Loss (A mini series) Part 2

I'm not sure how so much time has passed since I last posted. SO this is very over due. My first post on loss lacks hindsight. I still don't have it at this point. I don't know the why or the lesson I'm meant to learn yet, but I know eventually I will. But now it's time to rewind the clock and talk about some other losses. Losses that have changed me and have had enough time that I can see the purpose in the pain. It doesn't lessen the loss, but it brings peace, healing, and truth from the loss.

And in advance, I want to thank my dear sweet Aunt RaNae for sharing her pictures and allowing me to tell part of her very personal story as I share mine.

It was December 1988. I was 6 soon to be 7. Not much younger than my second child is now. My Aunt RaNae gave birth to a baby girl, Mary Celestia. A baby girl that would not live. Mary's life was but a few fleeting moments.

My Aunt and Uncle with Mary

From the Hospital

They knew she wouldn't live. From the ultrasound, there was not a shadow of doubt that her body was not built to remain here on earth. When the tragic news was passed on. My grandparents went to work. Grandpa built Mary's little box. And Grandma, a master crocheter, made a blanket for Mary.

Grandpa and Mary's little box

Grandma crocheting Mary's blanket

Once she arrived from and then returned to our Father in Heaven. A funeral was held at our local church building. This is where my memory begins. I come from a big family. My dad is 4 of 13... I'm in the beginning of the grandchild line up. And cousins and family were a big thing growing up. Even in a tragic loss, it was about family. I remember going to the viewing. It was just before the funeral service. I remember climbing up on a little stool or maybe being picked up (but I'm pretty sure there was a stool for us little kids), so I could look into her little box. I remember her lying there in a little white dress and a little white bonnet. Mary was tiny, peaceful, perfect. I remember thinking she looked like a doll. I remember my mom holding my little sister up and telling us about how Mary's body didn't form the way it was supposed to and how she went back to be with Heavenly Father and Jesus.

The funeral services followed. I don't remember words said. But during the short service, the children came to the front of chapel to sing. We sang two songs... Families Can Be Together Forever and Did Jesus Really Live Again. (Click to hear the songs or read the lyrics.) I remember standing there and crying my eyes out. I had a few people beckon me over to them to let me know it was OK if I didn't finish the songs. But in my heart I knew I had to finish. I wanted to finish those songs for her. I needed to finish them for me. I refused to sit down. I remember shaking my head no. The last two lines of Did Jesus Really Live Again are, "Did Jesus really live again After he had died? Oh yes! And so shall I!" As we finished singing the last few words... Oh yes! And so shall!... My heart knew. My soul knew. I was singing the truth. For me, it was a very powerful. I don't think I grasped the magnitude on which I was affected at the time, but I knew. I knew that Mary was back in Heaven with God and that like Jesus Christ I would be resurrected, Mary would be resurrected, we would all be resurrected, and I could and would be with all of my loved ones again. Since then every time I sing that line... that same witness comes. It is real. It is true.

I don't really remember grave side, but I was there. I'm the little girl in the light purple coat and the white stocking hat. I do, however, remember the gravestone eventually placed. It has a little lamb on it. Growing up it was always one of the sites we visited on Memorial Day.

Graveside

 

Mary's resting place

Her death continued to affect me through out my life. In 5th grade, I'm not even sure how, but her death was on my mind. It was feeling hard. I was sad. One of the 5th grade teachers, Mr. Webster, noticed. The teachers had a walk in closet in their rooms, and he also had a sister named Sally that played guitar, wrote music, and sang. He sent me into the closet with one of Sally's songs and some paper to draw and be by myself for a little while. I don't remember much about the song or the picture... I wish I still had the picture. I have no idea what happened to it. The part I do remember was crying and drawing Mary as an angel in Heaven watching over me. I am so grateful for this teacher who was so aware of my needs. I think that is when I truly started processing and letting go ALL of my emotions surrounding her death.

As I continued into teenage life, my Aunt RaNae was an important part of it. She was a leader over the young women at church and was kind of a second mom at times. As I heard her share her stories surrounding Mary and her death... the good and the hard, it helped to fortify and to solidify my own faith. This horrible tragic loss of a innocent baby became one of the pillars of my faith.

