Remember Windland

I wrote this on July 8th. 

"The word "tradition" itself derives from the Latin tradere or traderer literally meaning to transmit, to hand over, to give for safekeeping. "

Today, it rained, then the sun came out. It rained again and once more, the sun decided to have the last act of the day, not much different than most days this month. But, July 8th is a day that will forever be noted on my calendar. It was the projected due date of my baby, Windland, that we lost a year and a half ago in a miscarriage. I wrote my heart about that time here and here.

I cried only once, maybe twice today. I realize that I've come so far and grown so deeply. I've grown  in love, in pain, in joy, in compassion, in questioning, in peace,  in empathy, in beauty, and in the raw realities of living. I've lived in the darkest canyons of grief in the deepest ocean, craving water instead of air to fill my lungs and I've been pulled up to the surface of the living, of light and oxygen and love. Cedar really was my rescuer. He's been the sweetest of sweet joys that a soul could be, given to help comfort and heal. I cannot put into words the love and adoration that I feel towards this happy little boy.  In the same tone though, there is a piece of my heart that will always be missing and aching. I made sure that today, I did something to remember my little love that breezed by our lives a year and a half ago.

Recently, one of my closest friends lost her baby in a miscarriage. It was a tragic and devastating loss. While in the process of grieving with her,  I had a dream. I don't typically dream much. But, in this dream, I dreamed of a little girl with curls, like Kael's but a bit longer and lighter. She was around 2 years old, but was speaking more like a 5 year old. She was showing Cedar and Kael how to skip rocks on a creek bank. Almost being a little momma. All 3 of them were giggling. She turned around and smiled at me and I saw her face. She was mine. "Oh, you're my Windland!?" I said. She nodded and smiled,  then went back to playing as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I woke up. I didn't want to wake up. Whether that was a real dream or not, it comforted my soul immensely.

Creating beauty in the mundane and seeing the good in front of me, instead of only the awful is a driving part of me.  I like to think that this passion is in all of my children; a bit of my wild love for life and people, living and thriving in them.   I live to celebrate and to love. So, to pass by today with only tears, didn't seem natural to me. I had to do something. I thought to myself, Windland was and is my child, a small spirit that I want to blow a kiss to. A kiss with love and maybe somehow an embrace.   So, this afternoon as the boys played, I went outside and thought about the winds of love this baby created. My Windland wasn't a purposeless life. There's something about making traditions, physically doing, saying or singing something that attaches the dreams, loves or aches of our heart to reality and something good, some kind of hope? I wanted Windland to have one. I needed to have one.

I let the day play out naturally, enjoying the boys and then I found myself outside, making a tiny little crown of greenery from the woods in our back yard. This is for her, I thought. Cedar came out with me for a  bit, playing with the leaves and curling vines. As I wove the stems together, I reflected on the time I had felt, before the pain, and tried to harness that joy and elation. Then, coming back inside the house, I sat down and wrote out her name, as beautifully as I could. It was a sweet moment, in the middle of the crazy, right before dinner time.  Each bend and curve of my pen felt sacred, somehow connecting me to her. I started off to scribble a little note on the other side of the paper when, what started off as a sweet letter, soon turned into a gentle tear and then into heart gushing, finishing with a settled soul and maybe even a smile.  In a way, it made me feel happy that I found my own tradition to celebrate the tiny heart that forever changed me.

For the short time my baby was here, Windland's  sweet breeze created beauty just by her presence. The wonder of winter turning into spring, heart break fading into love and disappointment evolving into hope is something I know. Cedar wouldn't have even been a possibility if I hadn't miscarried, seeing I got surprisingly pregnant with him 2 short weeks later. Cedar is my springtime, my love, my little hope that carries the gentle truth of redemption. Am I still sad? Yeah, I am. Can I imagine or think of life without my Cedar baby? Not even for a second. That's the complicated reality of life and love, I suppose.


