The Rollercoaster

My favorite movie of all time is "Parenthood" with Steve Martin. I absolutely love every second of that movie and could watch it over and over again. But I remember one part in particular that strikes me every time I watch it. It's probably the reason I love the movie. There is a scene where Martin and his wife are arguing about their chaotic, out-of-control, "messed up" life in front of his wife's grandmother right before their son's play. The grandmother interrupts the argument to tell this story about the rollercoaster. She says, "I love the rollercoaster. It goes up and down and up and down. It's so exhilarating!" He rolls his eyes and says, "Gee, thanks Grandma!" and stomps off like a 3-year old boy. Next thing you know, he is in the audience during his 8 year old son's play and everything goes awry. His own 3-year old sneaks up onto the stage and ruins the play, the set comes crashing down, kids are screaming and running everywhere and the audience is laughing hysterically. As we are watching this scene, the ticking of a rollercoaster going up the incline to the big hill plays in the background and the camera zooms in on Martin, making it look like he is on the ride. His teeth are clenched and he is whiteknuckled to his chair through the hysteria with his eyes tightly shut, hoping it would soon be over. His wife, on the other hand, is laughing out loud and thoroughly enjoying the thrill of the chaos surrounding them. Finally, he loosens his grip as we hear the rush of the rollercoaster flying down the big hill and people screaming with delight and, finally, a smile breaks on his face and he starts enjoying "the ride." Could it be that I am finally enjoying the ride? Or is it that God has finally letting me feel the strength He has been meticulously building in me over these last grueling almost 15 months? Whatever it is, I sit here today facing surgery and the uncertainty of whether or not I will ever conceive another child of my own, yet I am full of joy, expectation and peace. I am exhilarated at the possibilities of the future and enjoying the present. And I'm refusing to live in the pit. Is this what Paul meant when he said, "I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances?" It is definately something that is learned and does not come naturally. Anyway, nothing is certain right now except that God is still on His throne and He holds the future in His hands. So, for now, I am riding the rollercoaster and supernaturally trusting Him for a safe landing ...

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart." ~ Jeremiah 29:11-13

The Long & Winding Road

As Benjamin and I were driving home tonight, we got caught in standstill traffic that was caused by a major accident. A compact car and semi had nearly collided on Route 50 near Dry Run and both had run off the road, blocking the intersection. At first, Benjamin was fascinated by the lights and action, but as I watched the clock, I realized I really needed to get this boy home and to bed, so I decided to take a detour. We passed the three or four cars ahead of us on the opposite side of the road and cautiously turned right in front of them onto Dry Run, which I thought would take us about 10 minutes out of our way, but at least we'd be moving. So we began to wind up down and all around in the pitch darkness towards our destination. As we made each curve, the road got narrower and narrower until there was barely enough room for one car to travel safely. Then the pavement got patchy and bumpy and the car began to shake, all the while twisting and turning up the dark path ahead. At points, I wasn't sure I had made the right choice. Was this road really leading where I had thought? Or would I end up in the completely opposite direction from where I had intended? My confidence dimmed until we started uphill in a familiar direction. I could see the light ahead ... it was Route 133 ... we were almost home! All of a sudden, I wrapped my mind around what had just happened to us. The accident, with all it's flashing lights and danger, had sent us down an unfamiliar path into the darkness. We knew where we would end up, but not what would happen along the way. There were times we weren't sure we were going in the right direction and the road was rough, but we finally made it and our fears were relieved. As I think about this 20 minute adventure, I feel that still, quiet voice telling me ... "This is your life. Listen. Learn. It may be dark, narrow and bumpy, but I will bring you safely home."

I am listening, Lord ...

