With each page I complete, I feel a sense of healing and release. I love that Benjamin's brothers will be able to remember him better through this. I love that I will be able to share more easily what he means to me.

I still have the goal of finishing by his birthday! (I can think of several of my friends who NEVER would have taken two years to finish this project. :) I'm going to have to buckle down--today I finally started his last two weeks, but I know the pages of his actual birth day are going to take a lot of time.

So today, I am grateful for TIME. Time to really do this.

I can't think of any other season in my life that has been like this. Since childhood I've always been the type to pack in as much as possible and then go crazy trying to get it done: making my own schedules for summer time, doing way too much extra-curricular stuff, graduating early from high school, heck, getting married early!, being in school and being a mom at the same time, etc. etc. This luxury is totally foreign to me. . . but so needed right now.

I am so grateful for the breathtaking gift of uninterrupted hours to think through what happened those last couple of weeks in October 2007, and to stop and write and cry if I need to.

Grateful for the elapsed time that it has taken to heal and to be able to process difficult memories.

And especially, for the serenity of this time to connect with my sweet son - to talk to him and think about what he is doing - to remember things that we did together.

I miss you, Benjamin.

 

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We had new family pictures taken yesterday. . . . here's a sneak preview. I'll be sharing more soon! :)

My beamish boys, and other courses on my mental buffet

My talented friend Snarky Belle does a post sometimes containing her thoughts on various topics, buffet-style.  I'm going to copy you, today, Natalie. :) My rambling mind is all over the place lately, and here are some of the places it lingers. . . .

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"Come to my arms, my beamish boy[s]!"  (they love it when I say that - I ALWAYS get a hug :)

Fluffy was alarming me lately with his habit of playing with his very nice CTR ring from Nana and Grandpa. I suggested that he substitute it for a new habit of pushing on his upper toothless gap as per instructions from the dentist. So now if you hear him gasp, and then look over to see him with his finger in his mouth, you know why! :)

Exacto suggested we start doing what Pres. Monson talked about - "And what have YOU done for someone today?" He has remembered to prompt us almost every night at the dinner table since! Amazing how much this has inspired me to do nice things I might not have otherwise done.

The other boys have been inspired, too! I went to pick the younger two as they started to walk home from school, and Fluffy was carrying Hummer's backpack. Later that night, he reported it as something he had done for someone today. :)

Yesterday Hummer said he was a "kissing machine" - "Whenever you make your skin touch me I will kiss it!" Let's just hope he keeps this game at home. . . .

*REAL TIME ACTION -- He just came downstairs (he's supposed to be in bed) and said sweetly, "I have a surprise for you, Mommy." He was wearing my fluffy purple slippers. He walked over and one by one, slipped them off and put them by my feet. He had warmed them up for me! :) *

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Inspiration from Nie

I know this is all over blogland, but can I just say that Stephanie Nielson continues to inspire me greatly! I missed her recent appearance on Oprah (having no digital tv - I totally live in a bubble), but I read the article about it here.

This excerpt from it blew me away. . . .

Stephanie says she had a vision while she was unconscious, and she was given a choice. "[I was] with somebody who told me that I could choose to live and have a hard life, you know, embarrassing at times and painful. Or, I could just stay there, and there's lots of work I could do there too," she says. "But I thought of my children and my husband, and it was easy. An easy choice."

Wow. I have to admit, if I had the choice of whether to move on, or stay here, I would be sorely tempted to leave this fallen world. But I have the opportunity to be here with my beloved husband and children and WITHOUT the constant pain the she now faces!

Of course, she was like that before the accident, anyway. Her posts in the pre-burned days are filled with celebration of the simple moments with her children, of a beautifully deep love for her Mr. Nielson. Awesome.

NieNie, you have helped me to see what a gift each hour with my family is. Saturday night when I washed Hummer's hair in the tub, I thought of your gloved, pain-filled hands washing your babies' hair, and was filled with gratitude again for what you are teaching me.

