Instagram and a little about where we're at...

I guess I write this post not really knowing what to say, I know a "thank you" is in order for all of those that have helped us over the last month and my heart is full of gratitude for those that have shown us so much love. This past month's roller coaster of emotions felt like the carnival ride that would never end. And between the sickness and pain and sometimes the most somber moments of sadness I've been reminded that being strong is never skin deep. 

Lately, it feels like we've been living in this perpetual state of repetitive questioning, the questions and concerns haven't bothered me and the unceasing love for my family has been a reminder that people are good. Mostly I've been asked  "How are you doing?" at first my reaction was simple and direct about the pain but as time passed I began to realize more and more that I wasn't quite sure how I was doing. So in the most matter-of-fact way I don't really know where my emotions are at these days and I'm fine with not knowing or even understanding them completely. 

Two weeks ago or so John and I decided as a united front that it was time to sell off all our baby items (I know it may seem a bit rash)--basically the whole gamut of swings, clothes, shoes, bouncers, you name it, it's now gone. When it came to finally get rid of it all I had a small panic attack at the years of memories that were filled within each box, but as I went through each item one-by-one only trying to only keep the most precious and memorable pieces a weight slowly lifted off my shoulders. And it wasn't until the last thing finally sold that John and I realized we had made the right decision for our family. It seemed that holding onto each article of clothing and every morsel of babyhood had taken it's toll on us, it was like a small army of baby items had bogged us down in trench that could only be escaped by purging it all. And when it was all gone I cried out of relief and a bit out of guiltiness.

And as with all fresh starts I'm trying to find one for myself as well. We've been steam rolled over the last five years in terms of pregnancies and realizing the burden that each one has placed on our marriage made us realize even more that a break was in order. A break from babies, a break from worrying about the inevitable, a break from dreading the worst, and a break from feeling completely helpless. So we're breaking. I don't know if it's a permanent one or not and while I'm so sad, a sadness that seems so hard to even describe, I know my focus needs to be on being a wife and a mother to the people that I already have in my life.  

And I finished Whole30 yesterday, which has been a small victory for me and big victory for my pants. More on that later. Happy Easter, friends!

A baby.

I was pregnant and now I'm not. The finality of saying it stings more than I hoped it would. We had seen the baby, heard the heart beat and had begun to plan for its little arrival, but after a few months it ended. The heart beat was gone and a little piece of me had died. 

I was strong the first few days, even though the baby was still there, but as the hemorrhaging began I had to witness the loss leaving me. It was hell, in every way imaginable. The sickness, the labor pains, the blood, the passing out, the inability to hold my other children left me crippled for days and at the end of each night the sadness was so strong that I woke up in the morning weak with exhaustion.

Trying to remain strong for myself and my family was virtually impossible. The physical exhaustion left me helpless and at the mercy of others and our devastation was openly evident, it was then that family and friends began to carry our burden. They fed us, cleaned our house, rubbed the knots in my back, and tried to console in the best way possible and for that I will be forever grateful. I am so blessed to have so many wonderful people in our lives who at a moments notice would jump in the car or run down the street to help us. Thank you, you know who you are.

I thought I could muddle through my emotions after hemorrhaging for four days and then I found out that I would still need to have surgery. It was the crushing blow to an already unbearable situation. I cried. I cried out of sadness. I cried out of exhaustion. I cried out of pain. And when it was all I had left I cried out of sheer hopelessness. This body of my that had been so strong for so long was now fighting me in ways I never imagined and the lack of control left a burdening toll on my every move. Luckily, the surgery was quick which was a welcomed relief from the previous weeks of pain and a sense of recovery had finally been dealt my way. 

Looking back John was the strong one, he always has been. After each of our trialing pregnancies he's known who to call, how to keep our home in order, and what to say to keep us all functioning--he has rarely shown emotion and his calm and collected demeanor has been the anchor to our rocking ship. I would like to think that we could make it through any trial and while there are still things we haven't experienced yet (or may never) I know that through each pain staking experience that has been placed before us he's remained by my side through the tears and the pain. 

In the end, many have told us that we should count our blessings on the miracles that we already have--especially Brecken. And I do, everyday. But it still can't diminish the overwhelming sadness of having another miscarriage and the missed opportunity to be the mother to another child. I know God has a plan and that little by little my pain will heal and my body will find a way to mend, but for now my emotions are raw and the little life that was once there has left me with an emptiness that can't be quenched. It may sound a bit silly to make an issue when there are far worse problems in this world, but today this is my trial and it's one we've suffered before and more than likely we may have to suffer again. I don't know why this trial is ours but I hope someday to understand its meaning. 

For now I will miss my baby, miss the dreams of its future, and miss the hope of being its Momma here on earth. 

I love you baby, wherever you may be. 

to love life, to love it even

when you have no stomach for it

and everything you've held dear

crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,

your throat filled with the silt of it.

When grief sits with you, its tropical heat

thickening the air, heavy as water

more fit for gills than lungs;

when grief weights you like your own flesh

only more of it, an obesity of grief,

you think, How can a body withstand this?

Then you hold life like a face

between your palms, a plain face,

no charming smile, no violet eyes,

and you say, yes, I will take you

I will love you, again

-Ellen Bass