Joel Lives

His and Theirs. But Mostly His.

sara_joy1@live.com (Sara Joy) — 2010-03-09T19:55:00Z

It’s Joel’s nine month birthday.

It’s my dad’s birthday too.

It’s also Tuesday, just like the day he was born.

It is sunny and approaching 50 degrees. It is probably just like it was on March 9 last year. And I’m pregnant, just like I was on March 9 last year.

Only this time I know everything I didn’t know then, and somehow am far more insecure. Fear of the unknown is for those who haven’t lived through hell. I’ll take the unknown any day.

Babies are dying and politicians are spewing toxic waste and women are in labor and somebody just got married. The earth kept turning. There are nine month old babies doing what nine month old babies do all over the world. Just not in my house.

I don’t look, I don’t want to know how big he would be or what milestones would be passing. They don’t matter, he will always be newborn. That’s all he ever got to be, here anyway. I have no idea what or who he is in heaven, I just know he is perfectly formed and perfectly joyful. I still think that’s better than any silly old milestone.

Missing him is so elusive; it’s like chasing wind, or drawing music. It whips and whirls and sometimes it whispers, but it never fades. It owns my heart and I feel so guilty when I steal a piece for the little ones in my belly. I have to believe he doesn’t mind, this is normal guilt over adding to a family. Every parent struggles with the impact on their firstborn when the second (and third) come along. This attention splitting, it hurts and pains just like my body, groaning from rapid expansion. I liked those months of devoting my entire self to Joel. This moving forward, looking on, loving others, it stares me in the face as his nine month birthday is filled with activities to sustain the twins and run our lives. This day should be his, I say to myself.

His one year birthday is beginning to loom. I tell the Peppers they aren’t allowed to do anything to interfere with his birthday. I need to make him a cake, from scratch. This mom who doesn’t bake is just obsessed with his cake.

I don’t know why.

And all this rambling simply to say that while I enjoy the sunshine, my heart is breaking as it finds a way to love these two little imps who come after the one who stole my heart first.

This guy.

The Rat Race

sara_joy1@live.com (Sara Joy) — 2010-03-05T20:48:00Z

I have You Capture shots to post yesterday.

They are still in the card in my camera, unedited and yet to be uploaded.

I have answers to your questions about the Peppers and this pregnancy. Right here, in this one corner of my mind where the words sit and push each other around until I spit them onto a page.

I have grief and joy and beauty all lingering in vapors, waiting to be liberated by the phrases and rollicking sentences that escape through this keyboard.

And they all take second fiddle to two things:

- the health and well being of me and my babies

- the ability to provide a living for me and my babies

We’re having quite the week, and although we will be fine, sometimes the reality of being the sole present executive of a corporation weighs heavily on me. This is one of those times. My sanity is often preserved by this space but I cannot spend time here that must be spent putting a roof over the heads of me and my staff.

I might be sleeping or eating instead of writing for now, per doctor’s orders they come first. But the writing won’t be kept at bay for long and fires will be put out so the simple pleasures that stave off madness may return. In fact, I believe I just stole a few minutes for that today.

Rob a Bank, Steal a Tank

sara_joy1@live.com (Sara Joy) — 2010-03-04T02:56:00Z

In the middle of it all, of human resources crises and paperwork avalanches and decades old music in my ear, the thump in my belly can’t drown out this sudden deep awful aching.

I just want my baby back.

It’s all I can think and the tears pour down my face. It’s dark outside and way to late to be sitting at this desk and none of these stupid, stupid things matter at all.

I just want my baby back.

And I know these little ones who just figured out how to make me notice their bouncing around agree with me whole heartedly. They want him back too. They know it has nothing and everything to do with them. They know I am so tired, and so overwhelmed, and still so very much grieving for their brother that their little hands and feet are the best comfort and the biggest reminder.

I just want my baby back.

I push replay.

Your touch made me a king; I don’t want to live without your love again.
I’ll do anything.

To make you see what I’m imagining, to know the pleasure of your smile in the rain, to keep the light from vanishing,

I’d do anything.

I fly this airplane upside down; I walk out on the wing. To see you watching from the ground,

I’ll do anything.

When I see the light upon your upturned face, I can hear the angels sing. Don’t ever let another take my place,

I’ll do anything.*

Anything.

Anything for you, buddy.

Anything.

*Jackson Browne, I'll do Anything

Inside Out

sara_joy1@live.com (Sara Joy) — 2010-03-01T23:39:00Z

Friday was a big day for the Peppers.

