Where is God when your heart is broken?

What is God doing? Has He abandoned me? Does He even care or have an idea of how hard this is?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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”?

Satan’s lies are the loudest when your heart is the coldest.

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.

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?

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... 

OR

 A 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 choose B.

“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

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.

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.

“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

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.

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.

A light in dark places

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.

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. 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.

I guess I’ll be super transparent since I don’t know how else to write…

Ever since September 10^th, 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

It wasn’t until that day that the revelation hit me.  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.

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.

Now, please let me state the truth outside of this detailed and lengthy description of my heart’s downfall.

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.

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!

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.

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!

 

Together we're "2 in 8"

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.

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.

Other people….

And just like that, without warning or even a clue, I became one of those “other people”.

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.  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.

On October 15^th 2012, my sister sent me this picture.

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.

Today is National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day.

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.

We’ve heard the phrase, “One in four”.  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”.

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.

Well, together we’re 2 in 8 and if you add the person that read this before you then we’re 3 in 12.

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.

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.

I am so thankful for the “others” in my life who have made this side of statistics more livable and full of love!

Let's reach out together

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.
 
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.

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.

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?

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.

For more information about the outing you can visit www.hbohgolfouting.com

Sincere thanks to you for your support and heart, along with mine, to put your arms around grieving mothers everywhere.

<3 Misty

It'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.

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.

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.

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.

This year's outing will be held on Saturday, September 19th. You can find all the details below or at www.hbohgolfouting.com Please make sure you check out our Facebook page too and share it with friends! Just search for 2nd Annual HBOH Golf Outing.

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.

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.

You're Still a Mom

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.

It’s a lot more.

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.

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.

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.

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.

That love. They don’t know it’s there but it is.

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.

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.

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.

You’re still a mom. The evidence is woven into every thread of your heart.

 

When your partner's sorrow looks different than yours

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.

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...

I 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.


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.

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...myself....myself

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.

But I wouldn’t let him.

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.
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.

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.

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.
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.

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.

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.

 

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.

I’ve come to terms with myself that I wasn’t a team player through that difficult journey.  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.

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.

What if they do? What if they’re trying to stay strong for you? Could you see it?

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.

Please, please feel free to share your own thoughts and insights with us all.

 

Due date

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.

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.

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.

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.

 

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.

For 5 precious months I looked forward to February 1^st, 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…

Even though Hudson never entered this world on February 1^st,2013 he did leave a big mark that day.
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!

Does time heal and will I be normal again?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

I was sure I would never be normal again.  I would never have another carefree sunny day to enjoy.

This is such a simple but profound memory for me. 

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.

After such a tragedy, normal changes and so does time. Time will move incredibly slow at first and then regain it’s typical pace.

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.
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.

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.

They’re wrong.

Yes, you will experience some healing of the anger and grief. But it will never ever heal the wound.

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.

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.

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.  Then crazy I’ll be.

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.

A Baby Boy - Our Eternal Gift

It'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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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...

"But you got your son back!!!!"

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.

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.

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!

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.

And with our babies.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

His Strength

"Fear not, for I am with you; Be not dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you, Yes, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand."

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.

...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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Memories, Shock, and Learning to Live: The Second Anniversary Perspective

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.

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.  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. 

This was taken only in an effort to capture
my baby belly one last time. I had no
 intention of sharing it with anyone.

Here I am on September 11^th, 2012 -The morning after we began our spiraling descent.  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  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.

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.

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.
Hudson was born very early the following morning on September 12^th, 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.

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.  Little did I know that later that day I would stare at that bracelet with enormously fond feelings.

Saying good-bye to Hudson

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.  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.

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.  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.  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.  A really foreign one, actually.

In my history books the month of September, 2012 has been scribbled on by a black marker.

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.

November was a rollercoaster of a month. One day I would think, wow, I haven’t cried yet today! 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.

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.

In January I remember the nagging, itching, drive-me-crazy feeling of needing to do something.  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.  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.

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.

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.

Mark 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.

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.

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!

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!!

Visit www.hbohgolfouting.com to register yourself or a team!

Big 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.

It was the kind of week when I look up and say, "Wow, God! This is SO much bigger than me!"

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.

Let me take you on a little journey here, if you will...

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.

It began with just a modest goal of putting bracelets on the wrists of 12 grieving mommies...

 I take that back. It actually began with just the urge to do something special for Hudson on his due date.

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.

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.

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.

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, oh yes, give moms a bracelet. That would be a great idea. 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

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.

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.

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:

"And now, Lord, what do I hope for? My hope is in you, Lord." Psalms 39:7

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

Upon arrival, the amazing Birthing Center nurses gave me this breathtaking canvas!

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!

Just 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 really a ministry?" "Does it even matter?" "Shouldn't I be doing more?"

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...

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.

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.

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.

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.
 
Bracelets have been handed to women who have never spoke of their loss until that moment because then they felt like it was safe.

When a bracelet is worn a platform is created. A door is opened for that mother to speak of her child.

My story has encouraged other women to run with their own passion to help.

Hudson's Bands of Hope has done more than I could've ever dreamed.

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.

The questions and weariness never linger for long when I remind myself that it's not me. It's not just a bracelet or a chore list.

It's an expression from the heart of God to the broken hearts of moms everywhere.

Embrace your Grief

There is no shame in sadness and nothing wrong with tears. Don’t believe the lie that strength is found in steady emotion.

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.”

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.

The Book of Ecclesiastes tells us there is a time to weep and a time to mourn. Couldn’t this be your time?

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.

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.

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.

Little things, big blessings

My life seeps with abundance.  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.

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.

But, I’ve been richly blessed.

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.

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.

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.

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.

 “Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above…”  

             -James 1:17

“…giving thanks always for all things to God the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.”

             -Ephesians 5:20

“That I may proclaim with the voice of thanksgiving, and tell of your wondrous works.”

             -Pslam 26:7

Heaven's Hands

Brady 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.

Through mentoring, support groups, professional counseling and a memory garden, Heaven's Hands wants you to have the help you need.

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.

Click on the link below to visit the Heaven's Hands website and to learn more about what this ministry does!

Heaven's Hands

Grieve and Give Grace: A Family Member's Perspective

I 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.

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!  She welcomed her beautiful rainbow baby, Ruby Madison, into the world this past Friday morning. January 17^th that is. Don’t forget that date. It is an important one and if you keep reading I will explain why.

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.

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!  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.

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.

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.

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.  Try not to push your form of grief on her. Understand that you can’t understand her suffering, don’t even try to.  And maybe the most significant thing is: don’t forget! Remember that sweet little baby with her.

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.

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.

So, why did I want you to remember that Ruby was born on January 17^th? 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!

Your grief can give birth to beautiful things mom, so grieve and give grace!