tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-47659799637618939432024-03-09T18:46:01.554-08:00Hudson's Bands of HopeExtending Hope to Mothers Suffering Pregnancy Loss Mistyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14911723338087186922noreply@blogger.comBlogger31125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765979963761893943.post-29341723877719960952016-03-28T15:56:00.000-07:002016-05-09T17:12:15.809-07:00Where is God when your heart is broken?<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">What is God doing? Has He abandoned me? Does He even care or
have an idea of how hard this is? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Sound familiar? I admit, yes. This is all familiar to me. If
she wanted to, the churched girl inside of me could feel shame. I’ve been a student of God’s Word since I was
12 (At that age a “student” really means I was sitting through many church
services where the Bible was preached and preached hard). Twelve years old is
also when I began to discover His wondrous love for me. An
all-powerful and all-knowing creator has taken time to love me. To carefully draw myself to Him. Wow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I’ve steered a boat maybe a handful of times in a straight
line over the course of my life. So of course I was qualified to steer the ship
of my own life. I did my best to change directions when I saw danger lurking or
try my best to ride the waves in my own power, grasping frantically at the
wheel when my grip became sweaty and feeble. It was tiring but I was making it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSY3Qy0_vkjOrIdQxzmSi7IZk5_6ZunMfNEZ1x8axTP65x74CNEihSPtsCj_2u9BK1JD_4b2hore7eNbS8GxVPasLWwClgV5rUztOwvvlG1D2-O-RxR1tuQ8kXgoBayMLCiVTNr7KxdCU/s1600/reach-god-tb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSY3Qy0_vkjOrIdQxzmSi7IZk5_6ZunMfNEZ1x8axTP65x74CNEihSPtsCj_2u9BK1JD_4b2hore7eNbS8GxVPasLWwClgV5rUztOwvvlG1D2-O-RxR1tuQ8kXgoBayMLCiVTNr7KxdCU/s320/reach-god-tb.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I had been a Christian for 14 years when the storm and waves
finally took the wheel out of my control. Those questions I mentioned plagued
me. Not just in my mind but deep in my gut. My mind is what tried to bring me
back to reality by recalling what the Bible says and all I’ve been taught. Through
tears I would lift my head to ask God if He was still there. As if
looking up, I might see him better. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I was searching for Him as though He was distant but I didn’t
find him until I looked up close. When I quit talking to God as though He was
on the other side of the planet with His face turned to me then I could feel
His nearness. I then sensed His presence through some of the smallest details.
Details that would not even be note-worthy to a single other soul, but at that time
they were the breath in my lungs.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">For 3 ½ years I combated the throes of warfare in my heart,
and all that ugliness I told you about in my last post. I know God loves me. “I’m His child” I would
remind myself. But with anger and resentment the question would well up inside
of me, “Why did He let this happen to someone He loves”?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Satan’s lies are the loudest when your heart is the coldest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">After all these years I FINALLY see with the most clarity
that God’s grace and provision were most evident in my life through the tragedy
that I was so angry about Him not preventing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQZ0CKBUTOmMrtRPprRJnb8wwGqU7rPkTdSOIg81ObvVp7oL89w7YNkLfKRi9nlvCrzHwWQiQwz5s_vgdGQ8wIhfSUuue2CWPtk261JuzOzBF9d90zkROTBGWXpFfiAm7_iZ81j0ubo64/s1600/Psalm+34.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQZ0CKBUTOmMrtRPprRJnb8wwGqU7rPkTdSOIg81ObvVp7oL89w7YNkLfKRi9nlvCrzHwWQiQwz5s_vgdGQ8wIhfSUuue2CWPtk261JuzOzBF9d90zkROTBGWXpFfiAm7_iZ81j0ubo64/s1600/Psalm+34.jpg" /></span></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Where would I be today if God had met my carnal wishes and
prevented my son’s death? Who am I to decide what’s best for my life? Is not
the Creator more brilliant than the creation?</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="font-family: georgia, 'times new roman', serif;">A self-controlled and shallow life. Complacency toward the
hurts and needs of others. Only a partial view of God’s love, provision, and
Grace... </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">OR</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> A<i> life more fully surrendered to His perfect will, a driving
passion for the rest of His creation, and an engulfing sense and reality of His
presence in my life.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I choose B. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="text"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #741b47;">“And we know that all things work together
for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his
purpose.” Romans 8:28</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="text"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="text"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">This verse would make me mad. I knew it. I
was told it. But I was angry because I didn’t feel it or see it. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="text"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="text"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My faith was lacking. Only by faith can we
trust in what we don’t see or feel. Isn’t that what faith is? I see now that
God truly did have my best interest in mind through all the mess. He really was
walking right next to me the whole way. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="text"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="highl"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #741b47;">“Having been firmly rooted and now being
built up in Him and established in your faith, just as you were instructed, and
overflowing with gratitude.” Colossians 2:7</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="highl"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="highl"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">This is where I’m living today and I am SO
thankful for it. I have been built up in that faith. Hindsight is 20/20 right?
If only I could’ve truly walked in faith rather than anger. Little by little
though, as I watched God work one small thing out after another my faith did
become more established. Today as I look at the whole picture I can see it was
much more than just little details that carried me through. My vision was so
blurred that all I could see was little bits here and there. Now I see the
amazing work of God as He carried me in one hand and moved barriers out of the
way with the other.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ5tudZzVZivF3UBunjSSBLZGhvoclixoCExZ-B2uKSrdC_qWGmb6v2NGT_PXcCL-A0NOdzZ18j06wOZv5A9ODT2MBMp8mPC-LvSwzPfFickITmBOk9yuiu_W9o56F3rDOHn53o7aOEXA/s1600/ship.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ5tudZzVZivF3UBunjSSBLZGhvoclixoCExZ-B2uKSrdC_qWGmb6v2NGT_PXcCL-A0NOdzZ18j06wOZv5A9ODT2MBMp8mPC-LvSwzPfFickITmBOk9yuiu_W9o56F3rDOHn53o7aOEXA/s320/ship.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="highl"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="highl">Of course I would have preferred a
different mode of transportation to arrive at this point. But I’m not steering
my own ship. I’m simply riding along, enjoying the sun or clouds, watching the
waves crash, and most importantly knowing firmly that my Master is at the wheel, taking care to perfectly navigate me through the smooth seas as well as the rough ones.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Mistyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14911723338087186922noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765979963761893943.post-17008825927122838982016-01-26T14:40:00.000-08:002016-01-26T14:49:46.196-08:00A light in dark places<span style="font-family: "calibri";">It was a warm, sunny day last spring. One perfect for
staring at the black stone with my son’s name engraved on it. It was an
impromptu trip as usual. Holidays are typical and planned but every other trip
is made because of a reason I don’t know or feel until right before I put my
shoes on and tug on the door handle.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">This time it happened to be the pounding of my heart just right
after one thought led to another which led me to realize I had business to do. </span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">This trip wasn’t for Hudson though. It was for me and God. I had been
texting a friend and something in our conversation came up that made me realize
I had work to do. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I guess I’ll be super transparent since I don’t know how
else to write…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Ever since September 10<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup>, 2012 there has been a
corner in my heart where a light turned off. With time that dim space grew a
little cold with no activity or abiding company. With a little more time, that dark, cold space grew a few cobwebs.
Being such an unpleasant place I inadvertently didn’t go there. Nor did anything
or anyone else. When I would get a glimpse of that dreaded space I learned to
put up a wall and close the door. I was ashamed of it and my pride certainly
wasn’t wanting anyone else to see the mess. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">It’s like a great neighborhood with one abandoned piece of property.
The grass grows up and the house falls down and it begins to affect the value
of the properties around it. My heart was the same way. The dark, empty, cold
corner began affecting the surrounding areas that were lively, full of light, and
active. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE-G2btF6yPERYAIMzHhRa2tK7AcH1qyTX5mY5WRZAeBaLWTeVP-PdYH5DJ1rLM5XEPsCjWEsGqp-mgQ7ZYCL_QSpYgRpFnKgF-CSfcLFG7N_FySdrmeeqNpjrqCMWHg1d446mEmsKF28/s1600/clouds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE-G2btF6yPERYAIMzHhRa2tK7AcH1qyTX5mY5WRZAeBaLWTeVP-PdYH5DJ1rLM5XEPsCjWEsGqp-mgQ7ZYCL_QSpYgRpFnKgF-CSfcLFG7N_FySdrmeeqNpjrqCMWHg1d446mEmsKF28/s1600/clouds.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: "calibri";">This went on until I became so disgusted with the effects of
that negative space on what should be all the positives of the condition of my
mind, attitudes, and ultimately my heart. It’s like the light places in me were
being overshadowed by the growth of what started out to be just a small, dark
corner tucked safely away. Like an impending thunderstorm on a bright and
sunny summer day, the cloud cover became more than I could bear.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">For months and months before visiting Hudson’s grave that day
I questioned myself, my close family, and God on what was wrong with me. I was
seeing a whole lot of not so pretty habits and attitudes that I had developed
and I hated them. I didn’t know where they came from or how I even invited them
to take up residence inside of me. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">My mom, sister, and husband were playing a timely role by
being brutally honest when I would ask their opinions on my condition. I’ve
always been one to embrace constructive criticism and I was ready for it. I
needed help to figure out why I had changed so much and how my heart became
such a foreign inhabitant in my very familiar body. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">With time, prayer, brutal honesty, and ultimately a simple
texting conversation with a good friend, I was putting pieces together. The
puzzle was yet a little blurry but I knew enough and my heart was racing with
nervousness, excitement, and anticipation of how to handle this revelation.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">So there I was, standing in that well-known bed of grass,
staring at the lower engraving on the stone that read, “Infant son of Brady &
Misty.” Of everything engraved on the headstone that’s the line that makes me
furious. I’ve always looked at it with great contempt and disbelief. MY infant
son. Misty’s.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGxElZNjhr39tyb13HlWbsExKgzK0JsDh0MoqrHY-pq-bAEpiXv83Gn8-5batmU5waccHHN-J-GtEc7TJW72dA-7izH2miwrqNG6xlwjagPh611IFRvTJorHNuUOyBh9FYjpYjJJQ8x6A/s1600/DSCN4386.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGxElZNjhr39tyb13HlWbsExKgzK0JsDh0MoqrHY-pq-bAEpiXv83Gn8-5batmU5waccHHN-J-GtEc7TJW72dA-7izH2miwrqNG6xlwjagPh611IFRvTJorHNuUOyBh9FYjpYjJJQ8x6A/s320/DSCN4386.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">On that day, though, I purposefully looked at those words and said aloud, “God,
I forgive you.” At first I said it with my head, so again, I said, “God I
forgive you”. I repeated those words until my heart believed what my lips were uttering.