It's still hard. Mary would be 28 now. She's still missed. She will always be missed until the reunion. But I'm grateful for Aunt RaNae and Uncle Jim who were willing to bring her into this world anyway. I'm grateful for Mary choosing to come to earth for just a short time to such an imperfect body that couldn't stay. What a huge hard sacrifice for all. But in their willingness to sacrifice so much, my heart was changed and forever altered for the better.  I wouldn't be all of who I am without the experience that Mary brought to our family. So thank you Jim and RaNae. And thank you Mary. You truly have been my little angel watching over me all these years. One of these days, I'll tell you in person. Until then... know that you are loved.

Loss (A mini series) Part 1

I have experienced very few physical, mortal losses in my life. I have never had a miscarriage. I have never had a stillbirth, or lost a child. I have never lost a parent, and all but one of my grandparents are still living. There have been deaths in my extended family, but I don't live close to them. So though, I was sad and heartbroken, it probably didn't feel as raw as it probably should have because I wasn't in the midst of it.

So you're probably wondering why I would write about loss. From the outside, it sure appears that I don't really know much about it, but looks can be deceiving. We all experience heart wrenching, aching, hole in our soul making loss. It's so real; it's almost tangible. It comes in forms common to every human, and yet, it also comes in forms completely unique to an individual. We all experience loss, so let's talk about it. Let's find relief in knowing we are not alone, even when we feel lost in loss.

As I was thinking about doing this, I was going to start my mini series with my earliest memory of loss... true loss. Not just my favorite stuffed animal's disappearance. (Though as a kid that kind of loss can be just as real, so don't brush it off or down play it. Validate the feeling.) It was something that I knew I wanted to get to, but because of events of the day, I'm going to start with where I am at now. Here's me being raw and real in the moment.

Her name is Annalynn Catherine. Aly Rin for short. Originally, we thought about calling our daughter Elizabeth. But as time went on, we decided to give her two family names (all of our boys have family names for their middle name). Annalynn is the combination of the two grandmothers'. My mother-in-law's name is Ann, and my mom's middle name is Lynn. Catherine is her great grandmother. Grandma Cathy as my husband new her, passed away when he was only 5. Though I have never met her, I have always felt a really strong connection to her. I just new she was in heaven watching over our boys and little girl until they could come be in our family.

You're probably thinking... Now wait a minute... HOLD up. I thought you said you have never had a miscarriage or lost a child... It's true. I haven't. So tell me then why my heartbreaks for a child I have never had? I never knew you could experience loss so deeply for someone that hasn't even been conceived, especially when I have not dealt with infertility by any means.

I have 5 amazing, beautiful, wonderful little boys that light up my life. I wouldn't trade the world for them, and yet, I would give up the world for them. Each and everyone is meant to be part of my family. Of that, I have absolutely no doubt in my mind. But each time we got pregnant, I thought maybe it would be my little Aly. And though I always knew that each baby boy was meant for us... I feel like a selfish jerk saying this out loud, but I always felt a little disappointed it wasn't a girl. Each time, I would tell myself... well, maybe next time. But here's another truth... we won't be having anymore biological children (unless there is some major divine intervention because it shouldn't be possible anymore.) It would not be healthy for me (and hence, my family) physically, emotionally, mentally... you name it, to have another baby. So now... there is no maybe next time. At this point in time, financially adoption isn't an option either... though I've thought about it... lots.

I even had a dream after I knew my last baby was another boy and few months before he came. I was at the hospital, I delivered a beautiful healthy boy. Then the doctor says, wait! There's another baby. As he delivers the baby, he announces that the baby is a girl! I am so excited, but then we realize she is a stillbirth. Even in my dreams I wasn't allowed to keep her. I have only told a very few people about this because it was so vivid, and I woke up with the weight of the dream on my heart. It was too personal and too raw to share, but I'm sharing it with you. It was horrible.

 

My sister has one little girl and 4 boys. One of my sister-in-laws has one of each. And I'll be honest, I'm always a little jealous. In my house, we have a square kitchen table that seats 8. There are 7 of us, so with the empty chair my boys will say from time to time that we need one more baby... That they need a sister to sit there. It's like a little knife wound to my heart each time. Even walking past the cute little baby girl clothes can be hard.

