marriage

A year of lessons

I’ve been really thankful lately.

We made it through year one mostly in one piece…at least as ‘whole’ as we can be without Sophie.

Sophie.

I’m just so thankful for her.

Her life.

Our perfect time together as a family in our little pink house. Watching her with her daddy. Her laugh. Her brown eyes. Her sass and independence. Her excitement for literally everything. Even her illness because in that she taught me so much about myself, about what really matters…and about what it means to be brave.

Truly, unflinchingly Brave.

The past year has taught me a lot about myself in the sense that I’d never have ever painted myself as someone who could live after losing a child. My mom has always said ‘If anything ever happened to you kids they’ll just need to bury me next to you.’ And ever since I got pregnant with our first and then with Sophie I’ve felt the same way.

But then it happened. My child actually died. And I couldn’t just stop living. I couldn’t get in the ground with her. Life moves forward even when yours is standing still.

But how?

The last year of loss and the 7 months before that of cancer have taught me that it’s not possible without two things-faith and your people.

We’ve been held up and supported in overwhelming ways by so many different groups of our people.

Our family. Church family. Amazing friends who are family. Coworkers. Nurses. The Childhood Cancer community. Strangers. Online communities. Organizations. Businesses. Churches. Towns. Other loss parents.

The list is long and absolutely incredible. People matter in good times but especially the ones that show up and stay around for the bad stuff. That’s what love in action looks like. Just showing up and not forgetting.

God has put such amazing people in our lives and we can only pray that over time we can be there for them as they’ve been here for us. Some days I’m just overwhelmed at how much He has provided over the last 20 months. While Sophie wasn’t healed here on earth, God has been big enough to sustain and hold us through every step. The examples of grace and provision I could list are just mind blowing…maybe one day I’ll just post a list of it all. He has been good to us even in the bad. He was so good to give us Sophie for the time we had her and He continues to be good to us in her absence and in allowing us to share her story.

So yeah, the last year has been unimaginable and hard. But it’s also been powerful. There were weddings that gave us a new sister and brother. We had birthdays full of incredible love. So many Amazing trips and opportunities to share Sophie with thousands. We’ve grown as individuals and as a couple. Our marriage is in a place that can be hard but it’s also the greatest joy in my life.

And I’m thankful.

When God’s provision doesn’t feel good…

If someone asked you what provision means to you, what would you say?

I feel like most of us would say being financially stable, our family’s health, new homes, overall happiness, etc. are all examples of how we are provided for.

Nothing is wrong with wanting these things and seeing them as good provision from the Lord.

But, what if provision doesn’t come if n the way you expect? It’s challenging for us to see provision when it’s different than what we think it should be.

In Scripture, ‘provide’ can be translated to ‘to see’….So in Genesis 22 when Abraham names the mountain where he’s spared from sacrificing Isaac “The Lord Will Provide”…we can also say “The Lord Will See.”

He sees us. He always sees…therefore, He always provides. And His constant awareness of us means His constant provision.

Faith means knowing that every act of provision in my life is for MY good and for HIS glory. Even if it doesn’t look good to my worldly eyes.

Am I saying that Sophie’s illness and death are good? Absolutely not. I’m saying that I believe the Word of God is all true at all times. And because I believe that, I believe that He ONLY acts for my good. Sophie’s death was not good but, I believe He is and will continue to use her for my good and His glory. I believe that His plan for her life, my life, and the lives of those she has affected is so much bigger and more complex than my brain will ever be able to understand while I’m here. I believe that I can do ALL things through Him. I believe that He sent His Son to die so that I could be reunited with Him and with Sophie in eternity. And I also believe the hard stuff. I believe that in this world there will be trials. I believe that suffering perfects my faith. I believe the world is broken and that death, pain, and grief are part of being here. I believe it all. Does that make sense?

He’s providing all of it. The grace to get through the suffering. The whispers through His word that fortify our souls and encourage us. The joy that comes from the promises of redemption and victory over death, grief, and tears.

Yes, provision of the things we need to survive here on earth, is important but, the real provision… the provision for our souls…the fact that He sees us…that’s where we get our confidence to keep going.

He sees you. He’s with you. He will provide. Always.

Share with someone that might need a reminder that in the twists and turns of their life…they are seen.

