My husband always tells me not to gripe about a problem unless I have a solution. While I think my previous post WAS a solution (mainly because I got to vent), I was able to come up with positive things to do for someone who's recently had a miscarriage.
What you can do for some who's just lost a baby:
1) Reach out.
Don't assume someone else is reaching out to a person in need. God might want you to do it. If you've experienced a similar loss, you can be more of a comfort because you've already endured what someone like me is feeling. You can give some hope in what might be a very hopeless-feeling situation. I remember a few months after our first miscarriage learning that a cousin had also lost a baby. I battled for awhile about calling her because it was so difficult to bring up all the feelings and emotions. But, I listened to the voice telling me to dial and am glad I did. I don't know if the phone call made a difference or not, but it did show me what God would require of me because of what I had experienced. You may not realize you have a ministry to share based on your loss, but often that is exactly how God wants you to use your past pain. You don't have to have all the answers, just a sympathetic ear and a willingness to share.
However, even if you've never personally experienced the same situation, there are many things you can do.
• Pray. You may never know how powerful your prayer can be, but it's probably the most important thing you can do. If you can, find out a specific prayer request to guide you. If you are the one in pain, it can be extremely helpful if you can provide your family, friends, pastor, prayer chain and whomever asks for any specific prayer needs.
• Call. You might think you're being a bother, but often, you might be reaching out to a person right when he or she needs it most. Sometimes, just the sound of concern in a person's voice is enough to take you over a difficult place. There were times, initially, when I did not want to talk to anyone on the telephone because I wasn't ready. Then, I just didn't answer the phone. If you don't reach the person, please leave a message - they'll know you cared enough to take the time to call, and will still appreciate it, even if they aren't able to talk right then.
• Write. One of the things that touched me most after my second miscarriage were two unexpected cards I received in the mail. One was from a cousin of mine. She had simply written that she and her husband were thinking and praying for us through this, but it was worth more than she ever would have imagined. (She also included a $20 bill and told us to go out and buy supper some night, which was an added, but not necessary bonus that would come in handy later when I felt too exhausted to cook.) The other was a handmade card from another homeschool mom who I didn't even know extremely well. She wrote that we were faithfully in their prayers at this time, and offered to take the boys if I needed any rest. Both letters were very comforting and special.
• Ask God to reveal to you what that person may need and then provide it if you can. It might be a babysitter for a couple of hours one afternoon, it might be help cleaning the house, it might be a meal, a book, a card, prayer, a box of chocolates, some special music, or even a simple hug. You might have to get creative because if the person is anything like me, they may have a hard time asking for help or admitting they need it. Some of the best gifts I've received have been a plant, tickets to take the boys to the park at the Mall of America, money to purchase a tree or plant in honor of the lost baby, taking all my boys for an entire day so I could rest, money to purchase a new article of clothing and one friend even gave me some wonderful lavender salt scrub that was very helpful for itchy winter skin.
• Don't think that you have to do something right away. Sometimes, the most thoughtful gifts I've received after a miscarriage have come two or three weeks later, when I'm still feeling sad and need a lift.
2) Keep it simple.
If you aren't sure what to say to someone, simply say, "I'm thinking about you. I'm praying for you." That is a huge comfort and quite easy to do. Hugs are okay if the person doesn't mind their space being violated. Some like hugs, others don't. Know the difference.
3) Be sensitive.
See all the things in the previous post on what not to do. Use some common sense and check nonverbal cues if you think you might be doing something irritating or insensitive.
4) Offer to help.
Don't assume that someone dealing with a loss will call and ask for help. It might be an issue of not knowing whom to call, not wanting to bother anyone or simply being unable to ask for help. That responsibility might lie more on you to find out a need and fill it.
5) Be available.
If you do have a close friend who is experiencing a loss, be available for a phone call, no matter the time of day. Check in on him or her periodically. It will not be a bother if you call every few days, just to see what's going on or if they need anything. That was often how I knew people cared the most was when they continued to care for me, even if through a five-minute phone call. Email is another great way to check up on me. Shoot me off a message and let me know you're there. And please respond to my emails if I send one to you.
To all the wonderful people in my life who have done the things I've described above - you have blessed me more than you could possibly know during a time when I needed it more than you could possibly know. Thank you so much for the healing you offered through your caring and love. God bless you.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
what not to do
Sometimes, it's just difficult to understand people. I don't think people intentionally hurt others, but often their lack of common sense and sensitivity can really hurt. Because I've been on the receiving end of unintentionally-caused pain lately, I thought I'd help out those of you who might not realize how much hurt you can cause.
What not to do (or say) to someone who's just lost a baby:
1) Do not email pictures of your recent ultrasound to a woman who just miscarried.
I would think this would be a no-brainer, but apparently it's not. I know you are excited that you found out the sex of your baby, but please consider that someone like me just had hopes and dreams ripped out of her womb and it will be extremely difficult for her to share in your joy right now. She will probably even cry a little and then question your sensitivity.
2) Do not email a request for prayers for your upcoming delivery of a live baby.
Again, I'm sure this wasn't an intentional jab, but it still causes pain. It isn't that I don't want to pray for you or that I'm not happy you're having a baby, it's just that your request comes along with an inevitable comparison to the fact that I just delivered a dead baby. TIming is really key with this - two weeks after a miscarriage might not be the best idea, two months later is probably okay.
3) Do not offer platitudes like - "God needs some babies in heaven."
Not only does this not comfort someone in my situation, it isn't biblically accurate. God's desire is for life. Period. He doesn't give us the ability to procreate and then somehow arbitrarily take it away. That happens because of original sin, because we live in a fallen world and because we now live under a curse. God doesn't desire that life cease to exist simply for heaven. Heaven is a perfect place and has no need for my baby. Is my baby in a better place? Sure. Will I see him someday. Absolutely. But right now, that doesn't make me feel much better that he's not here. I still lost a baby, for whatever reason, but I did not lose that baby because God choose to take back a life.