I am even beginning to dread the questions, are you going to have more kids, and are you going to try again for a girl? Seriously, don't ask about family status of any kind unless you're the person's bff, and even then proceed with caution. A second piece of advice, don't try to reassure by saying, well at least... fill in the blank. Because I am also really tired of people telling me, well at least you'll get 5 wonderful daughter-in-laws, and you won't have to deal with teenage girls.  Look, I get it. I know no one is intentionally trying to be rude. They are trying to soften the blow and find the positive in the situation. I'm not trying to be offended... and I'm actually not. I appreciate the gesture. But here's the thing... It still stings. IT. IS. NOT. THE. SAME! Even with a really good mother-in-law/daughter-in-law relationship (which I have with mine... LOVE her!), it is not the same as a mother/daughter relationship. It. just. isn't.  

So today one of my other sisters went in for a gender ultrasound for her first baby. She called to tell me the happy news! A beautiful, healthy little girl. I am genuinely so happy for her and her husband. Having a baby is such a miracle. But as I said good bye and hung up the phone with her, I broke down. Luckily, it wasn't too long after that my husband walked in from work because I needed him to hold me. Not only have the tears flowed off and on this evening, but the chatter in my head has begun again.

I know the chatter isn't truth. Isn't reality. But it comes so easily once it starts. The jealous thoughts of why couldn't I have a girl, and why does she get to be lucky enough to get a girl. The unworthy thoughts of God didn't think I was worthy of one His daughters, that He must not trust me enough, that I wouldn't be a good mom to girl because I wouldn't be strong enough (because He only gives us what we are strong enough to handle, right?). The pleading with God thoughts to understand because I was sure eventually she would come. And she hasn't.

Here's the truth. The real truth. My heart yearns for this little girl. There is a hole where she should be. For whatever the reason, she isn't a part of my story on earth right now. And it's not because of my worthiness, my skills as a mother, any unluckiness, or any other darkness that my mind tries to overshadow me with. The reality is... it is all in God's hands. I find hope in that. I find glimmers of peace in that. Which I desperately need. Because the reality is also, that it hurts. Some days, it's just an ache. Other days like today, it hurts so bad.

I'm hoping that maybe someday something will change. Maybe eventually another mother will bring her into the world, and I will bring her home and love her as if she were my own because she will be. She will be the missing piece to my heart that I lost before it was ever found. She will be my Aly Rin.

An Important Part, but Not ALL

If from the last post, you assume I don't find motherhood fulfilling, I want to clarify. Being a stay-at-home mom was what I always wanted to do, even when people told me I was wasting my degree and my abilities. Being a stay-at-home mom is still my ultimate goal in life. But my perspective has changed. It is an important part (and the main part) of what I want to do with my life, but it isn't ALL of whom I am, who I want to be, or what I want to do.

Motherhood is magical, wonderful, awe-inspiring, miraculous, amazing, fulfilling, and all those other positive associated emotions. But motherhood is also tiring, boring, tedious, monotonous, disgusting and smelly (Oh children and their bodily functions...), lonely, and all those other negative associated emotions. Motherhood like any human experience or any job can range in a whole spectrum of feelings and emotions. My fellow CEO and I don't always see eye to eye. My little co-workers can cause drama. Sometimes my lunch mysteriously disappears from the break room... even as I'm eating it. Some times though, things click, and a project goes really well and on time and on budget. Overall we are a successful little business, but we're a start up. We're still figuring things out. We're not perfect. And in those moments it's easy to get lost in the day to day and not see annual returns starting to create a profit.

I also used to think that being a wife and mother had to be my only venture. I was supposed to give it my all (and I still think I should), but that if I desired more than that, it was selfish of me.

For example, when I first got married, I taught school. My husband was still in school. He worked part time, but I was the major breadwinner in our family. When I chose to stay home, it was an adjustment. I was no longer financially making a contribution to our family. I struggled with that and continue to struggle with that.

