Arabic Class

Boring day at the store. You can imagine it, but we had *no* orders today before 3pm. So we had Arabic class! This is Andrew posing with his "tay"
Prebake...
And the finished product. From right to left (because that's how they roll) aleph, bay, tay. A tasty lesson, one we won't soon forget.

Ready

We built our home in the winter of 2004/2005. When we moved in, it seemed idyllic. The perfect place to raise a family. Lots of space, there were only 5 houses on the cul-de-sac, the neighbor kids were very nice. It was a nice, quiet neighborhood.

And then more houses went up.

And more neighbors moved in.

More kids. Older kids.

Older kids whose parents maybe weren't as attentive to their kids' behavior.

Aw, crap. I'm just going to spell it out. Parents who didn't care a fig about their kid's moral base. Whose kids were brats and bullies. Meanwhile they looked the other way. It's easier to do that, you know.

Not ever saying Andrew's completely innocent. Far from it. The difference is I address the behavior when it comes up.

Wells Fargo, you want to come and take my house?

It's all yours.

I'm gonna go find a neighborhood with some decent kids. Kids I don't have to constantly worry about negatively influencing Andrew. Or threatening to beat him up. Hopefully a neighborhood with parents who care about how their children are being brought up.

I am sooo ready to move.

Cheesey Sesame Hot Dogs

Recipe here...


Brushing on the butter~The finished product. Bon apetit!

What's Wrong With Me?

It's been over two weeks since I've shed a tear. Or really even felt sad. Or really thought about my baby angel.

Considering it's only been 3 months since she went Home, is this normal?

I read my fellow DBM's blogs, and see them broken for months.

Sometimes years.

And I feel like this uncaring mom, who doesn't miss her little girl enough to grieve anymore.

I feel horrible about this.

But I still don't grieve.

And it's not like I'm avoiding the grief. I embrace the tears when they come, knowing that with the tears comes the healing.

Maybe I'm just a little messed up.

Maybe? Ha, almost certainly.

I Remember When....

Once upon a time, I was standing on top of the world.

I had everything. A great husband, a healthy baby on the way, opportunities gleaming golden all over the horizon.

A perfect, textbook pregnancy, delivery, son.

A new business with a bright future.

A giant home, with many bedrooms just waiting to be filled.

And no reason to think that would be a challenge, filling those rooms with the cries of babies.

Once upon a time.

I'm blessed, I still have a great husband and a perfect son.

But the business? It's so-so.

Not enough to provide for us, but just profitable enough to make it hard to walk away.

Not that we're walking away. Please don't assume that.

But the riches we dreamed of? That pot of gold? Still hiding at the end of the rainbow.

My giant house is going to be sold to the highest bidder in less than a week.

My waiting bedrooms will have someone else filling them with joyful children.

Unless we get our papers filed in time. But even then, it only postpones the inevitable.

Someday, before we even have to put up next year's calendar, we'll be moving.

In a way, I'm looking forward to it.

A fresh start. A change of scenery.

Hopefully moving closer to downtown.

Getting away from this neighborhood and the rotten kids that torture my son.

Maybe torture's a harsh word. Influence negatively?

However this all goes down, I know that our story will only end one way...

....and they all lived happily ever after.

Because that's the only way it can end, right?

Right!?!

Researching with the Fist Bump

My son was watching one of his favorite PBS shows the other day. Sid the Science Kid was talking about germ transfer, the importance of sneezing into your elbow, and the basics of handwashing. And Andrew, that brilliant son of mine, says "Instead of shaking hands, they should pop it and lock it (our little fist bump routine). Then maybe people won't get germs."

It's been kind of on my mind since then. How many less sick days would I have if I employed the fist bump instead of shaking hands?

And how many people would look at me funny?

So I gave it a little test run on my chiropractor. He held his hand out to me, and I said "fist bump!" He was curious, so I told him I'm trying to avoid the swine flu. Which turned into a whole different conversation that I'll save for another time. Dr. Josh doesn't like the fist bump, but he's willing to humor me.

The attorney I visited on Friday was a bit taken by surprise, though. He good-naturedly returned the bump when I said "swine flu a-coming!" Yeah, I fist-bumped with a lawyer. I'm the shizzle, fo rizzle.

Church tomorrow should be quite the experiment. :)

So what do you think? Will I spend less time hacking and coughing this year? Save the rainforest by using fewer tissues?

How would you react if someone offered you their fist instead of their open hand?

Highlights from Homeschool

The First Day of School picture

Mom, I think I got it!

Making Bean n' Cheese BurritosThe Finished Product

Inappropriate

I'm putting together some pictures to send to Yasar's family in Syria. And I asked if it'd be appropriate to send a picture of Leila.

Negative.
I cannot make myself think of our little miracle as inappropriate. She was a beautiful, precious little human being. A blood relative. Just because she didn't survive, she's not worth counting as a member of our family? At what point would she have been considered appropriate? If she drew breath? Cried her first cry?

Sometimes I struggle to understand my husband's culture. And sometimes I just throw up my hands and try to accept. But this time, it just hurts.

Update on Tiger

This weekend has been all over the place. I wish I have a definite answer when asked how Tiger's doing. At times, he's practically his old self, albeit much skinnier. Others, like last night when he peed all over his feet, not so much.

The good news is I haven't seen him vomit since Friday. Diarrhea, yeah. But at least he's keeping down what he's been eating. If only he could make it to the litterbox...

So far today (knock on wood) he seems to be doing pretty well. Eating small amounts of his expensive Prescription Diet mixed with chicken babyfood, and drinking from the toilet (yeah, he's disgusting - but I'll let him drink out of whatever he wants right now, as long as he drinks!). He's started to curl up again when he lays down, instead of that miserable hunker they seem to have when they don't feel well. He's also been outside for awhile today, so if he's had bowel distress, I don't know about it.


I'm cautiously optimistic. Maybe too many bad things have been happening to me to trust that something wonderful can come of this.

Tiger is scheduled for an ultrasound tomorrow, which we may skip if he continues to progress tonight. We've sort of discussed euthanizing him once we've seen the results of the test, if the prognosis is too bad. And most surprising to me, for as many times as Yasar has threatened to get rid of Tiger, he does not want to talk about that. Typical guy, huh? :)

My Kid, the Sk8erBoi

And, in case you were wondering, I did have to change my underwear when I got home. :)

A Vet Story

Yesterday Tiger went in for another bolus of fluid to get him through the weekend. It was a drop-off thing, so I went and hung out with Hubs at Domino's until Tiger was all done.