Sorrow

I hate what losing Abby has done to my friendships, my marriage, my parenting, my life. It is like a part of me was ripped out that day and destroyed, never to return. I have spent the last 13 1/2 months trying to find it to no avail. I have come to realize that part of me will hurt like this forever. That some conversations will always be hard. That most people will never understand. That in some ways, I'll never be able to relate to others in the way I once did. There is a part of me that is so changed, that I will never be the same person. I keep looking for that person and keep coming up empty handed. I am drawn to people who are broken and deeply hurting and indifferent to the rest. It's like I just can't relate to people with ordinary problems. I can't relate to the "normal" talk of the day. I spend most days mostly "happy" playing with my son, taking care of him and my husband, our house and the responsibilities that are mine, but there is always a hint of sadness and reminders of what would have been. Not a day goes by that I don't think about what we've lost. And I often feel so ... alone. I have been trying so hard to accept she's not here, but I have come to the realization it's not about accepting losing her, but accepting what my life is without her in it. It's accepting the sadness I often feel about seemingly meaningless things, like adding the birthdays to my 2008 planner the other day. Such a meanial, innocent task. However, as I turned each page of my otherwise whimsically illustrated Mary Engelbreit calendar, all I saw were pictures of mothers and daughters and families of four, little girls dancing and daddies hugging them. I came undone. I am starting to realize that while time numbs the pain, it never really goes away. It's never far from the surface. It lingers there, just waiting for a reason to rise and be known. I can go many days without a tear, but when they flow, it's as if they were the very first ones. I trust God, I believe God, and that does not waiver. But at times these human emotions overtake me and make me feel like I'll never recover. I long for a day when I'll never feel sad again and then I realize that day will only come when Heaven comes for me. As long as I live this life, I will pine for the daughter who is not here, who I did not get to raise, who I held in my arms for only a moment, only long enough to fall completely and irreversibly in love and then only to let go. I said it and I'll say it again ... and again and again ... the sound of my daughter's name may bring tears to my eyes, but it will always bring music to my ears. Speak her name. Don't be afraid to make me cry. I cry secret tears more often then you know. And crying is often the only way to release this sadness I feel. But God holds every tear in His hand and He knows this sorrow I carry in my heart every day. Jesus was "a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief" (Isaiah 53:3-5). He understands. And someday, He will wipe every tear away and I will see my precious little girl's face and hold her in my arms once again.

Sooooooo stressed!!!!!!

I have no idea where to post this, but I am feeling so out of control as Christmas approaches. We started seeing our RE (reproductive endocrinologist) in September after 7 months of ttc on our own with no success. It took 6 years to conceive our son and the RE told us after Abby died to come see him in 6 months if we were unable to conceive on our own. We tried a couple of natural cycles with IUI and just stepped up to daily injectibles. I have an injection every night between 6-8 p.m. Tomorrow I have an u/s at 9 a.m. clear across town and no one to watch my l/c, so I have to get myself and him ready and out the door by 8 a.m. (he usually doesn't even wake up until 7:15). I'll have another one at the end of the week )(they are monitoring me extra closely b/c I had an ovarian cyst rupture two weeks ago). And the IUI will probably be on Christmas Eve this time. Now I am wishing I had skipped this cycle. Isn't Christmas stressful enough without this? I have not even started on Christmas cards (my dh told me to ditch them this year, but I'm really struggling with that). I haven't started wrapping presents, even though I just finished shopping today. I put the pressure on myself to bake cookies, bought all the ingredients, but just can't seem to get my act together. I got a letter from the insurance today saying they are "investigating" the emergency room visit (for the ruptured cyst) and will decide in a few days "what benefits are available" under our plan. Last week we found out our roof is leaking and it will be upwards of $800 to fix. We have just spent hundreds on Christmas presents for mine and dh's family, each other and our l/c and thousands on ttc/infertility. My dh's car has a leak in the roof and water in the trunk and we have no idea where it's coming from. I am freaking out about money. I am sick for the third time this fall/winter. And I feel like everyone has forgotten me and doesn't have any idea what we are going through. Now that Abby's birthday has passed, I feel like everyone expects me to just bounce back to the same old Emily, or maybe I'm putting that expectation on myself? Either way, I feel the pressure. No one asks or seems to understand how stressful ttc has been for us, especially having to relive the infertility issues we've faced in the past, which, had Abby lived, we would never have to face again. No one seems to want to know and when I do talk about it, they seem like I'm overreacting or something. I don't know why I feel so out of control right now. Maybe it's the extra hormones in my system from the injections? Maybe it's Christmas? Maybe it's realizing another year is starting? Maybe I just needed someone to listen and care? I'm not really sure why I posted this, so thanks for reading if you've gotten this far. I'm just feeling alone again. My support system has disappeared and I am really, really stressed out!!!!!!!!!

