This is the ring that Alan and I had made in remembrance of the babies we've lost. There is one emerald for each baby, green because we don't know if they were boys or girls. There are two larger stones for the babies that I carried longer, and two smaller stones for the babies I lost earlier. I think that the oval that houses the stones looks somewhat womb-like, and I love that they are intertwined with an infinity sign because they'll be our babies, and in our hearts, forever.
The engraving on the inside of my ring says, Saudades. It's a Portuguese word that does not have a true translation to English, but "describes a deep emotional state of nostalgic or deeply melancholic longing for an absent something or someone that one loves... Saudade was once described as the love that remains after someone is gone."
This ring has brought me more comfort than I thought possible. I know that it's just a "thing," but it truly means something to my heart. I feel like the ring keeps these babies with me, more than in my heart and memories, but in a real, almost physical sense. And each time that I glance at the ring, I remember them, all four babies, that are waiting for me on the other side of the veil. Some day I'll actually be able to hold them in my arms--Maybe then, they'll stop aching.
These last months have been some of the most difficult of my life. And I'm hesitant, for a number of reasons, to write this post. The event that forced everything into motion was one of the most, if not the most, spiritual of my life. I realize that a good number of my friends and family are not religious, especially to the extent that I am; it frightens me to share an experience that so blatantly exposes my faith. Experiences like this, along with my beliefs, are very private to me. I cannot, however, keep this to myself.
It all began with a video, a short "Mormon Message," that was shared by a friend on Facebook. I typically do not watch these videos as I find them to be, well, somewhat corny. But for whatever reason that day, I clicked play. The clip I watched is embedded below. I ask that you watch it, not for any reason other than because it changed my life. The rest of this post won't make an ounce of sense unless you, too, hit play. Just watch it. Please.
As I sat on my couch, with Noah playing cars and planes (loudly) next to me, I felt tears fill my eyes and stream down my cheeks. It was as though the earth had stopped rotating, as though time stood still. And as I watched, it was almost as though Jesus Christ walked through my front door, sat down next to me on the couch, wrapped his arms around me, and said, "This. This. THIS." And suddenly the last months of tribulation and confusion were as clear as the Colorado sky. Elder Holland's answer to his son's question echoed in my ears:
"I think that the Lord, his wish for us there, and his answer to our prayer, was to get us on the right road as quickly as possible, with some reassurance, with some understanding, that we were on the right road and we didn't have to worry about it. And in this case the easiest way to do that was to let us go 400 yards or 500 yards on the wrong road and very quickly know without a doubt that it was the wrong road, and therefore with equal certainty, with equal conviction that the other one was the right road."
I believe that God inspired my friend to post this video that day. I believe that the Holy Ghost prompted her to share it, knowing that I would see it, knowing that I needed to see it. It's incredibly difficult for me to share this; it feels so personal and private. But I've never had an experience where I felt so directly inspired by God, so clearly shown the path that I'd been on and the path that I was to take. And so I am sharing it for a few reasons, just one to help explain the decision that Alan and I have made based upon what was set in motion when I watched this one, simple Mormon Message.
What suddenly became so clear? What did feeling like Jesus said, "THIS," mean? Let me explain. When we made the decision to move to Colorado, we prayed like crazy. We wanted to know that we were making a decision that would be good for our family, one of which the Lord approved. Our answers came loud and clear; yes, moving to Denver is the right thing to do. And so we did it. I'm not going to go into the challenges that we've faced while living here. Suffice it to say that this probably has been the most trying time that our family has ever experienced, and that's saying something. So when I heard the message of this video, what became crystal clear was that we were the family at the fork in the road. We prayed, we got an answer, we followed the promptings of the Holy Ghost, and ultimately we realized that we were on the wrong road. The Lord led us to Denver in order to show us that the right road, the place that we truly belong is Madison. We would never have known it had we not followed His promptings to leave. Moving to Denver was not a mistake, rather it was the fastest way for us to know "without a doubt that it was the wrong road, and therefore with equal certainty, with equal conviction that the other one was the right road."
I have never been so certain about anything in my life (well, except maybe about marrying Alan). I know that my Heavenly Father loves me. I know that He is looking out for me and my family. I know that Madison is the right road; Madison is where we belong. And so, we are moving back to Wisconsin. As soon as we made the decision to leave, Alan contacted the head of the private practice that he would have worked at had we stayed in Madison. The exact moment that the message was received, the boss of this office was in a board meeting where they had just decided to hire a new Child/Adolescent Psychiatrist. I don't believe that was a coincidence--Serendipity, yes. Confirmation that we made the correct choice, definitely.