4) Do not tell me - "You can always try again."
There are several reasons not to say this. First because the last thing I'm thinking about right now is sex or getting pregnant. In fact, sex is impossible right now. Second, because you don't know what I might be facing as far as infertility or questions about getting pregnant at my age (I've hit the magic number of 35). And third, because simply saying that diminishes the importance of the child I lost and the dreams that went along with that baby. The joy of having another child will never replace the tragedy of losing one. I can't imagine you would ever tell someone whose 10-year-old child just died that they could "try again." Same goes here.
5) Don't say - "Time will heal you."
While I may know that time will ease the pain, it does little for me in this moment, unless somehow you can fast-forward a year or two. I may know that God is in control and has a purpose for everything, but I might be so overwhelmed in grief that I can't even imagine how good could come out of a death, nor do I want to imagine good at this point.
6) Don't act like nothing happened.
Sometimes, a person will want to talk about their situation, other times they won't. It's usually best not to act like nothing happened. One of the things that hurt me the worst was the lack of sympathy from the radiologist during an ultrasound with my second miscarriage. He questioned why I was having an ultrasound and when I told him I was spotting, he asked whether the doctor had done one already. I said yes, but he couldn't find a heartbeat. He squinted at the screen and said, "I don't see one either" and walked out of the room. In another place or another time, I probably would have thrown my shoe at him, but as it was I meekly got dressed and walked out of the hospital stunned at his insensitivity.
People who have experienced a loss do not automatically forget a child, spouse or a pregnancy. They don't erase memories, plans for the future or feelings about their loved one. And sometimes, they want to talk about it. If this makes you uncomfortable, suck it up and participate in the conversation. There will probably be nothing more required of you than 10 minutes and a listening ear. It might just be exactly what that person needed at the time - someone to listen.
7) Don't be surprised if you get a negative response when you ask - "How are you doing?"
If you're the tenth person that day who's asked that question, and someone is trying with every ounce of their strength to keep it together, you might receive a outburst of tears that you didn't expect. Let's just say I warned you. If you're not comfortable with emotion, a hand on the shoulder and a quick hug might be better.
A friend told me that when she's faced with that question, she'd often ask people "Do you want the truth or do you want me to lie to spare your feelings?" A question like "How are you doing?" often puts people in a bit of a pickle because they feel as if they can't really be honest and say, "I'm doing horrible. I've been crying all day. I’m mad at God. I can't find my stash of chocolate. I have a hangnail and I'm out of Dr. Pepper. I woke up looking like a character from Sesame Street and I haven't showered in three days!" Is that really what you want to hear? If it is, then you're just the person to ask and probably just the person someone in pain needs to talk to.
Usually, all a person feels comfortable saying is "I'm hanging in there," which doesn't even begin to describe the real torture they're enduring but may not even be able to explain. How do you tell someone that you can't sleep, that you're starving but nothing appeals to your taste buds, you can't believe you're going through this right now or ever or again, that you feel like God is punishing you, even though you know it isn't true, that you're angry with Him for allowing this, that you look at people differently now - everyone "seems" to be happy and have a perfect little family, that you had the urge to go up to every pregnant woman you see and tell her all about how you've just lost a baby, or that sometimes you just wish you could die. Tough stuff to explain.
This isn't an exhaustive list, although it did exhaust me to compile it. I hope it helps someone else from having to endure some of the insensitive things I did.
Also, a note following feedback I received from the people who did #1 and #2 above: Know the person you are sending/saying things to well enough to know whether or not they will be hurt. In both instances, I was incredibly hurt by what I perceived as insensitivity, when it turns out that both people felt that more hurt would be caused by not keeping me "in the loop." While I understand their reasons (and apologize for hurting their feelings), I still would rather have not received either email at that time. Another person might be an entirely different story and might be hurt by not receiving an email update.
What not to do (or say) to someone who's just lost a baby:
1) Do not email pictures of your recent ultrasound to a woman who just miscarried.
I would think this would be a no-brainer, but apparently it's not. I know you are excited that you found out the sex of your baby, but please consider that someone like me just had hopes and dreams ripped out of her womb and it will be extremely difficult for her to share in your joy right now. She will probably even cry a little and then question your sensitivity.
2) Do not email a request for prayers for your upcoming delivery of a live baby.
Again, I'm sure this wasn't an intentional jab, but it still causes pain. It isn't that I don't want to pray for you or that I'm not happy you're having a baby, it's just that your request comes along with an inevitable comparison to the fact that I just delivered a dead baby. TIming is really key with this - two weeks after a miscarriage might not be the best idea, two months later is probably okay.
3) Do not offer platitudes like - "God needs some babies in heaven."
Not only does this not comfort someone in my situation, it isn't biblically accurate. God's desire is for life. Period. He doesn't give us the ability to procreate and then somehow arbitrarily take it away. That happens because of original sin, because we live in a fallen world and because we now live under a curse. God doesn't desire that life cease to exist simply for heaven. Heaven is a perfect place and has no need for my baby. Is my baby in a better place? Sure. Will I see him someday. Absolutely. But right now, that doesn't make me feel much better that he's not here. I still lost a baby, for whatever reason, but I did not lose that baby because God choose to take back a life.
4) Do not tell me - "You can always try again."
There are several reasons not to say this. First because the last thing I'm thinking about right now is sex or getting pregnant. In fact, sex is impossible right now. Second, because you don't know what I might be facing as far as infertility or questions about getting pregnant at my age (I've hit the magic number of 35). And third, because simply saying that diminishes the importance of the child I lost and the dreams that went along with that baby. The joy of having another child will never replace the tragedy of losing one. I can't imagine you would ever tell someone whose 10-year-old child just died that they could "try again." Same goes here.