As I became more bold and emphatic in my repetition the tears began to fall and
I felt a warmth in my heart like never before. I drove home with a refreshed
sense of joy and closeness with the creator of that child whose absence I had been so angry about.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">It wasn’t until that day that the revelation hit me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The nasty dark and ever growing corner in my heart
was the absence of God. I drove Him out of that space because I was mad at Him
and in that specific place of my heart I made a decision that I could no longer trust
God. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Thankfully I was raised in a church where I was taught
enough to firmly know that God would never leave me nor forsake me, as His word
says, but that basic knowledge battled fiercely with Hudson’s loss and in ways that knowledge was replaced
with anger and distrust toward my Maker. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Now, please let me state the truth outside of this detailed
and lengthy description of my heart’s downfall. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">God had done NOTHING wrong. He didn’t need to be forgiven
because He was not at fault. I needed those words to come out of my mouth and
settle into my heart because all that time I had blamed Him for the whole
ordeal. This was a Misty issue, NOT a God issue. When I allowed His light to
reclaim residence of my ENTIRE heart I then had victory over the struggles I
was so weary of fighting.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC_ydbpo76RqrLmd4F07Z4DjtW5gdRBsOBPsPs-JDEh-z4kZNQD_VvfrG6M7XG-6WA9zFBYDK6RoCKD0YrEuRy6STDDQ6q2zbnFTLQK9AzNKX61l10hvq2sODxzwJEtYM0rhfEa0NpIiQ/s1600/LIGHT.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC_ydbpo76RqrLmd4F07Z4DjtW5gdRBsOBPsPs-JDEh-z4kZNQD_VvfrG6M7XG-6WA9zFBYDK6RoCKD0YrEuRy6STDDQ6q2zbnFTLQK9AzNKX61l10hvq2sODxzwJEtYM0rhfEa0NpIiQ/s1600/LIGHT.jpg" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Now, let’s be real some more. It’s not been all smooth
sailing. That little place in my heart is thankfully cleaned out and restored,
however, it’s more prone than any other to have the light switch flipped and
begin filling with cobwebs and dust once again. It’s the space in my heart that
requires the most attention and housekeeping. It’s also the one with the
greatest testimony!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">As I said earlier, I don’t know how to write unless I’m
transparent. Possibly even too transparent! I also don’t know how to write
unless the topic is one that I know well and feel strongly. I stand a little
faulty with my overuse of mundane detail, but for me, it’s what makes a story
real and my hope is that in the long description and miniscule minute-by-minute
replay, just one small word or thought can sink deeply in your heart or mind.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I pray that something I said resonates with a struggle you’ve
faced, or a victory you’ve won. I pray that this post is an invitation to
inspect your own heart, or to praise God for the work He has done in it! It is
vital for me to constantly remind myself that God is good and He desires
nothing but good for me… and YOU! God is our light in dark places, even those of our heart, if we just invite him there and are willing to do a little housekeeping!</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></o:p></div>
</div>
</div>
Mistyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14911723338087186922noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765979963761893943.post-21272379002080285502015-10-15T12:36:00.001-07:002015-10-15T12:36:40.078-07:00Together we're "2 in 8"
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was about 15 or 16 weeks pregnant with Hudson when I heard
of two different and tragic stories of some ladies I know that discovered their
babies were instantly gone. In a moment’s notice their hearts were crushed with
the heaviness of losing a child. I distinctly remember telling someone, “I
couldn’t imagine!” And truly, I couldn’t. I also recall the great feelings of
pride and comfort as I rubbed my buldging belly. The one that safely carried
the sweet child I too was about to say good-bye to.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s the, “wow, I’m glad that’s not me” feeling. Kind of
like when you hear of someone’s house burning to the ground or another person
being diagnosed with a life-changing disease. You never think that it would be
or even could be you. Tragedies like that only happen to other people. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Other people….<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And just like that, without warning or even a clue, I became
one of those “other people”. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Suddenly I knew no one who had walked in my shoes. All of
those “other people” left my memory for a while and I was certain I was the
first to trek such a horrible journey. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then the messages, emails, phone calls,
and cards came flooding in. Many of which were sent by people who knew my pain
because they had been there before. I didn’t feel so alone. I was one of those “other
people” who had found some “other people” to make me feel a little more at home
in my new shoes. My, was I thankful for them. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">On October 15<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> 2012, my sister sent me this picture.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo6pNJoshXJRkb9ZlPk-E-rs0EZuczHWcTci1iw5MpFnLDJkWzqr1LEhgngPK3ONVHubthrjGX7AcnD_i3iV0eQwD6P__pWxFYslkeEtUM0cFeG2x5lG_FAfCilCPgUDbui_nxQkyuP7A/s1600/remembranceday1%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo6pNJoshXJRkb9ZlPk-E-rs0EZuczHWcTci1iw5MpFnLDJkWzqr1LEhgngPK3ONVHubthrjGX7AcnD_i3iV0eQwD6P__pWxFYslkeEtUM0cFeG2x5lG_FAfCilCPgUDbui_nxQkyuP7A/s320/remembranceday1%255B1%255D.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was stunned to learn there was a day set a side just for
us. Well, a whole month, rather. It was relieving to know that someone felt
this grief was important enough to set a day aside to remember these babies and
the suffering parents who miss them terribly.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Today is National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Can I just say that I wish I had no idea what this was. I
wish it didn’t pull on my heartstrings so hard. I wish I could pass it up as completely
irrelevant to my life. If only my heart didn’t have such a soft spot for such a
hard topic. The only way that could happen is if Hudson’s trail of little boy
mess, fingerprinted glass, and scampering little feet were decorating my home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPr8-Cd3i9vQ3OnSQLBR_iNVTP-n9RSS5Rp7iyCSsixgLf9HpAy9aHtR2trmyFiGkp1nFdx_WBtEYed6ZqWynIkoF6gO2WHN2cHqwn3agFk1opoXDR8jPdv_Xs6lQTrdHrANfVBE8hOBo/s1600/thAIW5AH5I.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPr8-Cd3i9vQ3OnSQLBR_iNVTP-n9RSS5Rp7iyCSsixgLf9HpAy9aHtR2trmyFiGkp1nFdx_WBtEYed6ZqWynIkoF6gO2WHN2cHqwn3agFk1opoXDR8jPdv_Xs6lQTrdHrANfVBE8hOBo/s320/thAIW5AH5I.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We’ve heard the phrase, “One in four”. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One in four pregnancies end in loss. I’ve
always had mixed feelings with this statistic. My, “I’m the other person” brain
thinks of how lonely I feel. How did I get picked to fit this statistic? Why
me?? The other side of me says, “geesh, that’s a lot!” One in four is such a
common occurrence! This is happening so much more than what it should. Every
single minute an unsuspecting mom is becoming that “other person”.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I think there is a fairly decent chance that you are one of
those “other people” too. If not, then I’m sure you know one. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Well, together we’re 2 in 8 and if you add the person that
read this before you then we’re 3 in 12.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now somehow I still fit the statistics but I’m not fitting
them alone. I have you and you have me. We’re in this together.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Together our hearts will ache. Together we’ll wipe away
tears. Together we’ll feel the passion to make this day even more well-known
than it already is. Together we’ll be those “other people”. It’s not a fun club
to be a part of but by the Grace of God we’ll get through it and help the “others”
that cross our path.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am so thankful for the “others” in my life who have made
this side of statistics more livable and full of love!</span><br />
Mistyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14911723338087186922noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765979963761893943.post-56839396264122397512015-08-22T12:51:00.002-07:002015-08-23T03:48:02.751-07:00Let's reach out together<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">It is a fact that every year in the U.S. there are about 2
million women who experience a pregnancy loss. An astounding number of these
women have been left to suffer in silence. Too often the emotional distress,
physical side-effects, loneliness, and grief must unfortunately be “managed” as
they go about their work and personal life, just as though nothing has happened
to them. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Often times when their “condition” is known by others it is
treated as just that, a “condition”. One that must surely resolve with time,
rest, and just not dwelling on it. They are advised by those closest to them not
to be too sad because, “you could always try again”, or “it’s ok because at
least you have other children”, or the worst, “God just needed your baby in
Heaven”. Not only are these women left alone to deal with the trauma of their
baby dying, they are left with feelings of guilt because, for a truly loving
mother or father, there is no way to just get over it or move on.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioItVUcDiMHMzFRbXk45p5P33s0hafjw9EMWeakTh__uSidPDyK6qdnci7-S2cTBzQSRv16ZxJ3qxO1ZVWYOcQl3fNyS8bjlfQcPoDPhP5hM8FMQKjK9LP3iQHhZhLYC4DrVW74Cln8Ek/s1600/Loneliness-thumb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioItVUcDiMHMzFRbXk45p5P33s0hafjw9EMWeakTh__uSidPDyK6qdnci7-S2cTBzQSRv16ZxJ3qxO1ZVWYOcQl3fNyS8bjlfQcPoDPhP5hM8FMQKjK9LP3iQHhZhLYC4DrVW74Cln8Ek/s320/Loneliness-thumb.jpg" width="313" /></span></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">If the baby that died
at 8, 20, or 40 weeks in utero were to be born alive and then tragically die as a
child or teenager the family would receive endless amounts of support (as they
should). What’s the difference? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Should love, care, sadness,
or grief be measured by age or size? Absolutely not. A parent’s love remains
the same for their children no matter the age, size, or gestational age they
may be. If you ask me, that’s nothing to feel guilty about. Nothing at all to
be ashamed of. It’s definitely nothing to belittle.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Whether you were 6
weeks pregnant or 40 weeks pregnant, Hudson’s Bands of Hope wants you to know that
your baby is worth crying over. They’re worth the pain, sadness, and
suffering.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Have you received a bracelet before? Have you sent one to a
loved one? It is more than just a piece of jewelry. It’s acceptance. It’s telling
you that your baby matters and your grief is ok. It’s telling you that
regardless of the number of alive children you have, that baby you carried could
never be replaced. It’s a priceless and one-of-a-kind human being that deserves
shameless love, and sometimes that shameless love means shameless tears.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9lJ7IWS2HzHeFwRDutQk5d-A4Cs6xQx3kLsL_d0mocVvSZI_elg9FV-T6P9H8T4sKWzDy8i3EeJF_nq9Skacz8qRWsHErUoulvhe2BHqua03ti2xvpMaCaHVS6Gya7sZ3dFwg_NimVVo/s1600/you-are-not-alone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></a><br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">Would you help me? Let’s make it our goal to let every
parent of a stillborn or miscarried baby know that their child matters and they are not alone. I would
love to reach them all and I can’t do it alone.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9lJ7IWS2HzHeFwRDutQk5d-A4Cs6xQx3kLsL_d0mocVvSZI_elg9FV-T6P9H8T4sKWzDy8i3EeJF_nq9Skacz8qRWsHErUoulvhe2BHqua03ti2xvpMaCaHVS6Gya7sZ3dFwg_NimVVo/s1600/you-are-not-alone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9lJ7IWS2HzHeFwRDutQk5d-A4Cs6xQx3kLsL_d0mocVvSZI_elg9FV-T6P9H8T4sKWzDy8i3EeJF_nq9Skacz8qRWsHErUoulvhe2BHqua03ti2xvpMaCaHVS6Gya7sZ3dFwg_NimVVo/s320/you-are-not-alone.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">I’ve mentioned
previously that we have a golf outing coming up soon. What If every golfer that
was there were representing a baby in Heaven? Do you know a golfer who could
represent yours? Or your sister’s, friend’s, neighbors, or co-workers? Could
you tell them about our golf outing?<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">Not only could each golfer represent a baby but each one
that is there represents about 5 women who will be touched by HBOH, monetarily
speaking. Please, go tell everyone you know about the golf outing. Let them
know how important this is.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">For more information
about the outing you can visit </span><a href="http://www.hbohgolfouting.com/"><span style="color: #0563c1; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">www.hbohgolfouting.com</span></a><o:p></o:p><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">Sincere thanks to you for your support and heart, along with