 

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How the scrapbook is going. . . .

Last week I did only 3 pages. It is really hard work for me! I am not a natural scrapbooker, and delving deeply back into these memories is not easy. A couple of days I simply was not up to it.

Today I dove back in, though. I knew I had all day with no interruptions, so if I had to cry for a while, it would be okay. The scrapbook will be to share with anyone who would like to see it. (I hope people will ask to see it! :) But as I'm working, if I have a more personal, difficult memory resurface, I am taking the opportunity to write it all out in a different place, and let the grief overtake me again for a while.

I really think that this type of work is going to help me go into these last few weeks with more serenity and at the same time, remembrance.

<Here's the place where I scrapbook.

We bought this changing table a couple of months before Benjamin was born. I had never had one with any of my other babies, and I just thought I had to have it this time. :) I wish so much I had taken a picture of it with all his clothes on it! Janice and I had created a lovely, little organized spot where I anticipated spending many hours tickling and talking to him as I dressed him and cleaned him. After he died, and I put away the clothes, I realized that would be the perfect spot to put all the scrapbooking supplies for his special book.

I never cared for him physically there, but I have spent hours thinking about him and remembering him, even talking to him. It is a sacred spot to me.

(The 'C' and glow-in-the-dark stars on the wall came later on, when one of his big brothers moved into the room. . . .:)

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Halloween and its ramifications

October 31, 2007 was the last day I felt Benjamin move. I believe I even know the exact moment he died. At the time, though, I was completely unaware. Janice and I spent the day decorating the house for a family Halloween party. I helped with two class parties at school. The boys dressed up and we did trick-or-treating from door-to-door in our house. Then we stayed up late watching Ichabod Crane with candles going.

The next day when I came home from the doctor's office, knowing that my baby was dead inside me, most of the Halloween decorations were still up. There were candy apples in the fridge and silly little Halloween snacks everywhere. It is probably not surprising to you that from that time on, I have hated Halloween. A lot.

I have thought that this is not really a big loss--what is the big deal about a holiday that celebrates the macabre and gruesome? But I have started to feel bad lately that the boys sometimes feel a little left out at school. Well, Exacto doesn't seem to care too much. He feels a lot how I do.

But Fluffy and now Hummer seem to wish that I were a little more happy about Halloween. I don't think I ever can be. BUT I did get a good idea today! We can celebrate Autumn. I got the idea from an activity in this month's Friend magazine where it shows a family carving a pumpkin with a CTR shield instead of the traditional face.

I can see that it would be much better to make new family traditions to fill this space, rather than just resentfully waiting for it to go away! We do plan to start a yearly pilgrimage to see fall colors on 10/31 or thereabouts. We did that last year on 11/1, and it was so fun.

Will you share with me any ideas you have? Does your family have any traditions specific to the fall season that you love?

"Before Rosebud" - project number 2

There are four major projects that I feel like really should be done before sweet Rosebud arrives in our home. The first one was the Paper Situation, which you all helped me with, and which is now DONE! :)

The second one is to finish Benjamin's scrapbook.

I have already put in hours and hours on it--but perfectionism has really slowed me down. I finally have decided that I don't mind if it's not perfect. I just want a place where I can sit and remember and feel close to my son.

I have been documenting the whole pregnancy with him. After all, he was alive and with us then! I want to remember the things I did while he was living and inside me. And, I want to record the beautiful experiences of his short time in our arms, and the outpouring of love we received afterward.

Right now I am on the 7th month, and his birthday is in exactly 4 weeks from today. So my goal is to do at least a page per day, on weekdays.

It is such therapeutic, hard, wonderful work.

I am hoping at the same time to record many of my memories from that all-important time of learning he had died, delivering him, and burying him. There are experiences and feelings that are yet unwritten. I may or may not share those on the blog--I haven't decided yet.

But they will be recorded somewhere. And that will help me to have more peace as I face the next precious delivery.

Since I'm a big fan of celebrating achievement, even if it is my own (teehee), I bought myself a special reward for when I finish this project.

