Just Hudson

(Starting to stand up-I love his facial expression here)

(I love this.)

(sleep, my little angel)

(Where's your belly button, Hudson?)

Hudson's First Step, Step, Steps!

I Flit, I Float

Lately we've been enjoying the, shall I say, intoxicating aroma, of the lilacs

as well as the many butterflies and hummingbird moths coming to visit.

(monarch)

There are dozens of butterflies flitting and fluttering around this large bush (it's over 10 feet tall) most of the day.

(monarchs)

Sometimes we just stand there, silent and watching. Listening to the hushed sounds of the wings.

(yellow swallowtail)

(hummingbird moth-photo not ours)

Joel tried to get a picture of the hummingbird moths, but as I came back out with a camera they were gone.

The picture above is pretty close to what we saw. They look almost exactly like hummingbirds, except for the antennae and they are not scared easily. Joel was about 4 inches away from a moth as it happily suckled away at the purple flowers.

(mourning cloak)

(red admiral)

(painted lady- these are fiesty bugs! As I watch-these are the ones picking fights with the other butterflies and they don't give up either! I watched one fight last close to a minute as two painted ladies duked it out!)

As I watch all these beautiful butterflies, it's not much different when I watch our kiddos play...

(Joshua, Rachel, Hudson planting "trees")

(Rachel pausing for a photo)

Kids flutter around just like butterflies, though maybe not quite as quietly.

(Hudson in the wood shed)

Though kids and butterflies may fight, kids are by far more fun and helpful.

(Here they are- four kids, three of them helped stack wood. All the wood you see behind them...they did that!)

(Hudson of course, helped too, just in his own way)

(Joshua or monkey?)

(cute kids, dirty pajamas, hard workers!)

(Coach Janice assisting Rachel at the tee. Both Joshua and Rachel are in T-ball this year. At first base is Joshua, Madelynn and Joel.)

(Goofy Madelynn)

(The wagon has been put to good use this year. Mostly as a water holder, bathtub, and "chocolate milk" maker.)

(Madelynn has graduated to a big swing this year)

Happy Spring Everyone! 

Just A Thank You

Joel and I would like to give our readers a humble thank you. Thank you for reading the posts about Emily and thank you to those who have supported us, prayed for us, and loved us. This has been a long journey and yet it feels like it has only begun.


I must admit that holding Emily close in my heart was preventing much needed healing. To myself and to others. I am so thankful that I have had the opportunity to share Emily with my kids, with my dear friends, and with you.


As a result, these past few weeks I have found myself being less irritable and more calm with the kids. My heart has been lighter and I have had more energy. 


I have no regrets being open and honest with Emily and her story. I have felt only relief and peace. Like a great weight suddenly being lifted and gone. 


Our prayer is that Emily's life will encourage and point you to Jesus, just as she has for us.

Emily's Heaven Day

Yes Emily died. But just like Jesus, she was resurrected, into heaven, with Jesus. And that my friends, is why Joel and I can grieve with hope. 
We can cry and smile at the same time.

We can weep and have peace in the same moment.
Emily Grace, along with thousands of others, are alive, they are not dead.
They are in paradise.
They are laughing, smiling, praising the Awesome Creator of the Universe.
And they love Him.

Joel holding Madelynn, June 2009, at the grave site.

God consoles His suffering people, and His consolations, which are proportioned to the nature and degree of their suffering, shall surely appear to all who stick to His truth and trust Him with their souls. It is a demonstration of the faithfulness of God to those that, suffering according to His will, do commit the keeping of their souls to Him in well-doing, as unto a faithful Creator.
(I Peter 4:19 NKJV)

::The Following Pictures are taken at Emily's grave side May 2012::

Four children helping their Mommy and Daddy clean up Emily's  grave site, while the June berry tree blossoms.

Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints. 

(Psalm 116:15 NKJV)

Hudson helping Daddy

Mourn not ye, whose child hath found

purer skies and holier ground;

Flowers of bright and pleasant hue,

Free from thorns, and fresh with dew.

Mourn not ye, whose child hath fled

From this region of the dead,

To yon winged angel-band,

To a better, fairer land.

Knowledge in that clime doth grow

Free from weeds of toil and woe,

Joys which mortals may not share;

Mourn ye not, your child is there.

-Lydia H. Sigourney

Madelynn smiling

"Oh troubled heart, be still and learn that no selfishness can be in love; that he who loves his Master withholds nothing when He has need of it; and he who loves his child will sink all sense of loss in the everlasting gain of lying safe upon the bosom of the Shepherd."