mine, to put your arms around grieving mothers everywhere.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;"><3 Misty<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
Mistyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14911723338087186922noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765979963761893943.post-45535226365526078512015-07-21T20:00:00.003-07:002015-07-21T20:04:24.875-07:00It's that time again!Time has slipped by so quickly in the last couple months and obviously I've struggled keeping in contact with you all. I've not failed to think of you, though. I promise you that.<br />
<br />
As always, many questions, comments, thank-you's, and heart-wrenching stories have come through my phone, emails, and social media messages and my heart really goes out to all of you. Some are newly walking this horrible road of deep grief, some are helplessly watching a loved one's heartache and others are looking toward painful anniversaries. Whatever the case may be, you've been on my mind and in my prayers. <br />
<br />
With each of those notes or messages my passion is rekindled and it makes me so excited about this time of year. I'm excited because we are preparing for our 2nd Annual Charity Golf Outing and Silent Auction for HBOH. Last year's golf outing was tremendously successful with about $7,000 raised! We had amazing support from the community, sponsors, and an outpouring of help from some wonderful volunteers. <br />
<br />
The golf outings are pivotal for HBOH because such a large amount of money can keep us running for quite some time and it allows us so much freedom to easily expand to other hospitals. Not only is this charity event beneficial because it raises money, but it raises awareness on such an important topic that is often times overlooked. <br />
<br />
This year's outing will be held on Saturday, September 19th. You can find all the details below or at <a href="http://www.hbohgolfouting.com/">www.hbohgolfouting.com</a> Please make sure you check out our Facebook page too and share it with friends! Just search for 2nd Annual HBOH Golf Outing.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMFwONsDDwveEUVGHEodlc-vlocSolsT6Lko5P7RhintBDOIA8sN7KstmhH12uHTsLM-6SFheC-wWeA5CfMPMN4DRNj9KaGOAWleMiZUaX_A4tBG6QFU3OycgO4YR1YUPRblg9X8sJWOI/s1600/2nd+annual+Save+the+Date.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMFwONsDDwveEUVGHEodlc-vlocSolsT6Lko5P7RhintBDOIA8sN7KstmhH12uHTsLM-6SFheC-wWeA5CfMPMN4DRNj9KaGOAWleMiZUaX_A4tBG6QFU3OycgO4YR1YUPRblg9X8sJWOI/s400/2nd+annual+Save+the+Date.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Everyone can be a part of this special event in one way or another. Whether it's signing up to golf, telling your husband, dad, uncle or neighbor to sign up, sharing the event with everyone you know, sharing with us if you know of a local business that may be interested in sponsoring, volunteering your time, or donating some items for our silent auction. There are so many options! If you have any questions please don't hesitate to ask. <br />
<br />
It is people like you that keep this running and people like you that keep me motivated to continue on spreading a little hope to those who need it most. Mistyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14911723338087186922noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765979963761893943.post-7100645611785946552015-05-05T19:44:00.000-07:002015-05-05T19:44:05.644-07:00You're Still a Mom<span style="font-family: inherit;">I really believe it defies biological facts and current life
situations. It’s more than what outsiders see looking in. It’s more than a
diaper bag in tow, cheerios scattered on the floor, soccer mom vans, a box of
teddy grahams in the shopping cart, and helping with homework. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It’s a lot more.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Before I became a mom I had the knowledge that mothers love
their children. I also had the firm belief that a mother’s primary job was to
make her kids behave in a certain manner. There was so much that I couldn’t see.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEkQX6kipMSf_DCnxxVtUdPOU0DQEjJc4xRNZXr9rFpucTTUchqcH3gKba04uMSkR5XjO3CihVAaDhQG6ma4GaI5wdC0GbZuNiqjXpYwseUL4Vh_LYO6RXvmoHK0hLM25_aQhhBiKojZA/s1600/backlit-tulips%5B1%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEkQX6kipMSf_DCnxxVtUdPOU0DQEjJc4xRNZXr9rFpucTTUchqcH3gKba04uMSkR5XjO3CihVAaDhQG6ma4GaI5wdC0GbZuNiqjXpYwseUL4Vh_LYO6RXvmoHK0hLM25_aQhhBiKojZA/s1600/backlit-tulips%5B1%5D.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
I didn’t see how a woman’s heart was literally transformed
when she became a mother, nor could I begin to the fathom the capacity to which
it could love and the power which that love could contain.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I didn’t know that being a mom changed every single thing
about a woman. It makes her completely new in so many ways. A mother’s love
changes the way she thinks and operates. It makes a mark on every small detail
of her life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
All that any passerby can see is the physical. They see
what’s right in front of them – or for the sake of this post – what’s right in
front (or beside, or behind) of you. If they don’t see it then they don’t know
it’s there. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">That love. They don’t know it’s there but it is.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
My heart hurts for each of you – especially on Mother’s Day.
A day where women are celebrated because of who they are in a child’s life.
There are so many of you out there whose heart beats to a new rhythm because of
the baby you love. The one that has changed your life forever. But there’s
little acknowledgement or celebration for those who don’t have the physical
evidence of motherhood. And let me just say it – it’s not fair.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Don’t let the cashier, the Mother’s Day commercials, or
Hallmark try to convince you for a moment that you aren’t a mom, because you
are. You have that love and they just don’t see it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
I know this holiday isn’t an easy one for so many of you and
I would love to hug each of you and tell you Happy Mother’s Day. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">You’re still a mom. The evidence is woven into every thread
of your heart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
Mistyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14911723338087186922noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765979963761893943.post-73261323770453851522015-02-27T15:48:00.001-08:002015-02-27T15:48:20.266-08:00When your partner's sorrow looks different than yours
<span style="font-family: inherit;">If you’ve read the title to this post then there is a good
chance that you don’t need to read any more to know exactly what I am going to
say. Maybe just reading the title sparked a familiar pang in your heart. One
you aren’t completely comfortable with.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Being that I am on the female end of this two sided topic it
is naturally really easy for me to speak from just one side. Probably the same one
you are on, considering that I have pretty much all female readers. But let me give
you a heads-up. I’m going to do my very best to present a fresh perspective –
the one of the father – the other side, if you will. And please don’t get me
wrong here. I’m not saying there should actually be two sides, because mother
and father should undoubtedly always be a team...</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxI2PzLGTI4JhOIxZEpMS5ANWSON4JSLyAKLvEzKIh9BFIJPu6nZh9d5Gw0XabNN1HvKv1NaqFVVwLVgVmWHZycyQ613Yw9-wmMUdbfNeDxDp0G06g16TNiBq0xMqGJ79qQsZMP84LfoU/s1600/transparent-95031.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxI2PzLGTI4JhOIxZEpMS5ANWSON4JSLyAKLvEzKIh9BFIJPu6nZh9d5Gw0XabNN1HvKv1NaqFVVwLVgVmWHZycyQ613Yw9-wmMUdbfNeDxDp0G06g16TNiBq0xMqGJ79qQsZMP84LfoU/s1600/transparent-95031.png" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> remember being angry. I was mad that Brady had a job and could
leave the house all day and I couldn’t. I was mad that he could smile and
laugh. It hurt when he would say, “Can we just go one day without talking about
this?” And my whole entire world was wrapped up in the “this” he was referring to.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnuMRdXuN9-YtfGpRoExZecHGuPCrg5RiPLliUuOrR9a5DzfWFV0yFq3MizxSFjzzPzOuVLHQ1IOO9WJ-_cvshaem3cM-1m5c_uLKjj-nImPBYP5gTfqUxmgmrHQhopi5Rgr0TStW8YPE/s1600/IMG_5669-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnuMRdXuN9-YtfGpRoExZecHGuPCrg5RiPLliUuOrR9a5DzfWFV0yFq3MizxSFjzzPzOuVLHQ1IOO9WJ-_cvshaem3cM-1m5c_uLKjj-nImPBYP5gTfqUxmgmrHQhopi5Rgr0TStW8YPE/s1600/IMG_5669-2.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></span></a><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
I was in survival mode. I was doing all I could to remove
myself from bed in the mornings and function as a normal human, and on top of
that take care of the little human that I spent my days with. I had to be
normal-ish for him and that was really my only motivation. </span><br />
<o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></o:p><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
I was swimming in an ocean full of different feelings,
thoughts, and emotions and it was all I could do to breathe and stay afloat. I
was looking out for myself. I needed myself to make it through. I wanted to
protect myself from any added pain. Myself...<span style="font-size: x-small;">myself</span>....<span style="font-size: xx-small;">myself</span></span><br />
<o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></o:p><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
I had no clue that while I was swimming in the emotion ocean
focused solely on my own survival I had a lifeguard on the side trying to throw
in the lifesaver.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
But I wouldn’t let him.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
He was wounded too, but he was trying to take care of his
family. He was doing what he knew to make it all better for us while at the same
time reeling from the death of HIS son.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
I just couldn’t see it. All I could see was how I felt. All
I knew was that I wanted him to grieve with me and I felt so alone. The one and
only person I wanted the most to cry with me was my husband. </span><br />
<o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></o:p><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
Oh what I’ve learned since then! And I don’t mean like the
next few days or weeks or months after it all. I mean like, just in the last
year. Perhaps I’m slower than most, but I’ve just recently caught on to what was truly going
on in those moments.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
It took us a good year or two to start having open
conversations about Hudson and how Brady felt about it. Let me tell you, these
conversations weren’t pretty. After I figured out how to put away all my
defenses and “but I” remarks I learned something, and to be honest, it cut me to
the core. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
I learned he was grieving just like me. Only it looked
different. This is probably no surprise to you and you’re probably thinking I’ve
lost my mind if I couldn’t see that then. The thing is, I think I did see it but I didn’t
accept it. I saw his attempts to make me smile and change the course of my day but
I wouldn’t accept them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">What changed it all for me was when Brady began to explain
that he would have to go to work and hear, from his co-workers, “How is your
wife?” He would hear from his friends, “How is your wife?” He would hear from
his family, “How is Misty doing?” Rarely, very rarely, was he asked about himself.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
He explained to me that there were many days he would leave
work and go straight to Hudson’s grave to stare at the cold slab of concrete and
weep. He would then come home and do his very best to hold the walls of our home
together with whatever strength he could muster. He knew I would be a mess and
he knew our 17 month old needed a happy daddy. So he did what every good man
would do. He tried to keep me from getting messier and keep a smile on Dawson’s
face and a laughter in his heart. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5rzlRHx_urJHzfhXVXWgEnLljSuuZ3b-Pa0I36vnlABtB0b-2aoFtuPOhjeThhysaNgNCU2unEf6LtJGO9CKRg9fGbMRZBgo7Me19S3OdR6piY-a9Gpm-R0Z6xNLeqcBDYuhq61t386s/s1600/Brady.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5rzlRHx_urJHzfhXVXWgEnLljSuuZ3b-Pa0I36vnlABtB0b-2aoFtuPOhjeThhysaNgNCU2unEf6LtJGO9CKRg9fGbMRZBgo7Me19S3OdR6piY-a9Gpm-R0Z6xNLeqcBDYuhq61t386s/s1600/Brady.jpg" height="210" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">If I had it all to do over again now, I would try harder to
remove myself from my own sorrow and look for my husband’s. I would share my
appreciation with him for trying so hard as opposed to hiding under the blanket
of hurt when he appeared to be so much better off than me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I’ve come to terms with
myself that I wasn’t a team player through that difficult journey. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I put up the armor around my heart and eyes
and didn’t even know I was doing it. Thank God that I can now see Brady’s
perspective in it all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
I’m taking a stab and
guessing that potentially you’ve felt alone in your relationship with your
spouse or partner even as you’ve both grieved over the same exact thing.
