Comforting Broken Hearts

This last sunday was filled to the brim with stuff.   Busy stuff… church (which right now consists of me wrestling a toddler for an hour and then teaching a group of 4 year olds for the next two… sometimes I leave church feeling like I just ran a marathon, day of rest? Hmmm….)  Creative stuff… making cupcakes for Momo's birthday (post coming soon).   Happy stuff… we had the grandparents over for cupcakes to celebrate Momo's birthday.  And then add on the Emotional stuff…

Four years ago on May 2nd we found out about Evie's fatal condition.  It's ground into my memory.  (I'll share more about that day another time).  As we sang happy birthday to Momo I found myself smiling and grateful for a crazy little boy that keeps me on my toes.  I also said a little silent prayer of gratitude for my daughter that challenged me in an entirely different way.  

Sunday was a GOOD day.

That evening I got an email from a friend who has neighbors that are expecting a child that will not live long after birth.  

His email read…

"The family I mentioned earlier is planning their labor.  The funeral will follow a few days later.  After I shared your story, they decided they wanted to do the same thing with the blessing in the hospital.  It seems to be very helpful to hear from others who have gone through this before. They really aren't quite sure how to deal with all this and I'm hoping to find more ideas to help them cope.

Were there any specific gifts or services that were given to you that helped? 

Did you have a funeral or what did you do for that?

I appreciate any suggestions you might have.  Thanks!"

Sunday night as I was getting ready for bed I glanced in the bathroom mirror.  I recalled 4 years ago, on this same night doing the same thing.  However it was a stranger peering back.  Her light was dim, she looked empty and I recall questioning if this was the person I would now be.  If this is what was left of me.  I seemed stripped of my happiness... and I considered that it might be forever lost. On sunday it was nice to smile and see ME smile back.  

It did come back, both the happiness and the light. 

That night I laid in bed and began making mental notes of how to respond to my friends email.  The next day I started writing them down.  And now I feel that I should post them.  My feelings have never steered me wrong, so I'm going to trust them again and put my response on my blog.

I remember being the person who didn't know what to do or say.  I remember hearing about those who lost a baby (before our Evie) and I wondered if I should or shouldn't say something. If I should or shouldn't do something. I had similar questions as my friend.   

At the hospital we asked that only immediate family join us.  We also requested no children. The only child in attendance was Scooter (Ride was only about 18 months old so we left her with a babysitter… I was concerned she would want to be held by me while I would be trying to soak in every second with Evie).  Scooter was 4.  She has always been wise beyond her years and seemed to have a grasp of what was going on.  She wanted to meet "Sprinkles" (the name she had lovingly given her).  After she was born she was given a name and a blessing by J. (This is something that we do in the LDS church.  It is usually done in the church building on a sunday a month or two after a baby is born.  We were given permission to have J do this right after she was born).  Even though we don't feel it's necessary to bless a baby it was absolutely beautiful.  I held her in my harms as J gave her a precious heart felt blessing.  We then oohed and awed at her pudgy arms.  We gave everyone the opportunity to hold her.  We had a few people hold her and then quickly they'd put her back into either J or my arms.  Then a few people more would hold her and then back into our arms.  It was quiet and peaceful.  That hospital room felt like a temple.  Sacred and filled with angels.  43 minutes after her birth she peacefully returned to heaven while she was in my arms.  Then the family quietly left J and I to cry, pray and kiss our little one alone.  This remains the most beautiful experience of my life.  I treasure it with all my heart.


Now about the funeral.  

I think this is a personal thing.  For us we wanted a very simple graveside service.  We only invited immediate family and close friends.  This is what we wanted.  Everyone honored and supported us in that.  We only had a couple of speakers and that was about it.  Because it was small we returned to our home for a light luncheon that my church Relief Society had so graciously supplied. 

Now I know this question wasn't in my friends email but I've often been asked what to say and what not to say to someone in a grieving situation.  So I'm going to start with the…

What NOT to say...
I'm not an easily offended person.  But there were comments, although I'm sure were innocent, that stung.   I don't want to spend too much time on this, I like to keep my blog a positive uplifting place. I also don't want to sound like I'm complaining or pointing out the flaws of others.  I have enough flaws of my own I need to concentrate on.  So I share them in the hope they may help or prevent someone from making a similar mistake.  So let's get them out of the way so I can move on to the positive stuff… 

-Before you say something… make sure it's NOT about YOU. 

Sometimes I could feel they were not interested in what I had to say.  They were more interested in what they had to say. 

-If you're not sure you should say it, don't.  Speak with your heart and with LOVE for the person who is hurting and anything you say will be fine.  

-Don't claim to have a better understanding of what that someone is going through because your a more "naturally sympathetic" person.

-Don't compare your situation with someone who is grieving if it isn't similar.  