When I went back, there were a few people in front of me for service. A very nice woman with a sick little Yorkie and I were chatting, and we both noticed a young woman and her significant other come out of one of the exam rooms, completely distraught and in tears.

We both shook our heads and said a little prayer for them, and for us.

So Crystal, the super-nice front desk lady, is settling my account up. And we're talking about how good it was that Yasar got to talk to the vet earlier, that he sort of gets what's going on and he'll feel a little better about the financial side of this situation. I was saying that this is all new to Yasar, in Syria they treat animals like animals, not like members of the family. They don't spend this kind of money trying to keep a pet alive and comfortable.

Crystal kind of looks at me out of the corner of her eye and says, "well, if he gets upset, just tell him about those people you just saw. The ones that were crying. She just authorized us to perform a $350 leg amputation surgery.....on her hamster."

I was proud of myself - I actually controlled myself for almost 30 seconds before I just cracked up.

Only in America...

3 Months Later - Where Am I Now?

It amazes me that three months has passed already.

Mostly, I'm okay.

I set aside my time to cry, when I know I'm going to be alone.

There are some projects in the works to keep me busy.

I still miss my little girl very, very much....


...but, right now, at this very moment, it doesn't feel so debilitating.

That's not to say that those horrible tears won't be back 5 minutes from now.

Grief can be so unpredictable, that's the hell of it.

But grief doesn't seem to be my main focus anymore.

Lots of pots in the fire right now.

The most pressing at the moment being Tiger.

He's very sick. And we need your prayers.

"Pancreatitis", the vet says.

He's lost so much weight. Vomitting. Diarrhea. Dehydration.

Large vet bills at the most inopportune time.

Yes, he's "just a cat", but we love him like family.

And losing him would just be another blow.

A swift kick to someone desperately trying to stand up.

The Crying Game

This whole weekend (and today) has been one sopping, tear-soaked moment followed by the next.

I miss my little girl SO BAD.

I desperately want to be pregnant again.

I can't for the life of me figure out what the flip is wrong with my family. And I'm rapidly getting to the point where I just don't give a crap anymore. You know who you are.

And I've just spent the last two hours mired in paperwork, the likes of which I never in my life expected to be filling out.

So I've got Eminem screaming in my ears, the only music on my mp3 player angry enough to match my mood right now.

Life's not fair.

People are throwing their newborns away, when I'd give everything I have to still have my little girl safe in my womb.

People get pregnant so easily, too easily, and then abort their babies.

Families should be supportive instead of drumming up unnecessary drama on a woman walking the edge of a high cliff. You'd think they'd understand that I'm still grieving and put aside their pathetic agendas for just one minute. But no, not mine.

I have all I need. My God, my husband, my son. Everything else is just noise.

But I've had so much to cry about this weekend. Seeing an old friend and meeting her new daughter, Piper. Church. Lots of deep conversations with Yasar. And nothing. Just crying for no particular reason.

Raw

It's odd to me to feel so emotional again. I really thought I had a hold of my grief, instead of the other way around.

Today found me just begging God for that next chance to be a mommy again. Begging like I imagine Sarai begged. Tears rolling down my face. And God led me to the booklet that Anita gave me, that precious booklet of verses that I carry with me in my purse.

I stopped, and asked God to lead me to the verse, to speak to my heart. I opened it at random...

Phillippians 4:6-9
"Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Jesus Christ. Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable - if anything is excellent or praiseworthy - think about such things. ...And the peace of God will be with you.

Wow. Wow wow wow! I feel so humbled. And so privileged, that God would speak to me that openly. It's easy, when your heart is dying inside you, to think that God doesn't care about you. That nobody cares or understands you.

And then I remember He knows what it's like to lose a child.

Lurking Around Every Corner....

Do not, for even one second, think that I'm doing great. I'm not over losing my little girl. But I'm learning to live with loss and moving on.

It seems like, every once in awhile, something triggers an all-out surprise bawl-fest.

Today it was googling foods to avoid while TTC. Somehow I landed on BabyCenter, and they proceeded to tell me I'm 31 weeks pregnant. My little girl is 16 inches and 3.3 lbs.

My heart breaks anew, every time I run into something like that.

And these little landmines are everywhere.

The Flipside to the Homeschool Creed

"Train up a child in the way he should go and when he is old he will not depart from it."
~Proverbs 22:6

I call this The Homeschool Creed. In the homeschool community, this verse seems to pop up everywhere! Maybe it's our Biblical vindication to live on the fringe, to do what is not "normal".

But I got to thinking about this verse in the other context. The public school context. When the government takes it upon themselves to train up our children in the way they think they should go. And how those kids aren't departing from their lessons.

What do kids learn in high school? What did I learn in high school? What lasting lessons did I take away from public school?

fade back to 1993.....

I learned that it was not okay to be different. High school kids fall into a pack mentality - if you're not with them, you're against them. They don't know how to appreciate how differences can keep things interesting or teach them something new. How that lesson affects us today? Racism. Prejudice. Elitism. Intolerance.

I learned how to sleep in class. Smoking in the girls bathroom. Cutting last period. Breaking the rules, and getting away with it. How does that lesson affect us today? We've learned to be sneaky. That rules were meant to be broken. And, if we do happen to get caught, so many others are breaking the laws that the punishments aren't so prohibitive.

And what about what I didn't learn? Like math, science, English. The teachers were too busy trying to referee the class to really imbue us with any pearls of knowledge. Sure, I got the basics, at least enough to continue on my own. But I could have gone so much farther with more attention. Smaller classes. Stricter rules. My lesson for today? That I want to be the one teaching my son. No one will give him as much attention as I will. And he deserves to not fall through the cracks of a public school education.

I think we've got to get it out of our heads that we're raising kids, and realize that we're raising adults. Do I trust the public school system to raise him up in the way he should go? Do I really in my heart think that Troy City Schools can mold him into a well-rounded, educated, compassionate adult?

This is why I do what I do.

TTC bits

Yasar and I want to have another baby.

