The marker was installed last week. Gosh that seems weird. His grave was temporarily marked by this plastic thing until last Friday. Now it's finished. We will hold a private ceremony and that is pretty much our last official thing I guess you could say to close out that chapter of our life as a family. I still want to make some kind of memory box or something for the little guy. A photo album. Maybe a video.
Then his dancer will come to our house to be with us. The funeral home has a ceremony every summer in their butterfly garden to honor children that have died. An artist makes a steel dancer with your child's name carved into it for you to have. It's donated by a local group. We missed it the first year for some reason. I felt so sad that we didn't get a dancer that I talked to the funeral home and they sent us another invite for this year's ceremony.
Mark didn't want to go. We had other plans that weekend that he wanted to adjust and just forget about this. That broke my heart. For some reason, I wanted to do this one. We've ignored the other memorial events that funeral has offered. This one seemed special to me. Nice. I wanted a dancer with Andrew's name on it. Like he was dancing around.
So I told Mark that I was doing it. I needed to and I would see if I could find someone to go with me if he wouldn't. Inside I was so deeply hurt that he might not go but didn't express it. I know his way of grieving so differs from mine and wanted to allow for that even though I knew if he didn't show up, it would offend me and hurt me so much. That I would be very upset at him for it and really struggle with forgiving him over it.
Well, although I know he wasn't thrilled, he said he would go. We'd bring the boys and we'd do it since it was that important to me. I was so grateful and the hurt began to subside.
That ceremony took forever it seemed. 30 minutes of sharing poems, listening to songs and then each family lighting a candle and saying our special person's name to honor our loved one. I cried almost the whole time. The boys did pretty good staying still and quiet as I wished for the time to pass. I just wanted the dancer and to go. When they finally released us to find our dancers, I beelined for the door with the boys following closely afterwards and quickly I saw Andrew's dancer and about lost it completely. We took it out to Andrew's grave and I told Mark we would bring it home to be with us after we dediate the marker. I wanted something of Andrew with us. He didn't argue but I don't think he really wants this.
Friday, September 21, 2012
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Life Since the One Year Anniversary
It's been a few months since I have blogged. The grief isn't so bad since a few weeks after the one year anniversary of Andrew's death. In fact, last week when someone asked me how many boys I have, I said 3 without hesitation and didn't feel an ache inside that I didn't count Andrew. But I still think of Andrew at those moments and think that they just don't know that there is another that I don't mention because it gets too awkward if I do. And I don't like people feeling all weird when Andrew is mentioned. So I give into the social convention knowing the truth inside. Well, a dear friend of mine that was there at the time knew the truth. I wondered if he thought of that when I answered the question?
I am now 9 months pregnant with a humongous belly that hangs down and I move a lot slower than I prefer. Since learning that I am pregnant with a dear girl, the pregnancy has been easier to handle for both Mark and I. I don't cry at each prenatal visit any more. And I don't compare Andrew's pregnancy to this one any more. I suppose it helps that I have reached week 36 and Andrew was coming home at week 36 from NICU. So now we're on usual ground of me getting really huge and walking, actually waddling, slower and slower with each week. She is being carried low so it's hard to walk and stairs are even more tricky. I am more exhausted than I remember ever being before with the others. Working a 42 hour week, my slightly advanced age and the boys means I sit down and fall asleep sitting up frequently after supper at night. But other than that all is well. I am healthy and baby girl is doing fine.
I am now 9 months pregnant with a humongous belly that hangs down and I move a lot slower than I prefer. Since learning that I am pregnant with a dear girl, the pregnancy has been easier to handle for both Mark and I. I don't cry at each prenatal visit any more. And I don't compare Andrew's pregnancy to this one any more. I suppose it helps that I have reached week 36 and Andrew was coming home at week 36 from NICU. So now we're on usual ground of me getting really huge and walking, actually waddling, slower and slower with each week. She is being carried low so it's hard to walk and stairs are even more tricky. I am more exhausted than I remember ever being before with the others. Working a 42 hour week, my slightly advanced age and the boys means I sit down and fall asleep sitting up frequently after supper at night. But other than that all is well. I am healthy and baby girl is doing fine.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
The One Inside Me
It still amazes me that over a year has passed since our darling little special left us forever. We received a letter from the staff at the hospital where Andrew spent the last days of his life alive. The main nurse that took care of the little guy signed the card saying that her and the staff in the PICU (pediatric intensive care unit) were thinking of us and remembering our son. The monks who made his casket also sent us a note a few weeks ago saying that they were praying for us at the one year anniversary of the loss of our loved one. We both thought that these cards were quite kind and thoughtful.