I guess the best rule is to think before you speak and ask yourself what your motive is.

Now that the ugly is out of the way (thank heavens)… I want the rest of this post to focus only on the positive.  (It's so much more happy).

Say something….

Now that I've sufficiently scared you from wanting to say anything at all;)

It's important to say something.  I know what it feels like to not know what to say, so I'll give you some suggestions…

If you don't know what to say keep it simple…

I'm praying for you.

I'm thinking about you.

I'm so sorry for your loss.

What Can I do for you?

(They most likely will say "Oh nothing, we'll be fine" so you may want to say)...

I'm bringing you dinner thursday night. Or...

I'll be by friday afternoon to pick up your kids to take them to the park.

Don't be offended if they don't say much back.  I've noticed some want to talk about it while others don't.      

I also appreciated stories people would recount to me about someone they knew personally who had experienced something similar.  I loved hearing that it was tough but they were doing well.  It gave me hope.  It reminded me that at that moment everything wasn't OK, but that one day it would be (and it is).  I leaned on this.  

Also I appreciated hearing from those who had personally lost a baby.  Whether in infancy, still born, or through miscarriage.  After everything happened I felt like I immediately was part of a club that no one wants to join.  I feel real love and a bond with anyone who has gone through this type of situation.  

We moved into our neighborhood only a month before Evie was born.  There was a lady who had moved in just about a month before us.  She had experienced a similar loss.  She came over when I got home from the hospital with gifts for the kids and she quietly and kindly organized the funeral luncheon for us.  More than anything she listened to me.  She remains today one of my dearest friends and we often claim we were sisters separated at birth. I guess I'm saying don't underestimate the value of your kind words, help and presence.  

Be there...

I'll never forget when we got home after finding out about Evie.  I didn't know where to be or what to do.  I was in a fog and world was spinning.  But family showed up.  They just came.  They brought love, hugs and tears.  It was just what I needed.  Them.  I will never forget every soul that dropped everything and just showed up (and they did it without request).  That's what family does.  

If you're not family, show up too (not the day of difficult news) but shortly after.  Either physically with a hug or through a card or phone call.  I remember each and every one.  I felt like I had an army of friends and family there to carry me when I needed them. 

Listen...

I should mention that I love talking about Evie, and especially in the months that followed her birth.  All I have is my memories, and talking is therapeutic for me, and now so is blogging.  So if someone needs to talk just listen.  Don't try too hard to say the "perfect, life changing" thing.  Just let them express their feelings and then love them.  Sometimes it took a lot to express my emotions about Evie.  When someone gathers the strength to talk about it, be interested, be kind and be attentive. 

Now onto 

the gifts I loved…

I know people wonder what to give someone.  Gifts are not necessary, but I do have a few that I cherish.

My aunt Lisa had a small pair of baby booties framed with a sweet poem.

Tiny feet too perfect

To walk where men have trod.

Tiny feet so perfect

They walk straight home to God.

She gave us a second pair for Evie to wear. Although they were to big, (Evie had a form of dwarfism) we placed them lovingly in her casket. 

My cousin Paula made Evie two burial dresses.  (I should mention I have a family that oozes creativity and talent.  On both my mothers and fathers side. Paula is one of my many crazy talented family members… her blog is here).  She made one for Evie to wear and one for us to keep.  She's an amazing seamstress and fashion designer.  She also has designed clothes for Marie Osmond's porcelain dolls, so she's a pro at the little clothes.. and Evie was little.  We had it framed.

My sisters mother in law Stacie arranged for us to make plaster molds of Evie's hand and foot.  I LOVE these!  They are my most precious gift.

My family gave us a tree and a rock plaque.  It's a flowering cherry so every spring it bursts with pink blooms.  Pretty perfect.

I appreciated every little thing too.  I loved the flowers.  They brought happiness to our home.  Cards filled with personally penned heartfelt sympathy.  I also remember a lady who brought over a bag of popsicles for the kids.  It wasn't huge… but it came from her heart.  If I listed everything it would take me forever….and this post is already mega long!

I thought about a couple things that also 

would have been great to receive...

(I'm not sharing these because I wish we were given them, a card or heart felt hug is just if not more valuable... only that it may spark some ideas if someone was in need of a few).

All of our stuff from Evie… every card and some of the gifts are placed in a drawer.  Her hospital stuff is in shirt boxes in my closet.  I don't have a special place for them.  I'm realizing it would be nice to have a special box to store them in. I may have to put that on my to do list. 

I'm also seeing all of these darling handmade necklaces around.  The kind that have sweet messages or names printed on them.  It would be special to have had one for the mother to keep and one for the baby.  That way we each would have one next to their heart.  You could put something simple on it like "forever"  or even the child's name. 

Now I'm going to ask for your input.  If your willing please leave a comment about...