Although they were found out on ultrasound and have been sighted there since, Friday was their first official measure-everything-and-take-a-good-look-at-those-babies encounter with the wand in the dark room.

They were excited.

I was nervous.

So many of the women I have come to adore have received bad news in that dark room. Life altering, staggering bad news. And as much as I wanted good news, their stories all weighed heavily on my heart as we headed into Maternal Fetal Medicine. (Hereafter MFM, also known as the high risk office with the super dee duper ultrasounds.)

Because Leo isn’t here, the family gets to take turns peeking in on the babies at appointments and the lucky draw winners last week were my Grandma and youngest sister. Boy, were they in for a treat.

Red and Green put on quite a show. We had a fantastic tech who filled us in on every detail she saw, and they were all good. She even said because I’m so tiny (Hear that? TINY. Next time I’m bringing cookies, girl knows how to work the patients.) she could see things she normally wouldn’t be able to see yet, like several of their internal organs. All where they belong, all forming normally. They are exactly the size they should be, and both doing really well. Separate sacs, placentas and identical measurements all around. Also, they dance, kick and spin rather well. I’m seeing family DDR championship matches in our future.

We saw their little brain hemispheres.

We saw their little arms.

We saw their little legs.

We saw their little hearts just beating away in exact matching rhythm.

We saw their little profiles.

Green

        and Red


I think they look like their brother already.

And just to let us know they appreciated us, when we tried to get a shot of both of them, the one whose head we were staring down on decided to wave hi.

From the outside it isn’t quite so exciting. As of this morning, here’s the view.

By evening it’s about twice as big. I love it.

Images

sara_joy1@live.com (Sara Joy) — 2010-02-26T15:38:00Z

It’s a tough day in my little corner of the internet. It is the birthday of James and Jake, identical twin sons of my dear friend Beth. She loved them and lost them long before we ever met, but her journey has made mine infinitely better. Bring Kleenex and read her post today, it is beyond worth the tears.

We’ve talked a lot about how the three J boys conspired in the conception of the Peppers. That James and Jake and Joel somehow know each other, know us, and know these babies growing in my belly. I like thinking that the Peppers have an open line of communication to the boys right now and I whisper all sorts of messages for them to pass on.

A friend brought it to my attention that I don’t have many of Joel’s pictures up here, or they are tough to find. I don’t have anything brilliant to say today. I can’t add to the beauty and poignancy that Beth has brought to this day. But I can share pictures of my baby, and be grateful that I had him for every second he was here, and tell you that I loved him more and better and still do because of knowing her, and I can’t imagine two other kids I’d rather have him cavorting around heaven with than her little angels.

So here’s a few of my favorites:


One of the first snapshots, also one of the clearest of his little face. I know, babies aren't supposed to be that cute right when they're born, he was.


The first time I held him. You'll have to trust me when I tell you he looks exactly like Leo. If it wasn't for the dimple in the chin we share, he'd be Leo's little clone.


The award winning shot by Monni. She instantly gave us her heart, and then a slew of priceless pictures we will treasure for a lifetime. Our gratitude knows no bounds.

*Special thanks to my sisters, the shutterbugs. I can't imagine being without the pictures and videos you took. I can't imagine being without you, either. You're the best a girl could wish for.*

You Capture - Shapes

sara_joy1@live.com (Sara Joy) — 2010-02-25T17:11:00Z

Our home…was Leo’s home before we met.

I could go on for days about how I don’t fit here, but it seems really silly in light of how a majority of the world lives. I have a beautiful, high functioning house. It is not my choice of home, but it is lovely and I am grateful beyond measure to live so well.

(And I know, things like paint and simple touches change things, the problem is much more pervasive and far too expensive to be so easy. I truly wish it were that simple.)

That being said, the contemporary style of our house makes for super interesting shapes at different times of day.

Like when the sun is setting.

Or even when it’s dark outside.

Trying to get back in the swing of things with You Capture. Go check out what others captured here. Hoping I’ll be back every week!

Here

sara_joy1@live.com (Sara Joy) — 2010-02-24T21:57:00Z

I had lunch with a new friend. A woman I like very much, who has sadly too much in common with me. The bump rounding out her torso has come after years of agony and loss, but still in a family of loving children who call her Mommy and pray for their new sibling.

We talked for too long, as I tend to do. We said the things we don’t say in polite company and the things we don’t say to anyone because only the two women and their three unborn children at that table understand the hearts of these two mothers. Mothers who hope and who grieve. Who look back, and look forward. Who have named the babies who never came home.