Just days before the one year anniversary of his death we found out that the child I carry is a girl. After our hesitancy with this pregnancy and the struggle we have had with expecting another child so soon after Andrew died, this news was incredibly welcome. The oldest two boys were with us in the room when we found out. They were so happy that they leapt around the room and gave their dad high fives It was wonderful. But so surprising. I had almost given up hope on having a girl even though God told us years ago we would have a daughter.
That was the first doctor's visit during this pregnancy that I haven't cried through the appointment or shortly thereafter. Well tears of joy but no tears of mourning. And the appointment I had yesterday went well. I had a follow up ultrasound because little tiny peanut didn't want to let them see her spine. So this was a diagnostic ultrasound to make sure her spine is forming just fine. And she showed off her spine to confirm that she's forming up just beautifully. She's a little over a pound now and measures at 25 weeks. Which is how far along I am.
I feel her move and wiggle. She even tickles me at times. She's doing well but is not as active as Andrew was or Ryan. Although Ryan takes the cake in just about everything. He lifts up his shirt every day and tells me that he has a baby in his womb. Then again he also thinks mommy has a penis too. It's very cute to see how he understands all of this. He still has to lift up my shirt at storytime at night enough to reveal my belly. He talks to his sister, kisses my belly, gives it hugs but always insists that the baby be out so that she can enjoy storytime with us.
Life is good. God is good and He sustains us. And we are watching the spring come into our family. The boys look forward to the arrival of their sister as do we.
Just days before the one year anniversary of his death we found out that the child I carry is a girl. After our hesitancy with this pregnancy and the struggle we have had with expecting another child so soon after Andrew died, this news was incredibly welcome. The oldest two boys were with us in the room when we found out. They were so happy that they leapt around the room and gave their dad high fives It was wonderful. But so surprising. I had almost given up hope on having a girl even though God told us years ago we would have a daughter.
That was the first doctor's visit during this pregnancy that I haven't cried through the appointment or shortly thereafter. Well tears of joy but no tears of mourning. And the appointment I had yesterday went well. I had a follow up ultrasound because little tiny peanut didn't want to let them see her spine. So this was a diagnostic ultrasound to make sure her spine is forming just fine. And she showed off her spine to confirm that she's forming up just beautifully. She's a little over a pound now and measures at 25 weeks. Which is how far along I am.
I feel her move and wiggle. She even tickles me at times. She's doing well but is not as active as Andrew was or Ryan. Although Ryan takes the cake in just about everything. He lifts up his shirt every day and tells me that he has a baby in his womb. Then again he also thinks mommy has a penis too. It's very cute to see how he understands all of this. He still has to lift up my shirt at storytime at night enough to reveal my belly. He talks to his sister, kisses my belly, gives it hugs but always insists that the baby be out so that she can enjoy storytime with us.
Life is good. God is good and He sustains us. And we are watching the spring come into our family. The boys look forward to the arrival of their sister as do we.
Monday, June 25, 2012
A Cry for My Boys
So I'm reading the story of what happened with the Chapmans. Steven Curtis Chapman is a singer I greatly respect and I love his music. So when I heard of what happened with their daughter 4 years ago, it touched me. I felt so sad for them. How tragic that such an unpremeditated thing like backing into a driveway had such a devastating effect. I wondered what happened and felt such empathy for them. What an awful hardship to walk through. What a tragic loss. How would that son cope with this? How would the family cope? And now I am getting to find out.