5) Don't say - "Time will heal you."
While I may know that time will ease the pain, it does little for me in this moment, unless somehow you can fast-forward a year or two. I may know that God is in control and has a purpose for everything, but I might be so overwhelmed in grief that I can't even imagine how good could come out of a death, nor do I want to imagine good at this point.
6) Don't act like nothing happened.
Sometimes, a person will want to talk about their situation, other times they won't. It's usually best not to act like nothing happened. One of the things that hurt me the worst was the lack of sympathy from the radiologist during an ultrasound with my second miscarriage. He questioned why I was having an ultrasound and when I told him I was spotting, he asked whether the doctor had done one already. I said yes, but he couldn't find a heartbeat. He squinted at the screen and said, "I don't see one either" and walked out of the room. In another place or another time, I probably would have thrown my shoe at him, but as it was I meekly got dressed and walked out of the hospital stunned at his insensitivity.
People who have experienced a loss do not automatically forget a child, spouse or a pregnancy. They don't erase memories, plans for the future or feelings about their loved one. And sometimes, they want to talk about it. If this makes you uncomfortable, suck it up and participate in the conversation. There will probably be nothing more required of you than 10 minutes and a listening ear. It might just be exactly what that person needed at the time - someone to listen.
7) Don't be surprised if you get a negative response when you ask - "How are you doing?"
If you're the tenth person that day who's asked that question, and someone is trying with every ounce of their strength to keep it together, you might receive a outburst of tears that you didn't expect. Let's just say I warned you. If you're not comfortable with emotion, a hand on the shoulder and a quick hug might be better.
A friend told me that when she's faced with that question, she'd often ask people "Do you want the truth or do you want me to lie to spare your feelings?" A question like "How are you doing?" often puts people in a bit of a pickle because they feel as if they can't really be honest and say, "I'm doing horrible. I've been crying all day. I’m mad at God. I can't find my stash of chocolate. I have a hangnail and I'm out of Dr. Pepper. I woke up looking like a character from Sesame Street and I haven't showered in three days!" Is that really what you want to hear? If it is, then you're just the person to ask and probably just the person someone in pain needs to talk to.
Usually, all a person feels comfortable saying is "I'm hanging in there," which doesn't even begin to describe the real torture they're enduring but may not even be able to explain. How do you tell someone that you can't sleep, that you're starving but nothing appeals to your taste buds, you can't believe you're going through this right now or ever or again, that you feel like God is punishing you, even though you know it isn't true, that you're angry with Him for allowing this, that you look at people differently now - everyone "seems" to be happy and have a perfect little family, that you had the urge to go up to every pregnant woman you see and tell her all about how you've just lost a baby, or that sometimes you just wish you could die. Tough stuff to explain.
This isn't an exhaustive list, although it did exhaust me to compile it. I hope it helps someone else from having to endure some of the insensitive things I did.
Also, a note following feedback I received from the people who did #1 and #2 above: Know the person you are sending/saying things to well enough to know whether or not they will be hurt. In both instances, I was incredibly hurt by what I perceived as insensitivity, when it turns out that both people felt that more hurt would be caused by not keeping me "in the loop." While I understand their reasons (and apologize for hurting their feelings), I still would rather have not received either email at that time. Another person might be an entirely different story and might be hurt by not receiving an email update.
Saturday, March 1, 2008
buckled up
I should preface this update with a little sidenote: I recently told hubby that I thought the hallway floor in the addition seemed to dive downward in one spot. I figured perhaps the floor trusses were sagging. Apparently he did not believe me.
Yesterday we had one more thing go wrong with the addition. The HVAC guy was getting ready to start installing, when he went into the basement, only to find that the ground beneath the concrete had frozen, causing a whole lot of heaving and buckling, forcing the stairwell footings up four inches, and of course cracking the concrete.
He immediately told hubby about it, who had to call me and tell me I was right about the floor moving. (When's the next time I'll hear that phrase?) I had thought the floor was sagging, but instead it had risen in one spot.
It was fine when HVAC guy was here in January, so apparently the warming and then deep freeze in February found its way to the basement, doing a number on the addition. Now, we have a nearly useless concrete floor that will have to be removed and hauled out bucket by bucket and the 2x4's in the stairwell look like bananas.
Hubby tried to thaw things down there with a propane heater and some electric milkhouse heaters, but after doing some quick mathematics, realized that it would take us nearly a month to thaw and cost nearly $1K. So, instead he ran to Mpls. and bought some sort of concrete thawing blanket (that also cost nearly $1K) and we've got that plugged in now. It is supposed to thaw 12 inches overnight. We'll see how well it'll work since he'll have to move it around spot by spot to get the entire concrete floor covered.
Minnesota winters are getting harder to tolerate. The good news is that we're learning all sorts of things as we try to build this addition ourselves - some of it is knowledge we'd rather not know.
Too late to unbuckle and get off this ride.
Yesterday we had one more thing go wrong with the addition. The HVAC guy was getting ready to start installing, when he went into the basement, only to find that the ground beneath the concrete had frozen, causing a whole lot of heaving and buckling, forcing the stairwell footings up four inches, and of course cracking the concrete.
He immediately told hubby about it, who had to call me and tell me I was right about the floor moving. (When's the next time I'll hear that phrase?) I had thought the floor was sagging, but instead it had risen in one spot.
It was fine when HVAC guy was here in January, so apparently the warming and then deep freeze in February found its way to the basement, doing a number on the addition. Now, we have a nearly useless concrete floor that will have to be removed and hauled out bucket by bucket and the 2x4's in the stairwell look like bananas.