She said, “I feel like I don’t fit anywhere.”

I nodded.

The little heartbeats thumping away in our bellies mock the women we love who try and try and count the days and months and test and poke and prod and still have an empty womb. And the fear in our hearts and racing thoughts in our minds make no sense to the blissfully pregnant who stroll down every street, and wave hello in our churches.

Beautiful faith echoes in both of our souls. Horrifying images and ghastly fears haunt our dreams and cast doubt on our fragile hopes. So much of what we said today needed a voice, had to be said, and just cannot be said anywhere else. For as compassionate and loving are the friends and family who support us and gather round when we mourn, they can never understand the thoughts that run through our minds - on love and loss, on babies and death, on worry and faith, on fear and hope. So much I can’t say, knowing it will be misunderstood, dismissed, or cheered away, all found a place at that small table across from a stunning smile and knowing eyes.

It is a strange, strange world where we find ourselves. A delicate grateful land filled with fleeting moments of peace and a rainbow we reach for with ever increasing trust. I am so deeply thankful to be here, but that doesn’t make it easy.

Angel Kisses

sara_joy1@live.com (Sara Joy) — 2010-02-23T22:01:00Z

Some friends of mine are really smart and really generous.

And when their babies died they couldn’t stand idle.

So they started working.

This weekend is their second annual event.

They will help families who have lost children, just like they have been doing since their own babies left this world.

I will proudly attend, and spend money, and watch them work tirelessly for other families to have some comfort in the worst of times.

Can you come too? Will you help too?

I can say with absolute certainty that the program at this hospital is wonderful. It should be replicated.

It has helped me, my friends, and many, many others who grieve the loss of their children.

But it can be better.

Come this weekend, visit the Angel Kisses site, see how good things can happen in bad times.

I’d love to see you there.

Feel free to ask me questions, or talk to the amazing women at www.angelkisses.org

Toeing the Line

sara_joy1@live.com (Sara Joy) — 2010-02-22T19:52:00Z

There’s a post on being a difficult knock up (DKU). Another day.

I’m also planning on answering the rest of your questions. When I feel like it.

But today – today is pee on a stick day. For those of us who have done it way too many times to count, POAS. You’re welcome for the addition to your vocabulary.

When you’re a DKU every day has a number. You know the exact numbered day when you can POAS and expect a reasonable result. Some of us do it sooner because we obsess.

I might have this tendency.

And so we find me shortly before Christmas, scurrying around to make a flight, late as usual, my ride on his way, my bags not quite packed. I’d been to the office that morning, stayed to finish “just one more thing” which, of course, turned into three. But on the way home I stopped to pick up those silly sticks. I would POAS the next day, the first reasonable number. Likely not to get good news, but in the presence of my husband, and hoping for better if I just wait for a more reasonable number. So I bought the three pack. Fully aware that the first was likely to be wasted, POAS too soon. A few more days and maybe the news would be good. Maybe this month we had it figured out. Maybe.

My ride is nearly in the driveway when I throw the bags next to the door and head back for one more trip to the restroom. Airport bathrooms? No thanks. I eye the package sticking out of my purse. Cue internal monologue:

“Don’t be STUPID. It is beyond too early.”

“You have an extra.”

“You have NO. TIME. Ride is in the driveway, you couldn’t even check the result! You are so dumb! D.U.M.B.”

Aaaaaaaaand cut to me opening a package.

I throw my bags out at my ride and run back in to grab the stick off the counter and toss it back in its package and into my purse.

But there’s a line.

A faint one.

But there’s a line.

How can there be a line?

You’re going to miss your flight, run!

And then it’s a whirlwind of ride to the airport, check in, long security line, dash to the gate and full flight next to strange men. All of this equals not another single chance to stare at that stick.

There couldn’t have been a line.

It’s too early. It wasn’t first thing in the morning.

Exit airplane and head to bathroom. Sit in stall and stare at faint little line. Know it’s really a line.

Cry.

Wish it was Joel’s line.

Apologize to baby. Promise to love this baby as much as him. Wish it was him again. Guilt cycle continues. I love you so much in your own right, baby. I promise. I still just miss your brother. A lot.

Stare at line.

Tell God he’s as crazy as us. But THANK YOU.

Get in car and hug husband, drive a few minutes and he asks.

Tell him it’s too soon to know.

But yes.

Husband squeals and tears up.

Pretty sure he engages in similar guilt cycle.

Drive on in dazed delirium.

Thank God again.

Drive on.

