Feeling blessed

This weekend, with my birthday and Mother's Day and spending it with my two little boys and a very squirmy little girl rolling around inside me, has made a lot of tender emotions come floating to the surface.

I've been thinking of my Mom and wishing I could remember the moment I entered the world. And, now expecting the arrival of a new little baby girl and feeling what she may have been feeling 34 years ago. Thinking about my birth and the celebration of Mother's Day back-to-back has made my heart fill to overflowing with love for my mother and all the love and sacrifice that has come with being her daughter.

Then, in a talk my Dad gave in church today on mothers, he briefly mentioned the sorrow and pain that followed the loss of our little twins and the indescribable joy we now feel with the miracles that have since filled our life. Sitting there, even while trying to keep the boys from hitting each other with their trucks, my heart filled with joyful emotion at the truth of that statement.

And, I was reminded of just three Mother's Days ago, the first after our loss, when the pain was so intense still that I begged Marc to escape for the whole weekend. I couldn't bare the thought of showing my tear-stained face to people at church who were there celebrating motherhood and not wanting to hear all the well-intended comments about how I really was a mother, too. In an eternal sense I knew I was, but it was much too overwhelming to have to face anyone who knew what we'd gone through and were still going through.

I'm honestly in awe, like completely-left-without-any-words awe, at how we've gone from that painful weekend away three years ago to being where we are today.

Just the thought of close friends who are still in that painful place I was in not too long ago makes me shudder at the thought of re-visiting those painful places in my heart. I am not without hope that miracles and healing will follow every pain and sorrow that we each experience, and I am anxious to see those dear friends a few years down the road with the same joy we've been so blessed to enjoy.

I will be the first to admit it - I've blessed far beyond what I deserve. Blessed to have joined a family headed by a father and a mother who have loved each other for the last 50 years. Blessed to have been promised the eventual raising of the twin daughters I first loved with a mother's love. Blessed by the selfless sacrifice of a courageous birthmother to receive the gift of our sweet Benjamin. Blessed by the miracle arrival of our feisty Hugh, who was so clearly meant to come so soon after Ben. And, now blessed with another unexpected miracle that just adds to the feeling that I've been blessed beyond my wildest dreams.

Clearly the deep valleys of sorrow that were carved in my heart from the tears and disappointments of past experiences, have now been filled with overflowing joy that cannot ever be adequately expressed with words alone. Truly I am blessed. And, I hope I can live a life that constantly reflects the gratitude and awe I feel for these precious blessings.

Daring to dream

Over the last several years I've acquired baby girl clothes here and there. It started the summer of 2003 just after getting our first positive pregnancy test. I never bought a whole lot all at once, just cute little outfits on clearance that I just couldn't pass up. One of the first and still one of my favorites is this white onesie with a subtle little ruffle around the collar and a pair of purple and white gingham pants.

Obviously when we found out the twins were girls, I was thrilled to finally get all those cute clothes out and ready to be spit up on and worn out. Well, clearly, those dreams ended much too soon and once again it was all carefully folded and put away in a safe place, desperately hoping for another chance. Someday.

After Hugh was born and there was a time when we seriously wondered if our family might be complete as is, I debated back and forth about hanging onto all of the girl clothes we had collected. It was starting to feel silly and maybe a little painful, too.

Just the other day I pulled out one of the plastic bins full of girl stuff - clothes, blankets, burp clothes, etc. - and looked at it all with new eyes and new dreams. And, that was more scary than I thought it was going to be.

Expecting a girl, after losing two, has made me feel a little extra cautious in how much I daydream about what it'll be like to have a little girl. Those dreams and visions are hard to bury. So, I've tried to not think too much about the future and have just focused on the present moment as much as possible. But, I'm also able to recognize it's healthy to let my mind and my heart go to that future place where dreams come true and stories have a happy ending.

Something happened today, though, that almost sent me into a complete panic. At my monthly prenatal check-up the midwife casually mentioned that I needed to have a follow-up ultrasound in a few weeks to double check a certain vital organ that wasn't visualized clearly at my ultrasound two weeks ago. She didn't seem concerned and so my immediate response was that it wasn't a big deal. Then, as the day wore on her words kept running through my mind and after some quick google searches I didn't feel so pacified.