What A Beautiful Day

Today was Abby's first "heavenly" birthday and what a beautiful day! I could not have asked for a more perfect day. We woke up and had breakfast and a "normal" morning with Benjamin, however, my mind was following the clock in a play by play of everything we were doing "this time last year."

I've been doing that a lot in my mind over the last few days, remembering things like, on Tuesday, I remembered going to my last doctor's appointment at Good Sam followed by a spontaneous trip to the zoo with Chad and Benjamin that Monday, which was also the 27th. We ran into my neighbor from our old house on Wallace Avenue, who didn't even know I was pregnant again. At that point, there was no hiding it ... I was ready to pop! I remember that last conversation with her as if it were yesterday. I spent yesterday, the 28th, remembering the following day, which was the day I went into labor. I had gone to the Cincinnati Museum Center with my friend, Nicole, and her little girl, Ava, and new baby, Aiden, who was 2 months old. We enjoyed being pregnant together and were excited to have two more kids that would grow up together! Benjamin and Ava watched the trains while Nicole and I talked about how much we both couldn't wait until Abby was born, which was just days away, and how she and Aiden would have a relationship like Benjamin and Ava. And then I remembered that night, going into labor. We had just put Benjamin to bed and started watching "The Unit" when my contractions started. I remember thinking, "not yet baby" because I wanted Chad to be off for all of the holidays! He had arranged a long sabbatical to be home with us through the end of December. An early arrival meant he would have to return to work before New Years. But then I couldn't tell if my labor was the real thing or not, so we just took our time figuring everything out and hoping that she wasn't coming just yet. If only I had known to get to the hospital right away instead of waiting those four long hours, maybe she'd be here now? But, of course, I can't think like that.

As I watched the clock last night ... 9:00, my labor started one year ago at this time ... 10:00, I called the doctor one year ago at this time ... 11:00, I called my parents one year ago at this time ... 12:30, my parents arrived one year ago at this time ... 1:00, we left for the hospital one year ago at this time ... 2:00, we arrived and checked into labor and delivery one year ago at this time. And this morning my mind did the same thing ... 7:15 (when we woke up today), I was still in labor one year ago at this time. Then finally at 11:29, my sweet, precious Abby was born one year ago at this time, already an angel, already in Heaven. Not of this world. Strangely, though, as all these thoughts came into my mind over the last 36 hours or so, I have had an overwhelming sense of peace. Chad said when he was at Teen Challenge (where he works) on Tuesday, he walked in on the students praying for us. They were praying fervently for peace over our family and comfort to get us through this week. And we have been told by many others that they have been praying for us, too. All I can say is that I felt it ... we felt it. It's that "peace that surpasses understanding" that you read about in the Bible. It came over us the week of Abby's funeral and we've felt it many times in the last year, but it has been so overwhelming this week as we felt the prayers of others lifting us up out of our grief. We were actually able to enjoy, and be excited about, this day ... and that is no small miracle!

