Two Years

The first Sunday School lesson I remember at Charity was about the Ebenezer stone.  Tara talked about what the stone represented and how it seemed not to be a tiny stone, but actually a big rock or boulder.  She told us how it was placed to serve as a reminder of the Lord’s deliverance.  She encouraged us to think of some times that God had delivered us and helped us through a dark time.  She passed out little stones for us to take with us. As I held mine, I thought about the miscarriage I had suffered through the previous month while my husband was a continent away and I’d slept over at my mama’s for support. I thought about my Nanny’s battle with cancer and the wreck that nearly claimed my cousin Brooke’s life when we were 19.  I took that little stone home and put it in my kitchen window.  I’ve looked at it probably a hundred times since that Sunday morning, and I looked at it a good, long time this morning while I was fixing Layla’s breakfast.

My firstborn should’ve been two years old this weekend.  We should have been planning a birthday party to outdo his first birthday party and scolding Nanny for buying too many presents.   I should know what it feels like to run my fingers through sweaty blonde toddler hair after he’s been playing outside with his daddy.  The terrible twos should be wreaking havoc on my house and my nerves.  Two years ago, that’s exactly how I envisioned this weekend would be. Two years and I still don’t understand why things didn’t happen the way we’d imagined them. 

What I do know is that life moved on from that hollow gut, abject misery that was September of 2013.   Slowly but surely the fog lifted.  I kept getting up and getting dressed and getting loved on by my husband and family and friends and one Saturday (I can’t remember which one but I know it was after the 27^th one at least) I stopped counting the weeks since his delivery.   My blogger friend/baby loss mom/ idol Brooke said she cried every day for an entire year after her baby, Eliza, died.  That wasn’t the case for me.  Oh, I cried plenty, mostly on the beautiful back roads to and from West Rowan High School. It wasn’t that I wasn’t sad for a year because I was, it was just that I was so busy with good things.  Good things that did not replace Levi, but softened my sadness and slowly began to replace my mourning with dancing. 

Fourteen months after I delivered Levi, I delivered Layla.  With one glaring exception, my delivery experiences were very similar.  I was induced early on Tuesday morning with Layla.  Dr. Bower delivered them both, Levi at 12:10PM and Layla at 12:16PM.  Skip was on one side and Megan was on the other for both deliveries and Mom was standing just behind Megan crying both times. Oddly enough, I remember a lot more about Levi’s delivery than I do Layla’s.  Maybe it’s because the only memories I have of Levi took place in that delivery room, and Layla makes new, lasting impressions on my memory (and my heart) every single day.  Maybe it’s because Levi’s delivery was my first experience; I’m not sure.  I’m grateful that, given the circumstances, my experience was as positive as it could be. 

And I am more than grateful for the opportunity to be Levi’s sister’s mama.  I don’t imagine that he would’ve been much like Layla.  I don’t know that I would be the same kind of mama I am to her if he hadn’t come first.  I realized a few months ago that I’d only prayed one prayer for Layla since she’s been born.  Every night before I laid her down in her crib, I held her close and I prayed to God that she would out live us.  And that was it.  For the first months of her life, the only request I made on her behalf was not really on her behalf at all, but a totally selfish petition.   While I was pregnant with Levi, I envisioned so many things for his life- what he’d enjoy, who he would act like.  Those things were hard to let go of when we couldn’t bring him home, so I spent my entire pregnancy with Layla trying not to do that and just praying she would survive.   And although I now have many hope and dreams and visions for her life, outliving me still seems like a pretty big priority, which I suppose is normal for all mamas and not just baby loss mamas like me.

For a while after we lost Levi, one of the things that made me the saddest was the feeling that I was forever going to be known as a baby loss mom.  I didn’t feel guilty or responsible for what happened, I just didn’t want to be pitied everywhere I went.  Two years later, I don’t think I am. What I hope I am for those that know me best is an Ebenezer stone of sorts. The Lord delivered us from the darkest days of our lives and put a new song in our hearts.  He loosed my sackcloth and clothed me with gladness, and you all know how much I love new clothes.   I hope I never forget to give Him praise for all He’s done for me. 

2013

2013 was simultaneously the best and worst year of my life.  It was the first full year that Skip worked for himself.  The business made great progress and we paid all our bills and acquired no debt.  We found out in January that we were going to have a baby.  Cue the ecstasy that was the next 37 weeks and 3 days.   Mom retired and we spent even more time together than we used to.  Bonus points: most of this time was spent poolside!  For the second time in my life, I became a part of a small group of Godly women who encourage my walk with the Lord and make me laugh until I almost pee my pants.  I started teaching online (along with still teaching at WRHS) and got to do fun things with the extra income like buy a mattress and book a long weekend in Orlando.  All these things made 2013 the best, obvy (which is teenage/hispter slang for obviously)!

Then came September 6^th.  Some would say we lost it all.  I’d be tempted to agree.  I’ve been guilty of saying “everything changed.”  I play these little mind games with myself where I ask questions that are impossible to answer honestly and then try to force myself to answer them.  One of those questions has been “would I willingly go through it again if I knew the outcome would still be the same?”  Would I decorate a nursery and make sub plans and pick out a name if I knew that it would end in death and I would never meet my baby on this side of heaven?  The thing with impossible (torture) questions is just that- they’re impossible.  But, since I’m being forced (by me!) to answer, I’d have to [guess] yes.  I cannot say that the good of 2013 outweighed the bad, because, no one in their right mind (and I still think I am!) would say that.  What I can say is this: there was good in 2013.  There was even good after September 7^th.  There has been good because of September 7^th.  Not everything changed.  The biggest change was the worst of my life, but not everything changed. 

Am I glad that 2013 is over?  Yes and no.  As blogger “friend” of mine pointed out, 2013 will forever be the only year that included Levi.  2013 will forever be the year of my first pregnancy.  I experienced a love I’d only heard about in 2013.  I felt an outpouring of support that I never could’ve imagined.  2013 will forever be the year I became a mom.  So yeah, I’m mostly glad it’s over, but I’ll hold tight to it all of my days.

And, you guys, it feels mushy and idealistic to admit, but I am SO hopeful for 2014.  I hope that it will come out of nowhere and trump 2013 in a big way.  I hope that this blog will be filled with words that make us all cry tears of joy.  I hope that I’ll keep my resolutions (more on those later-stay tuned!) and that 2014 will be one for the history books. 

But the eyes of the Lord are on those who fear Him,

on those whose hope is in his unfailing love.

Psalm 33:18