Nightmares

Last night I was up at 11:30pm, 3:30am, and 6:30am feeding my precious little Hugh. 

In between those hours, I was having nightmares.

Nightmares, mainly, about death.

I admit I worry much too much about losing Benjamin and Hugh. I just can't seem to help it, though. I think my recent nightmares are caused by two main things. 

Reason #1. With the recent whooping cough outbreak in California and some possible cases in our area, I've been very cautious about taking my boys out and about. They've only been out in close contact with people on two occasions, both this past weekend - Hugh's baby shower on Saturday and church on Sunday. I do take them on walks to the grocery store with me, but they don't really have much, if any, contact with others on those occasions. With Hugh's rough start, I just worry about him being more susceptible to illness. 

Reason #2. We're approaching the second anniversary of losing our girls. Friday. While my heart isn't as heavy as it was this time last year, I can't seem to think about them without feeling the heavy reality that life is fragile. And, as I spend time cuddling and playing with my little boys I can't help but wonder what it would have been like to have these moments with my two little girls. While my heart is filled with joy for the blessings of my boys, there is an equal feeling of longing to have these same experiences with my daughters. 

As much as I wish I didn't have these fears and worries about death, I've found them to provide my life with a much clearer perspective and a greater appreciation for the day to day moments. I often pause to remind myself to capture the simple moments I have with Ben and Hugh. Like today when we were on our walk and Hugh was fussing. I stopped under a large, shady tree and cuddled him. He immediately stopped crying and snuggled against my shoulder. Or yesterday when Ben and I took a nap together on the floor of our front room and his delight when he woke up to find my face right next to his. These are the kind of moments that I pause and take a mental picture of every detail and feeling of the moment.

Life is fragile. And, I don't want to have any regrets of not enjoying every aspect of it, especially when it comes to the most important relationships in my life. I guess I don't mind the nightmares so much, as long as they help me appreciate life more, even the more mundane and monotonous.  

Speaking of which... Ben is needing a playmate at the moment and I'd hate to pass up a moment like this.

Learning to Live

I have gotten progressively worse at checking in. It isn't that I don't have anything to say, but rather the opposite. There are so many thoughts that have clumped themselves together in one big mess that I've been avoiding them about as much as the similarly messy clump of hair in our bathtub drain at the moment. Sad as it is, it really has felt that undesirable to sort through. 

And, just when I was feeling some motivation to share some of my thoughts and experiences from the last couple of weeks, I am distracted by some sad news. I was actually in the middle of writing about some of our most recent adventures when Marc called out from upstairs, "Truman Madsen died today."

As a philosophy student at BYU, I became very familiar with the writings and thoughts of Truman G. Madsen, who was a philosopher, a professor, a writer, a gifted orator with a destinctive voice. Even though I never officially met him, as I've read his books and studied his writings, I have admired the great man behind the great words. I'm sad today to learn that he has died.

But, it feels fitting that the main topic on my mind the last couple of weeks goes along perfectly with certain words of Truman Madsen I read years ago that have remained with me. In his book The Highest in Us, he discusses the difference between being active and being alive, pointing out that something can be active without being alive and emphasizing greater importance on being alive and really living. 

Living.

For the better part of the last year grief has left me feeling numb. I have tried to find joy in life. I've counted my blessings and tried to seek out the good in my life. To be honest, I have faked a lot of feelings, and for the most part it has worked in helping me get through a really hard year. But, there is a piercing sadness in my heart to admit that deep down I have felt detached from many of the joys that used to come so easily. I used to be able to look at something beautiful and appreciate its beauty without even having to try.

Now, when I look at the fuschia-colored flowers in our backyard it isn't enough to just see them with my eyes anymore; I have to make a conscious effort to let their beauty sink into my soul. When I hear a bird singing, I have to close my eyes to focus on its song until the sound goes past my ears and finds its way to my heart. And, while it's a little frustrating to have to go through so much more effort to find beauty and joy in the world around me, I feel like it's provided me with an opportunity to live a new, better life than I lived in my first thirty years. There have been moments recently when I've felt such deep feelings of beauty and joy... almost as if they are running through my veins and I can't help but wonder if I ever really lived before the death of our twins.