Possibly you’ve felt like they don’t understand or care. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">What if they do? What if they’re trying to stay strong for
you? Could you see it? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
I’m one of the lucky ones because my husband finally opened
up to show me his perspective. Not all men are willing to do this and I’m
hoping that sharing these insights with you could bring you a step closer to
understanding your partner’s perspective as well.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Please, please feel free to share your own thoughts and insights with us all.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
Mistyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14911723338087186922noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765979963761893943.post-74984336770416206262015-02-01T12:42:00.000-08:002015-02-01T12:42:32.836-08:00Due date<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">If you know me really well you know that my brain has a
built in calendar. Remembering important dates, or just semi-important dates,
or even completely random and unimportant dates comes rather easily for me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">For instance, all of my babies were actually born before
their due dates, but those dates are still etched permanently into my mind. The
anniversaries of May 12, 2011, and January 22, 2014 always take my mind to fond
thoughts of all the anticipation I felt, and brand new baby I was just learning
about. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The anniversary of February 1, 2013 takes me to a different
place though. That was Hudson’s due date and today I’m there… in that place of
swirling memories.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hudson’s due date is so special to me because it was the day
that I walked onto the Birthing Center hall for the first time following Hudson’s
delivery 3 months prior. It was a painful but purposeful journey because what I
held in my hand in that moment was the launching pad to fulfilling Hudson’s
mission here on Earth.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6BbH3_185sLaoZEeibPwlk9dPdrmo4vIVooS10UuNqN0PlexTNQN5mSlQNa3TuHXGd6FqzsnyeL5ZBr_CkDyPW7zR9Fu8vfkq3PgCaRbm_OIS-gm7jaVFu9cdSRvfT9Nmg0Jvl-g5gBc/s1600/DSCN0322.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6BbH3_185sLaoZEeibPwlk9dPdrmo4vIVooS10UuNqN0PlexTNQN5mSlQNa3TuHXGd6FqzsnyeL5ZBr_CkDyPW7zR9Fu8vfkq3PgCaRbm_OIS-gm7jaVFu9cdSRvfT9Nmg0Jvl-g5gBc/s1600/DSCN0322.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This bracelet was given by the nurses on that floor to a
hurting mother who days before had just delivered her own angel baby. I did not
know this mom. I did not know her baby, but I know that Hudson’s life touched
hers that day. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">For 5 precious months I looked forward to February 1<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">st</span></sup>,
2013 and to say I was grief-stricken without my baby boy in my arms on that day
would be an understatement, but there’s something amazing in it all…<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Even though Hudson never entered this world on February 1<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">st</span></sup>,2013
he did leave a big mark that day. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The first of many, and I must say how grateful I am that the emptiness of my arms has helped to fill a portion of the hole in the hearts of so many others!</span>Mistyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14911723338087186922noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765979963761893943.post-86962047652037227382015-01-23T12:23:00.002-08:002015-01-23T12:30:30.493-08:00Does time heal and will I be normal again?<span style="font-family: inherit;">It’s been 2 years, 4 months, and 13 days since I discovered
my baby’s heart had quit beating. It doesn’t feel that long ago and yet it
feels like eternity. Although the passing of time has brought some new good
things, on occasion I resent time’s movement because many days it feels like I’m
getting further and further away from my little boy. I fear the memories will
fade to bare minimum. I don’t ever want to forget holding Hudson. I don’t want
to forget carrying him in my womb or my pregnant belly. Most of all, I don’t
want to forget how it all felt. The agony. The anger. The grief. I want to
remember it all.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m guessing that if you yourself have lost a baby then you
may understand where I’m coming from. There’s not much to hold on to as time
rolls on. Sure, I have a wonderful collection knick-knacks that have become
very dear to me. I have lots of treasured photos, and journal writings to last
a lifetime.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But you know what? Of everything tangible or not, that which
was closest and most personal to me of all, were my feelings. The raw gut
sensation that sent me into fits of anger and tears. The washing of grief
numbing me to the bone. I wanted to escape them in the moment. I wanted to run
as far away as possible from the weight of all I felt. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I remember being in very inactive labor with
Hudson. I was growing restless just lying in the hospital bed. My room was full
of close family chatting to pass time and the mix of physical pain, emotional
pain, an uncomfortable bed, and idle chatter had me so restless. I walked
around the small delivery room weaving in and out of randomly placed chairs. I
knew my family was watching me but I looked down in order to avoid any sort of
eye contact. Many times I was asked if I wanted to walk the halls but I quickly
turned down every offer. I didn’t feel adequate enough to walk the halls of
such a happy and heart-warming floor. I didn’t want to encounter the strange look
of a single soul as I stumbled by with a hospital gown draped loosely over my
small pregnant frame. I didn’t have a big 40-week belly and if someone saw me
then they would know something was wrong. I couldn’t handle the possibility of
one innocent question by a random passerby. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Well, after weaving through all the chairs for a couple of
minutes I decided to step outside. I reasoned that my room was at the end of
the hall, set away from all the happy faces. If I stayed right outside my door
then possibly no one would see me. I walked out to the end of the hall and
stood in front of the large window and peered out to the traffic below. My
husband was with me with his arm around my back. First I thought of how badly I
wanted to be home reading books in the rocking chair with my 16 month old, in
preparation for his nap time. That’s what I should be doing. Then as I looked
out the window, I chose a random vehicle driving by and thought, I want to be
them. How carefree to be driving around town on a sunny September afternoon. Anything
sounded better than this.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I was sure I would never be normal again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would never have another carefree sunny day
to enjoy. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">This is such a simple but profound memory for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I was right. I would never be “normal” again, but as time
passes a new normal does show up. The old normal is easier and less
complicated, however, it doesn’t understand all that I understand now and it
doesn’t have the capacity for love that this new normal has. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">After such a tragedy, normal changes and so does time. Time
will move incredibly slow at first and then regain it’s typical pace. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And then one day you’ll see how much time has changed you.
Sure, the memories become a little fuzzier. That’s why I write them and share
them so much. But time will cause you to learn a new way of life. One in which
your days are more purposeful and you learn to live a differently.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Time has separated me from the raw emotion and anger, and time
has given me the chance to learn things I would’ve otherwise never understood. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">In the aftermath of a tragic loss, well-meaning people
rehearse empty lines just because they don’t know what else to say. They’ll
tell you time will heal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">They’re wrong. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Yes, you will experience some healing of the anger and
grief. But it will never ever heal the wound. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I remember thinking, I just wish time would hurry up and get
here. I believed those people that told me time would heal the pain. In the
moment I had to believe that something would heal it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">As the calendar pages turn and the new normal fully moves in
then you’ll see it happening. You’ll find ways to cope and it’s in those ways,
whatever they look like, that you’ll feel your heart strengthen. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">For me the memories are too precious to want to forget. I
understand I’m lucky because it’s not that way for everyone. Maybe you think I’m
crazy for claiming that I don’t want to forget the pain... And maybe I am just
crazy. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then crazy I’ll be. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">If you’re in the thick of grief right now and desperate to
know when or how it will get better, just hold still. Cling to what you find to
be dear to you in the moment and watch and see. It’ll happen.<o:p></o:p></span>Mistyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14911723338087186922noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765979963761893943.post-9971054953014010572014-12-24T17:48:00.002-08:002015-01-23T12:30:00.375-08:00A Baby Boy - Our Eternal GiftIt's Christmas and everyone is either talking about Santa or the baby in the manger. For many of you I'm sure the ladder of those two topics brings about some different kinds of feelings. It definitely does for me. <br />
<br />
It started after I had my first son, Dawson. The whole "baby boy" thing just seemed more tangible to me. I could put myself in Mary's shoes, or attempt to, and it all felt so personal.<br />
<br />
Christmas came just three months after my second baby boy went to Heaven and that absolutely put a new spin on the "baby boy" thing. Songs like "Mary did you Know?" could push me over the edge. Though I love that song all I could (and sometimes still) think about is the baby boy I wasn't holding. <br />
<br />
Well, to add another spin to my Christmas-y ponderings I've put myself in God's shoes. I realize that's totally not even remotely possible, but let me explain.<br />
<br />
I said good-bye to Hudson and right away I was angry with God. I didn't know exactly why, other than He was in control and He clearly did not honor my wishes or my prayers for that matter. I knew enough in my head not to blame God but my heart had a hard time not doing so.<br />
<br />
I'll never forget thinking about how I could NEVER be God. For a huge amount of reasons but mostly because there was no way I could hand my son to the sinful nature of man to be battered and bruised for their iniquities. NO WAY! While going through this it hit me. I started to realize one of the reasons I was angry with God. The words came from my mouth...<br />
<br />
"But you got your son back!!!!"<br />
<br />
Oh it made me mad to think about. I wasn't getting mine back. This wasn't my choice. God CHOSE to send his OWN son for us. And in that time my mind was convinced that it was because He knew He would get Jesus back. What a selfish thing, I thought.<br />
<br />
I feel foolish for writing all of this for people to read. Thinking back, I do understand my thought process but I also understand now that my anger blinded me from the real truth.<br />
<br />
God did make the choice to send His only son to Earth. And yes, He did get Jesus back for all eternity. But there's more to it. The only reason God did this was for US! <br />
<br />
If God didn't make that choice then Hell would be our home for all eternity. Instead, He chose to send a baby to this world that would one day die upon a cross so that all creation could have the chance to live in Heaven with our creator. <br />
<br />
And with our babies.<br />
<br />
That's what I think about now. It wasn't selfish of God. It just appeared so in the moment when I too angry to look at the big picture. <br />
<br />
God designed all of this so that we might be saved and as a perk we can live eternally in Heaven with those babies we long so desperately to have with us right now.<br />
<br />
When I take a step back and stretch my mind to think about eternity - forever and ever and ever. This life I live now seems so small and I'm thankful that when I go to Heaven I can spend ALL of forever with Hudson and those that I love.<br />
<br />
There's a good chance I'm the only one who thinks these crazy thoughts, but then again, there's a good chance I'm not. Today I challenge to you to look at the big picture. If it's just to hard then give it some time. If you really don't understand the big picture or anything that I've written then by all means ask God to help you. <br />
<br />
I pray for a Merry Christmas for all of you. I pray that your hearts find peace in knowing that the baby we celebrate has died to make a place in Heaven for your baby, and for you when you accept Him into your heart. Mistyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14911723338087186922noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765979963761893943.post-82738222871908054002014-11-13T10:35:00.001-08:002014-11-13T10:47:02.651-08:00His Strength"Fear not, for I am with you; Be not dismayed, for I <em>am</em> your God. I will strengthen you, Yes, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand." <br />
<br />
This verse from Isaiah chapter 41 verse 10 was one that I fell in love with months prior to my whole world crashing. It's just comforting to remind myself from time to time through life's various seasons and challenges that God's got this. Whatever I might be afraid of, confused about, or weary dealing with - it's in God's hands. He will help me and He will see me through it. Seems simple enough.<br />
<br />
...Until I needed to remember it the most. I'll never forget the moments I wept looking toward Heaven asking God why He forgot about me. For weeks I was unable to utter even the simplest prayer because, although my head knew God had not forgotten about me, my heart and everything else felt completely abandoned by Him. The most I could do was write Him notes. <br />
<br />
Yes, I said I wrote God notes. I knew I needed to talk to Him but I just couldn't muster anything more than the same questions and pleas for my life to be put back together. <br />
<br />
As time went on I began seeing the very obvious hand of God in my every day comings and goings. I was in the uttermost parts of grief's deepest and darkest valleys and I found myself stunned by God's work in my life.<br />
<br />
Those must have been the times He was holding me the highest. Thank God, for moments at a time He would lift me from the raging waters of life so I could take a deep breath and regain the strength to fight the currents some more.<br />
<br />
The crazy thing is, in the middle of it all, I really had no concept of exactly how He was helping and strengthening me. At least in my life it takes a little (no, alot) time to see how it is all being worked out.<br />
<br />
In those times I may not have seen or felt God walking with me. It felt as though He was gone but He was working. Boy, was He working! Today I enjoy much of the benefits of God's work as He crafted some amazing things behind the scenes while I pleaded for His help.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFFWVejQwe8Z-12VShnwlQtE8KrphhQBKHjkoMt6-dwofQv6yDwS1oy918eRYi09pMVGMWCaY5N9qnTrME6XbEFmKSmZD9p-01cLQOXRoQ4ZvY-RB1NVRIjln2VF1vSX_5snkqBonk2Nk/s1600/DSCN2879.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFFWVejQwe8Z-12VShnwlQtE8KrphhQBKHjkoMt6-dwofQv6yDwS1oy918eRYi09pMVGMWCaY5N9qnTrME6XbEFmKSmZD9p-01cLQOXRoQ4ZvY-RB1NVRIjln2VF1vSX_5snkqBonk2Nk/s320/DSCN2879.JPG" width="320" /></a>This is one of them. Well I suppose 4 of them to be exact. I am continually amazed at the weaving of lives and relationships that has taken place in the last 2 years.<br />
<br />
You see, in the immediate aftermath of burying our baby I began watching as my relationships and interactions with others changed. I saw connections being made with complete strangers and others that I always felt close to I saw distancing themselves.<br />
<br />
Major life events always create change. The death of a child is no exception. It has a way of bridging gaps and cutting bridges. At first I mostly saw the bridges disappear, but I am extremely fortunate as time moved on to watch as God brought people into my life; friends I would've never met, support from unlikely acquaintances and deeper connections from previously shallow how-do-you-do's. All of this because of Hudson.<br />
<br />
In this picture is just some of the ladies that I've been paired up with to walk this journey and to glean strength from. I count my blessings when I am with these girls (plus some others!) because I know that it was God's handiwork and pain's deepest longings that brought us together. <br />
<br />
God really was strengthening me all along. All the times I felt like an orphaned child He was just busy creating blessing after blessing and lining up every perfect detail that would get me from there to here. He was making links and crafting connections I could've never done on my own and I'm certain He had to be smiling all the while knowing how good it would be. <br />
<br />
Dear momma, please know that in the darkest part of it all God is holding you in one hand and crafting everything you need with the other. You may not feel the strength in the midst of the raging waters but it's what keeps you from drowning. Watch closely as you too will eventually see God's amazing work in your situation. Mistyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14911723338087186922noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765979963761893943.post-39583980732499298002014-09-10T04:44:00.000-07:002014-10-13T05:43:36.835-07:00Memories, Shock, and Learning to Live: The Second Anniversary Perspective<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I don’t know how my memory knew to keep detailed files of
those days, but it did. Somehow it took scrupulous notes even before it knew
what was going to happen. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Like, I can remember conversations and thoughts I had. I can
remember certain things I looked at. I remember the smiles on people’s faces.