After finally getting through to a nurse, to clarify some things and hopefully ease my concerns, there was a brief mention of the possibility I'd have to go down to UCSF for additional testing. I swear to you that just hearing "UCSF" is the most awful sound to these ears... well, and mostly to my heart. I don't have a good track record so far, with my last three babies ending up at UCSF. I really could use a pregnancy that doesn't involve anything having to do with that place. Please?!

Eventually, later this evening, I was able to get in contact with the midwife I saw earlier today and we had a bit more candid conversation about baby girl and her current situation. She was able to answer some of my questions and give me a little more information that helped calm my heart and ease my fears. For now, it appears that the concern with baby girl is just that there were some areas that weren't clearly visible during the ultrasound, perhaps because of positioning, that they just want to get a second peek. So, for now the panic is on hold and will hopefully stay that way for the next 17 weeks.

What I learned, though, in the initial panic of today's news was how much I already love this little girl of mine. And, how much my dreams of what life will be like with her have already made their place in some future reality. And, how I can't wait to see if she'll look like her sisters and what her unique features will be. I've decided it's better to dream of those things I hope for the most rather than giving that space up to fears and worst-case scenarios. Because somewhere and at some point, I really believe all of those dreams will come true.

Adoption: My Dream Come True

November is National Adoption Month. I had plans of sharing more about my feelings about adoption throughout the month, but this particular November proved to make that much more difficult than I would have expected. I'll probably get around to explaining the reasons behind that in the coming days, but for now I can't let myself get distracted from sharing just a few thoughts about adoption (before the month is officially over).

I suppose the following story, though short and simple on the surface, was the very beginning of our adoption journey.

It was September 2005. Marc and I had been married just over three years. It had been two years since our miscarriage and two years of experiencing the painful ride of infertility. Then, one night I had a dream. I don't remember much about the dream, except the very specific image of a little boy. He had blond hair and blue eyes and a mouth full of teeth, which was what made me guess that he was about two years old. He was smiling at me and me at him. There were no words exchanged, but there was this overwhelming feeling of love and gratitude. As I watched him, there came two very clear thoughts. One, that he was my baby boy. And, two, that he did not come from my body.

I honestly didn't take the details of my dream too seriously (even though the image was so detailed and etched in my memory forever), but I did feel the power of its message. I just figured that the little boy in my dream was simply the face of our adoption hope and the push behind us to find our baby. It wasn't until the following year that we finally jumped into adoption. And then it was another two years before our adoption dreams came true.

And come true they did. In every way I could have imagined. That boy from my dream six years ago is very real and brings us so much joy. To look into those blue eyes and to run my fingers through his soft, blond hair, to hear his giggle and watch him do all sorts of daring things, I feel so incredibly blessed that I am able to call him mine. And, that he came to us in such a special way, through an amazing woman that loved him first. Adoption is a gift and a blessing, on more levels and in more ways that I can count. I find it so fitting that the month set aside for honoring adoption is shared with our holiday of giving thanks.

Dream Come True

We're home.

And, I don't know if life could get any better. (Well, if I'm being completely honest, I think a little more uninterrupted sleep might be one thing that could be better... but, sleep is really overrated anyway, isn't it?)

Hugh is doing great. He smiles while he sleeps. He has the cutest raspy cry. His fingers and toes are longer than I've ever seen on a newborn. I'm pretty sure they're as long as Ben's are now at five months. (Although, where Ben lacks in length, he makes up for in chunkiness.) Hugh is eating well and even sleeping well - getting some good 3-4 hour stretches every night. I am admittedly not sleeping much during the night since I'm constantly waking to make sure he's still breathing. He has big, piercing eyes that make me think of creamy dark chocolate. (That could be my postpartum needs coming out.) He and I have both come down with a slight cold, with the main complaint being some nasal congestion, which we're both hoping goes away fast. So far, though, he is doing wonderful and we feel so blessed to have him in our family.

Ben has responded really well to a new baby in the house. That first night we were home he was startled a bit by Hugh's raspy cry and started crying himself. He has since gone from startled to curious to entertained. When placed close to Hugh, Ben pats Hugh on the head or tries to grab for any part of Hugh that he might be able to suck on, staying true to his stage of development right now, which seems to be sucking on anything and everything. He is at such a cute stage right now - so aware and curious about everything around him and talking up a storm. He is pure joy!