Being a fan of this singer, one of my favorite performers, it's interesting to learn the inner workings of his family and life. I saw him perform in 2000 or 2001. It was a great evening and he even shared a powerpoint of his family. He talked to us as though we were good friends. He was humble. Real and a real performer. This is something I notice being a performer myself. When someone does it well and isn't about how awesome they are, I appreciate their talent even more. When they enjoy it and don't get caught up in being on the stage, it's a real treat. Anyway, how they dealt with it. What has it been like for them? And is it similar to the path we have walked?
And now I am learning that yes, there are other similarities that I have not found with the other mothers. Like how do you help your surviving children cope with the pain and grief. Mary Beth speaks of how she would cry out to God to be with her son who was involved. How she would cry out for Stevey Joy to be healed of the pain she had for seeing her sister die. I have done the same thing.
It concerns me how this will affect my boys. And what damage has been done? And I hope that God does a miracle in them so that they can become all that they should be. That this should serve only to strengthen them and give them a story that will point others to God in some way. In a way that we can't necessarily understand right now.
One of the Chapman sons said at the Memorial Service that it's like God is an abstract painter. When you are right next to the painting you can't see the picture He's painting. You have to take many steps back because His canvas is so huge. And then, when you've taken a lot of steps back, you can begin to see the beautiful work of art He is making. And like them, we are right now still pretty close to the canvas so we can't make out what's being painted yet. We've taken some steps back but it still isn't necessarily clear to us what He's putting on that canvas.
I have haven't finished the book but I know I can pray. I knew that and have done it since before I read this book. And I can let them know that I am here to speak with them whenever they want to talk about it. But mostly, I just keep reassuring them that I love them no matter what. They have never had to do anything to earn my love. They are my sons and they have my love just from that. But I am curious what the last pages will hold as far as their son, Will, and their daughter, Stevey Joy, are concerned.
Oh God, you can turn all the bad into good for those who love you and are called according to Your purposes. We need for You to do that in the boys. In Your mercy, please protect them from the evil that this can become in their lives and make it a good thing that shows Your glory.
Being a fan of this singer, one of my favorite performers, it's interesting to learn the inner workings of his family and life. I saw him perform in 2000 or 2001. It was a great evening and he even shared a powerpoint of his family. He talked to us as though we were good friends. He was humble. Real and a real performer. This is something I notice being a performer myself. When someone does it well and isn't about how awesome they are, I appreciate their talent even more. When they enjoy it and don't get caught up in being on the stage, it's a real treat. Anyway, how they dealt with it. What has it been like for them? And is it similar to the path we have walked?
And now I am learning that yes, there are other similarities that I have not found with the other mothers. Like how do you help your surviving children cope with the pain and grief. Mary Beth speaks of how she would cry out to God to be with her son who was involved. How she would cry out for Stevey Joy to be healed of the pain she had for seeing her sister die. I have done the same thing.
It concerns me how this will affect my boys. And what damage has been done? And I hope that God does a miracle in them so that they can become all that they should be. That this should serve only to strengthen them and give them a story that will point others to God in some way. In a way that we can't necessarily understand right now.
One of the Chapman sons said at the Memorial Service that it's like God is an abstract painter. When you are right next to the painting you can't see the picture He's painting. You have to take many steps back because His canvas is so huge. And then, when you've taken a lot of steps back, you can begin to see the beautiful work of art He is making. And like them, we are right now still pretty close to the canvas so we can't make out what's being painted yet. We've taken some steps back but it still isn't necessarily clear to us what He's putting on that canvas.
I have haven't finished the book but I know I can pray. I knew that and have done it since before I read this book. And I can let them know that I am here to speak with them whenever they want to talk about it. But mostly, I just keep reassuring them that I love them no matter what. They have never had to do anything to earn my love. They are my sons and they have my love just from that. But I am curious what the last pages will hold as far as their son, Will, and their daughter, Stevey Joy, are concerned.