I know that there will be people who don't believe my story. Maybe it's not that they won't believe it, but rather that they'll think I'm making things out to be the way that I want them to be. Certain people will say that I'm quitting, that I haven't given it enough time; if I stayed longer, I'd surely be happy. I wasn't always happy in Madison; we definitely left for a reason. To those people, I will have to say that they can think what they want. I know and Alan knows, in our heart of hearts, that we are doing the right thing. It would be infinitely easier to stay in Denver. I HATE moving, and yet here we are doing it again. But despite the challenges it will bring, despite the naysayers, this move is what is best for us and best for our family. And there is nothing, absolutely nothing, that can fight that.
I've been planning this post in my head for the last three months. 12 weeks to be exact. I knew exactly what I would say. I knew what pictures I would post. I was going to wait until Thanksgiving--I was going to share just how grateful I was to be blessed with our fourth baby. But this post looks nothing like what I had imagined.
My baby is dead. I went in for a routine appointment with my OB on Friday morning, my 12 week appointment. We had been in for an ultrasound at 6 weeks and at 9 weeks. Baby was growing and its tiny heart was beating away, strong and fast, like the fluttering wings of a bird. My OB tried to find the heartbeat with a doppler, but I knew she wouldn't because my uterus is extremely tipped and nobody can find a heartbeat until 14 weeks on me. So I tried not to worry. After all, I had already seen a heartbeat twice. And my HCG more than doubled in 48 hours, early on. After trying for a few minutes, she left to grab a portable ultrasound. But when she placed the transducer on my belly, all we could see was a baby. A still, unmoving baby with no visible heartbeat, and no visible blood flow. I was alone with Noah; Alan was at work. Disbelief. That's what I felt. Disbelief, and an overwhelming feeling of this can't be happening again.
My heart is broken. It's broken for my kids. It's broken for Noah who will probably never have a younger brother or sister, a buddy like Nate and Abbie are for each other. Noah is almost six years younger than Abbie; I so desperately wanted him to have someone to grow up with. My heart breaks for Abbie who has been begging for a sister for years. She has two brothers and thirteen boy cousins, no other girls. I hoped, I prayed, for another girl for her to share her life with. When I look at my children, I feel blessed beyond measure to have them. I never expected to be able to have my own children; they are each a miracle to me. I'm trying to focus on them right now. I'm hugging them more, and rocking Noah to sleep, and kissing their sleeping heads at night. But it doesn't take away the pain of this loss; it can't wipe the dreams I had from my mind.
And so I write this post, as I wait until tomorrow when I'll go to the hospital to have a D&C. My body doesn't seem to recognize that the baby has died. I actually spent all of Thursday sicker than a dog, sick from being pregnant. Pregnant with a baby that was dead. My post is titled Number Four, the same title I had been planning to use as I dreamed this post for the last three months. But this is a different number four. Instead of being a fourth baby for us to hold, a possible sister for Abbie, and a sibling close in age to Noah, this is the fourth baby we've lost.
A friend of ours have a daughter who choked on a piece of apple. They were having a rough go, so we decided to bake them a cake. Of course it was apple shaped!
I March of this year, Noah and I took a trip to Rhode Island to visit my sister. We went to help out while her husband was out of town. We had a great time; Noah had so much fun playing with his cousins, too!
Twin Cousins--Jakey and Noah
Sweet Jacob
Here's Ben, wearing the superhero masks I made for him.
Isn't this hat epic?
Ben and Rachel
They ARE genetically half-brothers... Noah saw this picture and said, "Two mini-Noahs!"
We had a sister missionary serving in our ward named Sister Westra. While we were feeding the sisters dinner one night, Abbie brought out her American Girl Doll, McKenna. Sister Westra was so excited because her first name turned out to be McKenna, too! So we put her name tag on the doll and took a picture. Here it is:
For some dumb unknown reasons, the kids were not allowed to exchange valentines at school on Valentine's Day last February. Nate, however, had a friend to whom he really wanted to give something special. We talked about how the principal had told the kids this wasn't allowed, but that Nate was free to make his own choices. I told him that it was up to him, but that if he got caught and got in trouble, he would have to be honest and own that he did it. I guess Rachel must be one pretty special girl, because he decided to take the risk and give her a valentine. Luckily, she took a risk, and give him one, too!