Ceremony

sara_joy1@live.com (Sara Joy) — 2010-02-16T21:23:00Z

They all walked up the steps of this building wearing a common piece of headgear. It’s the one of legend, earned with blood, sweat, anguish and some inhuman determination. Many attempt the first round toward the gre.en ber.et, most fail. Of those who make the second round, it is most often doctors who send them back to attempt again or to a career without the coveted headpiece. Few will finish.

Those who do serve quietly. They are expected to perform without rampant acclaim and to work where work isn’t supposed to be done. To make the indigenous forces they train the heroes. To enter in darkness, and leave in silence. To be fight, to be scarred, and to walk among the rest of us without notice. To be absolute experts, usually in more than one area and in more than one language. They are highly skilled, highly trained, and unless you know to look for the particulars of the stance, will stand in line next to you in the grocery store and you will never know. But they saw you, and counted every person in the store, every exit, every security device and knew that the man in aisle three was armed.

Today they are uncomfortable in the traditional dress greens or newer blues. Their chests are stiff with awards and qualifications. If I know them, and I do, most of their uniforms could have a few more, they’d just rather not take the trouble or draw the attention. Their boots are polished to a high shine as they awkwardly introduce their families to the others. It took a security key to enter the building, but they walk with ease in the halls that echo with secrets and trainings meant for but a few ears.

There are only two rows of them in the small theatre. The shoulders of their uniforms are bare in anticipation. Today they will join less than five hundred in the entire service. Their specialties vary, but from here forward they will be hailed as experts, more skilled, more trained, more deeply relied upon than before. They will go back to the same type of team they were on before with a new moniker and a heavier burden. There are even greater expectations, and an oath to accompany their responsibility.

The room is partly full of family, friends and those who hold the title these two rows will now assume. I have the honor of walking to the front and pinning the small silver bands on the shoulders of the one I married. I look him in the eye before I walk away and his face never moves. He is a soldier first. I wonder if my heart could burst out of my chest. It feels like it might try.

And then they are seated again, shoulders bearing the bars that tell the newest chapter of their story. More training to come, more mountains to climb, more hurdles to leap.

They look ill at ease as they gather for the perfunctory photo. They aren't photographed often. Their faces are blacked out in the training manuals and press releases. As they stand under the massive image of a revered soldier, I wonder what heroics await these men. There are battles left to fight for all of them - while they are seasoned, they are not finished. None of them will rest in their new position. They will resume their place within the small band of the best soldiers on the planet. They will go into the world and make sure the world does not come into us. They will work in secret and gather the bits and pieces that make up the puzzle for others to follow. They may have a new title, but they still work as they have for years. Just another silent professional whose name and face you will never know. But I will.

"Where do we get such men? There is no finer fighting man on the face of the earth than the American Soldier. And there is no finer American Soldier than our Gre.en Ber.ets."
Lt. Gen. John F. Mullh0lland, commander of the U.S. Army Special 0perations Command.

"We sleep soundly in our beds because rough men stand ready in the night to visit violence on those who would do us harm."
Winston Churchill

Curious

sara_joy1@live.com (Sara Joy) — 2010-02-15T20:33:00Z

Wow.

I knew the Peppers would have an impact. I knew that people love us and pray for us. But then you all showed up last week and it was far more real than I could have imagined. Thank you so much. If I owe you an email, I’m sorry. I am horribly behind, but working to catch up. You matter to me, all of you. Again, thank you so much.

My guess is you have a few questions – thought I’d field the ones I’ve most frequently received in person.

When are you due?

Well, that’s kind of a good question. The doctors say the babies’ 40 week due date is August 27, but I disagree because my cycles were wonky, it should be a few days later. That doesn’t really matter because the doctors have very little doubt they will be born before then anyway. So…August.

How are you feeling?

Better now. Actually, I had a one week reprieve, which has ended. So crummy, really crummy. I will write a whole post on how a pathetic person who had the world’s easiest pregnancy then gets TAKEN DOWN by two babies the size of rice grains. The nausea has been a force to be reckoned with, but so am I. I’m grateful for every gag, and there are lots of them. And the exhaustion. Did I mention that? Becauzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

No really, how are you feeling?