I believe with all my heart that God has one for us, and is waiting for that right moment to bless us again. But I don't believe He's going to do His work when we expect it. So any traditional fertility treatments are probably not going to happen.

That being said...

Last week, my husband was at a business meeting with other professionals from different occupations. And the speaker was a local chiropractor.

Dr. Josh spent lots of time talking about so many different facets of health, and how they're all controlled by your spinal column.

Including fertility.

DingDingDing! Bells and whistles start going off in Yasar's head.

So I went to my first appointment Monday. They took x-rays (Aunt Flo had arrived that morning, before you ask), and later that evening I went back for the interpretation.

The verdict? In a nutshell, my spine's a mess. And Dr. Josh is going to fix me up, good as new.

Now, going to the chiropractor sucks. I hate the little zappy pads. Not too wild about the rolly table, either. Having the Doc sit on me? Uhhh, well, he's cute, so we'll let that go. Hearing my neck crack? Ugh! Sounds like popcorn in my head!

Will it help us have a baby? Hmmmm...

Also, as a side note, I looked back in my food diary from when we conceived Leila. And I'm trying to mimic that diet again. High fiber, normal fat intake of good, healthy fats. Low on the processed foods. Consequently, the buzz is this will also help Andrew's attention span and impulsive behavior. We're also going to take a stab at eliminating dairy from our diets. With homeschooling, we should be able to get a fairly full picture of the benefits of this new diet.

With us luck!

Foreclosure Watch - TickTickTickTick.....

Sheriff's Sale 9/9/09.

After the events of this year, this is but a blip.

Ahhhh.....

After a loooong day of walking IKEA, a little AFV and a cappuccino are in order.

Homeschool - The Rebuttals

"I couldn't do that!"

"Better you than me..."

"If he doesn't get a proper education, the only person you can blame is yourself."

"It takes a lot of discipline, and we're not really known for that."

Now that the decision to homeschool Andrew has been made, it seems like all the negative comments are pouring in.

Guys, let me just say that I've been praying like crazy for God to slam this door shut. The comments I've gotten are nothing I haven't said to myself. I know I'm not the most disciplined person in the world. I know taking on sole responsibility for Andrew's education is risky. I know it's not going to be easy.

I also know that there's immense Christian homeschool support available to me. I'm not perfect, I'm gonna stumble a few times. But I've got wonderful women here to pick me up, dust me off, and point me in the right direction.

I also know that homeschooling for kindergarten is not the same as homeschooling a 10th grade curriculum. The structure element is not the same. We will be using workbooks at a K and 1st grade level so I can be fairly confident that he stays challenged. Life skills are also important, and there's plenty of education to be had at the grocery store, walking through a nature center, cooking at home. And, at the end of the year, Andrew needs to be able to pass a test *that he can probably pass if taken today*

I also know what it's like to have my kid labeled. Andrew was on an IEP for his two years of preschool for attention issues. Hypothetically, I send him to kindergarten. Where they're reaching the lowest common denominator. He gets bored. Fidgety. Starts being "disruptive". My child was just released from his IEP in May, he doesn't need to be labeled again.

I also know that I look forward to being responsible for his education. Raising my hand here, I'm a product of the school system. Even the Christian school system. I'm not impressed with either. And, from what I understand, homeschooled kids are in demand in colleges these days. And why not? They've been educated in the fullest sense of the word. If they didn't understand something, school didn't pass them by. If they're advanced, school didn't dumb them down or leave them bored. They're for the most part disciplined and self-motivating. What school/college/future employer wouldn't want that?

I also know that I love my son fiercely, and want what's best for him. His education is paramount to me. And if that means that I have to make structure a habit, well, I'm gonna pull up my big girl panties and make it happen. When it comes to mandatory things, like clocking in at work, the OCD in me kicks into high gear and discipline abounds. We'll be okay in that area.

And, for those concerned about the socialization aspect, Andrew's calendar is already pretty full. Karate twice a week, AWANAS every Wednesday, Sunday School, McCHEO-sponsored gym classes/art classes/science classes, we've got annual passes to Boonshoft - we'll be lucky if we have a full day at home.

I hope everyone understands this is not a decision I took lightly. More than anyone, I was looking forward to the "me time" while someone else took responsibility for my son's future. I thank God that He used that math problem to open my eyes and see that this is an option and we need to explore it. He led me to my friend Amy, who led me to Kim, who is the county coordinator for Christian homeschool and a mom who just had her last daughter graduate from homeschooling. Anita has passed me email addresses for her son and his wife, perfect strangers, yet people who are doing it and look forward to helping someone else. Fellow Grace Baptist members, Madonna, Margie, women I'm not close to, but have still reached out in support. Even Jeanne, Andrew's substitute grandma and a woman just retired from the public school system, had nothing but encouragement for this decision.

Everywhere I've turned, homeschool moms are crawling out of the woodwork. And not one of them said, "I wish I hadn't."

I won't be the one to say "I wish I had."

Exploring Our Options - Homeschool

Yesterday, at work, my 5-year-old dragged me into the office to show me a piece of paper he drew on. He wrote "3+4+5=12". Say what? I'm 34, and it took me a minute to do that calculation in my head! And, last night, he was arguing about sleeping in my bed. I said no, and it wasn't open to negotiation. He said, "why can't I negotiate?"

He's going into kindergarten in 2 weeks.

I spent a little time digging around on the internet for the grade level of the math problem Andrew solved, but couldn't really find it. They did show that 1+2, 2+3, etc. were first grade level. And Andrew and I were doing some of those problems yesterday after I saw that initial math work - he breezed through them. We also did some vertical format (think 12+25) math problems, he took to them like a fish in water. Even some basic subtraction! He must get it from his daddy, math is certainly not my strong suit.

For the first time, I'm seriously considering homeschooling Andrew. Yasar and I are talking about the pros and cons, and we're starting to lean into that direction. I've got some pretty serious researching to do....

So here's where you come in. Anyone tried homeschooling? Succeeded or failed? Know the pitfalls? I'd love your input.

Winding Down

A wise woman once said, "grief is like an onion - it has lots of layers. Just when you think you're doing well, another layer will peel off and you'll be left crying again."

For the past week or so, I've been feeling good. Not crying. Stable. Even happy. I find I have less to say on my blog. Is it possible that I'm getting over the intense pain? Or will another layer peel off?