I'm choosing to live. I'm pausing to look up at the stars. I'm taking my shoes off to feel the grass on my barefeet. I'm making a conscious effort to live life a little more fully. I need to, but I also want to because I recognize it's a blessing I now have that I may not always have. I have had moments of guilt and sadness that Elliana and Emmaline didn't get a chance to experience these things here, and while I hope it will be more than made up to them after this life, I find myself wanting to enjoy it all a little bit more for them. It's like when a friend recently traveled to Italy, I urged her to enjoy some nocciola gelato for me. There was a feeling of joy thinking of her enjoying something that I love so much.

I know that from a larger perspective this life is very brief and I would hate to get to the end and wish I would have paused more to just live, to see, to taste, to hear, to feel, to touch, to love, to be loved. I'm learning to live on purpose, like I mean it. I hope, in the process, I'll find my dreams coming true.

Rest in peace, Brother Madsen. Your influence has made its impact on my life and so many others. Thank you for sharing your wisdom so freely.

The Newness of Spring

image info: the product of my labors last October

I woke up very early this morning and couldn't fall back asleep. It reminded me of the immediate days following the birth (or death, however you want to put it) of our twins when I'd wake up with thoughts of them waking me before the light of morning could do its job. It was extra dark this morning, with rain clouds hiding the moon and stars. I sat in silence for a while, soothed by the ticking of a clock. I wandered through the feelings in my heart, finding gratitude for the deepness of emotion that it now knows, while slowly watching morning arrive. It's amazing, really, to watch the very gradual change as the darkness of night dissipates with the power and reach of the sun.

This time of year has brought with it a wide range of emotions, most of them I have been anticipating. Many of the emotions have surrounded flashbacks to a year ago - the joyful tears of finding out our miracle had come, the anticipation of our dream of having a family together was coming true, the dawn was finally marking the end of a long, dark night of waiting. I wish that reminiscning back to those early moments of pregnancy still produced joyful tears... how could they though? It's hard to separate the feelings of joy and pain. I will never lose hope that one day we'll feel that overwhelming joy again... knowing it will run deeper, filling the deep crevasses of pain that have carved their way through my heart.

My thoughts have turned to the ever-constant reminders of the beauty and newness of Spring. There is evidence all around me that life continues, that winter has an end, that blossoms always find a way to bloom again. I've been especially intrigued by the bulbs I planted last October, those potential flowers laid deep in the earth, surviving the harsh, frozen ground, being so gently encouraged to bloom by the warmth of the sun. I've found joy in watching those bright daffodils bloom. And, I've found courage in the process of their growth.

Christmas has always been The Big Holiday of the year. The birth of the Son of God is a big deal, afterall. My celebrations of Easter haven't ever been as big or meaningful. But, I want that to change. I want Easter, with emphasis on its true meaning, to be just as celebrated as Christmas. To focus on the perfect Christ-child who grew into a perfect man, completing His life's missions, leading to the culminating events of His life that fulfilled The Plan. He was the only one able to overcome the two deaths that we are subject to as mortals - spiritual death and physical death. He suffered. He died. And just like He promised - three days later he broke the bands of death.

That bitter death that seems so cold and lonely and endless. He took that away. He did that for you. He did it for those you love who have died. He did that for me; for my little girls - Elliana and Emmaline. Because of Him I will be with them again. His resurrection has never meant more to me than it now does.

There is still pain, but there is also a purpose in that. As we have navigated through the last eight months, I have learned the lengths that the Savior will go to reach us in our darkest hours. Just like the sun's rays reach far and wide to break the darkness of night, the Son of God has reached us in our deepest moments of pain; He has gone into those dark corners of our hearts. I've learned confidence in His concern for me, and in His ability to bring comfort and healing to my heart. His love and perfect understanding of my pain fills my heart with warmth.   