*Song lyrics from Todd Wright Band

https://www.praisecharts.com/songs/details/71499/cant-see-sheet-music/

#SophietheBrave #DoMoreForSoph #GodisBigger #OneDayCloser #childhoodcancerawareness #lymphomasucks #cancermom #lossmom #childloss

The day time stood still…

I remember every second of December 22nd last year. There are a lot of the details of Sophie’s Lymphoma battle that are fuzzy but this day…this one is burned into my memory like a brand. The second worst day of my life.

On the 20th we had been given the ‘all clear’ to start the numerous tests needed to get Sophie’s stem cell transplant process started. We had a full body CT Scan and GI Tract ultrasound on the 21st. Then the BIG test day was the 22nd.

Aunt Jacy spent the night with Sophie and Jonathan and I got back to Cook Children’s in Ft Worth early that morning. We walked in to Sophie screaming and Jacy was very frustrated. The team at Cooks had come in to start an IV on Soph for her sedation…even though her chest port was accessed. Which is annoying but the port in an infection risk so I get them not wanting to go there. But Jacy had told them that Sophie was a very hard stick…starting IVs had been hell for us for almost 8 months…and that they needed to call the IV team because they have this magical red light that finds a good vein every time. They didn’t listen to her and had already tried to stick Sophie on one hand and in both feet (even though Jacy told them no one, in 8 months had ever gotten a foot line to go in).

Now, disclaimer-Cooks is AMAZING and the staff was amazing….they just didn’t know Jacy or Sophie because we’d only been there for 5 weeks. And they apologized for not listening. It was just very hectic to walk in on an already stressful day to Soph already screaming.

But, we got the IV in finally and calmed her down.

Transport came and took us downstairs to get started. Cook’s didn’t have a PET Scanner so we were escorted across the sky bridge to the next door Methodist Hospital.

It was raining.

A long morning of waiting, sedation, waiting, PET scan, waiting, spinal tap, waiting, bone marrow aspiration, waiting, hearing test, waiting, and heart echo then we were back in our room with a very tired baby. And it kept raining.

My mom, Mammy was there by then to trade off with Jacy and we waited. Results usually took at least 24 hours and with it being 3 days until Christmas, we weren’t expecting any news. So when our nurse came in and said our doctor was coming at 3:00 to conference we were concerned. But at the same time…this was our first day of testing at a new hospital, with new doctors, and stem cell protocol is a big deal so I thought ‘maybe they rush things for stem cell’. It was hope in my heart trying to keep out the panic.

You see, we suspected it was back but we hadn’t said it out loud…not even to each other. We rationalized the bed soaking night sweats with the fact that her tiny body was so weak and exerting her for 3 hours a day in therapy was causing it. We knew her…we knew a spike in her counts was a bad sign but her doctor was positive…and again new hospital-stem Cell…they knew what they were doing. But we knew her. We also knew the chances of it coming back were high. We knew we were fighting an uphill battle…the Everest of hills.

Then.

3:00. Time stopped.

I knew the second he walked in that it was back. His face said it all. He had been crying. Out doctor, the pediatric stem cell expert…one of the best in the nation…had been crying before coming into our room to tell us….it was back….it had spread….it was in her entire chest cavity, her bone marrow, her spinal fluid, and was now invading the right side of her heart. And we were done. She was done. Her poor little body wasn’t strong enough for the kind of chemo that would attempt to save her life. If we had tried that, she likely would’ve lost what little brain function she had left…she would’ve suffering more…and still would’ve died.

I was in bed with her and just fell on top of her. Jonathan leaned against the sink counter in shock. My mom had to sit back onto the couch.

She was going to die.

How long? Was our next question.

You know most people hear ‘3-6 months’ or ‘1-2 months’ and I don’t know what i was expecting…because nothing obviously was an expectation for this moment. But when he said…days, maybe hours. I just wasn’t expecting that. The chemo we were giving her was acting like a colander, stopping some cancer but letting some through. So no one knew how long it would take to take over once we took that chemo away.

A lot happened after that. Shocked phone calls to get the word out. Questions of what do we do now? Sobbing on the floor of the chapel. Sobbing in the shower. Walking aimlessly in a fog. Everything was in slow motion. Having the ‘funeral’ conversation.

Because no one ever sits with their spouse and says ‘hey babe, what would our child’s funeral look like? What funeral home should we use? Caskets, Flowers….’ imagine that conversation….then multiply it times 500 and you might get it.

But we had to have that conversation. While the shock was fresh… before it set in. I wanted that out of the way. I didn’t want to be worrying about planning things after. I just wanted to be her mom.