AF is due in about a week. Yasar has been put on notice that I will be an emotional mess, and he's okay with that. I have no doubt she's coming, and here's my theory as to why:

I believe that God will be glorified with my next pregnancy. His goal is to be as glorified as possible. So does it make sense that He'll bless me when I'm more likely to get pregnant due to hormones? No. We've also been offered Clomid by the OB if we weren't pregnant after 3 cycles. Would it glorify God if I got pregnant using medical intervention? Not as much as it will when He drops that bomb on me again a few months (years) down the road. So I'm not expecting any surprises. Hopefully that takes the emotional aspect away from AF.

Another sign that I'm feeling better is that I don't desire to spend as much time on the computer anymore. I love all you fellow DBM's, and I still pray for you every chance I get.

So I hope you're fine with the slower pace over here at Mumblings. And maybe a few non-pregnancy loss posts. And I hope you know I wouldn't be where I am without you....

Oh, What A Weekend!

Yes, it's been quiet here at Mumblings. Why? Because we were in Pennsylvania for my family reunion! Lots of fun, some tears, and ~as always~ a little drama.
Andrew and his cousin Samuel with their ice cream-lipsticked smiles. My wonderful husband, who really enjoyed the family reunion (many thanks to Glen for making him feel welcome!), and my awesome sister-in-law, Chris.My mom and my sister, Beth.My dad (on left), hanging out with Uncle Warren and Lynn. And they say the old women gossip at these gatherings!




And having my baby girl recognized publicly at the reunion was a special gift. I'm very surprised you can't hear me crying while I record this moment. Thank you so much, Aunt Ginny!

Sunday was school shopping for Andrew at Old Navy. A hoodie, a button-down shirt, 3 t-shirts, 3 pairs of pants, a long-sleeved baseball shirt, sneakers, a romper (for a friend, don't get too excited), 2 fabric bags, and a pair of gold princess shoes (not pictured). Price? $107.13! Score!

Overall, we had a wonderful time with family and friends.

Ciao!

Walking With You - The Ripples Flow to Our Marriage

Walking With You was created to help support those who have lost a child. Together we share our stories, helpful information, scriptures, encouraging words, prayer requests, and more. Thank you to those of you who have joined us for the past few weeks...for courageously sharing your stories. If you haven't joined us yet, and would like to, you are more than welcome. This week, we are sharing the impact our loss(es) had on our marriage.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For those who don't know our story, Leila was born at 19w5d on May 21, 2009. A complete surprise. We didn't have any advanced warning, or a chance to grieve or plan ahead of time. Our earliest indication was probably 30 minutes before she came into this world.

I have so many horrible memories from that night. But one that haunts me so much is hearing my husband sobbing in the bathroom while Nikki, my nurse, was cleaning me up. I remember this overwhelming urge to get out of that bed and go to him, to comfort him. It's the first time I've ever heard him so distraught. And it was scary.

Yasar and I are blessed in our marriage. We have a love for each other that stems from years of struggles, compromise, and mutual respect. He is my gift from God. My rock. Truly the completion of me.

So when we came home from the hospital, I really expected that we'd grieve our way through this together. It got very hard when, a few weeks later, he no longer understood me. Or understands me. Lots of angry words were thrown around. Accusations and recriminations. It's hurt me so much that we can't grieve together. That he's not grieving, and not very accepting of my grieving.

My husband's Syrian. A WAY different culture than ours. A culture likes to shove this kind of situation under the carpet as fast as possible. They don't acknowledge it, and they certainly don't grieve for miscarriages. I'm pretty sure they're convinced that grief is something invented by American therapists to keep them in business.

My in-laws gave me a wonderful gift a few days ago. The phone service is spotty in Syria, so we don't get to talk to them often. In fact, Yasar last spoke to them to give them the bad news. So he called to chat with them for a bit, and they talked to him about his sister and her three stillbirths. And how grief can make it hard for a woman to get through each day. They validated my feelings for my husband, and I think now he understands a little better.

We're probably not going to emerge from this without war wounds. But God has a way of taking our scars and using them for His Glory - He's been doing it for the 11 years we've been together.

My Email Account Hates Me

Finding out you're pregnant. It's an amazing time, full of congratulations. From everyone. Including the makers of Similac, Huggies, Pampers, on and on.

And, once they know where to congratulate you, they keep on sending you emails.

How can they not know your dream has turned into your worst nightmare? Why don't they leave you alone?

As if you need to open your email, praying for one supportive, uplifting email. And there it is.

"What Your Baby Looks Like Today"

My baby? She looks like a depressingly small pile of grey ash.

I don't know if it's better or worse, but those "Your Pregnancy Week By Week" at least have a tiny, tiny link at the bottom. "If you've suffered a loss, click here".

You click on it, and it unsubscribes you and takes you into dead baby land, all at the same time.

Where everyone has a dead baby. And surely everyone wants to talk to a group of strangers about it, right?

Oy vey...

Healing, v. 2

I'm so grateful. Periods of normalcy are starting to peek through the clouds of pain. These last two days, I've actually been happy. Unburdened.

I guard that jealously. It's been so long since hugging my son was more than a duty, a going-through-the-motions thing. That I've gone to the store early to open (the only little bit of alone time I can carve out for myself) and not used that time to cry. That tears have not been One Wrong Word away.

Two days have sparked an addiction. I covet that feeling. I did and didn't know how much I missed laughing, and having energy. I want more of it.

The one thing that is still aching, my last hurtle (ironic, that it's called a hurt-le), is my fear of going back to church. Not of church, I've been back twice since Leila died. It's more about seeing the babies again. Two in particular, Piper and Lucy. Their mommies are my friends, and we were all pregnant together, having little girls. Now we've all had our babies, and I'm no longer part of that club. I've graduated to a new club...lucky me. I'm afraid that I'll see these two women with their two beautiful little girls, and just lose it. Just thinking about it, I'm crying. How much worse will it be to stand there with them, chatting away, desperately trying to pretend I'm not dying inside?

And Yasar doesn't understand. He's a patient man, but he really, really wants to go to church. He's gone without me a few times, but mostly if I don't go, he stays home, too.

This weekend I breathe a sigh of relief. We'll be out of town, so the pressure of church won't loom on me. I'll get to practice my new happiness, hopefully get so familiar with it that ~maybe~ I'll barely remember my grief?

