and baby makes EIGHT!

Little poppy - officially due November 30th!

It's been several weeks now since Steve and I announced that we were pregnant with baby #6. I've been wanting to sit down and write ever since then and for some reason (plus 5 other reasons), I haven't been able to.

Lemme start by addressing the very rude comment I received after we posted the video:

"we don’t love the idea of having 6 kids"
If you cannot financially afford another child, please do not do so! Seriously, I do not want to pay for your baby. Just because you can, doesn't mean you shouldnt. It won't fix things. Filthy.
I hope things work out for you :)

First of all, I love the smiley face at the end...like it's supposed to undo the hurtfulness that proceeds it. I also love how this person who continually writes ridiculous comments (most of which I delete) can never quite figure out their grammar or how to spell properly. When we addressed having kids in our Q&A last year (you can read it HERE), we were both on the same page about not being ready to have more kids. But before I go into detail about how that all changed, I would like to point out that our decision has nothing to do with finances, and I'm not exactly sure how anyone thinks they are paying for OUR children! Our decision to have a baby was not to 'fix' anything, but rather to celebrate our family and our relationship. It was not a decision made it haste, but one that came through a lot of prayer and discernment. If you also read in that answer, I talked about someday wanting to adopt, so adding another person to the household was never really off the table. If you don't want to live at my house with six kids...well, you're not invited anyway, but you certainly don't have to! You make your own decisions and I won't judge and how about you offer that same grace to others, ok?

I won't continue to waste any more breath on that comment. The only reason I even published it was because I know others (who are much less rude) were also curious as to how we came to a place of not wanting more children to embracing the idea of one more. Now that is a topic I am happy to talk about.

Ever since last year, Steve has always mentioned the idea of having another baby. I chalked it up to the fact that he LOVES babies and always wants to be holding one (sometimes he borrows friends' babies at church just to hold them), or the fact that we are both curious what it would be like to have a child together. We love our children and we think they've blended really well together, but we always talk about redeeming my last pregnancy and giving Steve the opportunity to experience the pregnancy of his child the way a father and husband is supposed to, since he really missed out on a lot of that before. But again, I continued thinking this was playful banter.

But then Super Bowl Sunday brought us to a friend's house to hang out, and another couple from church brought their brand new baby girl along with them. I kid you not, Steve held that baby at least half the time we were there, maybe more. And it suddenly dawned on me that maybe Steve really would love to have another baby. The drive home really felt like Deja vu....so much like the drive home from Canada when Jeremy and I talked about having baby #3. I cried, I prayed, and I had to open up my heart to the possibility of having another baby. Because it was a door I never really opened, I had some grieving to do. Grieving for the fact that I might have a child that would not be associated with Jeremy, and grieving again the loss of experiencing this journey without him. But as Steve and I talked and prayed through everything, my heart leaped at the exciting possibility of creating life with him and walking through this journey with him, and with our kids....who at this point, had been begging us to have more kids!

I won't lie - I am scared to death of being pregnant. I am terrified to reliving the past and losing everything. But I know I cannot let fear captivate me and keep me from living life to the fullest. I told Steve as long as he could be patient with me and handle my PTSD, I was willing to venture into this very scary unknown. After I found out I was indeed pregnant (btw, once we decided to go for it, I was pregnant within 2 days...CRAZY!) I couldn't sleep for a few days. I get anxious when Steve is away from home and I don't hear from him for awhile. I worry that once I hit the 6 month mark, I may be a hot mess. But then again, maybe not. Watching Steve get excited, and watching our children get excited has eased so much anxiety for me....and it's contagious. I AM GOING TO HAVE A BABY - this is good news no matter what kind of package it comes in!

We are thrilled to bring our family together in a solid way that no one can take away from us. We are honored that God has given us the privilege to once again care for another one of His children. Our kids could not be more excited...they kiss my belly on their way to school (yes, even the oldest!), they ask me constant questions about how I'm feeling, how little poppy (the baby's nickname) is doing, praying for us both every night...it really is the sweetest thing.

I really couldn't think of a better Mother's day gift this year than to know the love I receive will be getting multiplied by one more beautiful miracle this year!

When two worlds collide

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So much of my life has changed since Jeremy died.

I live in a different house, a different city.

I drive different vehicles.

I shop at new stores that weren't around just three years ago.

I have super long hair, which Jeremy has never really seen.

I have some new, amazing friends.