And that’s what I did.

The next day, two days before Christmas we were moved back to Children’s Health in Dallas. Our families helped us pack the room and Ronald McDonald and we put our baby in her car seat for the last time and drove her. I sat in the back next to the car seat….just as I’d done hundreds of times before….but this would be the last.

The fact that that was able to happen at all, let alone so quickly, was a miracle from God.

Even though Cook’s was great…Children’s was home. They knew and loved and cared for her for 7 months. And I wanted them caring for her at the end. Because I was done being nurse and caregiver. I wanted to get in that bed and be mama. To read books, watch movies, sing songs, rub hands, kiss cheeks, and stare. Just stare at her while I could.

And I did. For 13 days. When time stood still.

Grace upon grace

It’s been quiet over here lately because I’ve just been a little blah. Staying busy has been really good for me over the last couple of weeks but I just haven’t had much to say in the writing department.

That’s not true, I have a lot to say but, I just haven’t been able to articulate a lot of it.

Grief and stress have changed so much about me. They’ve made me a bit more distracted and ‘scatterbrained’. I’ve always been the person that tackled my to do list everyday and found immense pleasure in marking things off. Now, I seem to keep adding to my list and I’ll tackle something then get distracted and start something else. And while I absolutely love the flexibility of my part time work, it’s been hard for me to figure out structuring my own schedule. I’ve never had to do that before. I’ve been on student then teacher schedule pretty much my whole life. So now, when I can’t seem to get things done I get frustrated and overwhelmed at my inability to finish projects that are on my heart and I end up being even more unproductive. And the list of topics and articles I want to write just keeps growing.

It’s like grief-induced Attention Deficit Disorder…Or that’s my self diagnosis.

But that’s where grace has come in such a big way. We’ve felt such profound grace since Sophie got sick and it carried us through her entire cancer battle. Then that grace multiplied to a level I’ve never experienced before in the last 13 days of her life. And getting through her death, the weeks after, and now almost one year of being without her….would just not have been or continue to be possible without it.

If you were fortunate enough to be in our hospital room during the last days or at Sophie’s service then you know what I’m talking about. It was just this physical feeling of a warm hug the second you stepped in. I wish I could bottle it and give it to those that need it.

But what’s so great about my God is that I don’t have to bottle it and give it to anyone. He offers it freely to anyone that needs it. Even if you don’t believe in Him…He’s still offering you grace…and you don’t have to do anything to earn it.

That’s a whole different conversation but, my point is…grace is what keeps me going. It’s not me that’s strong. It’s not me that makes up the words I write. It’s not me that has the strength to walk the halls of the hospital or comfort another grieving mom. It’s not me.

It’s Jesus and the grace that He pours into me and allows me to get through each day. It’s tangible and real in my life and when I have nothing to say or can’t seem to articulate the jigsaw puzzle that is my brain some days…I just ask for grace. Does that mean there aren’t days where i wake up swollen faced from crying into her stuffed giraffe that I sleep with? Or that I don’t feel crushed under the weight of her absence at some point every single day? No. But it does mean that I’m able to survive it. I’m able to have those moments…for as long as they last and then Grace picks me back up and helps me move through what’s next.

It’s not profound. It’s not some theological masterpiece of a prayer. It’s just grace.

“For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God—not by works, so that no one can boast. For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do” -Ephesians 2: 8-10

#Sophiethebrave #DomoreforSoph #Godisbigger #Onedaycloser

The world doesn’t care that I’m grieving.

I’ve learned something in the last few days on our trip to Seattle for my sister’s wedding…the world doesn’t care that I’m grieving. My world felt like it stopped on January 4, 2018 when Sophie took her last breath but, it didn’t. Everything else outside of our little corner room on D6 at Children’s Health kept going. The clocks kept ticking, the hospital kept buzzing with activity, traffic still backed up, the sun still set, I kept breathing…and a whole host of other things kept going even though my body was stuck at 2:11 PM.

In the months following her death, I didn’t put myself into situations where i was around strangers much. I stayed in a bubble of people that know and care about me and Sophie. The world still moved on but, my people kept the bulk of change from slapping me in the face. Now, a few more months later, I’ve obviously re-entered the world a bit and am reminded daily that the world doesn’t care that my daughter died. My people care…but now that I’ve ventured outside of my comfort bubble of loved ones…the world is still big, it’s still turning, and it didn’t stop in January.