I woke up this morning, excited to do all the things we'd planned to make today special. Yesterday, Benjamin helped me bake a cake for Abby's birthday and we sang "Happy Birthday" and lit a candle for her after lunch today. It was very sweet. Then we spent some time alone, just the three of us, remembering. We looked at her pictures, watched her video and went through the hope chest that now holds all of our memories of Abby and sits in the room that would have been hers. Her blankets, her bears, all of the wonderful sympathy cards, her baby book and memory box ... we looked at everything! And, again, it was so peaceful. We only shed a few tears as we watched the few moments we were able to capture on video of our sweet, precious girl. But they were not heavy tears, like the ones that usually fall. Through the loving prayers of so many , the depth of our pain was being lifted, even if only for a day. Finally, we put Benjamin down for a nap and prepared for the rest of the day's events. When he woke up, we picked up G.G. (great-grandma) and met the rest of our family at the cemetery for a balloon release. I ordered 25 white latex balloons (one for each person) and attached a card to each one that read, "This balloon was released on 11.29.07 in memory of Abigail Graceland Werner, who would have been one year old today. If you find this balloon, please visit: www.abigail-werner.memory-of.com and let us know where it landed and how you found it! Thank you for remembering Abby with us on this very special day!" We said a prayer as a family then sent the balloons soaring through the sky just as the sun began to go down over the horizon. It was perfect and beautiful, just the way we wanted it.

After the balloon release, our family joined us for dinner at a local restaurant. As I visited with each person, I thanked them for the love and support they had given us all year long and for being with us tonight. I don't think I could have faced this night alone. I did not want to go to the cemetery, just the three of us, and mourn our little girl on her birthday. I wanted to celebrate her, just as we would have done if she were here to celebrate with us. And it truly was a celebration. Of Abby. Of family. Of life. We are truly blessed.

Dear God

Dear God,

My precious Abby's birthday is this Thursday and I can hardly stand it. Please give me the strength to make it through the next few days and weeks. I wanted so much to be pregnant again by now, to ease the pain, but I'm not and only you know why. I don't understand why Abby's gone or why you haven't allowed me to conceive another baby after all these months. I don't know why we were able to conceive her on our own in such a short time after years of infertility to conceive her brother, or why we are having to travel that road again. I trust your plan because I know it is better than my own, but Lord, if it is in your plan, would you please send us another baby soon? I dread the thought of another spring or summer with nothing to look forward to; no hope for another child. Would you please bless us with a pregnancy and a joy in our hearts as he/she grows in my womb in the coming months? Would you please give us something to look forward to that will bring us joy again? If nothing else, would you give us the joy of a positive pregnancy test this Christmas? I just need to see a light at the end of the tunnel ...

Love,
Emily

Back From The Escape, Now To Face The Week

We went away for Thanksgiving this year. It was the first time in my life that I didn't spend it with my family. I just knew that I could not face it, so we planned a trip weeks ago and just got back last night. It made the holiday bearable, enjoyable even. Thanksgiving weekend was our last "happy" memory before Abby died. Everyone was filled with so much joy in anticipation of her impending birth! We lost her the Tuesday after Thanksgiving last year, just 13 days before my scheduled repeat c-section was to be performed. We arrived at the hospital in labor that Tuesday night, ready to deliver our baby girl, a couple of weeks early, but ready to welcome her into the world ... and that was it. No heartbeat. She was gone. Now that I'm home from our trip, the sadness of that cold November day is catching up with me. I knew I couldn't escape it, only postpone it for awhile. After unpacking and settling back into the house, I updated the erasable calendar in the kitchen. As I wrote the dates ... November 29 ... December 11 ... December 18 (her birthday/angel day, my scheduled c/s date and her due date, respectively) ... I could hardly believe it. I can't believe those dates are on my calendar again, staring back at me like an unwelcome guest. I can't believe that a year ago today she was still alive and I had no idea what was about to happen; how our hopes and dreams were about to be shattered and our lives were about to be changed forever. I can't believe only 13 days longer and she would have been here. She would have been alive. I can't believe this happened to us. And I can't believe how much I still hurt one year later. Suddenly the pain of losing her feels so fresh. It feels so long ago, yet so recent. She just slipped right through our fingers, just hours before her birth. I can almost grasp it, but it is out of reach. I can't get my arms around it. How I wish I could hold her just one more time. To kiss her, touch her, to love her. Just to remember that she was a real person, that she was here and that she wasn't just a dream. I don't know how I'm going to make it through this week. It is all rushing back to me and I miss her more than ever ...