While I've always loved this time of year, words cannot adequately express what it means to me this year.

New life.

Renewal.

Hope.

All because of Him. 

Why weepest thou - by Simon Dewey

Thoughts of Christmas

It's late and I should be in bed, but there seems to be a build-up of thoughts and feelings lately that have corroded my sleeping habits. So, I gently laid a kiss on Marc's cheek and rolled myself back out to the Christmas tree with it's welcoming, white glow.

I've always loved the peacefulness of the Christmas tree. Right now ours just has the lights on it. We haven't pulled any of the other decorations out yet. It's been a slow start this year. Just as we were warned, the holidays have added a new layer of difficulty. 

There are the obvious reasons - mainly, the dreams we had of how Thanksgiving and Christmas would be with our twins. We had so many dreams... and really, we still do. But, for now we're sitting in front of our Christmas tree listening to Bing Crosby and Perry Como, eating apple pie, watching movies like Holiday Inn - and while I'm so grateful, especially for the "we" part, it's still more than a bummer that we don't have two little bundles of joy to distract us. We got the tree up too fast, we're sleeping in too late, and have way too much quiet time. I know for many people that probably sounds like a dream come true... but, I've never felt so sad to have such a quiet house. It's definitely harder than I expected it to be.

But, there is another aspect of the holidays being hard that I hadn't anticipated. There are so many distractions that leave me feeling agitated... strangely enough, they are the same distractions that usually make me excited about the holidays. Searching out the most perfect gifts, getting out all the decorations, wrestling my way through the crowded stores (okay, you're right, I don't get excited about that one)... but, really, usually there is an excitement that comes with doing all the normal traditions of Christmas.

I guess a lot of it is that I've become so aware of how tainted my own view of Christmas has been, and still is. As much as I want to think that in past years I celebrated Christmas for the right reasons and with the right spirit, I'm realizing this year that it's a completely different experience. Because our life isn't normal anymore, none of the usual things seem normal either.

Laying in my hospital bed on the night of July 16th, holding my two daughters within minutes of being born, in awe of their perfection, my heart was tender, but at peace. Panic didn't exist in that moment (though, naturally, it was there in the moments prior and has come multiple times since). Instead, on that mid-summer night, I found my thoughts urgently turning to another night in another place and time, when another baby was born. For possibly the first time in my life, the story of the birth of Christ really mattered to me on a very personal level. It became so much more than just a nice story. Even though I had always tried to make Him a personal part of my life, it always felt a little too abstract or something.

There's nothing like death to force you from abstract to reality. All of a sudden, there we were saying good-bye to Elliana and Emmaline. It was different than saying good-bye to grandparents. Maybe that's because in my mind I had always figured that if for some reason there really wasn't a heaven, then I could feel satisfied that after 90-something years, at least they had lived a good, long life. But, in this case, I needed to know like I never had before that it was all true. Those stories of the Carpenter of Galilee - were they just a fairytale, or possibly exaggerated history from 2000 years ago? Did Jesus really do what He said He would do? And, did it really extend to the whole human race, including our precious girls? Did he overcome death for them? Would we really see them again? Are they really ours forever?

In what should have been a moment of sheer terror and panic, there was the strongest assurance that filled our hearts that it was all true. Our experience in the hospital with our daughters is so sacred to us that I won't get into the details here, but the feelings that dominated were ones of gratitude for the Son of God, the Savior of the world. His birth, His life, His death, His victory over the tomb... all of it mattered more than it ever had before. It wasn't abstract anymore. This was real.

It mattered that Jesus was born, that He lived a perfect life, that He willingly laid down His life, that He victoriously raised Himself up again. It matters because through Him I have hope of dreams yet to be fulfilled in this life and in the next, and an indescribably joyful reunion to look forward to.