That became painfully obvious during our travels this week.

Grief does weird things to your brain. I now have, what I call ‘grief induced social anxiety’…I’m not a doctor but, I never had social anxiety or got overwhelmed easily before Sophie got sick. It now hits both Jonathan and myself pretty heavily sometimes…not all the time but, when it hits it’s pretty debilitating. Even with Zoloft on board.

In stressful situations, I get really overwhelmed all of a sudden, my heart pounds, I get really hot, tears tend to start leaking from my eyeballs and it leads to a full on sobfest.

And the world could care less.

On Friday, traffic didn’t care that we had a flight to catch for my sister’s wedding in Seattle. The 6 wrecks we passed had no clue that it had already been a hard week for me and neither did the construction crews that stopped us for almost an hour. The traffic in Seattle and the ferry schedules didn’t care that I was 200% overwhelmed by the time we got in our rent car at 7pm

Seattle time. None of it cared that I was on the verge of a full on panic meltdown. The rain and wet roads didn’t care that I was in tears because I was missing my sister’s rehearsal dinner on top of everything else. The world doesn’t care that I get anxious being away from home because I’m away from the cemetery…away from my girl. Then on our way home, yesterday, Hurricane Michael didn’t care that I was so ready to be away from large crowds and in my home on the couch under blankets. Airport delays didn’t care that the emotional hangover was setting in and I just needed to decompress at home for a bit.

Grief multiplies stress.

Stress multiplies exhaustion.

Exhaustion multiplies grief…..and on it goes, until it passes.

And the world doesn’t care but, Jesus does.

He knows the anxiety.

He knows the stress.

He knows the overwhelmed sense of panic.

He knows the tears.

He knows the grief behind it all.

He knows your heart.

He knows you.

He is the Shepherd that leaves the 99 sheep to find the one that’s lost.

And you know what? It’s already redeemed. Because we decided that driving home from Dallas at 1AM wasn’t safe so we got a hotel. Now, today, after 10 hours of sleep…we are going to visit the hospital and our sweet friend Addie. So yeah, Friday and yesterday’s travels were awful. But we had precious time with my family. My sister married her person in a gorgeous ceremony and we got to take in some incredible scenery.

We are thankful to be safely back in Texas. We are thankful to get to love on our nurses and friends.

So I’m calling that a win.

#SophieTheBrave #DoMoreForSoph #GodisBigger #OneDayCloser #AddiesArmy #WorldMentalHealthDay #1in5

8 Months…What’s next?

Another month has come and gone. Just like the 7 before it. More days without her sweet face to kiss. More nights without hearing her giraffe rattling around on the baby monitor. More times I look up thinking I’ll see those big brown eyes but, they aren’t there.

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This morning Jonathan said “It’s so hard to believe it’s been 8 months…yet I feel like I haven’t seen her in 8 years.” And he’s so right.

There are days when I truly wake up and have to remind myself she’s gone. But honestly, those days are getting farther apart. She isn’t fading but, our old life is. We are now once again used to the life of non-parents. We get up and go about our days without any of the “parenting stuff”. It sucks. I hate that that now feels normal. We babysat my friend’s precious 15 month old overnight Sunday and…it was hard. It almost felt awkward because I’m out of the mom habit. But…it’s our life right now.

Today, I started a new  bible study and was asked in the get to know you activity “What’s the hardest part about life right now?” and my answer was…everything. Everything is hard. Every single aspect of my life is so hard. Sleeping is hard. Being motivated is hard. Getting work done is hard. Marriage is hard. Family is hard. Friendships are hard. Being around people is hard. Being alone is hard. Writing is hard. Praying is hard. Life is…..just hard.

But it’s also good.

While I’d trade everything about my current life for Sophie to be here, healthy and whole…I can’t do that. This is the life I’ve been given and while it’s painfully hard, there is still good. There’s redemption in the fact that even in the hard, the Lord has opened so many doors and opportunities for us through Sophie’s story. Friendships have formed for us that I don’t think would have ever happened without cancer. Relationships have changed and deepened. Our marriage has grown, changed, torn a little, and been stitched back up by the Lord and His incredible grace over and over again.

The Lord has been just so good to us even in our suffering. I’ve written countless times about the way our community has poured into us and the way we’ve been loved on. He has deepened my desire to know Him and have a true relationship with Him daily. It’s been life changing in good ways too…which is hard to accept that good can come out of your 2 year old’s cancer and death.