Hubby tried to thaw things down there with a propane heater and some electric milkhouse heaters, but after doing some quick mathematics, realized that it would take us nearly a month to thaw and cost nearly $1K. So, instead he ran to Mpls. and bought some sort of concrete thawing blanket (that also cost nearly $1K) and we've got that plugged in now. It is supposed to thaw 12 inches overnight. We'll see how well it'll work since he'll have to move it around spot by spot to get the entire concrete floor covered.
Minnesota winters are getting harder to tolerate. The good news is that we're learning all sorts of things as we try to build this addition ourselves - some of it is knowledge we'd rather not know.
Too late to unbuckle and get off this ride.
inheritance
Hubby was driving the boys home the other day when Number Two blurted out: "Dad, when you die, I get the truck."
No sympathy, no sadness - just a simple inheritance request. Here's what I want when you die. Think my parents would be a little offended if I approached them like that.
Number One was also in the vehicle and he retorted with: "Well actually, it says in the Bible that the firstborn gets all the property and stuff, so I'd get the truck!"
Hubby didn't quite know what to do with either comment, except laugh.
It got me thinking about what we often want as our own inheritance. We sometimes even expect that we'll get it. We want or demand good health, wealth, love from family and friends, an easy life and no personality conflicts. When we don't get what we think we're entitled to, we sometimes get a bit cranky.
"I'm a good person! I deserve this! Why should I have to suffer? Why is my life harder than Joe Blow and he's a much worse person than I am?"
Life is hard. Life isn't fair. We can ask for things all we want, but it doesn't necessarily mean we'll get them. And, if we do, it doesn't mean at all that we deserve them.
I don't deserve a respite from tragedy any more than my son deserves to inherit a used Toyota Tundra. It may happen; it may not. The point is whether or not we're grateful for what we have and grateful for what we have to endure.
I'd still take the truck over some parts of my life though.
No sympathy, no sadness - just a simple inheritance request. Here's what I want when you die. Think my parents would be a little offended if I approached them like that.
Number One was also in the vehicle and he retorted with: "Well actually, it says in the Bible that the firstborn gets all the property and stuff, so I'd get the truck!"
Hubby didn't quite know what to do with either comment, except laugh.
It got me thinking about what we often want as our own inheritance. We sometimes even expect that we'll get it. We want or demand good health, wealth, love from family and friends, an easy life and no personality conflicts. When we don't get what we think we're entitled to, we sometimes get a bit cranky.
"I'm a good person! I deserve this! Why should I have to suffer? Why is my life harder than Joe Blow and he's a much worse person than I am?"
Life is hard. Life isn't fair. We can ask for things all we want, but it doesn't necessarily mean we'll get them. And, if we do, it doesn't mean at all that we deserve them.
I don't deserve a respite from tragedy any more than my son deserves to inherit a used Toyota Tundra. It may happen; it may not. The point is whether or not we're grateful for what we have and grateful for what we have to endure.
I'd still take the truck over some parts of my life though.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
provision
Since surgery last week, I have been a bit in the dumps. I'm craving sugar and looking at my pathetic wardrobe thinking it really needs a shot of adrenaline. February get so depressing in MN because it seems winter will never be over. This time of year I'm always sick of everything in my closet and find myself wanting to shop for something new, something fun, something colorful and spring-like. I also always get that way after being PG and nothing fits right anymore.
So, the thought in the back of my mind was something green or orange would be nice as I surfed the net and ate half a bag of black licorice. Somehow, I ended up on a site that sells vintage saris transformed into double-sided wrap dresses. They were $30 each - within my budget. They were very different from anything I've ever owned and both very colorful and fun. I looked at two possibilities and then hemmed and hawed like I usually do when faced with the prospect of spending money. I have the typical Mom problem of being too practical and thinking the money could be better spent on diapers or flour.
That was yesterday. Today, I received a package in the mail from one of my aunts. Inside I found three books on miscarriage, a tin of three dozen homemade chocolate chip cookies (which I immediately sampled) and a small envelope with my name on it. Inside was a handwritten letter and a post-it note that said, "Kara - go pick out a new SPRING shirt or outfit or get a manicure or back massage. Just do something cheerful for yourself when you are ready!" Along with the note was $60.
I immediately started bawling - but in a good way. That God could reach out to meet two desires of mine, neither necessary and both quite frivolous, simply amazes and thrills me. He gave me sweets and clothing and I didn't even ask for them. He just knew that I needed a pick-me-up and he provided it.
Today was a fabulous reminder that God does indeed know the desires of our hearts, the depths of our needs and that he is willing and able to provide them.
I didn't question the providence - I went online and bought the two dresses immediately. And I had another cookie.
So, the thought in the back of my mind was something green or orange would be nice as I surfed the net and ate half a bag of black licorice. Somehow, I ended up on a site that sells vintage saris transformed into double-sided wrap dresses. They were $30 each - within my budget. They were very different from anything I've ever owned and both very colorful and fun. I looked at two possibilities and then hemmed and hawed like I usually do when faced with the prospect of spending money. I have the typical Mom problem of being too practical and thinking the money could be better spent on diapers or flour.
That was yesterday. Today, I received a package in the mail from one of my aunts. Inside I found three books on miscarriage, a tin of three dozen homemade chocolate chip cookies (which I immediately sampled) and a small envelope with my name on it. Inside was a handwritten letter and a post-it note that said, "Kara - go pick out a new SPRING shirt or outfit or get a manicure or back massage. Just do something cheerful for yourself when you are ready!" Along with the note was $60.