I want to help create financial security and abundance for my family. But I feel like that through our culture, my culture, I've been subtly taught that I'm selling myself short for wanting to be a mom, and that if I do become a mom, being at home with the kids should be enough. I shouldn't work. I shouldn't make money. I shouldn't want to do those things. And then I feel guilty. Why, because I am a woman, have I been made to feel guilty about earning an income? It is still possible to be an active, involved parent and work... my husband does it. In fact, he needs that part of his life. We've discussed people we know who have "retired" their husbands. That's awesome for them, but it's not what we would choose to do in that situation because he needs the work outside of the home to help meet some of his needs. Yet no one blinks an eye when he is providing for his family and finding validation in the work he does outside of our home and outside of his role as a father.  But why do women get looked down upon when they search out ways outside of the home to meet some of their other needs?

Do I think there are benefits to my staying home? Absolutely. Do I want to work outside of the home full time? Not really. I do help teach preschool twice a week in the morning, and that's plenty for me. Do I want to create other opportunities to use my talents and earn an income? Yes. But that does not mean that I have to put my motherhood in jeopardy to do so. Will sacrifices occasionally have to be made? Of course, but that's life. Finding balance is a continual act that shifts and changes with the tides and the seasons of life. I don't expect to "have it all", especially not all of the time. But why does it have to be all or nothing?

  

I am learning that it is perfectly fine to want to be a successful mother AND a successful person. And I have some great examples of mothers doing just that. A sister who is successfully nurturing her blog into a profitable business. Friends who balance mommy-dom with side businesses of photography, Etsy shops, essential oils, health businesses, and more. And there are others who work full time, some from need and some from choice, and they are good mothers too... Sometimes accomplishing more in their shortened time with their children than I do in my full day with mine. Do any of them do it all perfectly? No, but I don't either. No one does... male or female.

I am grateful I have the privilege of being a stay-at-home mom. It isn't possible for everyone. My family is truly my world. BUT I'm also grateful that I am beginning to understand that I shouldn't have to feel guilty about wanting to expand my world. As I expand, grow, and beautify my world, if God and my family are at the center, then my family benefits too. So tell me again how that is a bad thing?

Advocacy

My oldest spent the day yesterday being sick to his stomach and sleeping, so I stayed home from church with him and thought I would put my time to good use while it was quiet.

I am the oldest of six kids. You know all those stereotypes about the oldest child...? They are totally false. OK, I'm lying. They are actually quite accurate for me... I'm sure my siblings would agree.

I have always been very independent and responsible. I often helped with my younger siblings. My parents bought a house that had to be completely gutted and remodeled. So when my parents went to work on the house in the evenings and on weekends. I stayed home and watched siblings most of the time. When my youngest sister was born, I was 15. I mothered her enough that the poor kid called both me and my mom mom for a while. And I remember one at least one occasion, talking loudly about going to find mom because of the dirty looks I got from people thinking I was a teenage mother. I often babysat for other people to earn money. I was good at it. I prided myself on being able to make even the grumpiest kid into my friend eventually.

I grew up wanting to be a mom. I sure thought that with my experiences, motherhood was going to be so easy... but that's for another post. I grew up wanting to be a teacher. I went to college knowing that I was going to get my education degree. I was a Resident Assistant in college. I got help new freshman while helping myself at the same time. It was great. A lot of my choices in life have been centered around helping other people. Not to say that I am never selfish, but reaching out to others has been an intrinsic part of me.

I graduated in elementary education and taught school for two years until I had my oldest son and choose to be a stay-at-home mom. Over the next 8 years, I had 4 more little boys to reach out to and to care for. Along the way we also began to find out and realize my oldest son has special needs. For the most part, nothing in the special needs world comes easily.

Over the course of these 8 years, I was doing what I thought I always wanted to do... be a mom and raise my family. But I had lost myself. I had lost myself to depression and anxiety (pregnancy and postpartum hormones compound the problem 10 fold.) I had become mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausted with life with 5 small little boys. I had become mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausted trying to figure out all the details of my oldest son's needs and how to meet those. It was overwhelming. I could find happiness and even joy at times, but it was fleeting. I was like a young child trying to catch a butterfly, so close, yet so far. I was lacking focus and purpose.