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For a long time, thinking about “What’s next” wasn’t really an option. Again, 8 months isn’t a long time but, at the same time…sitting around doing nothing isn’t a healthy way to spend the next 50 plus years of our lives.

So many amazing things are happening right now and it’s bittersweet that she isn’t here for them and…without her cancer, they wouldn’t be happening.

Most everyone knows, or has at least figured out that I am not returning to teaching this year. My heart is not in it and I frankly don’t have the energy. I’m not sure if I’m done for now or done forever but, we’ll see what the next few years hold for me.

I have been enjoying the freedom that comes with running your own schedule. I am freelance writing and creating social media content for a marketing firm, helping a friend on his law firm’s blog, running my personal blog and Sophie’s Facebook page, continuing to submit content to Her View From Home, and I have a few speaking events coming up! All really exciting stuff!

Last week, I had the pleasure of speaking at our local Childhood Cancer Awareness kick off party…it was again, hard…but I’ll take any opportunity to talk about my baby.

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I have a second speaking event coming up next week for the hospital which I am EXTREMELY excited and nervous about. I am speaking at Children’s annual employee recognition banquet to basically most of the hospital staff! I will be sharing Sophie’s story and reading my Letter to Nurses…oh and then sitting with the CEO of Children’s Health!…No big deal right? They’re even sending hair and makeup TO MY ROOM!!! So yeah, excited about telling a room full of medical personnel about the impact their jobs have on families and how God is Bigger than suffering…it’s a big deal.

Finally, on October 4th I’ll be speaking at a Celebrating Women event that my sweet friend Ashley asked me to be apart of. I’m super excited about that!

Jonathan, also has some great doors opening to him. He’s getting more involved on the deacon board and in teaching freshmen boys bible study at church. He’s also decided to pursue fitness full time. Going back to anything ‘normal’ has felt wrong to both of us and he has always had this desire to help people. Fitness is his third love behind Jesus and me…at least I hope I come before fitness haha! He has decided to start his own online fitness coaching business and I’m really excited to see him be able to do what he loves while helping others achieve health and wellness.

There will never be a time when life isn’t hard. She will always be missing. There will always be a Sophie shaped hole in our lives. But I’m so thankful for videos and pictures and her special things to remind us on the days that she seems to be fading that she’s real. She happened. She changed our lives and made us parents. She was brave and perfect. And we will see her again.

One Day Closer.

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To EVERY mom….

To the one with healthy children in your lap, YOU are a great mom. Whether you work full time or stay at home, you are amazing and deserve to be celebrated everyday but, especially today. You sacrificed your body and your own well being over and over again and I know you don’t regret any of it. You are enough and you are appreciated even when you don’t feel it.

To the one holding a child that someone else carried inside of her body, YOU are a great mom. Whether you faced infertility, surrogacy, chose to adopt, or have biological and adopted children, you are amazing and deserve to be celebrated everyday but, especially today. You deal with lawyers, paperwork, court dates, birth parents, unknown health issues, and I honestly can’t even imagine what else and yet you love these children as if they came from your body because they live in your heart.

To the one holding a child that someone else carried inside of her body until that child can be placed with a forever family YOU are a great mom. Whether you foster often or are fostering to adopt you are amazing and deserve to be celebrated everyday but, especially today. You care for kiddos that have been through unimaginable hardships and deal with all kinds of emotions. You take them into your home and love them even knowing you will probably have to give them up and trust ‘the system’ with them. You are a hero and you make are changing lives.

To the one who longs to be a mom but, has hit roadblocks YOU are a great mom. Whether you walk the IVF road, suffer miscarriage after miscarriage, stick yourself with hormone shots, track ovulation calendars, and cry each month when that test says negative, you are amazing and deserve to be celebrated everyday but, especially today. People say ‘Why don’t you just adopt?’ and ‘You should stop putting yourself through this.’ and yet, you continue on longing for the plus sign on that test and the heartbeat on that sonogram. You are strong and resilient.

To the one who held her child here on earth but, had to give them back to Heaven, YOU are a great mom. Whether your child was born sleeping, lived a few hours, lived several years, or died as an adult, you are amazing and deserve to be celebrated everyday but, especially today. You’ve suffered the most painful thing that anyone could suffer and yet, you get out of bed each day and live your life. You say their name, visit the cemetary, keep their favorite things, and live your life wondering what could have been. You are not alone. You are brave and you are still a mom even if your arms are empty.