I immediately started bawling - but in a good way. That God could reach out to meet two desires of mine, neither necessary and both quite frivolous, simply amazes and thrills me. He gave me sweets and clothing and I didn't even ask for them. He just knew that I needed a pick-me-up and he provided it.
Today was a fabulous reminder that God does indeed know the desires of our hearts, the depths of our needs and that he is willing and able to provide them.
I didn't question the providence - I went online and bought the two dresses immediately. And I had another cookie.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
learning to share
I learned something this past week. Something I should have figured out years ago, but then, I’m not that quick anymore. Brain cells don’t multiply after age 25. (At least that’s my theory.) I should have known this, but I didn’t until my sister-in-law took all four boys yesterday for the entire day.
I need to share.
Well, let’s clarify that a bit more, because Lord knows there are things that I will never share, like my favorite size 10.5 wooden knitting needles, or my pillow or slobber with a dog.
That being said, there are a few things in my life that I should be sharing - like my kids. Especially my kids.
I need to share them with friends, neighbors, random elderly in nursing homes, grandparents, aunts, cousins and even the lady from church who likes to occasionally take the oldest to musical concerts.
I never quite realized how good it is to share with others the wonderful gift of my kids. (I’m writing that with a not-so-hidden smile, just so you know.) But, I’m also being a little bit serious.
Our youngest child, even though a climber, is simply a delight. He is smiley and as cute as can be since he talks in a language that only his brothers can translate and he will hug anyone. I should be sharing him, and his hugs.
The oldest is responsible and appears in dire need to being shared with his older cousin, because he isn’t getting enough “alone” time with him away from his brothers. He loves to cook and will chop any sort of vegetable needed for supper or brown ground beef. I should be sharing him with his cousin and with anyone who likes to cook with an apprentice.
The next child is tough and tender and an animal lover. He loves just about everyone, even if he’s frowning. He freely gives hugs and “I love yous” and likes to do nice things for people. I should be sharing him with some random stray cat or with Grandma and Grandpa when they need someone to take care of their chickens.
The third boy is the one that I will share the most gladly. He has a certain quality about him that allows him to figure out exactly what it is that will drive his brothers crazy, and then he does it. I would love to share that part of him, especially with his father, whom I’m convinced the genes are coming from anyway. He is a great gopher and fetcher - I should be sharing him with his uncle as he works on finishing off his basement. He can fetch screws, nails, a hammer and just about anything else you ask him to. I could share him with just about anyone who needs a little help around the house because he also likes to scrub floors, wash walls and spray window cleaner. (Any takers?)
Of course, the best part of sharing the best parts of my boys is that I get peace and quiet in the house. And a chance to work uninterrupted on things like pulling out the 85 percent of things in their closet that they’ve outgrown. Or to finally get around to dusting. Or even make bread without random hands trying to punch dough because they think it looks fun.
It truly seems like a win-win situation for everyone involved. There is biblical instruction for this as well. Paul tells us in 1 Timothy 6:17-18 that those who are rich in this world (I’m interpreting that to mean rich in boys) to do good, be rich in good deeds and to be generous and willing to share. (See where I’m going with this?)
I should share my boys because they might actually bring delight to someone’s day, but at the same time someone like my sister-in-law is doing a good deed by sharing her talent of entertaining children. (This is one skill I am ALWAYS in awe of, because I so completely lack it.)
It seemed like she enjoyed having the kids - especially the youngest, who is usually a riot. The kids couldn’t stop talking about spending the day at Auntie Lisa’s and all the cool stuff they got to do and eat and see (Playstation, Jell-O, ice cream at Culver’s and a girls’ basketball game). I had a very enjoyable and quiet day resting on the couch, knitting the entire time. I don’t think I’m exaggerating when I say that everyone was a winner.
I need to share these boys more often.
I need to share.
Well, let’s clarify that a bit more, because Lord knows there are things that I will never share, like my favorite size 10.5 wooden knitting needles, or my pillow or slobber with a dog.
That being said, there are a few things in my life that I should be sharing - like my kids. Especially my kids.
I need to share them with friends, neighbors, random elderly in nursing homes, grandparents, aunts, cousins and even the lady from church who likes to occasionally take the oldest to musical concerts.
I never quite realized how good it is to share with others the wonderful gift of my kids. (I’m writing that with a not-so-hidden smile, just so you know.) But, I’m also being a little bit serious.
Our youngest child, even though a climber, is simply a delight. He is smiley and as cute as can be since he talks in a language that only his brothers can translate and he will hug anyone. I should be sharing him, and his hugs.
The oldest is responsible and appears in dire need to being shared with his older cousin, because he isn’t getting enough “alone” time with him away from his brothers. He loves to cook and will chop any sort of vegetable needed for supper or brown ground beef. I should be sharing him with his cousin and with anyone who likes to cook with an apprentice.
The next child is tough and tender and an animal lover. He loves just about everyone, even if he’s frowning. He freely gives hugs and “I love yous” and likes to do nice things for people. I should be sharing him with some random stray cat or with Grandma and Grandpa when they need someone to take care of their chickens.
The third boy is the one that I will share the most gladly. He has a certain quality about him that allows him to figure out exactly what it is that will drive his brothers crazy, and then he does it. I would love to share that part of him, especially with his father, whom I’m convinced the genes are coming from anyway. He is a great gopher and fetcher - I should be sharing him with his uncle as he works on finishing off his basement. He can fetch screws, nails, a hammer and just about anything else you ask him to. I could share him with just about anyone who needs a little help around the house because he also likes to scrub floors, wash walls and spray window cleaner. (Any takers?)
Of course, the best part of sharing the best parts of my boys is that I get peace and quiet in the house. And a chance to work uninterrupted on things like pulling out the 85 percent of things in their closet that they’ve outgrown. Or to finally get around to dusting. Or even make bread without random hands trying to punch dough because they think it looks fun.