The day after Benjamin's birth, my sweet friend Meghan came to visit us in the hospital, and brought a bag full of Bath&Body Works luxuries. One of them in particular I loved and used every day--the brown sugar and fig scrub. The scent of it brings me sharply back to those first few weeks of fresh grief. A painful, painful time, but also a time when Benjamin still felt very near. I remember sitting often in the glider rocker we had bought to rock him in and crying, with that scent on my skin.

When that tube ran out, I bought another one. By the time I was finishing the second one, I found out that B&BW had discontinued that line!! Ack!

But luckily, there is still ebay. :) I just won an auction on this today, and will hold it in reserve for the day I finish Benjamin's scrapbook.

 

"I begin to love this creature,
and to anticipate his birth
as a fresh twist to a knot,
which I do not wish to untie."

~Mary Wollstonecraft

it takes three.

Spring Break was wonderful, and all too short. Our house always seems unbelievably empty after company leaves! Miss you, Mom and Dad! Miss you, Becky and Smoothie! Miss you, Jofus! We managed to work in trips to Petit Jean State Park, Museum of Discovery, Hendrix cafeteria (quite possibly my personal favorite! :), and spent time at home making way too many addicting cookies, and experimenting with Mom's Cricut and watching movies. In short, it was heaven.

I have several posts rolling around in my head right now, waiting to be written, but this is the one that wants to be written today. :)

 

My sweet friend Kara, who is undergoing severe challenges to her desire to be a mother, recently invited me to be part of this "common thread" and asked me to add the button to my sidebar with a  link to my story. She says on her blog "My Road to Motherhood":

If there is one thing I have learned from all of this, it is that I am not alone. My situation may be unique... but the outcome of infertility is not. The more I open my mouth and let others in, the more I realize just how many are struggling with infertility as well. I have found hope and peace, strength and courage from those with whom I share this one common thread. Having a network of friends that I can lean on for understanding or a listening ear has meant so much to me over the past few months. Often times it is with people with whom I have never even met or barely even know. That thread is what links each one of us together, and it is often times, what holds each one of us together through such a trial.

 

Yes, I know I'm not exactly infertile. I never dreamed I would be included in a group like this. The fact that Kara wants me to be is evidence of the pure love and spiritual strength she has. Instead of looking at me as someone who has had four babies and wouldn't understand, she sees me as someone who has lost a baby and has yet been unable to have another. We share the pain of an unfulfilled righteous desire.

It has been over 5 years since I brought a baby home from the hospital with me. I am starting to understand what it feels like to see time pass and other children grow and still have empty arms.

When I married my Darling Cutie I was 19 years old. I was completely committed to Heavenly Father's plan for me, and knew I was doing the right thing. Yet I had the naive worry that my main concern in childbearing would be that I could reasonably expect to have 15 children by the time I finally hit menopause! This was a matter of months of prayer for us, and the decisions we made are too personal to share.

I had Exacto at the tender age of 20. (Only last week, Hummer commented, "That's REALLY young for an a-DULT!" :). Both DC and I were still full-time students, and DC was planning on at least 5 more years of graduate school. We moved to Tallahassee when Exacto was 8 weeks old, and proceeded to be poor as church mice and happy as clams for the next six years. During that time Fluffy and Hummer joined our family.

All three were C-sections, much to my dismay. With the first two I had taken Bradley courses, hired a doula, tried so hard to do a pioneer-style birth, but my body didn't co-operate. Those are stories for another post. With the third, we just scheduled the "section."

A few months after having Hummer, we moved to Arkansas for DC's first real job, although he was still working on his dissertation. I was hit with my first case of real post-partum depression, and ended up needing medication for it.