Though my life hasn't changed in huge ways. I'm noticing a shift occurring. I'm not sure exactly when it began, but I know God has slowly been setting things into place and changing me, to get me to this point where I'm seeing the shift, and I'm ready to change with it.

Over the course of the last couple of years, I've started to learn to be more comfortable with my reality. To learn that I don't need to hide the hard parts of my life. And as I've been more honest and more open, it's given others permission to do the same. I've been able to help some of my siblings, a friend of a friend, a dear close friend, an old college friend, and maybe others with finding help with their anxiety and depression. I've been able to offer advice and experience when it comes to meeting the special needs of a child. I've started trying to expand my vision of how I can be helpful and useful. This blog is the result of that. I've also decided to take a leap of faith and try something else new, but you'll hear more about that later.

I'm still a stay-at-home mom with small children. I am still a perfectionist struggling with anxiety and depression. I am still just me. It's still overwhelming. The doubts, fears, and insecurities still plague me, but I'm ready. I'm ready to set them to the side and step out into the unknown. Not because I am brave and my fears are disappearing, but in spite of them. I'm ready to move forward. Because the vision of who I am supposed to be is coming into focus. From the beginning, God has been laying the pieces of me and of my life into place... Here a little. There a little. I am finding my purpose in the life I have and in the life I want to create. I am meant to be honest and real and to help people to the best of my abilities. And hopefully, with God's help, to help others beyond my own capabilities.

I am meant to help my children. I am meant to help my family and other families wade through the hard parts of special needs. I am meant to help open up the difficult discussions of mental health and our imperfections in this life. I meant to be me. ALL of me. And I am meant to help others on their journey as I continue to wade through mine. I am meant to have a purpose and to fulfill it. I am meant to be an advocate.

Duplicity

I believe there is both nature and nurture at play in our lives. I have found that some things just come pre-hardwired.

Growing up, we lived two blocks from the elementary school. When it came time to
enroll in Kindergarten, I walked with my mom over to the school to do a Kindergarten assessment test. I remember going into the classroom while my mom waited in the hall. There were other kids in the room, and we moved around doing different tasks. I don't remember too many specifics, except that they asked me if I knew where paper came from. I didn't answer the question or said I didn't know.

When I went back out to my mom and started walking home, she began asking about how it went. And I told her I missed a question. I didn't know where paper came from. Her response was, "Yes, you do. Lachelle, where does paper come from?" Looking up at her, I respond, "trees?" "See you knew it!"

Later that year, I remember coming into the house crying... bawling. Of course my mom was concerned and wanted to know what was wrong. "I failed. I failed." I wailed. I had messed up on a paper that involved alphabetizing. Some how I had gotten all mixed up. I remember my mom calming me, and we sat on her bed in her room. The image of being snuggled up next to her while she lovingly went through the paper, helping me correct it and showing me that I could indeed do what was asked of me will forever be a marker in my memory.

Hi, my name is Lachelle, and I'm a perfectionist. I've been one from the start. It's standard in the package that I came with. Perfectionism is a hard task master. Irrational. Relentless. And completely unattainable.

But here's the thing... Every coin has two sides. Perfectionism is one of my biggest weaknesses. Always has been, and probably always will be (even though I'm turtle crawling my way forward out of the negative "side effects"). But perfectionism has positive "side effects" too. I want to do my best. I want to be my best self. And I can be quite stubborn and determined about it. I know how to work hard. It helps balance my ADD.

That same Kindergarten year, it was announced that we would be building a new elementary school. And with the new school, the school wanted to create a time capsule to bury for future generations. A contest was held. All the grades participated in some form or another. As Kindergarteners, we drew pictures. I drew the school (fire escape included). I remember them being so impressed by that... I was choosen out of all Kindergarteners to have my picture placed in the time capsule. I still even have the board book, Sleepy Squirrel, I recieved as a prize! Those very same qualities that pushed me to feeling inferior also pushed me to be successful, even as a Kindergartener. Those qualities of perfectionism continue to do that. 