It truly seems like a win-win situation for everyone involved. There is biblical instruction for this as well. Paul tells us in 1 Timothy 6:17-18 that those who are rich in this world (I’m interpreting that to mean rich in boys) to do good, be rich in good deeds and to be generous and willing to share. (See where I’m going with this?)
I should share my boys because they might actually bring delight to someone’s day, but at the same time someone like my sister-in-law is doing a good deed by sharing her talent of entertaining children. (This is one skill I am ALWAYS in awe of, because I so completely lack it.)
It seemed like she enjoyed having the kids - especially the youngest, who is usually a riot. The kids couldn’t stop talking about spending the day at Auntie Lisa’s and all the cool stuff they got to do and eat and see (Playstation, Jell-O, ice cream at Culver’s and a girls’ basketball game). I had a very enjoyable and quiet day resting on the couch, knitting the entire time. I don’t think I’m exaggerating when I say that everyone was a winner.
I need to share these boys more often.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
another boy
Yesterday we birthed our sixth son - he was approximately four inches long and other than his size, appeared to be completely normal. Ten fingers, ten toes and his nose and ears were just starting to form. We named him Leevi Henri, using up the last Finnish name that we've ever liked. Does this mean we're done?
It was a long day and I made some pharmaceutical companies a lot of money with all the drugs I took. Something to induce, something for the resulting nausea and diarrhea, an epidural, then more drugs to prep me for surgery (D&C), then an antibiotic to prevent infection from surgery. One thing leads to another. It took four hours for the epidural to wear off and then I could finally get home.
Amazing how exhausting this has all been, not even taking into consideration the emotional part. But, it feels good to be home. The boys were sad about the whole thing, but more sad that the baby was another boy. Number Two, especially, was feeling bad about the whole thing. Number Three wanted to know why the baby died, which of course no one can answer. But, it was good to tell them about it and even better to see that even at their young ages, they understand sadness and losing something.
Number Two told Hubby later, "It's too bad that the baby in mommy's tummy had to die, because now we'll have to wait two years to get another brother!"
Maybe it's time for a science lesson.
It was a long day and I made some pharmaceutical companies a lot of money with all the drugs I took. Something to induce, something for the resulting nausea and diarrhea, an epidural, then more drugs to prep me for surgery (D&C), then an antibiotic to prevent infection from surgery. One thing leads to another. It took four hours for the epidural to wear off and then I could finally get home.
Amazing how exhausting this has all been, not even taking into consideration the emotional part. But, it feels good to be home. The boys were sad about the whole thing, but more sad that the baby was another boy. Number Two, especially, was feeling bad about the whole thing. Number Three wanted to know why the baby died, which of course no one can answer. But, it was good to tell them about it and even better to see that even at their young ages, they understand sadness and losing something.
Number Two told Hubby later, "It's too bad that the baby in mommy's tummy had to die, because now we'll have to wait two years to get another brother!"
Maybe it's time for a science lesson.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Saturday, February 16, 2008
who your friends are
There's a country song about finding out who your real friends are in times when you really need them. Tracy Lawrence's voice is smooth, deep and comforting as he sings a truth that I have relearned the past couple days. (Parts of the lyrics are below).
FIND OUT WHO YOUR FRIENDS ARE
Run your car off the side of the road
Get stuck in a ditch way out in the middle of nowhere
Or get yourself in a bind lose the shirt off your back
Need a floor, need a couch, need a bus fare
This is where the rubber meets the road
This is where the cream is gonna rise
This is what you really didn't know
This is where the truth don't lie
You find out who your friends are
Somebody's gonna drop everything
Run out and crank up their car
Hit the gas, get there fast
Never stop to think 'what's in it for me?' or 'it's way too far'
They just show on up with their big old heart
You find out who your friends are
----
When the water's high
When the weather's not so fair
When the well runs dry
Who's gonna be there?
You find out who your friends are
Somebody's gonna drop everything
Run out and crank up their car
Hit the gas, get there fast
Never stop to think 'what's in it for me?' or 'it's way too far'
They just show on up with their big old heart
You find out who your friends are
It's interesting to see who responds. I've had some major surprises - friends and relatives whom I thought would offer words of comfort through email or phone calls haven't even so much as picked up the phone or made an Internet connection. Friends who I don't consider all that close have reached out, offered meals, to watch the kids, you name it. Some of it one can probably chalk to not being equipped to deal with pain, but most I think is just plain sad. There are those people whom it really would have meant a lot to hear from, those people who I expected to hear from (after all - they're family) and those people who really had no obligation to comfort me, but did anyway - and many did in a BIG way.
I don't expect anyone who hasn't been through a miscarriage to truly understand this, but it should be obvious to most anyone that this is still a tragedy and that I still need God with skin on - human beings who only need to offer a few words of encouragement or to say they're praying or sorry or just say something.
FIND OUT WHO YOUR FRIENDS ARE
Run your car off the side of the road
Get stuck in a ditch way out in the middle of nowhere
Or get yourself in a bind lose the shirt off your back
Need a floor, need a couch, need a bus fare
This is where the rubber meets the road
This is where the cream is gonna rise
This is what you really didn't know
This is where the truth don't lie
You find out who your friends are
Somebody's gonna drop everything
Run out and crank up their car
Hit the gas, get there fast
Never stop to think 'what's in it for me?' or 'it's way too far'
They just show on up with their big old heart
You find out who your friends are
----
When the water's high
When the weather's not so fair
When the well runs dry
Who's gonna be there?