-Benjamin M. Palmer, 1818-1902, buried five of six children

 Joshua, Rachel, Hudson making 'creeping phlox angels'

Thus says the Lord: 'I will return to Zion, and dwell in the midst of Jerusalem. Jerusalem shall be called the City of Truth...The streets of the city shall be full of boys and girls playing in its streets.'
Zechariah 8:3,5 NKJV

A square on Emily's quilt

God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying.
Revelation 21:4 NKJV

"This is Not The End" by Gungor

Lyrics:

This is not the end
This is not the end of this
We will open our eyes wide, wider

This is not our last
This is not our last breath
We will open our mouths wide, wider

And you know you’ll be alright
Oh and you know you’ll be alright

This is not the end
This is not the end of us
We will shine like the stars bright, brighter

~

And her Daddy has the last word::

Resurrection Morn

by Joel 

Now that I've held death in my arms.

Now that my own flesh and blood has grown cold.

Now that I've seen a soul move on,

leaving behind a little body and a little less of me.

Now that I've seen the heavenly slip away....

Nothings left when the heavenly slips away.

Now that I've seen...

What would've it been like to be there on a hill outside of Jerusalem?

When the earth shuddered and the sky rolled and on the cross hung the One who made it all?

He made the hands that beat Him.

He made the tongues that cursed Him over and over.

He made the nails that pierced His wrists.

He made the thorns that crowned His bloody head.

The Author of Life wrote His death. He wrote in His own blood.

And the Light of the world was extinguished.

And what is a world without the One by whom it is made?

No there's nothing left when the heavenly slips away.

Oh for the resurrection morn!

Oh for the first light of dawn!

All would be lost it that'd been all;

if death could keep a hold on God

Enter the tomb. Pass the stone rolled away.

He is not here. He is risen from the dead!

Oh for the resurrection morn! (Where would we be?)

Oh for the first light of dawn! (Come Lord Jesus come)

A Nightmare

June 10th. The Day of Emily's open heart surgery. Joel and I arrive at the hospital as early as we can, but the nurses are already prepping Emily for surgery. We hang back and just watch. I have to leave the room when they insert an IV into Emily's neck.

Finally the prep work is done. We can say good morning to our baby. Oh how I feel so disconnected from her! How helpless I feel! She is hardly 5 lbs, so tiny on that enormous bed. Her eyes are open. She looks at us. Drugged as she is. As she looks at us, Joel sees his little girl, comforting her parents with her eyes, "It's ok, Mommy and Daddy, I'll be all right." 
I see a tiny, frightened child: "Don't leave me Mommy. Don't leave me Daddy."
I stare into her eyes, just inches away from her face. How can I describe the helplessness I see within her? In me? How can I describe the love I have for her? The tedious hopes? The anguish? I kiss my little girl and force myself to step back.  We follow her as far as we can down the hallway. They wheel her through another set of doors. And we wait. Joel leaves to keep a promise to play football with our three year old son. I head to the waiting room. To wait.

Wait.

A doctor comes in to give me updates about every 90 minutes. It's a four hour procedure. I sit there, numb. I don't move. I can't read. 
Somehow I start chatting with the person next to me. They have a little girl, about 2 years, in for a minor surgery. They get to go home today.

Conversation wanes quickly when they learn of my little Emily. And silence resumes. Wordless, I sit. And wait.

My memory blanks as I think back after Emily's surgery. I think I walked back to her room once nurses believed she had stabilized. She is asleep of course. Still drugged. Her breathing machine is back in place. The beeping has resumed. I touch her soft head. There is a white pad on her chest, and some new tubes. (How many tubes can a newborn have?) 

We stay as long as we can, and then we must go back. Back to our other two children who need our love and care.

The next day. June 11. 

It is a beautiful day, Joel and I stop to get a cup of good coffee on the way to the hospital. We are in good spirits. No doctors called in the middle of the night. We are sure Emily is in the clear and that God is healing her now. We laugh in the car. We smile at each other. It is so nice to smile.

We receive a phone call while we are in the car lot. Emily is in trouble. We hurry to park the car but it seems everyone needs hospitalization that day. Finally we find a spot to park and rush into the PICU. Emily is not stable, but seems ok at the moment. After awhile, I need to pump, so I quickly rush off to the "nursing room". While I am in the room, a knock sounds upon the door. It is Joel. He sounds urgent. He says Emily isn't doing so well and that I need to come quickly. When I come out, a doctor is with him. It is the same doctor who gave me the updates during Emily's surgery. She is very friendly, but I have a feeling that receiving her undivided attention is not a good sign.

We walk quickly to Emily's room. The room where butterfly artwork hangs and her purple butterfly balloon sails. Emily isn't sailing. She is failing. I sit in a cold plastic chair for an hour facing the foot of Emily's bed, shock and numbness make me frozen, unable to move. She is going. Leaving. I can't believe it. The doctors seem to amass. And nurses retreat. Only two nurses remain. They are out of their league here. 