What has helped you with grief?  How did you help someone who was mourning?  What gifts have you received or given?  I have loads of amazingly creative people that stop by my blog… I'd love to hear what you have done for someone. Or any ideas that come to mind. 

On another note I want to say a big giant humungous 

THANK YOU! 

On easter I posted about my Evie.  I was nervous.  I had just gained a bushel  full of new readers, with all different backgrounds and religious beliefs.  I didn't know how it would be received.  I'm so grateful for your kind words and love.
Bless your sweet sweet souls!

 Thank you from the bottom of my grateful and happy heart!

anj.

Happiness and Hope

Disclaimer; Many years ago, (I was probably 20ish) a kid I worked with made a comment… "Anj, you dress like a different decade every day."  While my clothing style has matured since then, you could still say I'm eclectic.  A little of this and a little of that.  There is so much beauty in the world I soak in what I like and toss the rest.  It turns out (which is no surprise to moi) that my blog seems to be the same.  A little of this and a little of that.  I've spent a lot of time on creative stuff… mainly because it's easy.  I have loads I could share.  And it is a big part of me. However there are many parts of me I'd like to share.  One is my faith.  I don't want to surprise any of my readers that are here for the "crafty stuff."  This blog is about all things that make me happy.  And my faith is indispensable to my happiness.  Thanks!

I recollect sitting on a plane.  It was a small plane transporting an even smaller group of people.  It seemed rickety and unstable.  My nerves were already on end, so this did not help.  Our destination was the Toronto Ontario airport.  I was scared to death.  I was about to begin my 18 month journey as an LDS missionary.  I was apprehensive about what life would be like.  The idea of knocking on doors both scared the tar out of me and made me want to puke.  It seemed 18 months would last an eternity.  That I would never actually return home.  I recall looking out the window, down at the snowy earth below and jotting some thoughts in my journal.  I wrote…"Well- right now I'm looking down on Toronto Canada.  Guess I made it…. So right now how do I feel? Nervous, scared, curious, wondering what on earth I'm doing here.  Am I really a missionary?  I don't know jack. Will I like my trainer? Who is my mission president, what is he like?  It really is weird.  One moment I'm excited- the next I want to go home…  No mountains, flat as can be.  I'm going to miss Mount Olympus.  It always has marked home….I want to be a good missionary. What a truly grand experience.  To grow up- and to serve the Lord as I do it.

DEEP BREATH - CLOSE EYES - MOVE FORWARD."

Seven years later…

We received some painful news.  I was 5 months pregnant with our third child.  Another daughter.  At an ultrasound we discovered this little girl wasn't like our other two.  We would only have her for a moment after birth and then we would witness her return to heaven.  

My heart broke that day.

In the bible we read a story of Christ and the apostles crossing the Sea of Galilee. 

"And there arose a great storm of wind, and the waves beat into the ship, so that it was now full. And he was in the hinder part of the ship, asleep on a pillow: and they awake him, and say unto him, Master, carest thou not that we perish?" Mark 4:37-38

I felt this way.  Suddenly surrounded by a great storm. Alone, broken, scared.  

I was in a heap, on the floor of my closet.  I was crying.  Bawling actually.  It was the ugly cry… snot and all.  I was heaving, pleading, begging and crying out… "I can't do it, I just can't do it. I'm not strong enough."  I was afraid.  Fear had crowded my soul.  Then a hymn played through my mind over and over, soft, sweet, like a lullaby. Finally the tears subsided and peace filled my heart.  It was quiet.

“And he arose, and rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea, Peace, be still. And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm.And he said unto them, Why are ye so fearful? how is it that ye have no faith?" Mark 4:39-40 

Now I could hear what HE was trying to say.  It was at this moment things were clear.  Completely trusting God.   Knowing he loved me.  Knowing there was a reason and a plan.  Knowing I might not be strong enough but HE is.  He would carry me. HE is stronger than the winds, the hail, the storm. Again I said to myself... deep breath - close eyes - move forward.  

 I left my heart on an alter and stepped back.  

This  is when everything changed for me.  I found happiness, understanding, courage and above all hope.  Every kick, every hiccup was special.  I remember telling her I'd miss her as I'd stroke my belly.  I told her about her sisters, her father, me.  I did all I could to bond with her while she slept within me.  It was all the time I had.  And now instead of resenting it, I was grateful for it.  Every moment. This remains the most precious experience I've had in my life.  I count myself blessed for it. I knew my little one wouldn't be healed.   I knew I wouldn't have her for long in this mortal state, But I know I will hold her again in the heavens.  And all because of the death and resurrection of Christ. 

Our Savior.