Since July I've been learning over and over again - He is real. His peace, His healing, His comfort. It is all so real. And, even though He has always been just as real, His reality is so much stronger in our hearts than it ever has been before.

For that reason... this Christmas is different. And, I'm honestly hoping the change will last.

Learning to Submit

At the beginning of this year we were chosen by a birthmother to adopt her baby, who would be born in June. The situation involved a birthfather who was less than thrilled about adoption, and more particularly the choice of the birthmother in selecting us as the couple. As a result, the first few months of this year were filled with ups and downs. We weren't sure whether to embrace the anticipated joy of welcoming a little boy to our family or whether we should keep ourselves aloof, to protect our hearts.

Near the end of February, we received word that the adoption probably wasn't going to happen and that it was in everyone's best interest to limit our contact with the birthmother. We had already grown to love this incredible girl, who was trying so hard to make the right choices for herself and her unborn baby. And, we had already grown to love this little boy who would soon be coming to earth, and genuinely hoped for the best for both him and his mother.

As we faced the reality that the adoption probably wouldn't happen, I crumbled. I spent a couple of days feeling completely devastated and broken. Fortunately the Lord blessed me with some obvious evidences during that time that He loved me and was aware of me. Feeling that love from Him in the midst of my disappointment, humbled me to the point of complete acceptance of God's will, whatever it was. 

I remember one day very clearly... in a moment of prayer I admitted to God that I didn't know what the outcome of this adoption would be. I didn't have the insight or wisdom to see how things were supposed to work out. As difficult as it was to do, I handed over my will to God in that moment, letting Him know that I trusted in Him and in His love for me so much that whatever the outcome would be, I wanted it to be done according to His will. That experience was incredibly liberating. 

I remember thinking at the time, "wow, this is so much easier to handle knowing that all I have to do is accept however God intends for this to work out." Of course, the foundation of that feeling had to be the strongest assurance that God truly loved me and had my best intentions in mind. All of a sudden I didn't have the burden of trying to convince God to make "my will" be done. I finally handed it all over to Him... it was now in His hands.

Well, within a month of having that experience, Marc and I experienced the biggest shock of our married life - we were pregnant! And, then two weeks later, the second biggest shock of our married life - we were expecting twins! At the time I felt like my submission to God's will was all He was waiting for... the result of that submission was this most incredible blessing. And, I remember thinking, "this is so easy to accept God's will when something really wonderful like this happens... the real test would be to accept His will in the midst of disappointment."

Since our first pregnancy, five years ago, ended at 7 weeks, we felt very cautious in those early months. There were a number of times I expressed the feeling that "no matter how this all turns out, I will always consider this pregnancy the most incredible miracle." And I did. And I still do. I think approaching the pregnancy with caution made me even more grateful for each moment, each new experience, not knowing if/when it might end.

Morning sickness was awful... but, it was such a joy to experience it, knowing that my body was working to make two beautiful babies. After throwing up, with tears streaming down my face, I would pat my little belly and tell my babies how much I loved them. Watching them in our ultrasounds, and finally feeling them move around inside me... these were all miracles and blessings that brought us such incredible joy that would often leave us in tears. After five years of "unexplained infertility" these were all things that we had wondered if we'd ever experience. 

The day of our 10 week ultrasound, I recorded in my journal how nervous I was before the appointment. I had gone in our nursery and kneeled down to pray. My first inclination was to pray for a healthy, full-term pregnancy, without any complications.... that was my desire, afterall. That was exactly what I wanted, so I started to express those very specific desires to God. I paused, though. I found myself offering a completely different prayer than the one I intended to offer. Instead, I prayed that everything would work according to God's will... and with tears flowing, I pled with God to "please bless me with the courage to accept thy will."

Well, that appointment went wonderfully... as did many of the subsequent appointments. As the pregnancy progressed and our fears were settled, we started to allow ourselves to feel unleashed excitement at the anticipated arrival of our two precious little girls.