"Willow"
by: Songs of Water
We hung our harps on the willow tree, still the wind formed hands and plucked out its melodies. 
Our hearts rejoiced as if it were a dream, when the seeds of our tears became a field of wheat. 
Look what he's done, look what he's done for us. He turned our songless night into a symphony of praise.

http://www.reverbnation.com/songsofwater/song/5106298-willow

This was written by a friend of ours, who lost his best friend in an accident right before finding out he and his wife were pregnant with their first child.  The first verse is my favorite: "We hung our harps on the willow trees, still the wind formed hands and plucked out it's melodies." The first half of that line is referencing Psalm 137:2, when the Jewish nation was forced out of their land to live captive, pretty much as slaves, in the land of the then current super power. They had lost all heart, joy and hope. "Hanging up your harps" was like "throwing in the towel." They were done with expecting good. The grief and heartbreak was too much.  The part saying, "Still the wind formed hands and plucked out it's melodies..." Good lord. I listened to this song again, randomly after I had already named Windland and gotten pregnant with Cedar. I burst into tears when the words spilled over into my soul and the gently, haunting chorus filled up my car. Somehow, they were good tears. It comforted me. In some way, a song settled the confusion of my heart, as I was looking for a place to put my emotions. It gave word and tone to the meaning of my disillusioned state. My brain thinks in imagery so, it was the language I needed to hear.  Even in the sadness, my little breeze played a melody. A perfect little song, named Cedar.


As I am sitting here, writing the thoughts of today,  both of my boys are laughing and screaming as loud as they possibly can, as their daddy tickles and chases them around the living room. Cedar, the pure delight of my soul, goes from moods of happiness to frustration, as he realizes he can't run and jump like his big brother can, although he's walking. What? How did that happen?  Kael's curls are a glowing crown of wild, in the early evening light, and I want to kiss his chubby cheeks a thousand times over. I'm soaking up this sweet moment, as if it were the last time my ears would ever again be able to hear the sound of joy. Soaking in the moment has become a gift that has been strengthened in my heart. The art of clinging to the good, pausing and acknowledging the beauty that is in front of me has become my moment by moment practice. Telling my children that I love them is my mantra, holding them to my heart is my physical prayer.  Life has taught and is teaching me this gift.


Today, I'm remembering. I'm remembering the joy of telling my best friends that I was pregnant, jumping around ChickFila like a crazy person. I'm remembering the elation that I felt, when calling my friend Kristina in Florida, squealing on the phone and talking forever that night about this baby being redemption, after such a sad season. There was joy. I'm remembering the look on Sam's face and him instantly telling me girl names that he loved. I remember feeling Windland's goodness inside of my soul, at the kitchen sink and singing to her. I remember loving and dreaming. This is what I'm remembering today.


Windland Sweetheart, 

You were and still are a beautiful dream. Our dream... my dream. 

I love you forever. 

Momma

Tears Are A Language

Tears. Tears have been a language to me. A way for my heart to speak, when I don't know what to say or can't say. Even after they spill over my cheeks, running down my chest, I can feel the cold air of the room letting me feel the patterns they've left on my face. The skin on my face feels cold and tight, but there's some sort of comfort in that? Then, all of a sudden my face is warm again, more tears. 

Miscarriage has been one of the scariest of words to me. It's also a word that I never thought would be a part of my life story, but who ever thinks it will be?  

1 week late. 2 weeks late. 3 weeks late. I knew it. I knew my body felt different. I knew what "this" kind of "different" was. I was pregnant. Was I pregnant? Denial. My first set of thoughts were a mixture of "what the holy heck!!!??" a twinge of excitement, and Eeeee! Then, all out fear set in as I thought of the knitty gritty. I was in a tango of passionate, flip-flop emotions.

This called for a crying session on my back porch, one evening, in the middle of the maybes and might- bes. I let the fears gush out, that had piled high during my pregnancy with Káel and his birth. (I had a really emotional and stressful pregnancy with Kael and one heck of a labor experience. If you aren't familiar with it, you can go and read about it here and here.) Only Jesus and the little night critters in our woods were listening. Sam was inside. I had snapped at him, which was another clue that my body was out of kilter. Not the hormones again! I'm just starting to feel normal! The swing I was laying on had damp cushions from the rain that we'd had earlier in the day. My shirt was slowly starting to feel cold and wet. I didn't care. This was real and I had to address my heart. After the last sob ebbed, I looked up and watched the tops of the trees rock back and forth. The sound of their leaves were soothing, like the sound of the ocean. I felt a wave of comfort. Jesus was calming and kissing my soul. It was a really beautiful time of healing for my heart that I'll treasure forever. It was ok if I was pregnant.  I got up from my porch swing, ready to do this, still freaked out, but ready. Samuel was as supportive as ever.  I was holding my breath.  