The second glances and stares; none of those things ever really playing a part
of the big picture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then I can
remember the feeling of my pounding heart, the chills, the nervous sweats, the
physical feeling of grief’s hand pushing me into the ground.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMFqwUdkfdi_aiLau1iXtiUdzRylNmoZBiQnI69P54UR1v0_9nHHbVdJVY-5M6SHyexl59TS0b4XiP6wb0c0KDvUdKAktDr1iaaXgoO9JEs24cn9jHVtaTJfK1iiNHWBJNgMMXYMhhbvA/s1600/SDC12928.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMFqwUdkfdi_aiLau1iXtiUdzRylNmoZBiQnI69P54UR1v0_9nHHbVdJVY-5M6SHyexl59TS0b4XiP6wb0c0KDvUdKAktDr1iaaXgoO9JEs24cn9jHVtaTJfK1iiNHWBJNgMMXYMhhbvA/s1600/SDC12928.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was taken only in an effort to capture <br />
my baby belly one last time. I had no<br />
intention of sharing it with anyone.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Here I am on September 11<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup>, 2012 -The morning
after we began our spiraling descent. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
obvious thing you see here is a saddened face, and Hudson’s lovie – never to be
squeezed in his tiny hands, but if you look closely you’ll see shock. Lots of
it. When I look at this picture I think about how clueless I was at that time
and how in shock I was. I’ve learned now <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>those two go hand in hand. My mind was still
reeling from the day before and trying to process the timeline of events. When
you jump from the mountain top to crash in the valley I guess you’re likely to
be disoriented… and I was. </span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This picture was snapped by my husband just after the nurse
escorted us to our delivery room, handed me my hospital gown and all of the
literature I still haven’t read. In this moment I was trying to figure out how
I would muster the (emotional) strength to slip on that gown and sit in some
compliant manner on that bed to which I was about to deliver my stillborn baby.
I still don’t know how I did it. Shock was on my side as I answered the intake
questions and then swallowed the pill to begin induction. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Moments of that day are etched into my heart as immediate tear
triggers. Not the expected ones like meeting Hudson for the first time. The
unexpected ones – like the sound of the strong heartbeat on the monitor in the
room next to mine. Or the moment I began screaming “NO, NO, NO!” right before
my son was born. My body was in the worst pain of my life but the pain
registered in my heart spoke those words. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hudson was born very early the following morning on
September 12<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup>, at 1:38 to be exact. Though his soul never entered
this World his body did and that was a surprisingly quiet and peaceful entrance
aside from my physical state. At 1:38 am I met Hudson and I met the Peace of
God in a brand new and profound way. God held me in his hand as I held Hudson in
mine. If ever I’ve seen a miracle- this was surely it.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Every time I look at pictures of myself in the hospital I see
it. I see God’s plan - that simple hospital band around my
wrist. Who knew that right then and there I was wearing the purpose of Hudson’s
life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Little did I know that later that
day I would stare at that bracelet with enormously fond feelings.</span><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidaFf-OyCM5aVDqM4Kn62784com4Z1-JuOTryZq5L8nKRhLuLjpRpRU_sdrwtQVpZR8tWSW0lCdw_zaNnUJH5iQUUwqaCMK1PIl8mFrU2Uhd1MPtCFAtCilK-q8fQn6IeafrUUECIs7ds/s1600/IMG_5716.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidaFf-OyCM5aVDqM4Kn62784com4Z1-JuOTryZq5L8nKRhLuLjpRpRU_sdrwtQVpZR8tWSW0lCdw_zaNnUJH5iQUUwqaCMK1PIl8mFrU2Uhd1MPtCFAtCilK-q8fQn6IeafrUUECIs7ds/s1600/IMG_5716.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Saying good-bye to Hudson</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Leaving the hospital and heading home to figure out life
wasn’t real impossible at first. Even his burial service that following Saturday
wasn’t impossible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Really, in that time
the blinds weren’t completely closed. There was still some shock and the near
constant company of others that held the blinds open for a little light to seep
through. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And then Monday came. I’m certain the shock was buried in
the ground with my baby on Saturday, or else maybe it hopped into Brady’s truck
and went to work with him on Monday. One way or the other Monday morning came
with its shovels burying me into a darker pit – one that no one invited me
into, no one accompanied me. No one even showed me the door to get out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and so forth
were much like Monday. I remember very little from that week and the weeks to
come. My mind’s rolodex took minimal notes from that time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do recall anxiously checking the mail every
day hoping to find at least one more “Thinking of You” card. Once I had one in
my hand I would run to my couch to read it. I think I felt like maybe that
person was sitting on the sunken cushions of the couch with me and in that time
I wasn’t so alone. I remember when my sister came over and I stepped outside to
talk with her. My words turned to sobs quickly and so there wasn’t much
conversation but it was light outside. I remember the outside and it was light.
It stuck out to me like a brand new sensation. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A really foreign one, actually. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In my history books the month of September, 2012 has been
scribbled on by a black marker.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">October sticks out in
my mind as the month I attempted to live again. Little things like taking pictures of Dawson,
going grocery shopping and wearing make-up on an almost daily basis entered my
life again. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">November was a rollercoaster of a month. One day I would
think, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">wow, I haven’t cried yet today!</i>
And in the very next moment I would come across a baby item or get a diaper
coupon in the mail and that was it.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">December left me with
a few good memories; like being able to talk with a fellow mother who was about
to deliver the baby she carried that was not compatible with life, or the
evening that Brady and I were able to remember Hudson’s life along with other grieving parents
during a ceremony at the hospital. In December I remember feeling horribly
stagnant. Christmas meant presents and I wanted nothing to do with them. I told
Brady and I asked God so many times that all I wanted was to make a difference,
to find purpose.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In January I remember
the nagging, itching, drive-me-crazy feeling of needing to do something. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also remember driving past the hospital
weeks before my due date and crying because all I wanted was to go deliver my baby,
an alive one, like I should have.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>January meant Hudson’s due date was near and that God was up to something.
Something that I look at now and still can’t fully wrap my mind around. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Today as I look around and see my time consumed with
bracelets and emails, I hear people talk about Hudson and God and what the two
of them have done together it baffles me. How did that day of sheer
hopelessness, grief and shock become this? How did that bracelet do so much?
All of those memories – good or bad – I’m thankful for them. I’m thankful
for the fingerprints of God left upon the calendar pages that year.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This week we celebrate Hudson’s birthday with joy (and some tears) knowing
that his life matters and impacts the lives of others every day. </span></div>
Mistyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14911723338087186922noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765979963761893943.post-53399583617852985122014-08-17T17:57:00.000-07:002014-09-10T04:49:34.701-07:00Mark your Calendars!Creativity hasn't ever been my strong point, so when I've tried brainstorming ideas to raise money to continue producing and mailing bracelets I've hit a brick wall. Like, every single time. That's where prayer comes in real handy. I began praying at the beginning of this year that someone would be put in my path to help me raise money. <br />
<br />
Of course God came through and He sent Kyle and Samantha Fouts my way. This couple has been amazing! Following their own tragic loss they felt compelled to help me help others and I am so very thankful for their hearts to help.<br />
<br />
They put their heads together and have organized a Charity Golf Outing to benefit Hudson's Bands of Hope. This will be our biggest fundraiser yet!<br />
<br />
Mark your calendars and tell your friends! If you are in the Kokomo, Indiana area the outing is scheduled for September 20th at 1:00. We have had great support from several sponsors and various gift donors! So, come golf, get a free t-shirt and lunch, support a good cause and win some great prizes!!<br />
<br />
Visit <a href="http://www.hbohgolfouting.com/">www.hbohgolfouting.com</a> to register yourself or a team!Mistyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14911723338087186922noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765979963761893943.post-56965366407396952032014-08-11T04:15:00.000-07:002014-08-11T04:15:29.712-07:00Big News!When I made my last post I had no idea what would happen in the days to follow. This last week has been a big one! It began with a letter in the mail from the IRS stating that Hudson's Bands of Hope has been approved as a 501(c)(3) non-profit corporation! Then I was surprised with a beautiful gift and constant reminder of God's hand in this ministry. <br />
<br />
It was the kind of week when I look up and say, "Wow, God! This is SO much bigger than me!" <br />
<br />
Now let me get to the mush-gushy, emotional side of it all. Because you know, I don't know how to write about something unless my heart makes a few comments. <br />
<br />
Let me take you on a little journey here, if you will...<br />
<br />
Hudson's Bands of Hope didn't begin with a big idea and future perspective. It didn't begin with intention to become a corporation that has affected so many people. <br />
<br />
It began with just a modest goal of putting bracelets on the wrists of 12 grieving mommies...<br />
<br />
I take that back. It actually began with just the urge to do something special for Hudson on his due date.<br />
<br />
I figured that if I could help someone at the same time then that would be ideal. I'll never forget when the thought crossed my mind. It was a profound moment as I sat on my sister's couch writing down my ideas and enjoying the silence of sleeping children - hers and mine. <br />
<br />
I thought back - trying to remember what someone did for me that was really special. I knew that is what I would want to do for someone else.<br />
<br />
We received SO MANY thoughtful gestures following Hudson's birth, but my first and only thought went to my hospital band. Memories flashed in my mind; like when I clutched it as I exited the hospital, or when I walked down the sidewalk of my little town wondering and kind-of hoping that someone would notice it.<br />
<br />
Immediately following that flash back I looked down at my wrist, wearing a simple chain bracelet with two blue footprints on a heart charm. Honestly, there was no moment in time where I decided, <em>oh yes, give moms a bracelet. That would be a great idea.</em> Instead I grabbed my phone and called the hospital. After that conversation my mind was made up. I would one way or another come up with 12 bracelets to give to the moms that would leave the hospital after delivering their angels. 12 should cover the year 2013<br />
<br />
I would have been happy to provide just enough bracelets for that year. Never did it occur to me that something big was about to happen. <br />
<br />
That small goal led me to ask my Facebook friends if they would want to donate some money to this project in memory of their angel babies. That one post far exceeded my expectations and from it alone I collected $800. After realizing enough bracelets could be made to give some to another hospital I decided to name the project. Just a couple of days stewing over the name and I knew "Hudson's Bands of Hope" was the right one.<br />
<br />
The word "Hope" in that name was not my choice. It was God's. I know it. At the time that I was deciding on the name my cousin shared a scripture with me - the one I've shared with those who receive a bracelet: <br />
<br />
"And now, Lord, what do I hope for? My hope is in you, Lord." Psalms 39:7<br />
<br />
Not long after that, my mother called to tell me she found a bead with the word "hope" inscribed on it and she thought it would be a great idea to add to the bracelets. My mom nor my cousin had spoke to each other and neither of them knew I was deciding on a name. It was clear. God was wanting me to share His hope with these mothers. <br />
<br />
The first bracelet, prayer card and message of Hope was delivered to the hospital on Hudson's due date, just as I had originally planned. From that moment forward I watched as the donations and requests for bracelets came flooding in. It didn't take long for me to realize that this was God's idea and he was just using me to accomplish it. <br />
<br />
Nearly two years have passed since my sweet Hudson was born and today I am still overwhelmed by the call on his life. I am still stunned as I think back to these meager beginnings.<br />