Yeah, wishful thinking. But it doesn't hurt to try.

Beauty From Pain

The lights go out all around me
One last candle to keep out the night
And then the darkness surrounds me
I know i'm alive but i feel like i've died
And all that's left is to accept that it's over
My dreams ran like sand through the fists that i made
I try to keep warm but i just grow colder
I feel like i'm slipping away

After all this has passed, i still will remain
After i've cried my last, there'll be beauty from pain
Though it won't be today,
Someday i'll hope again
And there'll be beauty from pain
You will bring beauty from my pain

My whole world is the pain inside me
The best i can do is just get through the day
When life before is only a memory
I'll wonder why God lets me walk through this place
And though i can't understand why this happened
I know that i will when i look back someday
And see how you've brought beauty from ashes
And made me as gold purified through these flames

After all this has passed, i still will remain
After i've cried my last, there'll be beauty from pain
Though it won't be today,
Someday i'll hope again
And there'll be beauty from pain
You will bring beauty from my pain

Here i am, at the end of me
Tryin to hold to what i can't see
I forgot how to hope
This night's been so long
I cling to Your promise
There will be a dawn

After all this has passed, i still will remain
After i've cried my last, there'll be beauty from pain
Though it won't be today,
Someday i'll hope again
And there'll be beauty from pain
You will bring beauty from my pain

~superchick

A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes...

...when you're fast asleep.

Last night my pregnancy test came back positive. In my sleep. When I woke from that dream, I prayed so hard. I want this so badly. A healthy pregnancy, an addition to our family.

My friend Christine new baby is almost 3 months old. I hear her talk about the trials of having a newborn - lack of sleep and colic being her primary issues - and I feel completely undeterred. I want that, warts and all.

There are other DBM bloggers out there who are struggling through a pregnancy on top of a loss. I'm not blind, I know it'd be so hard. The second that test came back positive, I'd march into my OB's office and have her call me in a prescription for progesterone suppositories. Reaching 20 weeks, I'd be on high alert all the time. Freaking out with any sign of bleeding. Or conracting. Reaching that magical 24-week viability date and not feeling any comfort because nothing's guaranteed.

And I question why I want it. Before we got pregnant with Leila, I was perfectly happy (read "resigned") to being a one-child household. I looked at newly-pregnant Christine and thought her a fool - I LIKE my sleep right where it is, thank you. And I was convinced that Andrew's too old to be able to adapt to a sibling now.

Why did all that change? Why can't I recall those feelings and put them back into place? Leila's 5 months on this earth has shaken everything I've held true.

It seems I'm not the only one dreaming of positive pregnancy tests, either. Christine had that same dream for me a few weeks ago.

God, hear my prayer.....

The Question I Was Afraid To Ask

Wednesday at the store brought a very special visitor. Anita, the OB nurse who took Leila's photographs, stopped in to say Hi and see how we were doing. My unlikely friend. She's kept up with me for these last two months, calling and leaving messages that she's praying for us. Listening when I just needed to talk. Another example of the many earthly blessings Leila has brought me.

Anita isn't just a talented photographer, or a very caring nurse. She also unbelievably gifted in the art of listening. I should say the dying art of listening. She got me talking about what I would have done differently, hindsight being what it is.

Regrets, I have a few. Things I wish I would have done with Leila. Like brought something personal for her, and have her pictures taken with it. To have been more present, and fought off the numbness. Slept with her. Held her through the night. To have insisted on the nurse breaking the amniotic sac and give her to me as soon as she was born.

All this time, I'd been under the impression that Leila was a live birth, and died on the warmer. Alone, wrapped in a towel.

And I said as much to Anita. I wished I would have held her until she went Home.

Anita dropped the bomb on me. Leila was stillborn.

I don't know how to feel about that. Betrayed, that my body killed her by putting her through labor when she was clearly too small to survive the contractions?

Or relieved, that I was holding her as she went to Jesus. True, not in my arms. But she was never alone.

Anita's a cancer survivor, and she has an amazing faith in God. She left me with these beautiful laminated cards with the precious scriptures that got her through her recovery, to help me get through mine. I treasure them, they stay in my purse so I'm never far from them. They're always at the ready when I need a dose of comfort.

Thank you, Anita. God bless you.

Walking With You - The Sea of Grief

Walking With You was created to help support those who have lost a child. Together we share our stories, helpful information, scriptures, encouraging words, prayer requests, and more. This week, we are sharing our first steps into the sea of grief.

Email sent 5/22 11:15am to family and close friends:

"I just don't have the energy to make all the phone calls, and cry over and over. I hope you'll forgive me for dropping this on you via email. Leila Mae Wasouf was born last night around 10:30. She survived for a few minutes, then passed. She was just beautiful, with my nose, Yasar's toes, and Andrew's pointy chin.

We had a very nice photographer come in and take pictures, which I'll be happy to share if you're interested.

We're arranging a private burial for her remains.

And we're just trying to deal with this now. I know everyone wants to reach out and help, or offer their condolences. And we appreciate that. But I think we just need some time to process and grieve.

~emily"

Reason number one of why it sucks to own your own business: there's no such thing as "time off". Every Friday during the school year we made upwards of 60 pizzas for student's lunches. This has always been something Yasar and I did together. But that Friday, he headed to the store, and I went home with Andrew. Alone.

I don't remember much of those first hours. But the graduation from tissues to a dishcloth stands out. Kleenex never really had a chance. And I was advised to not walk up stairs. Yet I hauled all the baby clothes, the pack & play, the swings, everything upstairs to the spare bedroom, where it remains even today.

And I remember our pastor showing up at the door, and just wishing he would go away. That everyone would just go away and leave me to my crying.

Two months later, and I still feel that way much of the time.

I'm not much for reading my Bible. It's a holdover from a bad Christian school experience, but I find it almost impossible to draw anything from scriptures. Thank God for His messages through music. I spent so much of those early days with my mp3 player plugged into my ears. Sobbing. Feeling so empty. Praying for Him to fill my hollow heart. Praising Him for Leila's life.

My computer became my second best friend. Reaching out to others going through this journey, and being so warmly embraced. You've all become my lifeline. Defining the new "normal". Praying for me. Sending e-hugs. Understanding. I hope you know how much that's helped me limp through this process.