Oh God, you can turn all the bad into good for those who love you and are called according to Your purposes. We need for You to do that in the boys. In Your mercy, please protect them from the evil that this can become in their lives and make it a good thing that shows Your glory.
The Epiphany
Actually admitting out loud that a portion of my pain over losing Andrew stems from my view of his perception of me has turned out to be quite a huge bite to chew. I couldn't sleep last night because of it. I went to bed at about 4 am. Tomorrow is really going to hurt since it takes an extra day for the lack of sleep to really impact me. Gosh do I miss the days of being younger where such an event only took a day or two to recover from. Now it can be up to a week.
Anyway, I kept thinking about it and crying. We're talking sobs. Loud cries. Evidently this is a bit larger of a piece of the puzzle to work through than I thought. But the flood of pain and sorrow that was released by this revelation and acknowledgement has been a bit overwhelming. I stayed in my pajamas and eventually got myself together to make dinner for Mark, spend some time with Alex alone and put the boys to bed after some family theatre time.
So I let myself feel this a bit and acknowledge it so that it can pass. Now I feel at peace again and ready to tackle a new week of work.
God is good all the time. And all the time God is good. Whether it feels like it or not. And my epiphany has caused me to ask a vital question of myself. I may feel insignificant or unnoticed or as though I am not special at times. But what about my other boys? My husband? Others in my life? It's not enough for me to realize I feel that way at times, whether true or false. But what about them? What am I doing to make sure that they know that I think they are special? So that they know that they are significant? That God has plans and purposes for them. That there is a reason that they exist. Do they know that? And how can I make sure that they know this and not struggle with this as I have so often in my lifetime and still do at times?
God show me how to do this for others. And remind me of how I have my significance, my identity in You.
Anyway, I kept thinking about it and crying. We're talking sobs. Loud cries. Evidently this is a bit larger of a piece of the puzzle to work through than I thought. But the flood of pain and sorrow that was released by this revelation and acknowledgement has been a bit overwhelming. I stayed in my pajamas and eventually got myself together to make dinner for Mark, spend some time with Alex alone and put the boys to bed after some family theatre time.
So I let myself feel this a bit and acknowledge it so that it can pass. Now I feel at peace again and ready to tackle a new week of work.
God is good all the time. And all the time God is good. Whether it feels like it or not. And my epiphany has caused me to ask a vital question of myself. I may feel insignificant or unnoticed or as though I am not special at times. But what about my other boys? My husband? Others in my life? It's not enough for me to realize I feel that way at times, whether true or false. But what about them? What am I doing to make sure that they know that I think they are special? So that they know that they are significant? That God has plans and purposes for them. That there is a reason that they exist. Do they know that? And how can I make sure that they know this and not struggle with this as I have so often in my lifetime and still do at times?
God show me how to do this for others. And remind me of how I have my significance, my identity in You.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Why Andrew Was/Is So Special to Me
There are still questions. Maybe there always will be. There is still pain amongst the sorrow and the moving on in life we are managing to do. But I wonder if anyone understands this. I have not really shared this before.
Andrew was very special to me. We shared a bond unlike any other I have not known with my other boys. Not because I love them less or them not being as special. I think it's probably because we had to fight for him in the beginning. He was the underdog. This little tiny doll-like person that we didn't know whether he would live or die those first few weeks. I am always one who is drawn to the underdog. Movies about them overcoming just get me. And oddly, I was kind of an underdog growing up. An underdog that fought for the other underdogs.
My friends were usually those who were not wanted by anyone else. I just couldn't help but feel bad that they were alone so I would reach out to them. We were a group that stuck together for the most part. We stood by each other and dreamed that we would overcome and do more than our classmates thought we would due to our "station" or "status". We weren't necessarily at the bottom of the totem pole but we weren't too high up on the popularity chart either.
Well, anyway, so Andrew fit well into this "group" that always get my heart. The way I'm wired by God.
And due to his time in NICU, we got to have some time alone just he and I for a few weeks. Time to get to know each other without any distractions. Time I never really got with the others. We would talk. I'd sing to him. I'd tell him about his brothers and daddy and about life and he'd snuggle close and I just fell in love with him.