Then, came July 16th. We had been rushed down to UCSF when my water unexpectedly broke. After laying in that hospital bed for almost 12 hours, with nothing happening, except that I was losing more and more fluid as the clock ticked on, I became very frustrated that no one was doing anything to try and save my babies. I felt so helpless. I was fighting to keep them and I felt so utterly alone in that fight.

As I reached that point of total desperation, I offered a silent prayer. Again, I found myself admitting that I didn't have the wisdom or insight to see what the outcome of this situation was to be. I expressed my feelings that I was fighting an uphill battle, and that if God was behind me in that battle that I was willing to fight, to do whatever I had to help my girls live. But, I also was able to see that my fighting to keep them here may have become a fight contrary to His will for them and for me. And, then came another moment of submission... "please, Father, help me to have the courage to accept thy will."

Within an hour of offering that prayer, my physical condition worsened to the point that made it clear that infection from the surgery a week before, was the cause of preterm labor... and ultimately the doctors were concerned for my life. Some may consider it coincidence. I felt then, and still feel now, that those turn of events were confirmation that God had a different outcome in mind for our little girls than what we had expected. Their purpose and mission would be fulfilled in simply receiving a body... and we were entrusted with the bitter-sweet experience of being the means whereby they could fulfill that purpose.

I share all of this more for myself than for anyone else. You see, I have been struggling to remember that the events of the last few weeks and months have all gone according to God's will... and that, on more than one occasion, He was preparing me to accept this outcome. I have had moments of complete submission, where I willingly gave up my most coveted desires, and I entrusted my life into the hands of God.

The pain in my heart sometimes whispers thoughts of bitterness and anger that my girls were taken from me. "If God really loved me, why would he do such a thing?" And, I find myself needing to discern between the truth and the lies that fill my mind. God has not taken my girls from me. He has not abandoned me. He has not stripped me of my promised blessings. No. He has rather ensured the immediate return of our girls to His presence and with that the blessing of motherhood to come in a day not far distant.

I know that over the course of the last six months, maybe even much longer than that, God has been preparing me to accept the outcome of our daughters' short lives. It is a daily battle to fight away the feelings of frustration and sadness that try to deceive me into believing that I have been robbed and cheated and denied. Deep down I know I haven't. Deep down I know that God loves me and is so tenderly aware of me right now. Deep down I trust in Him and in His will for my life. Deep down I want to submit my will and desires to Him, like I have before, knowing that He will bless me with the courage to accept the outcome, just like He has before. 

"... the submission of one’s will is really the only uniquely personal thing we have to place on God’s altar. The many other things we “give”... are actually the things He has already given or loaned to us. However, when you and I finally submit ourselves, by letting our individual wills be swallowed up in God’s will, then we are really giving something to Him! It is the only possession which is truly ours to give!"

 - Neal A. Maxwell (Ensign, November 1995)

Blossoms in August

My heart has been touched deeply by small miracles lately. In the last couple of days, three separate plants of ours have blossomed flowers. I don't remember the last time they produced flowers, and I surely wasn't expecting blossoms in August, but they are beautiful and so alive.

When I look at them I feel an overwhelming sense of God's love and awareness. They feel like His gentle way of reminding me of life... life beyond death, victory from the grave. I'm grateful to a loving Father who is so gently blessing us through what may be our darkest hour, who is guiding us along this rugged path, who is filling our life with sweet reminders of His love for us and for our little girls.

 

We will spend the next couple of days soaking up the beauty and life from the incredible outdoors. It is calling and we are definitely needing to fill up from the fountains of life. I love this quote by John Muir:

Thousands of tired, nerve shaken, over civilized people are beginning to find that going to the mountains is going home; that wilderness is a necessity; and that mountain parks and reservations are useful not only as fountains of timber and irrigating rivers, but as fountains of life. 

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.