You find out who your friends are
Somebody's gonna drop everything
Run out and crank up their car
Hit the gas, get there fast
Never stop to think 'what's in it for me?' or 'it's way too far'
They just show on up with their big old heart
You find out who your friends are
It's interesting to see who responds. I've had some major surprises - friends and relatives whom I thought would offer words of comfort through email or phone calls haven't even so much as picked up the phone or made an Internet connection. Friends who I don't consider all that close have reached out, offered meals, to watch the kids, you name it. Some of it one can probably chalk to not being equipped to deal with pain, but most I think is just plain sad. There are those people whom it really would have meant a lot to hear from, those people who I expected to hear from (after all - they're family) and those people who really had no obligation to comfort me, but did anyway - and many did in a BIG way.
I don't expect anyone who hasn't been through a miscarriage to truly understand this, but it should be obvious to most anyone that this is still a tragedy and that I still need God with skin on - human beings who only need to offer a few words of encouragement or to say they're praying or sorry or just say something.
Friday, February 15, 2008
screaming at God
I am sick to death of crying. My eyes burn. My head aches. My kids are wondering why my eyebrows are red. (I'm one of those criers whose face turns blotchy, beet red from the nose up - it's very attractive. Not that I really care how I look right now.)
My friend asked me today if I was more angry or more sad at losing a baby. I didn't quite know what to say, then decided to be honest. I'm more angry. I'm angry that I've now lost a third child. I'm angry that I have conceived seven children, but only know four. I'm angry that I just ran a marathon for the past three months with morning sickness and fatigue, all for nothing. I'm angry that God allowed a miracle to happen (conceiving in spite of condoms) and then allowed it to fade. I'm angry at the irony of it all - that I wasn't exactly thrilled to be pregnant again, but when I finally had come to peace with it and was getting excited about it - then it was taken away. I am just plain pissed and angry. I'm angry that I got used to the idea of having five children, and now don't quite know what to do about that.
Someone once told me that God is big enough to handle my anger, even if it's directed at him. I know the Bible tells us that it's okay to be angry, but that we shouldn't sin as a result of our anger. I'm not sure what the step from anger to sin would be in this case - maybe bitterness, loss of faith, checking out altogether - time will tell on that one. I'm too raw to even think beyond Tuesday.
There are no words that anyone can say to truly comfort a person like me during something like this. People have said anything from "My heart is breaking for you" to "I'm so sorry for your loss" to even admitting they have no idea what to say (that kind of honesty is somewhat refreshing.) The only response I got that even came close to letting me know that the person really understood was when someone told me that I'm walking through fire and it will hurt.
I have little tears left in me anymore - instead my tears are of the silent, screaming kind, bursting out in waves in my head: Why? Why again? I don't get it! This doesn't make any sense? Why do you give things only to take them away? Why did I get pregnant in the first place? Isn't one miscarriage enough? Why won't you answer my questions?
I scream at God as I still feel pregnant and still feel nauseous. I scream at God when my belly still looks swollen and pregnant. I scream because there's a dead baby inside me and I want it out now. I even scream that life sucks and there aren't enough swear words to truly describe how horrible this situation is and how miserable I am.
I hope he can hear me.
My friend asked me today if I was more angry or more sad at losing a baby. I didn't quite know what to say, then decided to be honest. I'm more angry. I'm angry that I've now lost a third child. I'm angry that I have conceived seven children, but only know four. I'm angry that I just ran a marathon for the past three months with morning sickness and fatigue, all for nothing. I'm angry that God allowed a miracle to happen (conceiving in spite of condoms) and then allowed it to fade. I'm angry at the irony of it all - that I wasn't exactly thrilled to be pregnant again, but when I finally had come to peace with it and was getting excited about it - then it was taken away. I am just plain pissed and angry. I'm angry that I got used to the idea of having five children, and now don't quite know what to do about that.
Someone once told me that God is big enough to handle my anger, even if it's directed at him. I know the Bible tells us that it's okay to be angry, but that we shouldn't sin as a result of our anger. I'm not sure what the step from anger to sin would be in this case - maybe bitterness, loss of faith, checking out altogether - time will tell on that one. I'm too raw to even think beyond Tuesday.
There are no words that anyone can say to truly comfort a person like me during something like this. People have said anything from "My heart is breaking for you" to "I'm so sorry for your loss" to even admitting they have no idea what to say (that kind of honesty is somewhat refreshing.) The only response I got that even came close to letting me know that the person really understood was when someone told me that I'm walking through fire and it will hurt.
I have little tears left in me anymore - instead my tears are of the silent, screaming kind, bursting out in waves in my head: Why? Why again? I don't get it! This doesn't make any sense? Why do you give things only to take them away? Why did I get pregnant in the first place? Isn't one miscarriage enough? Why won't you answer my questions?
I scream at God as I still feel pregnant and still feel nauseous. I scream at God when my belly still looks swollen and pregnant. I scream because there's a dead baby inside me and I want it out now. I even scream that life sucks and there aren't enough swear words to truly describe how horrible this situation is and how miserable I am.
I hope he can hear me.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
losing number three
Yesterday I went in for my first ob appointment and left with a delivery date for my dead baby. At 14 weeks, there was no heartbeat and the baby wasn't moving. I remember looking at the baby during the ultrasound, knowing something was wrong, but not allowing myself to admit it, until it was obvious there was no heartbeat when a flat, green line raced across the screen. The doctor said that most likely the baby had just died because it was measuring exactly the size that it should have been for this far along.
So, my husband and I face the pleasant task of showing up at the hospital next Tuesday morning for an induction procedure that will start labor se we can deliver our fifth child. I don’t anticipate it to be pleasant for anyone involved, including the hospital staff. I also am not looking forward to waiting six days with a dead child inside me. It's morbid even on paper.