Ah, yes. How does the mama of a dead baby do the next pregnancy? With neurosis and tears and frequent rabid panic. Until we found out this was twins I was a much bigger mess. I hated having to share Joel’s pregnancy memories with another baby. I am sure I will blog about those early days, as much as we desperately wanted this baby, I felt horrible regret, and then guilt. It was awful. Somehow the fact that they are twins has changed so much of that for me. It’s all brand new and I still get to keep all my Joel memories and experiences in his little bubble. But I also know way too many angel mamas. I’m scared, almost all the time. I make no assumptions. You’ll hear me say “hopefully”, “if things go well”, and “if they make it” far too often for anyone’s comfort but mine.

Do twins run in your family?

Yes and no. My dad has an aunt and uncle who are twins. My sister sadly miscarried twins early in her marriage. I consider our babies to be (super)naturally conceived. I mentioned previously we were having some fertility issues; I had to be on medication to sustain a pregnancy, but not to make one. These kiddos got here by my crazy ovaries and God’s hand.

Is the pregnancy healthy?

Yes. It has been a hairy ride so far. I am now off the medicine that was needed to prevent miscarraige through most of the first trimester. Shortly after we lost the baby I simply call Angel in October, it was determined my body was not producing the right hormones to sustain a pregnancy. No baby would survive without medical intervention. Praise God for medicine, technology and compassionate doctors. There have been other issues and medications and stress galore early on, but the Peppers look SUPER.

When did you find out?

We found out we were pregnant the week of Christmas, what an amazing gift. We told our immediate families right away; even though there was a risk of something happening I needed the support network. Leo was going to be away, and I was convinced I could not handle bad news alone. We found out about the twins on January 28. It is a wonderful story, and will have a post of its own. There was lots and lots of crying. Wait, there’s still lots and lots of crying, but I digress.

Will Leo be here when the babies are born?

We don’t know. He will be flown home when we know they are coming. Whether or not he will make it in time is a whole other question. He will not get to stay long and will likely be in a scary part of the world until the babies are at least six months old, probably a bit longer. We will make it work. We pray for his and the Peppers’ safety. Everything else can be handled; we just need healthy babies and a healthy Daddy.

If you have more questions feel free to ask, I don’t promise to answer them all, but I love hearing from all of you! More soon, I promise.

Introduction

sara_joy1@live.com (Sara Joy) — 2010-02-10T18:10:00Z

Remember this?

It was the perfect double rainbow my sisters captured while following Joel from the first hospital to the NICU. I love it. Ever since that first day it stands as a reminder to me that God keeps his promises to his people. Just like the rainbow he sent Noah, some things never change. God’s faithfulness is forever.

I have wondered if Joel sent that back to us the minute he got to heaven; if his soul left long before we had the courage to let his little body rest. Heaven is mythical to most of us, and the Bible tells us so little about what it will be like. One of the things I have long speculated is that the moment we arrive we will just know. We won’t even bother God with all of our questions because we will have a perfect peace. We will know. I think Joel sent us that double rainbow because he knew. I think my son had a heart so big and so beautiful he had to send us a promise; he had to let us know of the joy and beauty left for us in this life. It has made me see him in a whole new light, and love him even more.

They call them Rainbow babies, the ones born to families after they send a child to heaven. I found this explanation and if you wrote it please let me know, I would love to give you credit.

    Rainbow baby refers to the understanding that the beauty of a rainbow does
    not negate the ravages of the storm. When a rainbow appears, it doesn't mean
    the storm never happened or that the family is not still dealing with its aftermath.
    What it means is that something beautiful and full of light has appeared in the
    midst of the darkness and clouds. Storm clouds may still hover but the rainbow
    provides a counterbalance of color, energy and hope.

I have lamented the burden of this child. The pressure of a perfect sibling gone on to Jesus, and the fear and love and frantic parenting mixture that this baby will know from the moment of conception. I worried about our Rainbow baby carrying all this, isn’t it just too much to ask?

God said, “Maybe for one, so I will send two”.

Internet, meet the Peppers. Our twins. Our miracles. Our double rainbow.

Hopefully making an appearance in August.

Chilly

sara_joy1@live.com (Sara Joy) — 2010-02-08T18:38:00Z

It’s 24 degrees in the . The sun is shining, a rare occasion during these dreary Michigan winters and I squint. Wore those glasses so I could see this morning in favor of the shades. Silly me, clarity of street signs matters little when the blinding glare makes it impossible to see the car in front of you. The wind is that kind of icy cold that makes you wish you could bundle up in full ski gear for work. That parkas and knee high boots were acceptable office wear, and turtlenecks and giant cable knit sweaters were the latest thing in appropriate corporate attire. The forecast is calling for something under a foot of snow in the next 36 hours and it makes us all giggle a little. Under a foot? Whoopie. It’s especially amusing in light of the recent snow dump on a region of east coasters who rarely, if ever, experience the kind of snow we look forward to here. We haven’t gotten it this year and the radio announcers are having fun at our seemingly traded winters. We are ready for it here, I feel for the communities who are unprepared to go weeks without seeing bare pavement. To be honest, I miss it a little. What can I say? I’m a Michigan girl.