I've lost some friends. Heck, I've been lifted out of some of my own support groups.

I have new family.

I got re-married.

I am a different parent than I used to be.

I've had new experiences that have changed me.

For crying out loud, I have more of Jeremy's children now than I did when he was here!

It's safe to say that things look very different. But what I find so frustrating and yet so odd is how much I hate that he is missing the very things that are only in place because of his death. Experiences that I was only able to have because Jeremy died, I ache for him to see it, to talk to him about it, to celebrate/laugh/cry with him about it. Only, my two worlds will never collide. The irony is not lost on me.

Somewhere, in a land created of 'what-ifs', there's a place where I get to talk to Jeremy about Steve, where I get to see his reaction to a new song that came out, where he smiles and celebrates the milestones in my life I only get to have in light of losing everything. The opportunities that were created out of his loss are the very things I want him to witness. I would never have been able to move to this home if Jer were still alive. And yet, it feels like he's missing here. I would never be able to claim Zada and Reagan as my beautiful daughters if he were alive, but I want so badly for them to know each other, for him to love them like I do.

I try not to venture into the land of 'what-ifs' very often, cause it generally just leaves me exhausted and unsatisfied. But every once in awhile....

....I would just love to see my two worlds collide.

somehow

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No matter how many times I've come to expect it, grief still manages to catch me off guard somehow.

Last week, I watched my 2 year old get the biggest kick out of a whoopie cushion at Mamaw & Papaw's house. He was jumping up and down on it, literally laughing himself silly. When you watch a toddler laugh like that, it's impossible not to join along. And then suddenly, like a flash of lightning, my laughing came to a halt as I choked down tears. 4 days before Jeremy died, he had bought the kids a whoopie cushion and took a small video of each of them on his phone to capture how hilarious they thought it was. And realizing that Carter never got to be a part of that or never will be a part of that overcame me. I almost had to get up and leave the room.

I read about how well the Toronto Maple Leafs were doing this season, and I ache. Not because I care about hockey much, but because Jer waited his whole life to see this day, and now is missing it, and it somehow makes ME emotional. My mother posts a picture on Facebook of my son looking exactly like his daddy and it tears me up inside. I see my daughter finally start to outgrow the shirt that her daddy bought her, and it's too much to know so much time has gone by and she's grown so much without him. I still can't sing his favorite songs at church, because it hurts (not to mention, sung at his funeral and my brother's funeral) and the words cut through me like glass.

No matter how much time goes by, no matter how content I am with my life now, grief always finds a place. I know this, and yet still get mad at myself for not anticipating it better. Darn you sneaky grief, I'll figure you out somehow.

Oh wait, grief doesn't really work that way. Dang it. Guess I'm along for the long haul.

Tragedy

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Tragedy has been close to my heart this week.

Monday, as I watched the horror unfold during the Boston marathon, I was once again in awe of how quickly life can go so wrong. How swiftly and senselessly life can end.

My two year old happened to be sitting next to me while I watched some coverage on Hulu, and he would not stop asking questions. "What happened Mommy?" He wanted me to talk him through every scene. Then he asked to watch it four more times - he wanted to watch "the boy hurting show." He kept repeating "people got hurt," or "dat's sad," or "dat's a big boom."

I was a little disturbed that my toddler was so fascinated with this footage of people suffering. And just when I thought perhaps I had a twisted mind on my hands, I watched a lightbulb go off in his head.

"Daddy died Momma. Dat's sad."

Ah, there it is. For his entire life, I've tried to explain who Daddy is and where he is and what happened in the simplest of terms for my sweet boy who never got to meet him face to face. But it was like he understood suddenly in his own way what tragedy was and how devastating it is.

Since then, he's been talking about Daddy a lot. Trying to sort things out, I think. Asking to read his picture book of Daddy, and reminding me after every page turn that Daddy died. It can be gut wrenching to watch his small mind put things together.

It can be hard to constantly be reminded of grief. Sure, it follows me around every single day in different ways, but to overtly bring it to my face and deal with it over and over can get overwhelming.

As Camp Widow East sets to gear up tomorrow, I can't help but have grief in my face again. But as heavy as it can be, I welcome it. I welcome the reminder that I was well loved the pain that still follows me is not just a figment of my imagination. I welcome the opportunity to search my heart deeper for healing, to open myself up to others who are walking this same unintended path. To share my story in hopes that someone out there might have a different lightbulb go off: a lightbulb of hope.