My brother told me the other day that grief is not linear. And it got me started thinking about these stages, where I've been, where I've yet to go.

I'm afraid I've just dipped my toe into the sea of grief. Will I drown? Will God throw me a life preserver? Will I become a strong swimmer, and a lifeguard myself? I can't say, I haven't read the final chapter of this book yet.

The Test

Yesterday we had a customer at the store with what I will swear on a stack of Bibles was the world's most polite 11-year old ever. I was complimenting dad, asking how he managed to raise such a great child.

His question to us? "How many kids do you have?"

Me? "Just one......"

I hate that that was my gut reaction. No, I don't have "just one". I have three. Andrew, Leila, and one I never give a second thought - my seven week miscarriage. Which Jess has really opened my eyes that (s)he was a life, too. And then discrediting my baby girl, too. What's wrong with me?

You know how you replay the conversation in your head afterward? What I wish I'd said is "I'm raising one, Jesus is raising the other two." But wouldn't that make the other person uncomfortable? Would it require a lengthy explanation? Is there such a thing as TMI when it comes to our heavenly children?

How have you handled this? Did you go for broke and let it all out? Did you do what I did, then feel that immense guilt?

Calling Me Out

For some reason I can't email people through their blogger profiles (maybe it's an Outlook thing). I got this comment from Jess, and wanted her to see my response:

I want to start by saying I'm very sorry for your loss. My brother's daughter was recently born at 20 weeks and only lived for a few minutes. I know how raw my pain is and I'm only her aunt. I can't imagine how much stronger your pain is as the mother.

I found your blog through anothers and a comment you wrote really upset me. I don't want to hurt your feelings or offend you, but I do want to bring up a point and whether or not you care is not the point. I want to clarify one thing.

You wrote:
A few weeks ago I told the girl down the street about losing my Leila. Her response? "well, I had three m/cs, you'll get through it." Huh? I know the world considers my 19w5d baby a m/c. But I felt her moving. We knew she was a girl. She wasn't a 5wk blob of tissue, so please don't confuse her for that. Stupid cow."

The girl who told you that was ignorant, rude and down right cold. There is no comparison between a miscarriage and losing a baby at 19 weeks; however, a life is a life regardless of how small. And calling a baby a blob of tissue is just as ignorant as her comparing her miscarriage to your loss. I lost four little ones before 8 weeks (all had heartbeats and in my opinion little souls) and to me they were my babies not a "blob of tissue". Now you may not view them as babies just as that girl did not consider your 19 week old a baby.

Jess, you're absolutely right to call me out on my comment. I'm duly chastened. It was wrong of me to call them "blobs of tissue". I have to say I was pretty angry about this interaction with the neighbor, because I've had a 7 week m/c also, and we're taught to almost EXPECT something to go wrong in the first trimester - 25% of pregnancies never make it beyond that magical 12 week point. There's no guarantees. But after 12 weeks, well, we breathe a sigh of relief. Personally, I didn't get too invested in my "blob of tissue", it was basically a positive pregnancy test. No other documented proof of the life I had before it was gone. Just heartbreak and hormones. Something I got over relatively quickly. I guess, had it happened over and over, or if I'd known that a long battle with infertility was about to begin, I probably would have left it take on more significance in my life. But the OB said, "well, at least now we know you can get pregnant." And I used it as a sign of hope.

I want to apologize to you. That was insensitive, and I'm sorry. I'll never again belittle someone else's pain. I also want to thank you for calling me to the mats on this. I'm grateful for your dose of reality, and maybe somewhere down the road, your insight will have stopped me from hurting someone deeply. So thank you, Jess. :)

My Top Ten

Platitude: You're young, you can have more children.
Reply: Seriously? Did you know we tried for years to get pregnant before giving up? Do you think having another child would erase the pain we're feeling now? Do you think we can have a replacement child?

Question: Did she have a soul?
Reply: Uhhh....did you just ask a grieving mother if her baby's going to be in heaven? Wow, that wasn't thoughtless.

Statement: Oh, I had 3 miscarriages. You'll be okay.
Reply: Oh, I've had a miscarriage before, too. Let me say that the two experiences are apples and oranges.

Statement: I hate to sound like a jerk, but you need to move on or you life will be one tear after another and never happy.
Reply: I'm unfriending you on Facebook. See ya...

Platitude: There's a reason for this. Someday we'll understand.
Reply: No sh*t. She wouldn't be dead for NO reason, would she?

Statement: Well, if you're not going to be buried, you can bury her ashes with me. (from a very close family member).
Reply: Don't you think I want my daughter's ashes with ME? If I wanted her buried, I would have done that instead of having her cremated!

Platitude: She's with the angels now.
Reply: none. At least someone's trying to comfort, and this is something I know to be true. I appreciate their effort.

Here's the lesson in this post, folks. If you want to help someone who is going through this, the best thing you can do is close your mouth and open your arms. Let the grief do the talking, and be sensitive. After hearing when the DBM/DBD says, you'll kind of know what kind of help to offer them. ***Platitudes and thoughtless statements do more harm than good***

Also, don't forget about us as time passes. It's been 2 months today since Leila went home to Jesus, and I can say for certain I need more help and support now than I did right after we came home without her. The unfortunate circumstance is that people expect me to be further along in the grief process than I actually am or should be, and the offers have completely dried up - except by my closest friends and those compassionate souls who are familiar with this process. What I would give to have a trusted friend come and take Andrew away for an afternoon so I could sit in the house, alone, and face my grief head-on. Pour over Leila's pictures. Cuddle with the lamb. Cry. Pray. Heal.

I guess I don't have ten examples of thoughtless things people say. God has been good to me, He hasn't let many people say what's really on their minds. Unfortuately, by the time this process is through, I'll likely have a list of the top 25.

Fragile

It doesn't take much to break me these days.

The reality of my loss is so much bigger now.

And meaner.

The pictures of Leila, the ones that used to comfort me, they just hurt so bad.

I WANT MY LITTLE GIRL BACK!

On an intellectual level, I know it doesn't do any good to have a tantrum.

Yet it seems to be all that I can do.

Holding her urn to my belly and curling around it, feeling my heart break.

Sobbing so hard no noise comes out.

Seeing myself in the mirror scares me.