The doctors, the specialists, talking, brainstorming. 

It seems as if there is a blood clot. The new Gore-tex valve in Emily's heart is too big. One millimeter too big. As a result there is too much backflow of blood. She's not getting enough oxygen. 

One doctor begins CPR. Pushing. Thrusting. Mercilessly. Trying to keep Emily's heart pumping. But I know, deep in my soul, I know she's gone. And I want to scream. Scream at the CPR doctor. "Emily's body is already broken, why do you have to make it worse? Let her die, let her go, just stop...please." 
But I don't scream. I don't do anything. 

Emily's lungs are failing. Her heart.... Her kidneys.... her liver... Her body is limp. 
The white pad on Emily's chest is no longer pure white, it is a deep, deathly red. 

When a body fails, when does death happen? Does it happen when the heart stops? Or when a body can no longer breathe? Does a person's soul leave at anytime, even as the heart is failing?

Emily's death certificate says she died at 1:17pm, just before she turned exactly nine days old. But I believe she died before that. At least her soul had gone, her body being hardly sustained by machines.

Most of the doctors leave. The nurses pull the curtain. Somehow I am dragged over to her bed. Joel slides his hands under her still warm body, lifting her, giving her up to God. I stand there. Numb. Frozen. Jealous of Joel's open grief. I can't even cry. 
Finally something small inside me snaps and I want to hold her. I grab at her. Wanting her, wanting Emily. The nurses try to disconnect Emily as quickly as they can but they are not fast enough. 
I sit down with Emily, the IV still in her neck, cords and wires stretched to their limits. I wrap her in a blanket and rock my baby. I hold Emily close as she cools, and I rock. 
The nurse pulls the tape off of Emily's face. For the first time I see her. No breathing tube, no tape, nothing in her nostril. Just her face. And I love her.
The blood pools to the back of her head. And I try to keep her warm. I pray. Or at least I try to. I try to believe that God could still heal her, still raise her. Bring her back from death's stubborn grip. I believe so hard that I am surprised Emily doesn't open her eyes. 
But it is inevitable. She is dead. 
And as her face turns grey, losing her glow, I crumble. 

Of course I know where she is now. Her soul, in blissful eternity, worships the God who has created her. Finally she is no longer drugged, no longer tied to a bed, no longer under heat lamps, no longer listening to machines. 
No. Emily is in joyful paradise. And there she will remain.

Wherefore should I make my moan,

Now the darling child is dead?

He to early rest is gone,

He to paradise is fled.

I shall go to him, but he

Never shall return to me.

God forbids his longer stay,

God recalls the precious loan,

God hath taken him away,

From my bosom to his own.

Surely what he wills is best!

Happy in his will, I rest.

Faith cries out, it is the Lord!

Let him do as seems him good.

Be thy holy name adored,

Take the gift awhile bestowed;

Take the child no longer mine,

Thine he is, forever thine.

-Charles Wesley

A Land of Life

Joel and I have been to hospitals. We've seen and talked with nurses. Most are great, friendly, and oh so patient. 

But one nurse stands out.

Amy.

Of all the nurses at the Children's Hospital where Emily stayed, Amy was the Only One who cared enough to ask:

"Have you held her yet?"

I did not hold Emily until about Day 5. And oh how sweet it was when Amy asked that question and I finally got to hold my little girl!

And a couple of days later I was able to hold her again, this time close to my heart.

Because Amy cared. 

We were not just another family passing through with a sick baby. 

Amy was not intimidated by unhooking some wires and rearranging some tubes so a mother could bond with her child.

I thank you, Amy.

If it weren't for you, I might never have held Emily.

(Amy with Emily; Nina holding Emily's foot)

It is easy to see those who cared. It is easy to be grateful for them.

But on the flip side there is a struggle of bitterness. 

What about those who did not care?

What about those who opened their mouth far too soon and I force myself to nod and smile and think "I can't believe you just said that!"?

This has been another struggle for me:

Forgiveness.

Forgiving the nurses who did not care as much as Amy did.

Forgiving the handful of people who "said the wrong thing".

Forgiving the doctors, the surgeon, the specialists.

Forgiving the people who decided that my breastmilk was not good enough to be donated.

Forgiving those close to me who make mistakes just like I do.

Forgiving the people who forget.

Forgiving myself...

And then around I go. 

Back to gratefulness.

I am grateful to God, who enables me to forgive.

And Love.

And let go.

I am grateful for the nurses, and doctors for they did the best that they could.

I am grateful for those close to me, because they care.

I am grateful that it's ok to remind people.

I am grateful that others forgive me when I say the wrong thing.

I am grateful that I do not have to live a life of regret, blaming myself for any detail I may think of.