<br />
To date Hudson's Bands of Hope have been distributed from 9 different hospitals and 4 partnering ministries. They have been mailed to 16 different states and even into Canada. They've been handed to nearly 1,000 women! <br />
<br />
God has seen fit for me to walk blindly on this journey. He created the ministry, he sustains it and he grows it and I am confident that His work is not yet finished.<br />
<br />
I barely had enough time to fully digest the fact that this is really, seriously a working non-profit organization before Brady takes me to the hospital on Wednesday night. I didn't know what I was doing there for sure but I knew my birthday was just the day before and it must have something to do with HBOH. <br />
<br />
Upon arrival, the amazing Birthing Center nurses gave me this breathtaking canvas!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ-4NuL1fEtx14Sci4WmQmrHAVUJiW2vTAepigE7VvXCaTAG13YZunkcEhdJtUv2U35OviVmdGwNHZvCa7DAIyiLCcGuGeC3BE4bNpoICFtuLgLNvdWqXu_IHAPQ8Wf0ARbVwJ4m-q60E/s1600/DSCN2213.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ-4NuL1fEtx14Sci4WmQmrHAVUJiW2vTAepigE7VvXCaTAG13YZunkcEhdJtUv2U35OviVmdGwNHZvCa7DAIyiLCcGuGeC3BE4bNpoICFtuLgLNvdWqXu_IHAPQ8Wf0ARbVwJ4m-q60E/s1600/DSCN2213.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
It was made just as a birthday gift and a way to express their thanks, but it means so much more than that. It's a sweet reminder to me of what God has accomplished through my little boy. I am grateful for God's purpose for Hudson. I am grateful that He has led me faithfully through every decision concerning Hudson's Bands of Hope and I am thankful that with His help this ministry is growing and thriving!<br />
<br />
<br />
Mistyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14911723338087186922noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765979963761893943.post-7763679276984853342014-08-01T14:10:00.001-07:002014-08-01T14:10:44.545-07:00Just a little peek inside of my head...I've grown insecure at times when I think about this ministry. I tease myself with doubting questions... "Is it r<em>eally </em>a ministry?" "Does it even matter?" "Shouldn't I be doing more?" <br />
<br />
On occasion I find myself weary with it all. Counting beads, placing orders, trying to figure out where I put that address, counting beads, realizing I've STILL not ordered enough, counting beads, running to the post office, sitting in the middle of the floor opening impossible packages of bracelets late at night, counting beads, worrying about ways to get the money I need, logging receipts and bracelets distributed, and counting more beads...<br />
<br />
It's usually in the middle of the day-to-day chore list that I ask myself if I'm just doing this for me; or is it for the mommies that open up the package in the mail or walk away from the hospital with a little green bag in their hand and a big hole in their heart. <br />
<br />
When I take a step back from it all I can see the big picture much more clearly. This is for me, it is for Hudson, and it is for you - the one whose whole world just came crashing down. <br />
<br />
It's not about a piece of pretty jewelry. No, it's not about the bracelet. That's just the part that people can see. The bracelet is just the tangible piece. Hudson's Bands of Hope isn't just a little thing that gives bracelets away. What warms my heart the most is knowing that all of this has inadvertently created a safe community for moms. It tells them that they're not alone.<br />
<br />
Every time a group of women gather together to assemble bracelets I'm amazed at how God brings at least one whose pain is fresh. I've seen women string beads as they talk about their experience and encourage the one whose heart is heaviest. I've seen friendships grow over stamping envelopes and tying bags. Often times the hands that make the bracelets are wiping away tears at the very same time.<br />
<br />
Bracelets have been handed to women who have never spoke of their loss until that moment because then they felt like it was safe.<br />
<br />
When a bracelet is worn a platform is created. A door is opened for that mother to speak of her child.<br />
<br />
My story has encouraged other women to run with their own passion to help.<br />
<br />
Hudson's Bands of Hope has done more than I could've ever dreamed.<br />
<br />
Ultimately I'm reminded that Misty has nothing to do with this. God has everything to do with it. I'm not just being humble. It's really, really not me. I'm more confident of that than anything else. This was God's vision and one of his purposes for my Hudson. It's such a sweet feeling knowing I didn't sit down with lists, diagrams, pencils and erasers trying to come up with a good idea. God wrote it on my heart. He designed it all.<br />
<br />
The questions and weariness never linger for long when I remind myself that it's not me. It's not <em>just </em>a bracelet or a chore list. <br />
<br />
It's an expression from the heart of God to the broken hearts of moms everywhere. Mistyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14911723338087186922noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765979963761893943.post-7729224758226267802014-06-19T20:49:00.001-07:002014-06-19T20:52:34.173-07:00Embrace your Grief<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">There is no shame in sadness and nothing wrong with tears.
Don’t believe the lie that strength is found in steady emotion. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">There is a handful, maybe a group, of women (and men too)
that believe they must happily accept the death of their baby. They hold in the
grief, the questions, the deep pain, and they cling to hollow lies and claims
of, “I’m ok, really.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">God expects our grief. He allows us to mourn. If we pretend
all is well we serve no purpose in helping the next person to walk our same
path. Your testimony will mean more when others watch you crawl through the
trenches and climb out victorious. They can see your faith in action. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The Book of Ecclesiastes tells us there is a time to weep
and a time to mourn. Couldn’t this be your time? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I’ve been one to want to meet others’ expectations and I
feel inadequate if I don’t. So when I felt that someone thought I should be “over
it” I worked hard to at least fake it. But after realizing I’m a terrible actress
and an even worse liar I gave up. Hudson deserves my tears anyways.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">So, for the one who’s walls are about to bust with built up
emotion, please let it overflow. Don’t be afraid. Don’t feel shame. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Allow yourself to shed the mask, release the tears, ask hard
questions and know that Ecclesiastes also tells us there is a time to laugh and
a time to dance. That is coming. Until then, embrace your grief – for that will
grow your strength.</span>Mistyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14911723338087186922noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765979963761893943.post-49876738512286971862014-04-29T21:22:00.002-07:002014-04-29T21:31:27.558-07:00Little things, big blessings<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">My life seeps with abundance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t even know the words to use to
adequately thank God for all He’s given me but my heart feels the weight of the
thankfulness. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I’m sure my one bath home is the only one on the street
without a flat screen TV inside. The car sitting in the garage is the same one
my parents gave me for my high school graduation many moons ago. Pedicures
rarely happen. The only diamonds I own are in my wedding ring and the pair of
studs my ears carry around. I don’t have an i-anything and actually find little
use in the only smart phone I’ve ever owned that was purchased just 4 months
ago. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">But, I’ve been richly blessed. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">As I consider all that God has given me (and allowed to be
taken) I stand in amazement. I’m in awe of what He has allowed me, ME of all
people, to have. There are the days though, where shallow thinking corrupts this
heart and I find myself discontent with life and that which surrounds me.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I must be careful. Those are the times that I’m telling God –
not with words – that what He has chosen for me isn’t enough. If I focus on
what I don’t have I’ll never be able to appreciate what I do have. I’ll never
find true joy in the priceless gifts that make my heart complete.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">As I go through the list of "thanks" and try to tell how grateful I am
for my husband and two kids here with me I always, always thank Him for Hudson.
I consider myself blessed to have Hudson. God chose me to be his mommy. I of
course would’ve made a few different choices about how long I could have him on
the Earth, but I’m thankful I have him even if we’re apart. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The more hindsight I have the easier it is to rejoice in
life’s blessings… and rejoice in life’s trials. Today I am thankful for both. I
am thankful to God for letting this girl live life with such abundance.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span> <span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">“Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above…” </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> -James
1:17</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">“…giving thanks always for all things to God the Father in
the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> -Ephesians
5:20</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">“That I may proclaim with the voice of thanksgiving, and tell
of your wondrous works.” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> -</span>Pslam
26:7</span></blockquote>
Mistyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14911723338087186922noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765979963761893943.post-15719702761662549292014-03-18T13:00:00.002-07:002014-03-18T13:03:28.281-07:00Heaven's HandsBrady and I have had the privilege of helping to create a new ministry that reaches out to families suffering through pregnancy loss. I am proud to say that God used Hudson's life to lay it on the heart of our previous pastor to create a ministry to support these families. Heaven's Hands was created and is ran by individuals and couples who have experienced the death of their child or grandchild.<br />
<br />
Through mentoring, support groups, professional counseling and a memory garden, Heaven's Hands wants you to have the help you need. <br />
<br />
To highlight a couple of these areas, the support group is for anyone who would like the support and connection from others that understand your pain. This is a co-ed group that meets on Monday evenings in Kokomo, Indiana. The memory garden is also located in Kokomo and after a break for weather will be finished and opening up in the next few months. The garden offers a walkway with engraved memorial bricks for you to honor your baby's life.<br />
<br />
Click on the link below to visit the Heaven's Hands website and to learn more about what this ministry does! <br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.heavenshandskokomo.org/" target="_blank">Heaven's Hands</a>Mistyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14911723338087186922noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765979963761893943.post-3363476167757728822014-01-26T13:26:00.000-08:002014-01-26T13:30:47.802-08:00Grieve and Give Grace: A Family Member's Perspective<span style="font-family: inherit;">I <strong>am feeling a tad out of place writing a post to you.
Reason number one is because I am not a blogger. Most importantly, reason number
two is because I have, thankfully, never suffered the pain of losing a baby. I
just can’t relate to you in that way. But I can sympathize. And cry… boy, could
I cry with you! I have had a lot of experience just crying because tears seemed
more appropriate than words when I grieved the loss of my nephew.</strong></span><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<strong><span style="font-family: inherit;">You have probably figured out by now that Hudson’s Bands of
Hope creator, Misty, isn’t the author of this post, and for a good reason!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She welcomed her beautiful rainbow baby, Ruby
Madison, into the world this past Friday morning. January 17<span style="font-size: small;"><sup>th</sup> that
is. Don’t forget that date. It is an important one and if you keep reading I
will explain why. </span></span></strong></div>
<strong><span style="font-family: inherit;">My name is Christy.
Yes, our names rhyme because we are identical twin sisters. Being twins, as
adults, has been wonderful. As kids and even teenagers we would have told you
that we couldn’t stand one another. Honestly we were too much alike to get
along. But now we know how very similar we are to each other and we embrace it.
Maybe even a little too much. Having a twin is like having a built-in best
friend. You don’t have to search, she is just right there. It is great. </span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<strong><span style="font-family: inherit;">When we realized back in August of 2012 that we were going
to be pregnant at the same time, with Misty being only 9 weeks ahead of me, we
were ecstatic! Being twins had just got even greater!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was her second, my third, but the first
pregnancy to be shared at the same time. We laughed as we considered the
attention we would receive from strangers as we would both be waddling around with
big round bellies soon enough, especially since we looked so much alike anyway.