And so today is like every other day and no other day but they all run together. I woke up alone and had a chat with the angel who has my son’s name while I fed the pets and readied my face for the world. I told him to keep an eye on his daddy and I really miss kissing his face. Our relationship is changing and I feel it. It’s the strangest thing having a dynamic relationship with a person who isn’t on this earth, but it’s true. Because I am changing, I am seeing him differently all the time, and my view of who I am, as a woman and as his mother is forever being altered. I am realizing that not only do I have to survive this life until I see him again but I should probably do something with it, be someone, make something good.

Today I will show up at work, and get some things done. I will lunch with a treasured friend; I will jot down some notes on this fleeting feeling. And the good I will place in this world in the name of my son is in the sustainment of this business, a moment of laughter with a woman I am proud to watch grow into herself, and in the brief pause one person will take after reading these words and go kiss her baby. She forgot that today could have been a day without the little one who cried her awake.

It’s not all I have to give, but it is what I have to give today, kiddo. And so I am giving it for you.

What Comes Around

sara_joy1@live.com (Sara Joy) — 2010-02-01T17:27:00Z

It’s slow, like the days when sleep has eluded for hours and your waking precludes the dawn as you watch the room slowly, oh so slowly welcome the morn.

There are steps and leaps, but none of the slingshot that has plagued me these last few months. The high looks lower, and I am still climbing. It’s a relief to skip that stomach dropping lurch to the top, even though the view is so splendid. I’ll gladly wait longer to take it in, if it means I don’t plummet back down on this endless bungee cycle.

The block is cracking. That elusive, oft-spoken of block sufferered by writers of all kinds, brought on by traumas of all kinds. I’m sticking a spike in it today and it feels good. It is a start. The face of that baby boy I see every time I open my eyes tells me it doesn’t matter if I ever write another word. Somehow that helps, and the words come.

My bubble becomes so small when I hurt. My world shrinks and draws in until it reaches a size I find manageable. It feels like it is expanding again, I can check in with friends and reply to some emails. I am poking my head out from under my rock. Maybe tomorrow a stray hand will follow.

And it is all in large part to the love and support I receive so freely and so beautifully from a family who never wavers, a tireless mother, friends who will listen to things that are terribly hard to hear and this endless stream of webby friends who keep emailing and tweeting and refusing to let me believe I could be invisible if I tried. Thanks for letting me rest, and letting me know you care. Thank you for giving me space to shrink my bubble, but always letting me know you’d like back in when I have breath to blow it up again.

I’m coming back. And somehow this slower feels so much better, and so much more me and so much more permanent than the rocket I’ve been riding. I never said it would be easy, thanks for sticking around for the ride.

What Goes Up

sara_joy1@live.com (Sara Joy) — 2010-01-25T23:34:00Z

It’s funny in the worst, most awful way how the stark obvious can elude the person who is most ripe for the observance. We easily point it out in the silliness of life like the out of shape athletic trainer or the hairdresser with the bed head. But when it is us, well, when it is us perhaps we gain an ounce of perspective on how things that should be seen aren’t always, if at all.

And so it was that I did not piece together that high inevitably precedes low, especially with another good bye in the mix and a coming home to a life that is swallowing me whole.

I crashed. And burned.

This is the first time I’ve retreated so far that there is nothing to write. I’ve nothing to say as I fight and claw and battle every single step back to some sort of normalcy. I have obligations, big ones, and I refuse to allow them to slip. But the rest of things are rolling around in some sort of tide pool that I haven’t the energy or gumption to clean or drain. And instead of being a refuge as it has been since I met my son, now the page holds me hostage, and this blog feels like one more thing I am not doing. One more thing I am not living up to, one more obligation unfulfilled.

And that is just plain dumb. I started this for me and for Joel. I wanted him to be remembered, to be spoken of, and I so desperately needed a place to wade through what his life left behind here in mine. I didn’t start this so I would have one more thing to do, or quite frankly, for all of you. And so while I feel I owe you something, a massive debt of gratitude for your support and love and encouragement, I know I don’t owe you my words. Especially when they are so few and hard to come by.