Sometimes I am tempted to go back, 

back where bitterness beckons.

I glance back every now and then, 

feeling the hot wind on my face,

seeing the dry and lonely land of unforgiveness.

But then I turn again, and see the beautiful land of gratefulness,

Where there are many flowers and trees,

Love and water and Life!

And I decide, 

yes, This is where I want to stay.

Thank you Jesus for Emily Grace, my daughter,

Your child.

The Sun Shines Upon the Storm

I cannot know why suddenly the storm

should rage so fiercely round me in its wrath

But this I know-God watches all my path,

And I can trust

I may not draw aside the unseen veil

That hides the unknown future from my sight

Nor know if for me waits the dark or light;

But I can trust

I have no power to look across the tide,

To see while here the land beyond the river;

But this I know-I will be God's forever;

So I can trust.

-"Streams in the Desert" Devotional p. 196

The God Joel and I serve is amazing. He is truly wonderful. When one of us is down, grieving, broken- He lifts us up. He raises us. He reassures and whispers and comforts. I know I can trust a God who cares about me and the people I love. He did not abandon us during our time with Emily. No, instead He was there every second of it, strong and warm. He whispers to me, "Trust. Trust Me." And I cannot. And yet I can. I can choose to trust. Because His Spirit lives inside me, and He gives me the ability to trust- when I let go. When I let go of my hurt, not letting go of Emily, but letting go of my selfishness, any bitterness and self-pitying thoughts, He enables me to trust Him completely. And then, I am free. Free like Emily.

You Raise Me Up

When I am down and, oh my soul, so weary;

When troubles come and my heart burdened be;

Then, I am still and wait here in the silence,

Until you come and sit awhile with me.

You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains;

You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas;

I am strong, when I am on your shoulders;

You raise me up: To more than I can be.

You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains;

You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas;

I am strong, when I am on your shoulders;

You raise me up: To more than I can be.

There is no life - no life without its hunger;

Each restless heart beats so imperfectly;

But when you come and I am filled with wonder, 

Sometimes, I think I glimpse eternity.

You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains;

You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas;

I am strong, when I am on your shoulders;

You raise me up: To more than I can be.

You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains;

You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas;

I am strong, when I am on your shoulders;

You raise me up: To more than I can be.

A Parent's Heartache

"A grieving parent is someone who will never forget their child no matter how painful memories are.  

A grieving parent is someone who yearns to be with their child but cannot conceive leaving their living ones.

A grieving parent is someone who has part of a heart as the rest has gone with their child.

A grieving parent is someone who begs for relief from the memories which plague them and then feels guilty when they get it.

A grieving parent is someone who pretends to be happy and enjoying life when they are really dying inside.

A grieving parent is someone who can cry or laugh at the drop of a hat whenever they remember their beloved child.

A grieving parent is someone who feels as if they have just lost their child yesterday no matter how much time has passed.

A grieving parent is someone who fears for their remaining family because they cannot bear to have any more losses.

A grieving parent is someone who sits by their child's memorial and feels a knife stabbing their heart.

A grieving parent is someone who wants to help others who have lost a loved one because somehow other's loss is theirs all over again"

-From 'Grieving Mothers'

Some hard memories...


At the hospital, Emily would grab a hold of my finger. One time, she wouldn't let go. I, on the other hand, had to go see my other two children. We needed to leave. But Emily wouldn't let my finger go; she held on so tightly! I had to gently pull my finger out of her clasp, and whisper my good byes, feeling so torn.


Before Emily was laid in her coffin, we had wrapped Emily's body in a white baby blanket. Well, Joel wrapped her, I couldn't do it. She was so flimsy. So cold. So...dead.


I will forever remember the sound of rock and dirt against Emily's white coffin as Joel and the guys buried our daughter. It was over. I would not see her face again. I would not touch her skin again; even if it was cold, it was still Emily.

Emily's First Christmas

Dear Emily, Merry Christmas

Now the year comes to a close.

Your year. Or God's, I suppose.

Seven months have passed

Since you came and went,

A flash of light.

A small candle spent.

Eight days. 
Eleven hours.

And forty-six minutes.Every second...

God was in it.

I pulled out your blanket

on Christmas Day.

It's as close as I can get to holding you. 

It's ok. 
I'll take what I can get.

It would have been your first

But it was the first 
Without you.

There's always someone missing here.

And we're always missing there.

What was your first Christmas like?

Or is it Christmas and Easter everyday?

Did you get to be an angel in some divine Sunday School play?

One thing I can see, my little girl-

A baby who like your Jesus came-

Is your perfect heart with gratitude filled

The gift we give together on Christmas Day.

Rest my child, smile and coo.

It won't be long 'til we'll be joining you.

Love, your Daddy

(Written December 25, 2008)