</span></strong></div>
<strong><span style="font-family: inherit;">Laughter came to a screeching halt though, the day we
learned that Misty’s pregnancy was over. Just like that. No warnings, no
explanations, just done. And then this whole twin, sister, best friend thing
changed. Suddenly we couldn’t talk like we used to. My pregnancy that was going
strong became more of a secret guilt than an exciting adventure. Misty was
devastated and I was devastated for her! Grief and guilt consumed me. Even when
she assured me I should still celebrate my baby I just couldn’t figure out how.
I wanted to help take Misty’s pain away so badly. I wanted to ease the ache
more than anything, but it was out of my control. The only thing I could
control was myself, so that is exactly what I did. </span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<strong><span style="font-family: inherit;">I hope you don’t think am I trying to paint some pitiful,
sad story for myself. I say these things because Misty has asked me to write
something in her place and because after praying for direction these are the
words my fingers found themselves typing. I believe that every unborn baby has
family members here on earth who love them and love their mommies the same. But
they don’t all know how to cope, what to say and what not to say. It’s awkward.
It’s painful! To you, mom: know they care. Know that they want to fix your
pain. Some may not seem to care in the least and others may try too hard to fix
the “problem” and in the end, step on your toes. Extend your loved ones some
grace. We care and we hurt with you but we can’t know all the right things to
say and all the things not to say.</span></strong></div>
<strong><span style="font-family: inherit;">To the grieving family members: you can’t fix this! You
can’t control the situation, control yourself instead. Extend grace to that
hurting momma you care so much about. There isn’t a right or a wrong way to
grieve. Just let her grieve. In fact, follow her lead and grieve right along
with her. If she wants some alone time, give it to her. If she wants someone to
talk to, just listen. If she doesn’t want to cry alone, cry with her. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Try not to push your form of grief on her.
Understand that you can’t understand her suffering, don’t even try to. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And maybe the most significant thing is: don’t
forget! Remember that sweet little baby with her. </span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<strong><span style="font-family: inherit;">I wish I could tell you that I have done and said all the
right things but I haven’t. There were and still are plenty of times where I
lodge my foot straight into my mouth and pray Misty didn’t hear my thoughtless
remark. I am human and Misty knows that. She has extended me grace in those
situations that she could have taken serious offense. Likewise, I have extended
her grace in times I could have chosen to be offended. </span></strong></div>
<strong><span style="font-family: inherit;">Here’s the thing, the grief of a mother is powerful. I only
know this by watching my sister endure it. I see now the importance of Misty
being allowed to grieve Hudson in the way that felt right to her. What if her
husband and family hindered her grief instead of allowed it? What if she was
never able to reach the stage in grieving that caused her to want to help others
who suffered from the same pain she had? Perhaps Hudson’s Bands of Hope never
would have existed. </span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<strong><span style="font-family: inherit;">So, why did I want you to remember that Ruby was born on
January 17<span style="font-size: small;"><sup>th</sup>? Because it was the same day that Hudson’s Bands of
Hope was born, just one year prior. Happy Birthday Hudson’s Bands of Hope and
Happy Birthday baby Ruby! </span></span></strong></div>
<strong><span style="font-family: inherit;">Your grief can give birth to beautiful things mom, so grieve
and give grace!</span></strong>Mistyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14911723338087186922noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765979963761893943.post-73156054677870695032013-12-18T13:08:00.002-08:002014-03-18T12:16:59.731-07:00Merry Christmas... Right?<br />
I know, for many reading this blog, Christmas this year just isn't the same. Thoughts of the baby that should be kicking in your belly or sleeping in your arms are at the forefront of your minds. <br />
<br />
Last year, making a list of supposed things I "wanted" was a joke. I really wanted to scream at the vain idea of collecting more "things". How could I want more stuff that I didn't need? How could I make a wish list when the ONLY thing I wanted was for Hudson to be safely in my womb and my family to be living the dream I had hoped and prayed for. <br />
<br />
If I couldn't have that, then what was I supposed to "want"?<br />
<br />
I do remember it all so well.<br />
<br />
Brady and I spent Christmas Eve night writing letters and weeping before bed. Reality had sunk in that our little boy in Heaven would never spend a Christmas morning on our living room floor. We would never hear his feet running down the hall in anticipation of new toys. <br />
<br />
This reality coupled with the fact that Christmas has everything to do with the birth of a baby, well, leaves you in a whirlwind of emotion, doesn't it? This was the part of it all that I never anticipated to be so difficult.<br />
<br />
Hearing the songs about Mary on that first Christmas night as she delivered the Savior of the World was a little different for me. <br />
<br />
What did Christmas look like to Mary? I know it wasn't full of lights, presents, food and shopping. Maybe it wasn't as picture perfect for her as we try to make it for us. Can you imagine how she must have felt, looking in the face of Jesus for the first time? Surely she glorified God with excitement, and yet, surely her heart ached maybe just a little knowing this baby wasn't hers. She was chosen to carry Him, but she was also chosen to be the mother that would give her son away. That baby she loved was not meant for her to keep, but to give for a greater purpose than she could have fulfilled.<br />
<br />
The purpose and the hope of this story is evident. There is a purpose and hope to yours too, dear momma. It's up to you to find it.<br />
<br />
Don't completely lose heart during this season. Please though, feel free to have an imperfect Christmas. One where you cry, write letters, look at pictures and go through cards. Do what you need to remember your baby and honor their life. Don't feel obligated to pretend all is well just to keep your family and friends happy.<br />
<br />
I pray that you'll find the purpose and the meaning and that it will provide a measure of peace during this time!Mistyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14911723338087186922noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765979963761893943.post-11262518125231780282013-10-31T12:25:00.001-07:002013-10-31T12:25:43.872-07:00So here it goes...I assure you, I've not forgotten about this blog. Time and life have swept me away to other tasks, but I think of those who may type this address into their search engine often.<br />
<br />
I think of you all so much so that my heart races a bit in preparation to make this post...<br />
<br />
Do you mind my honesty? I'm afraid because I don't want to cause any more pain to the mother who may be wiping away tears today.<br />
<br />
I do have something that I want to share, something I rejoice over daily.<br />
<br />
Yesterday marked the beginning of my 3rd trimester with the rainbow baby God has graciously allowed us to love.<br />
<br />
I'm sure that many who read this already know that I am pregnant. (Thank you to those faithful followers! You help make me feel that my typing isn't just to a computer) Others of you don't know me from Adam and maybe didn't expect to read a post like this on a blog... like this.<br />
<br />
Brady and I have been blessed to experience the miracle of life for the fourth time. We are due in January to have a baby girl!<br />
<br />
All frills and bows aside, this pregnancy has been remarkably different for me. Not necessarily the physical aspect, but the emotional.<br />
<br />
Back in May when I took the positive test I read the results and threw the stick aside as if it were a cruel joke. I went back to folding laundry as if that trip to the bathroom was just like any other. That afternoon my mind continually tried to drift back to the plus sign but I would stop it. Walls were built and only getting taller.<br />
<br />
Brady came home from work and his reaction was the same as mine. I was relieved. I didn't want a big to-do over it. At least not yet. I refused to say the "p" word for days. My heart wouldn't let me claim a pregnancy that I knew could be ripped from me at any minute. <br />
<br />
Over the course of weeks and months I slowly opened the door to let a little excitement in. Brick by brick the walls have been removed. I wanted to be excited but I couldn't get Hudson and my early miscarriage out of my mind.<br />
<br />
Thank God all is normal and well. I am only high risk in my heart on the worrisome days.<br />
<br />
Yes, I said worrisome <em>days</em>. Thankfully I've felt peace most days. The times that I haven't felt peace I could probably count on my hands.<br />
<br />
I think that the peace has come so easily for me because I've realized (the hard way) that I can't control any outcome. It's just not up to me. I still feel like I'm sitting back, my feet up with a big bowl of popcorn staring at a screen. I'm ultimately not the author of the comings and goings of life. I just get the front row seat.<br />
<br />
Pregnancy has opened up a new area of grief. It's made it more tangible. I've revisited thoughts and emotions that have been sacred to me. I've revisited times and locations that have been devastating. <br />
<br />
Hudson has become more real to me. Gosh, even that darn "chemical" pregnancy has become more real.<br />
<br />
His absence is felt in a whole new way as I fall head-over-heels in love with this little girl.<br />
<br />
Many people incorrectly assume that another pregnancy is the medicine for a "lost" one. They couldn't be any more wrong. Another pregnancy peels back layers of emotion and feelings that are untouchable by an empty womb. <br />
<br />
On the flip side it has opened my eyes to a whole new way to love and a whole new way to appreciate. I'm so thankful for this!<br />
<br />
I definitely haven't forgotten what it was like to see pregnant bellies or hear the news of expectant parents. The knives are gone, but wow, that's a feeling you just don't forget.<br />
<br />
It's not that I'm not ecstatic, it's just that I tip-toe around complete public celebration because I don't want to be the person holding the knife. <br />
<br />
For those of you feeling the bitter side of this post instead of the sweet, I am truly, truly sorry. I can't claim to understand every single person's feelings or situation and I know full well that I'm ignorant to a lot. My prayers and thoughts continually go out for the mommies that are freshly grieving.<br />
<br />
I'm not one to put on a show or pretend to be something I'm not. (Seriously, I don't highlight my hair because of this!) For that reason I've wanted to share openly and honestly about my heart even in this phase of life. Not only that, but my baby is worth sharing and I wouldn't ever want her or someone else to think that I'm ashamed of this precious gift of her life.<br />
<br />
So, I'll leave you today in eager hopes that my words haven't caused unneeded pain. Hopefully they've shed a glimmer of light onto the realities of this whole mommy and pregnancy thing. Mistyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14911723338087186922noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765979963761893943.post-17429622425154294982013-09-20T13:28:00.002-07:002013-09-20T13:28:33.737-07:00Happy Birthday HudsonAs much as I prepared mentally and emotionally for last week, it took me just as much by surprise. Who knew anniversaries and first birthdays could be so hard? I didn't.<br />
<br />
I answered the "how are you doing" question fairly bluntly; at least for those that I thought could handle my answer. I have a tendency to respond to questions in a way that gives me a deer in the headlights look in return.<br />
<br />
"It feels like the same pain and grief, only this time there isn't the shock." <br />
<br />
A little dose of shock makes anything a tad easier to handle!<br />
<br />