True grief is ugly.

Precious Moments

Kelly over at A Little Messed Up is a nosy broad. She wants to know what's going on in my photo folder, so she tagged me for a photo story. The rules are to go to your first photo folder and select the 10th photo to post along with a story. Here goes...



November 28, 2005. Fulton Farms. We just got done chopping down our very first Christmas tree to adorn our very first home. After strapping it onto the roof of the Saab, Yasar noticed a pen of sorts off to the side. Since the weather was awesome for that time of year, he decided to check it out with (then 2-year-old) Andrew. Why Fulton Farms has deer, no idea. And who knew deer love to eat Ritz crackers? It was a sweet moment between father and son, and a picture I love to look at (look how much smaller Andrew was! And Yasar's forehead! LOL!).

It's my duty and honor to tag 5 of you. So who's next?

Shannon at Mourning Into Dancing

Melissa at The MacMommy

Heather at It Only Hurts When I Breathe

Julie at Tales From the Eurovan (please come back to our bloggy-world! we miss you!)

and Pooji at Indian Thoughts

Can't wait to see what you all come up with! :)

For Genevive

Sending out a request to all. Please visit Genevive's website here, and, if you can, contribute something to her headstone (there's a button on my blog for ChipIn, or you can visit her ChipIn page here).

In a nutshell, Genevive and Lily were premature twins. Lily thrived, while Genevive was struck down with a necrotic bowel. Mom and dad are dealing with new parenthood, grief, and financial hardship all at the same time. Mom's greatest wish is to give Genevive the headstone she deserves.

My greatest wish for Genevive's mom is that she doesn't feel hopeless about her daughter's unadorned cemetary plot anymore.

If you can, if God leads you, please join me.

God Responds

I got in the car this morning, heading out to pick up the morning paper (no, not church. The last thing I want to do is cry my way through the service). And I prayed for an answer, for God to speak. Turned on K-Love, and this is what I got...

...and I've questioned everything that I believe.
Still even here, in this gray darkness
Comfort and hope come breaking through,
As I can say, in life or death, God, we belong to you!

We are Yours, God
Yours, God
Everything is Yours
From the stars in the sky, to the depths of the ocean floor.
It's all Yours, God
Yours, God
Everything is Yours
All the greatness and power, glory and splendor and majesty
Everything is Yours
It's all Yours!

My pain, my immense grief. Every tear. Leila's life, her memories.

The victory we will someday celebrate over this evil.

It's all Yours. I guess I really needded to be reminded of that. Thank you, God.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And, as a side note, Yasar was just asking me about my God-Bomb before I got in the car. I don't think I've written about this, but God spoke to me about a month ago. While I was absorbed in painful thoughts, watching other children play at the Cincy Childrens Museum and grieving that our chance at having another child was gone, He told me we were not done. Yasar was asking me if I was sure it was God, and not Satan playing on our emotions. Which makes joining that song at that particular moment even more meaningful to me. I believe He will give us another healthy child. I won't waiver, I won't question it.

Why, God?

Why did You do this to me?

What did I do to You to deserve this all-consuming pain?

Why would You dangle THE ONE THING You knew I truly wanted in front of me, teasing me with it, only to yank it away?

Why will You offer me no escape now?

You know I have too many reasons to stay here on this earth. No matter how badly I want to leave.

You know I've never entertained thoughts of taking my own life before.

Why won't You come and take this cup from my lips? Why do you give me this reason to suffer, and then give me no consolation?

You've chosen to leave me hollow again this month. Take that little bit of hope I had and crush it under Your heel. Thanks for that, I really needed it.

You saw fit to bring Lazarus back from the dead. Was he more important than my baby? Why can't I sign up for that?

Bring her back, or take me. Please. I just can't do this anymore.

My Karate Kid

Way cuter than Ralph Macchio, don't you think?

The Unwanted Reunion

This last 24 hours has been so difficult. It seems like my world is falling in on itself, and I'm just praying to be buried underneath it.

For those who aren't familiar with my background, here's a refresher. Getting pregnant with Andrew? No problem. We weren't even trying. After Andrew was born, we waited about 18 months to start working on giving him a sibling - never suspecting that we'd deal with infertility. After a confirmed and a suspected miscarriage, and almost two years of fertility treatments and disappointments, we threw up our hands and considered ourselves a one-child household. My final act was to sell/give away all my baby stuff. A few months after that, we turn up pregnant. A few months after that, we become grieving parents of a glory baby.

Since the postpartum bleeding stopped, we'd been back at it. Mostly having fun, "not trying but not not trying." But, for me, one of the worst parts of losing Leila was trying to convince myself that we could go back to being a one-child household. Now that I've seriously considered, even almost had it in my hands, being a larger family. And the word around the campfire is that a woman is more fertile after delivery. So we've been trying to capitalize on these hormone surges.

Combine those hormone surges with my getting off the antidepressants, and the stage was set for a whopper of a fight between Yasar and I. Without going into detail, it was very, very ugly. Nothing physical, but words still hurt. I ended up leaving the house last night, bent on sleeping in my car rather than be in the same square mile as him.

(I ended up coming home around midnight, when the heat and screaming kids got the best of me)

And this morning? My horrible Aunt Flo showed up. Unannounced, unexpected, and completely unwanted. The arsenic icing on my putrid cake.

I haven't cried that hard since the days after losing Leila. Why would something as natural as my period rip the scabs right off everything? I was opening the store this morning, sobbing all over the place. The pain is so intense. I want to throw up, curl into a ball, die.
Can I look forward to this every month?

Lord, just bring me home! Please!

Walking With You - Naming Our Babies

Walking With You was created to help support those who have lost a child. Together we share our stories, helpful information, scriptures, encouraging words, prayer requests, and more. Thank you to those of you who have joined us for the past few weeks...for courageously sharing your stories. If you haven't joined us yet, and would like to, you are more than welcome.

This week, we are sharing how we chose the names for our babies and any special meaning behind them.

My husband and I have always had problems coming up with baby names. He's from Syria, and it's no secret that he's been brought up in an antisemitic environment - though I have to say he's come a long way from his roots in his 15 years here. And the bulk of American names are based in the Jewish faith. Andrew was actually going to be Nathan, until someone in Yasar's family enlightened him on that name's origins.