Marc is... in one word, fantastic. He has been caring for Ben during the night while I focus on taking care of Hugh and myself. He makes up silly songs that make Ben laugh, even though Ben's still much too young to know what Marc is singing about. He is gentle and sweet with little Hugh (and with me, too). He is so good with both our boys and I feel so blessed to be married to him.

My recovery seems to be coming along. My ankles that had swollen to at least double their size while I was down at UCSF, are now back to their normal look. A sure sign that I'm finally giving my body the rest and healing it needs. Full recovery doesn't seem quite so far away anymore. I'm so happy to be home with my family.

After nine months of imagining what our life would look like with two babies so close in age, we're finally living it in the present tense and I'm loving every minute of it. I often find myself laughing at some of the crazy moments and shake my head in disbelief that this is really our life. And, in the middle of that head shaking, I can't keep the tears from falling. I don't know how or why we've been so blessed. My heart is so full. Joy has filled the emptiness that once knew only pain and heartache and fear that motherhood would only be a dream.

My dream truly has come true. Twice now. And twice later. And I am so grateful.

Getting the "phone call"

At some point during the darkness of the night, when you're not sure whether you're dreaming or you're awake, my phone rang. It was our caseworker letting us know that Tracey was on her way to the hospital. Her little boy would be joining us six weeks early! My heart raced... almost as fast as my thoughts.

The car seat... it's still sitting in its box downstairs. All the baby clothes still need to be washed. I should have put up the bassinet this weekend, like I had planned to. Okay, okay... don't worry about any of that stuff... just get yourself in the car and on your way down to meet her.

So, that's what we did. While Marc warmed up the car, I was getting together a bag of snacks for the trip. Apples, oranges, almonds, carrots, pretzels, bagels. I knew we were in a hurry, but I swear I was going at the slowest possible rate. My hands were fumbling everything and I was making a huge mess. My thoughts still racing. 

In my mind's eye I saw her. I couldn't tell if the look on her face reflected pain or nervousness or doubt, or some combination of those feelings. Was she having second thoughts? Is she going to be okay? Are we really ready for this? Can we take care of her baby like we've promised? My heart offered a silent prayer for Tracey. Please, God, give her comfort and strength, bless her for her faith and for this sacrifice.

It wasn't until I got in the car and all of these really strange things started happening that I realized I was actually dreaming. 

Phew!

But, I woke up still in a bit of a panic. My heart still racing just a bit. There is so much still to do. And, my subconscious revealed a lot more fears and concerns than what I would admit to having. There is a certain aspect of adoption that appears very simple and easy, but when thrust into the middle of a real-life situation with real-life emotions of real-life people on both sides... my heart teeters between wanting to burst with joy and break with pain. 

I worry about obstacles that might interfere with placement. I worry about Tracey and how she'll handle the grief that follows placement. I worry about my abilities to measure up to the responsibilities of motherhood.

At the end of the day (or in the case of today, at the start of the day), what it finally comes down to is making a choice to lay all of my worries on the Lord. I have a plethora of experiences from which to draw confidence that in His perfect love and omniscience He knows how to take care of me and He knows how to take care of Tracey. In many ways I feel like He has walked with me through the last year of my life. When life felt its loneliest and its darkest, I always felt this abiding assurance that He was there. And, as long as I continue to seek Him out, I know He will always be there.

As crazy as my dream was last night, I'm glad to now have a list of things to get done. Hopefully when that real phone call comes we'll be a little more prepared.

Is there anything else I should add to my list?

**Oh, and by the way, thanks for all the love. I was overwhelmed to tears, again and again, reading all of your emails and comments and listening to your phone messages. I was reminded of the proverb - a shared joy is a double joy and a shared sorrow is half a sorrow. 

Higher Ground

I woke up this morning, with a vague recollection of part of my dream during the night. Marc and I were on vacation, staying on the seventh floor of a hotel that was literally right on the edge of a beautiful beach. We had just stepped onto the warm sand when we were alerted about the possible threat of a tsunami coming. My reaction was rather calm, even for watching myself in a dream.

(Dreams are strange, aren't they?)

Right away, I started repeating over and over, "we need to get to higher ground!" Well, we ended up deciding that our seventh-floor hotel room was the perfect place. Fortunately I'm a little smarter in real life. But, as I woke up this morning the thing that kept repeating through my mind was, "we need to get to higher ground."