And the fact that he wanted to breastfeed, something his brothers never really wanted, just made that bond more intimate to us and special. Something unique that I shared with him alone and meant so much to me. And I think for that, he really gripped onto mommy. Even when he came home, it was clear that he was mommy's boy. Despite my working, I was his mommy and very special to him as he was to me. Again, not that I love my other sons any less. It's just something that we seemed to share.
So losing one who I was so close to, one who looked at me as though I was the most wonderful person alive, was hard. I have screwed up and not been as patient with my other sons as I would like. Lost my temper. Hurt their feelings unintentionally. Not taken the time always. Missed it on other occasions. I love my sons. But I have not done this mothering thing in a way that I would prefer. With Andrew, I knew I could start anew and really made an extra effort. Because of how he looked at me and related to me, I wanted to try to do it better. And in some ways had really done that. I gave myself to him in a way that I wish I had been able to with the others. But sadly, and regrettably, past baggage and emotional hurts kept me more guarded with them. More distant. I just wasn't able to give myself as I think a mother should.
So here I was trying to turn over a new leaf so that Andrew wouldn't have to live through some of the mistakes I had made with the others. And I felt like I might be accomplishing that finally. And then, he's gone. Ripped from me.
In my thinking, someone finally seemed to see me as being very valuable and loving. Someone that was special and giving. Didn't know how I have screwed up multiple times before in so many ways in life. To Andrew, I was mommy. I was love. I was there. I was his. I was special and very significant. Someone he looked forward to seeing. He thought I was really something. And it felt so nice for a change to have that in someone. It touched me deeply and irrevocably. And meant so much to me.
And then he was taken from me.
I know it's not entirely true in my head that he is the only one that thought this of me. But when so many have conveyed otherwise for so long, it takes that much longer to undo the damage. And it seemed like Andrew was a part of that. I meant something to someone. And even though on a few occasions I have been told that I am special or significant to someone, I was finally special to a child of mine. He looked forward to seeing me and saw no wrong in me. And that reaction has been even more rare in my lifetime. At least from my perspective. Except that he possibly wanted me to hold him more. And I wish I had held him more now that I know that that time was so limited.
So, anyway, that is part of why it hurts so much that my little special is gone. The other part is just that he is my son. And that pretty much says it all.
I need to go wipe my nose now and wipe my eyes.
Andrew was very special to me. We shared a bond unlike any other I have not known with my other boys. Not because I love them less or them not being as special. I think it's probably because we had to fight for him in the beginning. He was the underdog. This little tiny doll-like person that we didn't know whether he would live or die those first few weeks. I am always one who is drawn to the underdog. Movies about them overcoming just get me. And oddly, I was kind of an underdog growing up. An underdog that fought for the other underdogs.
My friends were usually those who were not wanted by anyone else. I just couldn't help but feel bad that they were alone so I would reach out to them. We were a group that stuck together for the most part. We stood by each other and dreamed that we would overcome and do more than our classmates thought we would due to our "station" or "status". We weren't necessarily at the bottom of the totem pole but we weren't too high up on the popularity chart either.
Well, anyway, so Andrew fit well into this "group" that always get my heart. The way I'm wired by God.
And due to his time in NICU, we got to have some time alone just he and I for a few weeks. Time to get to know each other without any distractions. Time I never really got with the others. We would talk. I'd sing to him. I'd tell him about his brothers and daddy and about life and he'd snuggle close and I just fell in love with him.
And the fact that he wanted to breastfeed, something his brothers never really wanted, just made that bond more intimate to us and special. Something unique that I shared with him alone and meant so much to me. And I think for that, he really gripped onto mommy. Even when he came home, it was clear that he was mommy's boy. Despite my working, I was his mommy and very special to him as he was to me. Again, not that I love my other sons any less. It's just something that we seemed to share.