A few days later, 2 faint lines on 2 separate pee sticks, confirmed what what my body had been telling me. I was pregnant. Sam was so excited. I cried a few tears with one of my best friends as the reality hit me. Then, we switched into gear with a snap. Samuel started telling me names that he liked. I started envisioning a wee baby and a sibling for Forest boy. We were ready to have another baby and it was amazing. That same day, I saw a few of my closest girl friends and I blurted out the news. Squeals erupted! We planned on telling our family at Thanksgiving, as we all sat around the table telling each other what we were thankful for. I even posted a fake "Aunt Flo" status on Facebook to throw my family off. I felt like this time around was going to be so redemptive and lovely. I was so sure. 

"Dear Little Darling, 

Today I found out that you are here. I told a few of  my closest friends about you. Your Daddy is so excited and so am I. I was afraid at first. But now, I'm SO excited. One day we will laugh together about today. I already feel your goodness and the beauty that's inside of you. I love you. 

-Momma"

I went to bed and smelled the most awful smelling discharge. I thought it was strange but, just brushed it off as a pregnancy thing. Sam and I had sparkles in our eyes and I made myself close the name book and go to sleep. I was going to call my midwife tomorrow. She was going to be so excited. I woke up the next morning and there was blood, lots of it. I ran to the bathroom and started crying. Samuel was trying to figure out how to help me. What does this mean? Maybe I was never pregnant? The lines were really faint, right? No, my heart was already committed to this. I had taken 2 tests. There was no easy out. I called my sweet midwives and an agonizing week of 50/50's and maybes began. Apparently 50% of women bleed in their pregnancy and they are fine. My midwife told me that it was most likely my body moving the embryo out of my body. But, she said that I could come in for an expensive blood test to confirm or wait a few days.

 I tried to convince myself that I wasn't pregnant at all. It would be easier to deal with. This couldn't be happening to me, could it? But my body and so many other things were telling me that wasn't the case. This was happening. The torture of finding a place to put my emotions was awful. Do I mourn?  Do I hope? How can you do both at the same time and still function? I wrote this during that week, "The heart leans into hope with a fierceness, even when it's afraid of it." I was terrified of hoping because, what if my baby was already gone and I would have to go through the initial pain all over again? What if I don't hope and write it all off and there's a baby in there needing some love and help? But like I wrote, my heart is geared to hope. So, I waited and tried to embrace being vulnerable. But, oh this torturous limbo.

"I'm laying here, bleeding and with every cramp, a shockwave of sadness hits my heart...I was so excited and so sure about you and the future moments I was going to have with you. The limbo is the worst. Maybe you'll be fine, maybe my body will keep rejecting you. I'm sorry. I've tried to sleep. I'm afraid to change my pad because I'm afraid to see 'tissue' which would be you. Please no." 

Being vulnerable is a beautiful, ugly and terrifying place to be. It feels like weakness. It is. It feels like you're left unprotected, open to any and every hurtful thing. Which, you are. For me, embracing being vulnerable is the only way my heart can heal and grow. If I'm in denial and I wall off (which I am very good at doing) my heart can't thrive, live or heal. It stunts me. I embraced being sad. Even in the unknowing.  Jesus would have to be something for my heart that I couldn't be for myself, and I wasn't about to try.

I kept bleeding, having to keep an eye out for tissue. I kept trying not to hope but, at the same time not to loose hope. How the heck does that even work?  I don't know. Up and down, back and forth, I felt like my heart was on the rack, being pulled in two extremes. I'd be at the sink doing dishes, and tears would start pouring down my face. I didn't even know how in the world to pray. My tears were my heart praying, only what He knew I needed to say. I started feeling stressed that maybe I had caused all this because I was freaked out at the thought of being pregnant again. My mom told me that if that were the case, half of the people alive right now, wouldn't be. It kind of made me giggle. 