When we first found out we were expecting, we started tossing around different names. Our first round was Laurel Edith and Oliver Philip, respectively. That lasted a few months, then, right before we found out that we had the female version cooking in the oven.

And then we came up with Leila. Leila (pronounced Lay-la) is of Persian origin, meaning "dark beauty". Since my daughter was destined to have dark brown hair, and a 50/50 shot at having my brown eyes, we thought it would be the perfect, beautiful name for her.

Her middle name, Mae, was meant to honor both my mother (middle name May) and grandmother (Edith May, where we thought to transfer the "e" into Mae). Viola! The perfect name for our little girl. Leila Mae.

As a side note, a few weeks after we lost her, my husband asked me if we could use the name again. We both loved it so much! I hate to say this, but I actually, for about a minute, considered saving that name - just in case. But no, it belonged to Leila, and it will never be used again.

Leila Mae Wasouf. A beautiful name for a beautiful soul.

My Very Best Day

Many on this earth won't understand. My very best day would be their very worst. The day that starts with dying.

I'm rooting for a "she never felt a thing" demise, but in the end it won't really matter.

In the blink of an eye, I'm standing at those pearly gates. God looks at me with a giant smile on His face and says "welcome home, daughter!" He puts His Arm around me and leads me into paradise.

The crowd goes wild. They're singing and dancing, confetti and fireworks flying all around. Everyone is celebrating my homecoming.

My gremom walks strongly out of the throng, the first of my family to greet me. She tells me how she's missed me, and watched over me. I want to cry, but no tears are allowed in heaven. So I swallow the lump in my throat and wrap her in a giant embrace.

She says there's someone who'd like to meet me. I get excited, is it Leila? No, Leila's off chasing rainbows right now. But gremom hands me this perfect little baby. The baby I miscarried at 7 weeks in August of 2006. Is it a boy? A girl? That no longer matters. This child clutches my hand and coos at me, and I'm in love.

We start to walk down the beautiful golden streets, away from the noise of the crowd (yet it still follows us). Paradise is beautiful. Fig trees, watermelon plants, tomatoes, marigolds, all my favorite things are growing by the side of the road. Cobalt blue butterflies light from flower to flower. In the distance, I can see the mansions.

Gremom is telling me all about how her life has gone since her death. She's been busy, caring for my two precious children, learning to play the harp, and singing in the choir. But every once in awhile she's been allowed a vacation (a vacation from heaven, isn't that funny?) to swoop down to earth and comfort me. She said mostly God did that Himself, but a few times she talked Him into letting her do it. Her eyes are shining, she's delighted that she can tell me how she's comforted me. Me? I'm just so glad she's been there to care for the darling baby nestled in my arms. And for my Leila, who I'm so anxious to see.

We round a corner, and here's my new home. Beautiful, alabaster walls, a marble entryway, morning glories climbing the veranda. And a porch swing. I settle my (ohmygoodness, smaller!) behind on the seat, pat the place next to me in invitation to gremom. She joins me, still talking animatedly.

And then I hear it. "MOOOMMMMMEEEEEEEEE!" I hand the baby in my arms to gremom just as my little girl comes tearing around the side of the house.

And I run to her.

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How does your Very Best Day play out in your dreams?

A Precious Goodbye

Walking With You was created by Kelly of Sufficient Grace Ministries to help support those who have lost a child. Together we share our stories, helpful information, scriptures, encouraging words, prayer requests, and more. To join in on Walking With You please visit Kelly's blog.

This 4th week, we are sharing about saying goodbye and experiencing the memorial service or funeral if applicable.

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You know, I say goodbye to Leila every day. I don't regret cremating her and keeping her remains with me, not for a second. But the knowledge that she's gone is always right there. The ash container I see first thing every morning, and stop to kiss on my way out of the bedroom into a new day.... (shown here with the blanket she left the hospital in)













Or the satin memory box under my bed that holds all the sweet mementos I have of her life and death,














from sympathy cards to the journal I kept while carrying her. From pregnancy tests:














to photo albums:














To ultrasound pictures and hospital bracelets.

Our Weekend

1. Andrew and Gianni, cousins and BFF's!
2. Me and the love of my life.
3. Yasar, Beth, and Andrew hanging out at Nolde's North Pond.
4. Joy and Anthony's Nuptials.
5. And an impromptu lesson in nature - if you feed raccoons out the back of your gas station, they keep coming back (no lie, here was something like 20 of them there!)

Betrayal

My body is out to get me.

Last night we took my son and his friend to the park. I was spinning them on the merry-go-round, and decided to jump on. I ended up getting dragged halfway around, and have the sprained ankle to prove it.

About a week ago I was chasing Andrew around the house. Went to cut a turn, my body went "uh-UH!" and I slammed into the wall. Got some carpet burn from that one.

When did my body stop reacting the way I expect it to?

Oh, and the ultimate treason. Pushing my little girl into the world too early. Sabotaging my happiness and emotional state. Making me hate the skin I live in.

I feel like I don't know myself anymore. My reflexes no longer cater to my whims.

I'd like my heavenly body now. Please?

My DBM Necklace

This is the necklace my husband bought for me right after we lost Leila. It has her name and birthday inscribed on the bottom. I'm glad I have something of hers to wear with me everywhere I go. :)

Joy and Pain

I'm really looking forward to this weekend. My oldest friend Joy is getting married Sunday to her soulmate Anthony, and then we're all going to a picnic (read: potluck) reception! Awesome!

So I've been cooking up a storm. I've got caramel cashew blondies in the oven right now, and little brownie cups in the freezer, ready to be iced and decorated at my mom's house. I'll also be working my pepperbeef sandwiches in the crockpot. Honestly, it feels so good to be cooking and looking forward to a nice, enjoyable, relaxing weekend in old Reading, PA.

My only question, as I'm making the list of things to pack, is what about Leila? Is it normal to feel this drive to bring your daughter's ashes with you wherever you go? I feel like, if I don't, I'm leaving her behind. I guess I should be grateful for those feelings, to me it means that I've at least touched on the acceptance step of grief, that I know that my daughter is gone, and those ashes are all I have left.

I don't want to be that weird lady who can't let go. But right now I can't let go. I'm going to sneak her memory box into my suitcase. Even if I never get it out and give my girl a kiss, at least I can know she's with me.