So losing one who I was so close to, one who looked at me as though I was the most wonderful person alive, was hard. I have screwed up and not been as patient with my other sons as I would like. Lost my temper. Hurt their feelings unintentionally. Not taken the time always. Missed it on other occasions. I love my sons. But I have not done this mothering thing in a way that I would prefer. With Andrew, I knew I could start anew and really made an extra effort. Because of how he looked at me and related to me, I wanted to try to do it better. And in some ways had really done that. I gave myself to him in a way that I wish I had been able to with the others. But sadly, and regrettably, past baggage and emotional hurts kept me more guarded with them. More distant. I just wasn't able to give myself as I think a mother should.
So here I was trying to turn over a new leaf so that Andrew wouldn't have to live through some of the mistakes I had made with the others. And I felt like I might be accomplishing that finally. And then, he's gone. Ripped from me.
In my thinking, someone finally seemed to see me as being very valuable and loving. Someone that was special and giving. Didn't know how I have screwed up multiple times before in so many ways in life. To Andrew, I was mommy. I was love. I was there. I was his. I was special and very significant. Someone he looked forward to seeing. He thought I was really something. And it felt so nice for a change to have that in someone. It touched me deeply and irrevocably. And meant so much to me.
And then he was taken from me.
I know it's not entirely true in my head that he is the only one that thought this of me. But when so many have conveyed otherwise for so long, it takes that much longer to undo the damage. And it seemed like Andrew was a part of that. I meant something to someone. And even though on a few occasions I have been told that I am special or significant to someone, I was finally special to a child of mine. He looked forward to seeing me and saw no wrong in me. And that reaction has been even more rare in my lifetime. At least from my perspective. Except that he possibly wanted me to hold him more. And I wish I had held him more now that I know that that time was so limited.
So, anyway, that is part of why it hurts so much that my little special is gone. The other part is just that he is my son. And that pretty much says it all.
I need to go wipe my nose now and wipe my eyes.
Saturday, June 23, 2012
The Important Choice
I am reading a book by Mary Beth Chapman called Choosing to See. The Chapman's lost their 5 year old adopted daughter in a tragic accident at their home. I have been reading some different books on grief, stories of people losing their loved ones, some have even dealt with babies dying. Some have been gifts from family or friends. Most are books I have found to try to figure out what others are going through when they lose a child.
I have related to these stories in some ways. We all feel great pain. Ask why. Wonder if we could have done something more to prevent it. Wished we could die because the loss hurts so greatly you don't know how to deal with all of the rush and ebb and flow of the emotions. Asked how we would cope.
But the Chapman story is the most relatable to our circumstances. I have felt very alone even amongst the other mothers I meet with since none of them lost their babies to an accident. So I was extremely curious to finally read about how this couple dealt with their tragedy. You see, their daughter was killed when she was run over by a truck. A truck one of their sons was driving. A scenario very close to our home with the exception that our deceased child was younger and we may never know if one of our children was involved in an unknowing and without meaning to.
Mary Beth is extremely real and honest. Straight and to the point. Their son Will was just coming home. The 3 adopted daughters from China were pretending they were a girl band called the Chapman Sisters in the back yard. Maria adored Will. He was her hero. So when he arrived, she was so ecstatic that without thinking, she ran at the driveway. Her next oldest sister, Stevey Joy, saw what was going to happen and screamed at her sister to stop running so that she wouldn't get hurt. But Maria was head strong. When she had something in her little mind, there was no stopping her. So she kept running to get to her brother not realizing she was headed towards a machine that was much stronger than she.
She saw it happen. Will couldn't see her she was so small so he couldn't stop in time. There was blood everywhere. Mary Beth and Steven ran outside horrified as Will held his little sister's lifeless body streaming for her to wake up. And so began their journey into the maze of confusion of pain, grief, loss, regret and everything else that comes with it.
As they did with their son who ran over his sister, we made to assure Alex and Ryan (who were home at the time and possibly witnessed the event) that we loved them no matter what happened. They were our sons and nothing would change our love for them. It's a message we have repeated to them often before that day and after.
They decided not to turn from God and so did we.