I was always taught that our weaknesses could become our strengths, through God and hard work. And I thought that to make something become one of my strengths, I would have to rid myself of all of the weakness in it. It was all or nothing. But that isn't truth. I NEED both. As I embrace both sides... the light and the dark, the postive and the negative, the ying and the yang... I begin to find balance. I begin to see. I begin to understand. And then I begin to be able to make choices that allow me to be pushed to success and to push back at the feelings of inferiorty. Is it easy? No. Is it worth it? The tears, the self-doubt, the negative...? Yes, if that means I can become a stronger me in the end. My greatest weaknesses are my greatest strengths. But I have to choose to see. I have to choose to act. I have to choose.

Tangent

So I have the next post in my head... It's coming. I promise. It even has a name... Duplicity. BUT for the moment I wanted to write a little short post and go off on a little tangent for a minute. And here's why... Because I think it's an important part of understanding me, my story, and my storytelling.

My oldest son has special needs, part of which includes ADHD. As I learn about him, I learn about myself. I've come to realize that I'm probably a little ADHD myself (the AD part not the HD part... He's both parts.) Yes, I know. I'm self-diagnosing. Yes, I know. Internet quizzes are not a doctor. But in my defense, one of his therapists agrees with me!

I believe that some of my anxiety issues stem from this. Though I've always just coped with it and will probably never go to get officially diagnosed, it's part of me. It affects me. I lack filters. I'm not referring to my words, though it can occasionally (and perhaps more often than I like to admit) apply there too.  I lack sensory filters... I often feel like my brain is trying to take in and process too much at once. So then it's either distracted, overwhelmed, or trying to zone out.

My thoughts are just as active as my senses. I can't tell you how many blog posts I have composed in my head over the last two or so years. I'm easily distracted and so easily overwhelmed by all of my thoughts, that I just don't even know where to begin. So when it comes to this blog, I want you to know I've got ideas. I've got things I want to share. But finding time to sort it, process it, make a decision, and write it, all while not being distracted by life around me, can be tricky (especially with so many littles). And truth be told, my family comes first. SO please be patient with me as I try to figure all of this out, and keep coming back to share in my story.

Hindsight is 20/20

Looking back, I know I've struggled with anxiety and depression through out my life. But it took a while for my mind to understand something that my heart and soul already knew.

Growing up, I knew I possess a sensitive heart. But my mom cried during Hallmark commercials. I have a temper (which I'm still working on). But I had inherited my dad's redhead genes. I am perfectionist. But that's just the way I was made. There was always some reason. Some explainable justification for why I felt the way I did.

I thought everyone felt the way I did. Because think about it... How are young/teenage girls often described/categorized as a whole? Do words like... drama queen, emotional, hormonal, PMS (because that explains ALL emotions with negative connotations in women), sensitive... etc. come to mind? I believed it was normal to cry myself to sleep at night on a somewhat regular basis. Somehow I believed it was my fault I felt so alone... that somehow I wasn't good enough. That I was just different. That I just didn't fit in. That that was just my reality. And try as I might to change my external circumstances, my feelings never really did change. I didn't realize that maybe, just maybe, I was struggling with something outside of my control.

Life proceeded on much the same way through college. I eventually found someone how loved me for me, and things were really good. Then I got pregnant. Pregnancy was hard. Hormones do truly have a integral role in my depression and anxiety. But everything was going to be fine once the baby came. He came, but it wasn't fine. I just thought I had the baby blues. And he was a really hard baby. He probably cried close to 8 to 12 hours a day every day for the first 6 months of his life before it started to slowly improve. Once again there was always an explainable justification. I didn't want to harm myself or my baby... so surely I wasn't really depressed.

Things improved. But a month after he turned two, he had a baby brother. Soon thereafter we also realized, our oldest had some special needs and needed help. I was back to hard. But it's just life. Life is just hard.

One night I was in bed reading from the Ensign, a magazine our church publishes monthly. There was an article on postpartum depression. You can read it here. All of the sudden, my mind finally saw the puzzle pieces fall into place and understood that I was struggling with depression. It wasn't just me. I wasn't making this up. The struggle was real, and even if it isn't uncommon, it isn't normal either.

This was my 'ah ha' moment. My awakening. It didn't fix everything. But with that light, I began to find understanding. And with that understanding, I began to find direction. This was a pivotal turning point. Instead of trying to hide or turn a blind eye to my struggles, I began to turn to meet them head on.