The snow has just started to fall in these big beautiful poetic flakes that delay the dusk with their light and I believe. I believe I will get better. I believe that words will bring me solace once again, and I believe that all of you will understand that I’m not being dramatic, or trying to drag you with me on this fanatical series of rises and falls. I believe that this is just another valley in a series, and that the mountains between are quite worth the depths.

That's Life

sara_joy1@live.com (Sara Joy) — 2010-01-19T21:11:00Z

Sometimes it’s easy to come here and share life with you – and sometimes, well, I’m too busy living it. I truly hope that Joel’s legacy has become one of finding the gratitude and joy in every moment we’re given. That is what it has morphed into for me, and I can only hope that somehow in this space that is what I have passed on to all of you.

So today I don’t have any deep or profound ramblings, the class clown is busy being who she is and taking a lesson from the baby boy she never thought she’d have.

I am living.

I am breathing in every moment in the full knowledge that it may be my last, praising God for precious memories and taking it all in. Tomorrow or the next day or the next day I will be overrun with the flood of things that occur because of this living, this life of ours; but for today they are all mine and I will wander in the sunshine, a dark haired boy in my heart and his handsome daddy in my arms.

Life is good.

What I Got

sara_joy1@live.com (Sara Joy) — 2010-01-15T18:30:00Z

I have determined that gratitude is about as steady as a house of cards on a four legged table with three legs propped up by soda cans in the middle of a room of 2 year olds. Sometimes it feels like I spend more time setting everything back up than it does standing. And sometimes it is so simple, like if we sent the kids outside for ice cream and no one’s around, everything stands firm and level and there is simply nothing to think about.

My work is not my passion, but it is work. Good honest work and we have been blessed with far beyond plenty because of this work. Daily I am forced to kick myself into remembering that these chores are coveted by millions, many in my own back yard. And my home is not the one I would choose, but it is stunning. Stunning and warm and more than plenty of anything I could ever need. How many are begging for a tenth as much? Or for a tent tonight in Haiti and other parts of this world? How many people will sleep under a bridge just minutes from where I lay my head on a fluffy down pillow swathed in a massive king size bed? And this man I married, it’s so easy to poke a hole in his demeanor, to be angry over petty things, to ask him for just that little bit more. This man who has given me his whole heart and his life’s work who would never lay a hand in anger, or spend a night with another. This man who STOOD UP when they told him his son was dying and stared every doctor in the eye and demanded they try harder. Do more. Make it happen. How many women envy the way he looks at me?

This list, this rambling rant of the wonder in my life goes on to infinity. My blessings exist without limit, the least of which include health and family and a God who saves. And on days when I hear about the chaos and rampant death in a poverty stricken nation it is easy to look around and gasp at the enormity of what I’ve been given. And it is just as easy to say that none of it matters because my baby is not here to share it with me. I have the privilege of being able to go visit my husband. To once again fly off on a whim and spend some time with the man I love. All around the world lovers divided think longingly of what I have at a moment’s notice. But I am tired of packing this bag and saying goodbye to my precious pets and departing from this office when I’ve nearly a grip on the mountain to do. This ingratitude, this complete disregard for things so precious storms in and knocks down the table and cans and cards like a whirlwind of stumbling toddlers.

I’ve been fighting it my whole life, and it ravages so much easier since that baby boy’s life with me ended. I consider it a victory every moment I look around and say a prayer of thanks. It is so hard to care about anything I have left when Joel is not here to share my bounty. But the truth is that no matter our burden, our blessings remain. It is easier to see them in the face of the massive human devastation and tragedy in Haiti, but they never changed, they were here all along. I simply had to choose to see what I have, instead of what I do not. And I have a whole lot.

Give it Away

sara_joy1@live.com (Sara Joy) — 2010-01-14T22:46:00Z

One of the most beautiful gifts my son gave me was this gaping open hole in my heart. Sounds all wrong, doesn’t it?

I have always had some capacity for empathy and sympathy. I have sat with friends who mourn, hugged those in need, and cried with the broken hearted. But I never lived through tragedy. I never knew how it felt to have the precious ripped from my life.

Now I do, and I consider it a priceless gift that I can I can look in the eyes of those who have lost and say nothing, they can read my heart in a glance. But because of this, I am finding it impossible to ramble on about my life and goings on right now. The massive human suffering in Haiti just makes me feel small. My friends who are hurting make my life seem so simple. I am simply incapable of waxing poetic about myself right now.