I think some worry that being in an environment surrounded by other widow/widowers somehow "exposes" you to grief you don't necessarily want to share. It reminds you of what a dark world we can live in and perhaps dwelling in that atmosphere seems overwhelming.

But on the contrary, when we ban together to share our hearts and our stories, a little piece of light gets let back in. Yes, the world can be a tough place, but we all know that first hand. But when we break down the walls we've each put up by connecting with others who 'get it', suddenly we see there can be more to life than just merely existing. There can be more to life than just tragedy.

That's the light I keep coming back for more of.

Looking forward to meeting some of you this weekend.

A crazy new twist...(dun dun DUN)

I wanted to take the opportunity to post this video here. It's pretty awesome, if I do say so myself :)

More to come in the near future about this crazy and beautiful new twist in our journey....stay tuned! :)

masterpiece in the making

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As I was contemplating what to write tonight, I was reading through some old posts of mine. Wow. It's amazing how I've suppressed some of those things, cause when I read it over again, the pain of loss becomes so real and close.

What I've noticed is that I have regularly referred to a mosaic as a metaphor for my grief. I don't remember exactly what attached me to that imagery, but it fit so well that I held on to it. I always thought I'd write a song about it: a beautiful, priceless piece that one day shatters on the floor into a million pieces. Rendered useless and no longer valuable. Until someone picks up the pieces of broken glass and uses it to put together a beautiful mosaic, creating a new masterpiece. Perhaps not what the glass was intended for, and certainly not without pain, but beauty was still created. Someday, perhaps it would make a great song.

That's how I've felt along the way. All those broken pieces of my life I had no idea what to do with, they seemed useless to me without Jeremy walking beside me. I felt so lost, so hopeless. But when I look back and read all those devastating blog posts, and feels the tears rushing back to me, I realized that each one was marking another broken piece that was being put into place for another masterpiece. I had no idea what was being created, and I still don't, but I am able now to look back and see that something beautiful can still be created with all the broken pieces of me.

I am nowhere near done picking up all the broken pieces off the floor. But, each breath I take without Jeremy reminds me that I have a lot of work left to do to make him proud. A lot of lessons still to learn. A lot of sharp pieces of glass that still need to be smoothed and put into its place. But I not even close to done. I am a masterpiece in the making.

Don't forget.....

So are you.

Seasons of grief

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I laid in bed the other night, eyes brimming with tears, threatening to overtake me at just the thought of Jeremy's smile or to hear him laugh just one more time. Ultimately, I couldn't shake it and balled at the overflowing grief that seemed so prevalent.

It's weird that lately, my ache for his personality and presence is so strong. The way he got excited about things, his voice when he was happy, the way he brought life to a room....I miss that. More than I think I ever have before.

It struck me the same evening that my grief goes through different seasons. In February and March, while my children were celebrating birthdays, I was really grieving the loss of their daddy in our lives. It was hurting me that Jeremy was missing them reaching new milestones and getting older and bigger, and he wasn't seeing any of it. I couldn't seem to turn a corner without feeling a stab of bitterness that he wasn't here for our kids.

Now that I think back, I can remember going through different seasons of grief. Not just the stages of grief like anger, denial, or depression....but grieving different specific pieces about the man that I loved. I went through a long phase of grieving not being able to experience Heaven with Jeremy, or constantly wondering what it will be like and yearning for the experience. Anything that was different than life without him. I went through a phase of really missing his knowledge of being able to fix anything, answering the questions I couldn't, and figuring out every electronic in our home. I remember for weeks in a row focusing on the absence of his physical presence - the feeling of holding his hand, the physical space he took up in the bed next to me and how empty it felt without him there, the comfort of his embrace. Then, it was smells - I missed his cologne, and the smell of his deodorant could have sent me on a downward spiral of tears....I even missed the smelly work clothes wreaking of cut grass, sweat, dirt, and body odor!

Has anyone else experienced these different seasons of specific pieces of grief? I call them seasons because they inevitably come back around. I will eventually grieve those pieces again in different situations along the way. And I also wonder what other pieces of him I haven't fully grieved yet.

Ultimately, it's all pieces of the same whole. All the parts that made up the man that I fell in love with. I grieve him completely, and apparently separately for all the different voids he left in my life. Different views of the same heart. Seasons taking affect on the same tree. But, oh, that tree sure was beautiful. I will miss it in every season.