So by then I thought I had figured out by now what my life's struggles were going to be:

a) I had to have C-sections (this seemed like a cruel joke to me for a long time, as I was one of the most needle-phobic people I knew)

b) we were always going to have money problems (first 8 years of marriage were student poverty, followed by an uncertain future with music as a profession)

c) we would likely always live far from family

d) I appeared to be pre-disposed to chemical / hormonal imbalance that required intervention

 

This seemed plenty hard enough to me. In fact, I had pretty much reconciled myself to all of the above, and was trudging my way through, thinking how well I was enduring to the end! :)

Solution to a) : faith and Priesthood blessings would get me through the scary deliveries.

Solution to b) : Oh, well. As long as we pay our tithing, we'll have what we need, and I'm okay with that.

Solution to c) : webcamming, frequent visits, frequent phonecalls, family blogs, etc. Sometimes I think we get along better because we don't live nearby and so we really, really enjoy the time we do get together! :)

Solution to d) : ahem, lexapro. (SO GRATEFUL that such a thing exists so that people with emotional illness can lead a normal life!)

 

Then came the events of 2007. ( To read the whole story of our sweet Benjamin and his short stay on earth, go here. )

My naiveté regarding childbearing was totally blown out of the water. I honestly had no idea that still today in our time of medical miracles, babies sometimes die. Even before they are born.

This is still so hard for me. I have a hard time reading stories of babies who received miraculous healings after prayer. I never even had the chance to pray for Benjamin--he was already gone. I even have a hard time reading about babies who lived a short time, then died. I would have given anything to see his eyes open even for a few minutes, anything to hold him in my arms with his spirit still intact.

And as 2008 dragged by, with my desperately wishing for a baby the entire time, and not receiving one, I started to realize that this is just one more part of life that we can't necessarily control. Sometimes babies die, and sometimes babies don't come.

As my mom has said to me several times, "It takes three." Or rather, "Three", since Heavenly Father is the third part of the equation.

I don't understand why He hasn't sent us another baby any more than I understand why He took Benjamin back. I don't understand why Dave and Kara--who could be the poster-children for the ideal parents and who would be so diligent raising a child in the gospel--haven't been able to have a baby. I find great inspiration in Nephi's words: "I know that he loveth his children; nevertheless, I do not know the meaning of all things."

I know He loves me, and so even though I don't understand everything right now, I will continue to trust Him. Someday all will be well. I know it.

And I will continue to write my Gratitude posts. :)

Day 17 - {a gradual opening}

 

One afternoon toward the end of February I had noticed these daffodils (please pardon the weeds :) on my way to the mailbox. That they were right in the process of opening! I thought, Awesome! I'm going to sit here and watch until all the petals come out!  I thought that would be the coolest thing--a sudden opening, like an umbrella being popped open. I grabbed my camera and lay on the grass in front of them, and started snapping pictures, and waiting. (The neighbors must have been confirmed in their suspicions that I had finally lost it.) As time went by and I could see no noticeable difference I finally gave up and went inside.

 

I mentioned in my "invincible summer" post that things are clearing emotionally. I want to share now more about that, and especially my gratitude to Heavenly Father for bringing me to this point. I hope that what I share isn't too personal for ya'll! (Just keepin' it real. :))

 

Since Benjamin's birthday last November I have had this odd inclination to busy myself so that my mind could not revisit the pain so intensely. Where before that I could not help but hurt when I saw or heard other babies, or when I realized that I was doing something I couldn't have done if Benjamin were here, now as soon as I started to hurt I would turn my mind to my nursing school application, to the home improvement projects, to Christmas, anything that would distract my mind.

This seemed like a good idea because there really was a lot I needed to get done and the grief was not helping my productivity! :) But almost immediately there were side-effects: my not allowing the natural emotion to be on the surface applied to other emotions and my relationship with my beloved family. Christmas did not have that same intense beauty that it always has had for me. I didn't want to work on Benjamin's scrapbook. At all. And it seemed for a while, that each week was bringing an experience with a friend or family member whom I had previously leaned on, but who now seemed disinclined to share my grief. I was starting to get comments like, "You need to just try to be happy."

Other changes since November have been physical:

I no longer feel the phantom kicks inside that I had for over a year after he was born.