Don’t worry, I’m way to self-centered to stay this way, but that’s where I am, trying to help those who need it, in any way I can. Today that way is to drive you to send prayers for Arianne and Ellie, to send gifts and prayers and support to our Haitian neighbors, and simply to love the woman who snarled at you in the elevator. You might be surprised what she’s been through.

To be a Cupcake

sara_joy1@live.com (Sara Joy) — 2010-01-12T19:17:53Z

I’ve been struggling to write about what happened this weekend because SO MANY things happened this weekend. Those of you who have been reading a while also know that I fluctuate between writing styles quite often, and I keep getting pulled to several different ones to describe the duality of Cupcake ’10.

I finally figured out that trying to make it all work in one post was just silly, like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. You’ll get several takes on Cupcake ’10 from me; this is just the first one that demanded out of my swirling mind.

The snow is deep along the highway and its luminescence delays the dark. Dusk is extended as the miles roll past and I sit and listen to a previously unheard song.

“No amount of coffee, no amount of crying
No amount of whiskey, no amount of wine
No no no no no, nothing else will do
I've gotta have you, I've gotta have you.”*

And at that very moment I am missing my son and my husband so much the gaping hole in my torso could absorb all the Midwest. But I look at the women in the front seat and I think of them too. Because over the past thirty-six hours it has been so clearly shown to me that there is but one. But one Beth, and but one Sarah, but one Donya and but one Erin, but one Stephanie and but one of each of the women who filled the room and spilled their hearts when asked why they do what they do.

I am surviving this new life of mine because of weekends like this one. And just how the song references the fact that substitutes won’t work, these particular women are just the ones I had to have to make this journey survivable. So many remarkable people have shaped me and held me and shown up just when I thought I was alone. Every single one of them deserves credit for my survival, and more just keep coming. For many years I have been surrounded by friends of extraordinary caliber, women and men whose character stuns and whose lives inspire. Somehow, in the face of the death of my son, this astonishing legacy continues.

First I wrote to request prayer, to update the beautiful masses. Then I wrote to thank. Then I wrote for clarity. Then I wrote to spill out the toxic mess that threatened to overrun my heart. I couldn’t stop, so I kept on writing to the faceless internet, an addict with a fix aimed toward a few faithful souls.

But something happened to me that happened to every woman who filled my short weekend with such awe and joy. I stuck a single tentative finger into the amorphous mass known as the blogosphere and left a comment there. And then there and there and there, because I had begun to understand what encouragement those few sentences offer. And even though I was broken, I knew that there was no hope in this life like hope offered to others.

And in a flood of the things that make up the best of women that nebulous mass started rolling it all back to me. In snippets of hope and encouragement, in 140 characters or less, or in one writer spurring on another, just the right women somehow appeared in my life and worked on my grief like a potter at a wheel, never leaving me dry or alone, always with a finger where I needed it, or a steady foot on the pedal.

Sitting in this dark minivan, tired and wishing I’d eaten less candy and more vegetables, it feels like the past few days are somehow the culmination of that miracle. That in the great big world of bloggers somehow just the right women, were in just the right place, to make just the right magic where we believe in what we do, and who we are. Where it was ok to come to breakfast with no makeup and eat a cupcake without apology. Where you don’t make excuses for your blog, and you can say that you aren’t sure if you should blog anymore at all. Where you can admit that validation matters and sometimes you want to give up.

Since Joel social events are extremely difficult, my anxiety is very difficult to control and I rarely know how much I will be able to handle ahead of time. I chose to attend Cupcake ’10 because I knew I would be in the presence of people who would never ask anything more of me than what I could be at that very moment. I can’t think of a bigger testimony to the beauty of these women than simply to tell you I was right.

*The Weepies, “Gotta Have You”

Cupcake Hangover

sara_joy1@live.com (Sara Joy) — 2010-01-11T21:39:00Z

My mind is saying blog, blog, BLOG!

And my body is saying sleep, sleep, SLEEP!

And my life is saying work, work, WORK!

And my super cute doggie is saying snuggle, snuggle, SNUGGLE!

I think snuggling and sleep go together the best so I plan to do both in an effort to knock out my to do list faster. Two birds with one stone and all.

Except for the part where that work stuff pays the bills and things. So in an effort to be a real live grown up, SIGH, I am working and not blogging.

Sort of. No comments from the peanut gallery.

Once I catch up just a little, I’ll start the madness of sharing my wonderful weekend, along with the other hodgepodge of scattered ramblings that are bouncing around, waiting to escape my ever wandering mind.

I know you’re on the edge of your seat. Try not to fall off.