I was quite happy to be able to recognize little Hudson, and thrilled that my friends, family and people I didn't even know that well were remembering him that day too. I felt loved and I felt like Hudson was loved. What more could a momma want?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf6trlGi44VD6RlnoEeRgg3OU0JNYaih63hVPn692fvhHKJTVhwnFDW9POZoARxRY1eU-gQ4pb37YAXQsSJ4txiy9zdK4wQcb-Gz2JB-JkCC10yvmx4vY3QcwXBDks_ww3xhLHCfDA70g/s1600/DSCN0827.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf6trlGi44VD6RlnoEeRgg3OU0JNYaih63hVPn692fvhHKJTVhwnFDW9POZoARxRY1eU-gQ4pb37YAXQsSJ4txiy9zdK4wQcb-Gz2JB-JkCC10yvmx4vY3QcwXBDks_ww3xhLHCfDA70g/s320/DSCN0827.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLX5QQn8861RrKiZCcyXXTqUtuhzyKrvTdd5dga5kOCqQ6VLHprOtZsZ44N3P1xhBXWyHfGqSLVys24X24czXFISj62PravTNvfsFJEDsmywfsw7E3WVEM7Qh74snHJmXOCltBymvfIpM/s1600/DSCN0848.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLX5QQn8861RrKiZCcyXXTqUtuhzyKrvTdd5dga5kOCqQ6VLHprOtZsZ44N3P1xhBXWyHfGqSLVys24X24czXFISj62PravTNvfsFJEDsmywfsw7E3WVEM7Qh74snHJmXOCltBymvfIpM/s320/DSCN0848.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN2CnD2VUA_MCpqUKC6bkgQQZYPiivR4JJFN9Gy669iq-oz24bH7W9nb24VYYFQAXhO-c9SCv5AKom1LG3pV2QrCcp09752Epw2cLMF9xOYQih0ZlmLwkj4ILQ_HNJvOFFflxA5HPRl7Q/s1600/DSCN0849.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN2CnD2VUA_MCpqUKC6bkgQQZYPiivR4JJFN9Gy669iq-oz24bH7W9nb24VYYFQAXhO-c9SCv5AKom1LG3pV2QrCcp09752Epw2cLMF9xOYQih0ZlmLwkj4ILQ_HNJvOFFflxA5HPRl7Q/s320/DSCN0849.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixDbMXzlrqKWOXZat9Bqymp9Nv2hyagV2RJWmdOJ7doR7mF47XTKbzx-gKxQ6tj8Znsi5yclF_yPRyv-HKjOsYb37HePeO-QCEcxxAPtSnEW6RMi9FWCLKYA0onDvpSt10RIlFysSzfl4/s1600/DSCN0864.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixDbMXzlrqKWOXZat9Bqymp9Nv2hyagV2RJWmdOJ7doR7mF47XTKbzx-gKxQ6tj8Znsi5yclF_yPRyv-HKjOsYb37HePeO-QCEcxxAPtSnEW6RMi9FWCLKYA0onDvpSt10RIlFysSzfl4/s320/DSCN0864.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Hudson's birthday of course marked the beginning of my journey towards Hudson's Bands of Hope. I left the hospital that day wearing a hospital band that I had NO clue would become so important. Honestly, helping others was the furthest thing from my mind at the time, but I believe God began weaving the passion for this ministry into my heart even then.<br />
<br />
I am forever grateful that God saw fit to use Hudson's short life to impact others. I sure am proud of my little boy!<br />
<br />Mistyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14911723338087186922noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765979963761893943.post-70453466068232341822013-09-03T12:03:00.001-07:002013-09-17T12:59:00.495-07:00Forever Faithful OneThe sweetest old man came up to me to ask about the bracelets. I didn't know him and was a bit confused as to what interest he might have in this ministry. I listened as he explained why he wanted a bracelet...<br />
<br />
"My wife and I lost a baby boy over 60 years ago. Sometimes I come home and she's sitting in the chair crying over him even today."<br />
<br />
My heart broke for this man and woman. He <em>still </em>watches as his wife grieves a loss over 60 years old! He assured me how much the bracelet would mean for her because she doesn't really have anything to remember the baby by.<br />
<br />
When does the healing come? Does it? What is it supposed to look like? How long does grief last?<br />
<br />
Gosh, I wish I knew.<br />
<br />
My very short experience with this has left me with my own thoughts...<br />
<br />
There's never a point in time that you are completely "healed" and grief can last forever. The good news is some healing does come and grief changes shapes, forms and appearances. Literally. <br />
<br />
Peace from the good Lord above is your best bet. It's what I've leaned on, clung to, prayed for and cherished in my moments of severe weakness.<br />
<br />
The situation never becomes less sad or OK. Time and peace are what make a difference.<br />
<br />
I have a pretty simple mind so comparing and contrasting makes a lot of sense to me. Just like I was in elementary all over again...<br />
<br />
Scar tissue will eventually cover that ugly battle wound and it will become less evident over time. But if that old wound gets agitated just the right way it can hurt and hurt bad.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
My heart sunk into my stomach as I was unexpectedly reminded, just now, of the lyrics to the song that held me together nearly a year ago. <br />
<br />
"Even if the healing doesn't come<br />
Life falls apart<br />
and dreams are still undone<br />
You are God... You are good...<br />
Forever Faithful One<br />
Even if the healing doesn't come..."<br />
<br />
I know I've shared this song on here before, but I had to again.<br />
<br />
The words meant a lot to me then as I realized my life and dreams had fallen apart. Now, not only do the lyrics take me back to the emotion, it's another set of words that strike me...<br />
<br />
"Even if the healing doesn't come"<br />
<br />
A few days shy of a year later and wow. The healing really doesn't come. I guess I never thought then about what this song would mean to me in a year's time.<br />
<br />
"You are God... You are good...<br />
Forever Faithful One"<br />
<br />
That is the line that holds it all together. Whether right now or 20 years down the road it is those words that will never change in significance.<br />
<br />Mistyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14911723338087186922noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765979963761893943.post-67183780207672287332013-08-13T19:09:00.002-07:002013-08-13T19:09:50.444-07:00No profound thoughts... just my heart.
In the next month or so I anticipate my mind and heart to drift
often with heaviness to thoughts about Hudson's upcoming birthday. I know it
will be this way because it already has been. I've not only prepared my husband
and calendar for the anniversary of<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"the week" but I am already preparing my heart. As much as is
possible I suppose.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
You see, yesterday marked one month from the day that I said
hello and good-bye, the day that a wheel-chair and the dizziness of my mind lead
me from <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that</i> hospital room to my car.
I was supposed to just go home and figure out life. A large portion of my
heart still hasn't found its way home from that birthing room. Though the
sheets have been changed and the floors mopped they've felt my tears and
somewhere my sorrow still lingers. As far as I know, it will never leave.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Right now my heart knows the days better than my head. My subconscious
grieves as I near this bitter anniversary.</div>
<br />
So in no time at all I'll be faced with September 10<sup>th</sup>,11<sup>th</sup>,
and 12<sup>th</sup>. The day I anxiously went to my ultrasound and left with
that horrible news, the day I labored to birth Hudson and then the day that he
was born.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
What am I supposed to do with these dates one year later?
Part of me could just skip out on September all together this year. The other
part of me wants to embrace it just like I do the month of May, when I met my
first born.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
My thoughts have ping-ponged back and forth with what to do
and what not to do. This past Sunday I got it figured out.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I am going to "celebrate" Hudson's birthday. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Call me crazy. That's ok.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I celebrate everyone else's and I can't stand the thought of
not throwing Hudson a birthday "party". Sure, this will take a
different form than normal, but that's my baby boy and that's his birthday.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
For me, avoiding obvious pain triggers seems to intensify
the pain. Most people would likely suggest that someone in my shoes not
encounter or partake in those things that cause pain. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
But ignoring it doesn't make it disappear. It doesn't make
me feel any better. What I honestly think is that it makes the other person
feel better not to see me upset. If you've lost a baby or a loved one at all,
you know what I mean.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I take pride in Hudson. I take pride in his little tiny life
and what he's accomplished. My heart smiles to hear someone else say his name.
I want to show him off. I want his name to be common to those who know him.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Needless to say when his headstone finally got set a few
weeks ago I was crying tears of sadness, joy and pride. I never anticipated how
I would feel when I first saw it in person. My baby's name on a headstone. Of
course we were sad but we smiled too. We were proud! Just as if Hudson had
slept through the night for the first time or just taken his first steps I
called my family and so did Brady. We wanted to show off our son. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The moment took me back because I realized I've never had
that proud, excited, mom moment where I get to show my baby off. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
And unexpectedly this was it! </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Our family was there as soon as we called and for the first
time, I got to show off my Hudson with pride. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx1gOVk5-Mc5cRdK0kxm59fPtLapGq6YIe3hxUt5FL0bVZ_t7Ue20r2k_t-DaKe304RqXprfKP7Ed7V9qoELmpx-pASKMOBtbtzCE0MnPb6xO5yvvA5kYAhZJhdGB7_m5sJOLPQxjIlEo/s1600/DSC_0591.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx1gOVk5-Mc5cRdK0kxm59fPtLapGq6YIe3hxUt5FL0bVZ_t7Ue20r2k_t-DaKe304RqXprfKP7Ed7V9qoELmpx-pASKMOBtbtzCE0MnPb6xO5yvvA5kYAhZJhdGB7_m5sJOLPQxjIlEo/s320/DSC_0591.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
</div>
Mistyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14911723338087186922noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765979963761893943.post-59578653637131022752013-07-10T20:29:00.004-07:002013-07-10T20:29:52.010-07:00Ways to RememberI know from my own experience, and talking to countless other mommies that acknowledgement is sometimes all we need. Many people fear that mentioning something will only bring up pain, but that is not true! I feel so proud when someone randomly says something about my little Hudson!<br />
<br />
I'm positive that I am not only speaking for myself here, but also for the other moms who wish desperately to hold and know their children.<br />
<br />
Even if you don't know what to say to that person who's just experienced loss, not saying anything speaks loud and clear and hurts worse. Just make a simple acknowledgement. You truly don't know how much that will mean.<br />
<br />
I've compiled a list of some things that Brady, Dawson and I have done to daily remember Hudson. This list also includes several things that others have done or gotten for us. Please take these ideas and run with them. For you family members and friends that are searching for a way to provide comfort, many of the items on this list you can do! <br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Include a framed writing of your baby's name and birthdate/due date with the rest of your family photos.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOaSgUr-x_jxo7oekDS1Vx181ggrLcOi6TvmaaEAV-uflFtWMJZOLF6wTgpWMjgLA8EweWHicebsUNKZlIXonyfDESG6oqOHecZUTXUQqnYmqTgqxD-blKT8EFkyekJYqiED7ELSw4y5I/s1600/DSCN0803.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOaSgUr-x_jxo7oekDS1Vx181ggrLcOi6TvmaaEAV-uflFtWMJZOLF6wTgpWMjgLA8EweWHicebsUNKZlIXonyfDESG6oqOHecZUTXUQqnYmqTgqxD-blKT8EFkyekJYqiED7ELSw4y5I/s320/DSCN0803.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
</li>
<li>Donate to a local charity on behalf of your baby.</li>
<li>Buy Christmas presents for an under privileged child in honor of your baby. Feel free to search for a child that would be about the same age as your baby or the same gender.</li>
<li>Write letters to your baby.</li>
<li> Create a photo album. You may have very few pictures, but you can include anything that reminds you of your pregnancy or baby. </li>
<li>Hang up a Christmas stocking for your baby with the rest of the family's. Add a note/letter to it every year. Brady and I actually took Hudson's stocking and letters to his grave and read them aloud.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3govSmwf0mk99PerbcTmPJ4d2eFLLQ36r9QjQgPpWxCCa8GBmn5xtUaZCiHU0w5tz9yN2PVqX-fLHbCQfPze5Nyrzjpo6F2PhNyQDFB2g-JvCRdAmEwHPuvg3cBbdlF8O2wP3lEd3lFM/s1600/DSCN0171.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3govSmwf0mk99PerbcTmPJ4d2eFLLQ36r9QjQgPpWxCCa8GBmn5xtUaZCiHU0w5tz9yN2PVqX-fLHbCQfPze5Nyrzjpo6F2PhNyQDFB2g-JvCRdAmEwHPuvg3cBbdlF8O2wP3lEd3lFM/s320/DSCN0171.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
</li>
<li>Make or purchase a special Christmas ornament to represent your baby.</li>
<li>Fill out a baby book. There are actually baby books designed for angel babies. Just do a Google search for "baby books for angel babies". There are many to chose from!</li>
<li>Openly talk with your other children (if you have them) about their brother or sister. Every time we pass by a cemetery Dawson will say "Hi Hudson". Anytime Heaven is mentioned, he reminds me that Hudson lives there. Your kids are never too young to learn about their siblings.</li>
</ul>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Please share with us, what have you done in memory of your baby?</div>
Mistyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14911723338087186922noreply@blogger.com4