I have finally lost weight, and now weigh several pounds less than I did when I became pregnant with him.

I don't have the feeling of sheer desperation to be pregnant. It's more of a peaceful "it will happen when it's supposed to happen" feeling.

 

By February I hardly knew what I was feeling anymore. I haven't wanted to post much. I haven't wanted to delve deeply into my memories. It's odd because I still wanted people to talk about Benjamin but I didn't want to myself much! I know it's completely illogical. I think my brain has been broken, or there's been a major disconnect somewhere. I guess I have just been afraid that I'm not staying close to him, but afraid TO stay close, because of the pain.

 

It just felt like I was in limbo emotionally--not hot or cold.

 

I'm not sure what caused the change, but suddenly on February 27, I felt like writing in my journal! I opened it up, and saw that the last time I had written was November 9, 2008. As I wrote. . . .and wrote. . . .and wrote, I started to realize I was moving into a new phase. I could FEEL again without hurting so badly.

Back to the daffodils. THREE HOURS later I suddenly remembered them, and went back out to see them looking now like this.

 

And the next day, like this .

 

How long did it take for the whole process, I wonder? At what point did the petals go from being all scrunched up to being open and free and beautiful?

I feel like I am becoming a new person. That I have spent a long time like the bulb, buried in the ground. That I have allowed the sunlight to draw me upward into green shoots with no spectacular beauty. That for the longest time, I have just been waiting for the healing, like the greenish yellow lump that rises to become the blossom. It has been so gradual that others have become frustrated. I have become frustrated! But all the time, that blossom was there, securely tucked away until enough time had passed that it could safely emerge.

I'm not saying it never hurts anymore now. But I am finally, finally beginning to feel that I can miss Benjamin and hurt that he's not with me, without sinking into the previous depths. I can talk about him with a feeling of happiness, at how adorable he was, and that he is mine, without the crushing pain of the separation.

I want to work on his book again. I want to be a better companion to my Darling Cutie, and a more emotionally engaged mom for my living sons. I want to spend more time writing and less time reading. I want to focus less on this trial and more on others' pains. And I want to think of Benjamin often with the sweet love I have for him and less often with the angry hurt that he is not here.

 

And so, 16 months after passing through the death of my child, I can say that I will not only survive this, I think I will even be happy again--without ever, ever forgetting my angel son.

Thanks to my Heavenly Father and His Son, my great Healer! I cannot praise Them enough!

 

 

Therefore they shall come and sing in the height of Zion, and shall flow together to the goodness of the Lord, for wheat, and for wine, and for oil, and for the young of the flock and of the herd: and their soul shall be as a watered garden; and they shall not sorrow any more at all.

Jeremiah 31: 12

Day 16 - { an invincible summer }

Okay. I have something to say again. :)

Have you ever noticed that oranges and grapefruits ripen and are harvested in the dead of winter? Right when our immune systems need a boost the most, eh? I think that's really cool. On the way home from our trip to Texas a couple of weeks ago. I stopped at the beautamus store of H.E.B. and bought. . . .

a HUGE bag of Texas grapefruit

and

a HUGE bag of Texas oranges

And now we are plowing through them with much gusto and delight. (*Update: we're done with the grapefruit. sniff sniff!)

Isn't Heavenly Father amazing, designing oranges and grapefruit this way! It's a wonderful system. :)

It makes me think of something else. . . .

Here is something beautiful and inspiring that we have been watching ever since November.

It was a birthday present for Benjamin from his Aunt Joy -- a kit for growing an oak tree, starting with an acorn!

I have loved watching it sprout and develop leaves during the winter, when all the other oak trees are "asleep." It has brought comfort to watch something grow, and think about what it will become as the years pass.

The last picture in the collage is what it looked like a couple of days ago. Isn't that amazing?

 

I have more to say, but it will have to wait for the next post. :)

Things are clearing emotionally.

I am so grateful.

 

Some notes from recent scripture study. . . .

Jacob 4.