After several days, my bleeding pretty much stopped although the cramping continued. It was all so weird. I took a digital test and "not pregnant" showed up. I thought I would be ok. I mean, it's not like I was 20 weeks pregnant or something. No, the heart is an amazing thing and mine had bonded with this baby or the idea of this baby, lightening fast. The little face that I had started to picture, was gone. I had blocked some of my heart from emotion and, my strongest wall couldn't hold it back now. The next couple of days were the roughest. I still had cramping and some pregnancy symptoms. It was like a cruel joke. Out of the blue, heavy, silent and sometimes loud wails started to buckle me over. This is a different kind of sadness. I don't really have a grid for this. Those closest to me were and are a dream, encouraging me to take as long as I need to process and heal, however I need to. This is a journal entry the day I had taken the last test that showed negative. 

"I was sobbing really hard today, after I took another test. As I sat there, tears dripping from my face, non-stop, Káel walks over to me and lovingly started patting my leg with his little hand. Just like I pat his back after he's fallen and I hold him. He did this 3 different times. Comfort is precious and beautiful." 

In the backdrop of my mind, there's one part of my heart that has worried people won't know what to say to me, or will be awkward around me if they know what's been going on behind the doors of my heart. Quite honestly, I've felt awkward around me through this. But you know what, this is life. We were made for relationships and we walk through life together in all it's awesomeness and in all it's suckiness. Then another part of my brain thinks my pain is over dramatized. Which, apparently, I'm learning, is a pretty common feeling for women who experience loss, early on in their pregnancy. 

Is there beauty in this?  I can't see it in every moment. But, being real is beautiful. And for me, being heartbroken is real.  I can truly say, as I'm still processing everything, that beautifulness has and is coming from this experience. It's awful, but now my heart can more understand others who have experienced loss, in a way that I would never have been able to fully empathize with or relate to. I've got a gapping hole inside my heart. Who'd have thought something so brief and small, could leave that large of wanting. But, for every emotion of pain that I've felt and feel, there is a tangible promise and reality of love and goodness that I am embracing and throwing myself into. Grace.

Now I know that my heart can be excited about having another baby without fear or hesitation. 

The past couple of months, I've been reading the book "1000 Gifts" which has been a life line of good to my soul and even giving my heart the cush for this confusing time. The author says at one point in the book that everything is grace. It is. Everything is grace, the good, the pain, the beauty, the awful, the bearable, even the unknown. Even in the middle of all this crap, I look around and I see so much wonderful. So much love. So much grace. My son and his thriving sweetness, good Lord! My husband and his heavenly devotion and encouragement, my family, my amazing community and the friends of my heart that are as constant and bright as stars. So much beauty, so much new life, and that makes me happy. I've purposed my heart to not live in an unrealistic dream land through all of this though. If I need to feel sad, that's ok. Loving the good doesn't mean I don't acknowledging the hurt. I can mourn and process all the emotion of not understanding and letting go while seeing the kisses blow my way.

"Well little darling, you were like a small breeze. You came and went. But, you created a storm of love in my heart. This has been so hard. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't get to hold you and kiss your face. Maybe I will one day? I love you my wee little Windland. Goodbye. -Momma"

I wrote this blog not knowing if I'd ever press the publish button. I wrote it mostly just for my heart to process some thoughts and emotions. This is me being real, kind of raw and it's me being vulnerable. So, There are so many things in life I don't understand. This is one of a million of them. I have so many questions. "God is always good, and I am always loved." I believe this. I know this. (quote from 1000 Gifts)  I heard someone say recently that "There can be no music without tension." Unless a string is wound tight with tension the bow can't release the melodies. Unless there is tension, the fingers can't pluck out the notes. That right there has been on repeat in my mind. It doesn't explain anything really, but in a way it comforts me. This is my tension in life right now. I'm listening to hear the music.