I remember another time, again on a plane.  This time as I glanced out of the window I saw Mount Olympus.  I was home.  The 18 months that once felt they would never end flew by.  I looked back on my mission with fondness.  I gained a perspective of how quickly time goes.  How home is always close.  Sometimes things that seem like they'll never end are the opportunities we need most in life.  Where we learn and grow the most.  

I can't help but wonder, that before I came here to earth, I had the same excitement and fear I felt on the plane to Canada many years ago.  Did I think it would never end?  I now know things end.  The storms will pass.  Time will march on, and one day I will return home.  Perhaps I'll recall those Mountains that marked home for me so many years ago.  I'll look back with affection at the experiences life gave me.  I'll have my Evie.  Her bones no longer bent and small.  Her heart and mind whole.  Then I again will tell her, tell her of her siblings, her father, of me and most of all the healing power of the Savior.

"It is fitting that during the week from Palm Sunday to Easter morning we turn our thoughts to Jesus Christ, the source of light, life, and love. The multitudes in Jerusalem may have seen Him as a great king who would give them freedom from political oppression. But in reality He gave much more than that. He gave us His gospel, a pearl beyond price, the grand key of knowledge that, once understood and applied, unlocks a life of happiness, peace, and fulfillment.

The gospel is the good news of Christ. It is the revelation that the Son of God came to earth, lived a perfect life, atoned for our sins, and conquered death. It is the path of salvation, the way of hope and joy, and the assurance that God has a plan of redemption and happiness for His children.

The gospel is the way of discipleship. As we walk in that way, we can experience confidence and joy—even during times of peril, sorrow, and uncertainty."

Dieter F. Uchtdorf

Happy Easter

Over the Rainbow

It was one of those miracle moments when both of the kids home were asleep. Ride was out cold on the floor wedged between the sofa and the ottoman. Momo in his crib. I decided to take advantage of the rare beautiful quiet and clean. I put Pandora onto a favorite station and pumped it through my speakers. I moved room to room motivated by the vision of a “house of order.” Eventually I made it to my bedroom. There was a small plastic basketball on the floor. I picked it up with the intent of tossing it out into the hall when my eye caught something. On the ceiling was a spider.

Hmmmm… I thought, “I bet I could hit him with this ball.” And he sat there seeming to say “Hmmmm… I dare you to try.” So I did.

Only I missed. However, I came so close that I knocked him off his feet & he tumbled. (My ceiling is vaulted, and the wall separating the bedroom & the closet doesn’t go all the way up to the ceiling). So the spider fell into my closet, and presumably onto my top shelf. I walked into the closet just out of curiosity and looked up towards that shelf. Or better known as the place I put stuff I hardly use. There is my stack of “I’m too thin for maternity jeans, but too big for the jeans I love so these will do,” pregnancy pants. Next to those is a stack of white boxes. I realized I hadn’t looked through them in at least 2 years. I had forgotten they were even there.

I thought… “Hmmm, maybe I should rummage through those again.” And they stared back saying… “Hmmm, I dare you too. “ So I did.

I spread them out onto the floor & sat myself next to them. They were almost gray with dust. They were filled with trinkets from what seems another life. A yellowing newspaper dated Saturday August 5 2006. A bottle of consecrated oil… passed down to my husband from his grandfather, I wondered where that was. The next box… two small plaster molds of a tiny hand and foot and a small gold ring. On to the next, I drifted my hand across a knitted pink blanket and beanie. Some sweet someone, somewhere had knitted these and donated them to the hospital. I wish I knew who that someone was. I wish I could say thank you. And the last box, I knew what was coming before I pried it open.

There was her ankle id from the hospital, and a little white sleeper. We hadn’t brought anything for her to wear. I honestly hadn’t even thought about it. The months prior I dreaded the baby section. I would take the long way around if necessary. Even at work I would walk down any aisle except THAT one. It was just too hard. It hurt too much. So no, I hadn’t purchased anything for her to wear. The kind nurse at the hospital took care of it. So it was white, fuzzy, and has the name of the hospital written on it with black marker.

The arms of it are still rolled up several times. Her arms were so itty-bitty; it was the only way to unveil those darling pudgy hands and fingers. I put it next to my face. I even tried smelling it. I remember doing this just weeks, months after. Trying desperately to find anything she left behind. I knew before I breathed in I would be disappointed.

Momo started crying. I packed up everything briskly but delicately and replaced them to their spot beside my ugly jeans. And then retrieved my baby from his cage, ahem... crib.

We walked out into the great room & began the baby slow dance to calm him down. The music changed and “Somewhere over the rainbow” performed by IZ started playing. You would think this is where the water works would start. But they didn’t. My baby curled up on my chest. His head nuzzled under my chin. We danced and I sang, very off tune mind you, along with the song.

And I smiled. No tears… not a drop. Only smiles.

Evie is ok.

I am ok.

Everything is ok.