4 For, for this intent have we written these things, that they may know that we knew of Christ, and we had a hope of his glory many hundred years before his coming; and not only we ourselves had a hope of his glory, but also all the holy prophets which were before us.

~ couldn't this apply to His Second Coming, too? ~

 

6 Wherefore, we search the prophets, and we have many revelations and the spirit of prophecy; and having all these witnesses we obtain a hope, and our faith becometh unshaken, insomuch that we truly can command in the name of Jesus and the very trees obey us, or the mountains, or the waves of the sea.

~ my faith is still a bit shaken, but I'm starting to obtain that hope! ~

11 Wherefore, beloved brethren, be reconciled unto him through the atonement of Christ, his Only Begotten Son, and ye may obtain a resurrection, according to the power of the resurrection which is in Christ, and be presented as the first-fruits of Christ unto God, having faith, and obtained a good hope of glory in him before he manifesteth himself in the flesh.

12 And now, beloved, marvel not that I tell you these things; for why not speak of the atonement of Christ, and attain to a perfect knowledge of him, as to attain to the knowledge of a resurrection and the world to come?

~ oh, how I long for a perfect knowledge of the world to come ~

13 Behold, my brethren, he that prophesieth, let him prophesy to the understanding of men; for the Spirit speaketh the truth and lieth not. Wherefore, it speaketh of things as they really are, and of things as they really will be; wherefore, these things are manifested unto us plainly, for the salvation of our souls. But behold, we are not witnesses alone in these things; for God also spake them unto prophets of old.

~ "things as they really are, and things as they really will be" -- I LOVE that part ~

 

Ether 12: 19 (18-19). 

19 And there were many whose faith was so exceedingly strong, even before Christ came, who could not be kept from within the veil, but truly saw with their eyes the things which they had beheld with an eye of faith, and they were glad.

~ something to work for ~

He Anointed the Eyes of the Blind, Walter Rane

Day 8 - {modern prophets}

Thanksgiving was so wonderful, and I'm looking forward to some fun posting about that. Today, though, I need to express gratitude for a special experience, an example of a tender mercy from Father today just for me.

I have been feeling a lot of numbness lately, with all the painful grief tucked down deep. Staying really busy has helped me stay afloat emotionally, and I intentionally avoid probing into the depths that I know are there.

This has helped me get through November. I hope it will also get me through the next few weeks. But I am already feeling some side-effects, one of them being a lack of Hope. Today in particular--I got home from church and could just feel the clouds surrounding me. Doggedly pursuing other interests keeps me from crying and makes it easier to sleep at night and get up in the morning, but it also prevents me from exploring my heart. It leaves me with the numbness. Today I felt inclined to stop resisting and just give up to despair, crawl back into bed and cry. Cry over Benjamin and his absence from my life. Cry over the fact that I can't seem to get pregnant again. Cry over how horribly long a day can feel.

But I felt a pull to do something uplifting. Someone must have been praying for me at that particular time! Thank you, whoever you were! :) The pull was strong enough to make me pick up the Conference report. It was freezing, so I started a fire in the fireplace, curled up on the couch, and rather half-heartedly started on the talk where I last left off reading.

It was "The Infinite Power of Hope", given by President Uchtdorf. How blessed his words are!

Here are some of my favorite passages. . . .

Hope has the power to fill our lives with happiness. Its absence--when this desire of our heart is delayed--can make "the heart sick."

I have felt that "heartsick" feeling all too many times. I had never realized that it was partly because of my lack of hope. . .my tendency to begin yielding to despair. Pres. Uchtdorf knows personally what this is like, having grown up in Germany during post World War II, and spending much of his early childhood as a refugee. He shares an amazing experience his mother had during that dark time (to read the whole talk click here).

Hope is a gift of the Spirit.

To me this means I can pray and ask Heavenly Father to bless me with this gift.