I don’t imagine, if you’re a doctor, that it gets any easier to tell a patient that you can’t find a heartbeat than it is for me to face my third miscarriage. You’d think because you know what to expect that the reality would be that much more real. Or that the whole process would be somehow less emotional.
It’s not. In fact, in some ways it’s a bit worse because you tend to look at the injustice a bit more closely and question why this could be happening again. Along with the pain of loss (that is severe and overwhelming itself), you also feel even more punished than you did with the first or second even.
You tend to think, “How many more times can this happen to me?” It’s not just a matter of losing a baby, but now of losing three babies. And, losing two of those babies under situations where miscarriage is so rare that you have to be making some sort of record that of course no one wants to make. Miscarriage occurs very rarely after 12 weeks – after that milestone there’s only a five percent chance of losing the baby.
None of this is comforting because ultimately there are no answers. There is no lesson. There is only a cold, hard fact with no explanation behind it - we lost our third baby - simply, tragic and true.
So, my husband and I face the pleasant task of showing up at the hospital next Tuesday morning for an induction procedure that will start labor se we can deliver our fifth child. I don’t anticipate it to be pleasant for anyone involved, including the hospital staff. I also am not looking forward to waiting six days with a dead child inside me. It's morbid even on paper.
I don’t imagine, if you’re a doctor, that it gets any easier to tell a patient that you can’t find a heartbeat than it is for me to face my third miscarriage. You’d think because you know what to expect that the reality would be that much more real. Or that the whole process would be somehow less emotional.
It’s not. In fact, in some ways it’s a bit worse because you tend to look at the injustice a bit more closely and question why this could be happening again. Along with the pain of loss (that is severe and overwhelming itself), you also feel even more punished than you did with the first or second even.
You tend to think, “How many more times can this happen to me?” It’s not just a matter of losing a baby, but now of losing three babies. And, losing two of those babies under situations where miscarriage is so rare that you have to be making some sort of record that of course no one wants to make. Miscarriage occurs very rarely after 12 weeks – after that milestone there’s only a five percent chance of losing the baby.
None of this is comforting because ultimately there are no answers. There is no lesson. There is only a cold, hard fact with no explanation behind it - we lost our third baby - simply, tragic and true.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
whole lot of screaming
Every year in February i go a little nuts. Mainly because my kids are going nuts. Three out of four have been crying about something this morning - and it's not even 9:30 a.m.!
Number Three got beat up by Number Two so he's crying and now has a nice red slap mark on his cheek. He's also upset because he put good clothes on this morning and now has to change into play clothes, which of course is the end of the world at 4. (In our house, we HAVE to have play clothes, or the boys would destroy every shred of socks, jeans and tshirts in their closet and I'd have to drag them to activities, Walmart or anywhere else public in rags. I'm too proud to allow them in public looking like the ragamuffins they really are.)
Number Two can't believe that "ocean" sounds like "oshun" and not "o-keen." So, he's crying that words are stupid. He's supposed to be learning about whales and can't pronounce spout either. So, a little exercise on adding the right word to a sentence has been very successful this morning.
Number Four is upset because I won't let him open the tub of "baby" toys. They are only in the house for when we get company with babies (or at least younger than 2), which honestly has yet to happen once since I bought the rubbermaid container to pack away chew toys, rattles and blocks.
The oldest is the only happy one in the bunch and that's just because he found out he doesn't have to go to the nursing home this afternoon to recite his poem. They were supposed to go with friends, but their mom called this morning with 102-degree fever. We passed on the outing.
This is the time of year that I always question homeschooling and wonder why we live in such a dreadful climate. The boys haven't been outside for weeks and I think they're going crazy from either the lack of fresh air or exercise. or maybe from being in close quarters with too much male testosterone present.
My only salvation is that I was smart enough not to let them open all their christmas presents. This afternoon (after they get the lunch put away and all their junk picked up in the living room), I get to be the cool mom again when I let them open a "new" toy. We'll see if that won't dry some tears and keep some fights from happening. I call it my snowy-day, freezing-weather, sanity-saving container.
That way, it won't be my voice added to all the screaming around here.
Number Three got beat up by Number Two so he's crying and now has a nice red slap mark on his cheek. He's also upset because he put good clothes on this morning and now has to change into play clothes, which of course is the end of the world at 4. (In our house, we HAVE to have play clothes, or the boys would destroy every shred of socks, jeans and tshirts in their closet and I'd have to drag them to activities, Walmart or anywhere else public in rags. I'm too proud to allow them in public looking like the ragamuffins they really are.)
Number Two can't believe that "ocean" sounds like "oshun" and not "o-keen." So, he's crying that words are stupid. He's supposed to be learning about whales and can't pronounce spout either. So, a little exercise on adding the right word to a sentence has been very successful this morning.
Number Four is upset because I won't let him open the tub of "baby" toys. They are only in the house for when we get company with babies (or at least younger than 2), which honestly has yet to happen once since I bought the rubbermaid container to pack away chew toys, rattles and blocks.
The oldest is the only happy one in the bunch and that's just because he found out he doesn't have to go to the nursing home this afternoon to recite his poem. They were supposed to go with friends, but their mom called this morning with 102-degree fever. We passed on the outing.
This is the time of year that I always question homeschooling and wonder why we live in such a dreadful climate. The boys haven't been outside for weeks and I think they're going crazy from either the lack of fresh air or exercise. or maybe from being in close quarters with too much male testosterone present.
My only salvation is that I was smart enough not to let them open all their christmas presents. This afternoon (after they get the lunch put away and all their junk picked up in the living room), I get to be the cool mom again when I let them open a "new" toy. We'll see if that won't dry some tears and keep some fights from happening. I call it my snowy-day, freezing-weather, sanity-saving container.
That way, it won't be my voice added to all the screaming around here.
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