On our way back from the funeral home from making at least some of the final arrangements for our dear son, I told Mark that this time we would respond to a trial in the correct way. We would still praise God becuase circumstances don't change Him. He is unchanging. We would still praise Him and worship Him becuase He is always worthy of these whether we feel it or not. Whether things are good or not. Mark agreed and had already been thinking this.
Four years ago, things started going south for us. Ryan was born around this time. And our response to God was to harden our hearts and walk away practically from our faith. The trial just got worse. Dark days fell upon our family that lead to a year and a half of difficulties. It was awful for us and the boys. And at the beginning of some possible goodness was Andrew. Our gift from God. That's what God told me before he was even conceived. He would be our blessing for reuniting. One that I was reluctant to accept at first. And regret that I ever doubted the blessing he was and is to me.
So anyway, after turning from God before, it seemed that this time, we needed to turn to Him. Fall upon Him because it all made no sense. And we knew that He was the only one to help us. So we both made a conscious choice to say that we still believed in God. We still knew He was good and that He was in control. We thanked Him for our son, acknowledged that we didn't understand what was going on and said out loud that He was worthy of our praise.
And our hearts remained soft.
I have related to these stories in some ways. We all feel great pain. Ask why. Wonder if we could have done something more to prevent it. Wished we could die because the loss hurts so greatly you don't know how to deal with all of the rush and ebb and flow of the emotions. Asked how we would cope.
But the Chapman story is the most relatable to our circumstances. I have felt very alone even amongst the other mothers I meet with since none of them lost their babies to an accident. So I was extremely curious to finally read about how this couple dealt with their tragedy. You see, their daughter was killed when she was run over by a truck. A truck one of their sons was driving. A scenario very close to our home with the exception that our deceased child was younger and we may never know if one of our children was involved in an unknowing and without meaning to.
Mary Beth is extremely real and honest. Straight and to the point. Their son Will was just coming home. The 3 adopted daughters from China were pretending they were a girl band called the Chapman Sisters in the back yard. Maria adored Will. He was her hero. So when he arrived, she was so ecstatic that without thinking, she ran at the driveway. Her next oldest sister, Stevey Joy, saw what was going to happen and screamed at her sister to stop running so that she wouldn't get hurt. But Maria was head strong. When she had something in her little mind, there was no stopping her. So she kept running to get to her brother not realizing she was headed towards a machine that was much stronger than she.
She saw it happen. Will couldn't see her she was so small so he couldn't stop in time. There was blood everywhere. Mary Beth and Steven ran outside horrified as Will held his little sister's lifeless body streaming for her to wake up. And so began their journey into the maze of confusion of pain, grief, loss, regret and everything else that comes with it.
As they did with their son who ran over his sister, we made to assure Alex and Ryan (who were home at the time and possibly witnessed the event) that we loved them no matter what happened. They were our sons and nothing would change our love for them. It's a message we have repeated to them often before that day and after.
They decided not to turn from God and so did we.
On our way back from the funeral home from making at least some of the final arrangements for our dear son, I told Mark that this time we would respond to a trial in the correct way. We would still praise God becuase circumstances don't change Him. He is unchanging. We would still praise Him and worship Him becuase He is always worthy of these whether we feel it or not. Whether things are good or not. Mark agreed and had already been thinking this.
Four years ago, things started going south for us. Ryan was born around this time. And our response to God was to harden our hearts and walk away practically from our faith. The trial just got worse. Dark days fell upon our family that lead to a year and a half of difficulties. It was awful for us and the boys. And at the beginning of some possible goodness was Andrew. Our gift from God. That's what God told me before he was even conceived. He would be our blessing for reuniting. One that I was reluctant to accept at first. And regret that I ever doubted the blessing he was and is to me.
So anyway, after turning from God before, it seemed that this time, we needed to turn to Him. Fall upon Him because it all made no sense. And we knew that He was the only one to help us. So we both made a conscious choice to say that we still believed in God. We still knew He was good and that He was in control. We thanked Him for our son, acknowledged that we didn't understand what was going on and said out loud that He was worthy of our praise.
And our hearts remained soft.
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