The adversary uses despair to bind hearts and minds in suffocating darkness. Despair drains from us all that is vibrant and joyful and leaves behind the empty remnants of what life was meant to be. [It]. . .advances sickness, pollutes the soul, and deadens the heart.

This was so illuminating to me! The adversary has been trying to kill my hope. He could see that as I was beginning to lose sight of eternity and become enmeshed in the things of this world and its pains and unfairnesses, I was pulling away from the Lord. Now that I recognize that, I can resist it!

The things we hope for are often future events. If only we could look beyond the horizon of mortality into what awaits us beyond this life. Is it possible to imagine a more glorious future than the one prepared for us by our Heavenly Father?  

Why don't I think about that more often?!

Well, because it seems SO LONG until that future! The part that is hard is maintaining hope during the hard times here in mortality.

 

Here comes my absolutely favorite quote from this talk:

No matter how bleak the chapter of our lives may look today, because of the life and sacrifice of Jesus Christ, we may hope and be assured that the ending of the book of our lives will exceed our grandest expectations.

Isn't that breathtaking? I remember hearing him say those words during Conference and feeling as though Father in Heaven were saying them to me directly! I just want to engrave that sentence on my heart right now.

 

The photo below is one I took last December, only a few weeks after losing my precious little son. I was having lunch alone with Hyrum, and he looked outside and said suddenly, "Mommy, why are the clouds so bright?"

I answered, "Because of the sun. The sun is behind them." Immediately the Spirit struck deep into my heart the truth that because of the Son, even the dark clouds in my life are not really dark. They just mask the brightness for now, and someday they will be moved permanently, and the sun will shine down on me in all its brightness and glory and warmth.

I quickly grabbed the camera to record the image and hopefully remember what I had just learned. :)

This bleak "chapter of my life" is only a chapter. I already know the end of the story, and it is such a happy ending.

And to all who suffer--to all who feel discouraged, worried, or lonely--I say with love and deep concern for you, never give in.

Never surrender.

Never allow despair to overcome your spirit.

Embrace and rely upon the Hope of Israel, for the love of the Son of God pierces all darkness, softens all sorrow, and gladdens every heart.

Isn't it wonderful that Heavenly Father still sends prophets to the earth today? To me that is sure proof of His continuing love for His children.

Dear Father, I thank Thee for Pres. Uchtdorf's words, and for Thy Spirit in leading me to them today, bringing me strength and comfort!

painting credit: Carl Heinrich Bloch "The Doubting Thomas"

Celebration at the cemetary

 

I worried beforehand about the "Santa Claus" syndrome with this, that my children would ask if the balloons really got to Benjamin. (Hummer had already said that he thought Benjamin would pop his!) But a friend had wisely told me, "Just tell them the truth--the balloons will not get to heaven, but Benjamin will see them and know about them."

 

Exacto with balloons ~ Fluffy writing a note to Benjamin ~ special bracelets Jaime made for Benjamin's brothers

Hummer's note reads "H z noys and yoo r noys too" (H is nice and you are nice, too). :)

 

It was one of those days that seem too good for this earth. A celestial day.

 

There was a feeling of deep peace and joy. Someone suggested that we sing "I Am a Child of God" as the balloons lifted.

 

 

 

 

 

It was a beautiful gift from Father in Heaven that this tree was in full glory that day, just like the day of Benjamin's burial. I loved feeling close to that time again. I never would have expected that before going through this experience! To wish I could go back to that? Yes. That was the last time I saw his face and touched his soft head. I want to remember that vividly, and the sight of this magnificent tree was a blessing!

 

 

 

 

 

 

  Nature’s first green is gold,

  Her hardest hue to hold.

  Her early leaf’s a flower;

  But only so an hour.

  Then leaf subsides to leaf.

  So Eden sank to grief,

  So dawn goes down to day.

  Nothing gold can stay.

  - Robert Frost

 

 

 

 

 

After the balloons were out of sight, the children enjoyed the leaves that were on the ground. It truly was a celebratory day.

A year since an angel joined our family! We love you, Benjamin! Stay close. . . .