This week I've found myself desperately needing some higher ground to get through some of these new stages of grief. I try not to focus too much on the pain and the grief, but honestly, the last six months of my life have been hard. For real hard. It has been hard to face the reality of our loss, and it has been hard to come to terms with what the rest of our life might hold, or not hold for that matter.

And, I find myself recognizing the wisdom in finding that "higher ground." I'm so glad I did on Wednesday.

It is comforting to know that I am known and understood and loved by God. When I feel burdened by the loneliness of my heartache, I find relief in those quiet moments when I feel the strong assurance that He knows. He understands. Even the feelings that I'm too embarrassed and sad to express to anyone else. He knows them all. And, still loves me, too.

This journey to higher ground is the pathway of discipleship to the Lord Jesus Christ. It is a journey that will ultimately lead us to exaltation with our families in the presence of the Father and the Son. Consequently, our journey to higher ground must include the house of the Lord. As we come unto Christ and journey to higher ground, we will desire to spend more time in His temples, because the temples represent higher ground, sacred ground.
- Joseph B. Wirthlin

(My time spent on that higher ground this week couldn't have come at a better time. We got a phone call today from the mortuary. The headstone we ordered right before Christmas is supposed to be set today... I don't know how I feel about that yet.)

Living in the present

Last Sunday after church I was telling a friend how I wished there was a "fast forward" button for my life. It had been such a hard day that I wanted to be able to skip ahead to six months from now, maybe even a year. Sundays, in general, are really difficult days for me. I think it's a combination of being around a lot of people, as well as just feeling so hungry for spiritual uplift that even just singing the hymns make me weep uncontrollably. 

Some things have happened this week that have really helped me a lot. At the risk of sounding masochistic, I will admit that in the last couple of days I've even felt like I wish my life had a "pause" button instead of "fast forward." I don't want to fast forward through this period, as painful as it is at times. I don't want to miss out on any learning opportunities that this experience can provide. I want to appreciate and soak up the desires to be better. I want to make sure I have enough time in this moment to really allow it to have a lasting affect on the condition of my heart.

Our perfect little girls are counting on us to learn and grow from this experience. I know I have a lot to learn between now and the time I meet them again, so that I can be more ready and more able to be their mother.

I actually had a dream a few nights ago that I had found out I only had a week to live. In my dream I was aware that my death would mean I'd be reunited with my girls again, but there was part of me that felt unprepared. I was in a panic, trying to figure out how to get myself ready in just a week. It was kind of a strange dream, which is common for me lately. 

The next day I was trying to figure out where that dream came from, why I would be dreaming of my own approaching death. Then, I remembered that just before going to bed that night I had read a quote that my sister, Mandi, had sent me from a book she's been reading. The book is "Grace and Grit: Spirituality and Healing in the Life and Death of Treya Killam Wilber".

The part in the book is just after this woman has had another recurrence of cancer - it's her fifth major recurrence and the cancer is found in her brain, her lungs, and possibly her liver. She's going through more treatments and alternative therapies, but mostly she and her husband are just trying to focus on the present. The second paragraph is an Emerson quote, as quoted in the book:
 
"Friends and family often wondered, is she being unrealistic - shouldn't she be worrying? fretting? unhappy? But the fact is, by living in the present, by refusing to live in the future, she began exactly to live consciously with death. Think about it: death, if anything, is the condition of having no future. By living in the present, as if she had no future, she was not ignoring death, she was living it. And I was trying to do the same. I thought of the beautiful quote from Emerson:
 
These roses under my window make no reference to former roses or to better ones; they are for what they are; they exist with God today. There is no time for them. There is simply the rose; it is perfect in every moment of its existence. But man postpones or remembers; he does not live in the present, but with reverted eye laments the past, or heedless of the riches that surround him, stands on tiptoe to foresee the future. He cannot be happy and strong until he too lives with nature in the present, above time."

This living in the present is exactly how I've been trying to go through my days. I don't want to think about any regrets or guilt from the past. I don't want to worry about what lies ahead. I cannot control either of those things. I just want to enjoy every present moment, whether it comes with sadness or joy, pain or healing. I want to find joy in each step of progression along this journey.