To the one who carried a baby in your body and then gave that baby to another YOU are a great mom. Whether you were a surrogate or decided someone else could give your child a better life, you are amazing and deserve to be celebrated everyday but, especially today. You carried that life inside of you and selflessly gave them the life they deserved with a family that will love them with their whole hearts. You are incredible and you are worthy of love.

To the one who has a strained relationship with your child, YOU are a great mom. Whether the strain is your fault or theirs, you are still amazing and deserve to be celebrated everyday, especially today. You are doing the best you can and love your children no matter what. Forgive yourself, forgive them, and know you are very loved.

This is my first Mother’s Day after the loss of my two-year-old daughter to cancer, and for the first time, I realize Mother’s Day isn’t flowers and rainbows for everyone. I’ve spent 29 years inside a bubble that has never known loss; four months ago that bubble exploded. But I also know no matter what road we’re walking in this adventure called motherhood, we are all great moms.

I hope you are celebrated even if it’s painful. I hope you have people surrounding you to hug you, love you, and see you for who you are

Originally published on Her View From Home

I tried to wean off of Zoloft and couldn’t….And that’s ok.

I had never really been aware of the world of anti-depressants. My life has been relatively uneventful-with the normal ups and downs that most of us go through. I knew people on medication for depression but never understood.

How can you be THAT sad that you can’t just be positive and make the best of your circumstances? How can someone be THAT unhappy ALL the time to need medication?

I didn’t get it.

I felt bad for people going through it.

Then my 2 year old was diagnosed with Stage 4 aggressive Lymphoblastic Lymphoma and my little uneventful world blew up.

For 6 months I was positive and focused on one thing-getting her through this. I could handle anything cancer threw at me if it meant I’d have my baby whole and healed eventually. Even when a massive relapse and chemo induced brain damage took her independence…I still had a purpose. Caregiver and advocate 24/7. I was willing to be a therapy mom for as long as it took, years if necessary…we just had to beat the cancer first.

Then we got stuck in limbo. At a rehab facility trying to get her strong enough to survive her only option, a stem cell transplant. But her cancer was so aggressive, waiting ran the risk of a second relapse and if that happened, we were done because her poor little body couldn’t handle more strong chemo. I was stuck in uncertainty with no plan. No end in sight. Nothing but my fragile baby fighting every single day.

It was then that I understood depression.

I was completely overwhelmed. I cried approximately 4 times a day. I was getting frustrated with my daughter who couldn’t help or control anything she was doing or what was happening to her. I was having to FORCE myself out of bed when I stayed at Ronald McDonald House. I felt crazy.

I realized that I was absolutely no help to my daughter or to anyone else if I was falling apart. This wasn’t about me. It was about her. So I called my doctor, made an appointment, and the next time I was at home a 24 hour break from the hospital, I went and got my Zoloft prescription. I’m sure it was a placebo effect but I felt better just knowing that I was taking control of my mental health.

And then, one month later, we found out she had relapsed again and her body was done. 13 days later, she was gone and I fully credit Jesus and my medication for getting me through that. I was able to spend those precious days clear headed and focused on her. I was able to wake up and even in my sorrow, be there for my baby.

Now, almost 8 moths later, I still credit the medication and the unending grace poured on my by the Lord for helping me get out of bed each morning and be productive on most days. But recently I was curious to see if I still needed it. Since I have never been on any type of antidepressant, I honestly just wanted to know when/if it was time to wean off. I’m not by any means against staying on it but, I figured if My body no longer needs it, then great.

So I consulted my nurse practitioner and she gave me a schedule to wean off of it but after the first week I was back in full blown depression and I couldn’t do it. The way I was feeling was the confirmation I needed that my body does in fact still need it. And that’s ok-I’ll stay on it as long as I need it.

I get it now.

If I only need it a few more months? That’s ok.

If I need it for a long time? That’s ok.

If I try to wean again and can’t again? That’s ok.

If I need it forever? That’s ok.

Whatever I need…is ok.

It’s time to get rid of the stigma that people who need medication for their mental health long term are broken, crazy, or less than. Because for me, the medication keeps me from being completely broken. It keeps my head above water.

I am one in 5.

And it’s ok.

#SophieTheBrave #DoMoreForSoph #Godisbigger #OneDayCloser #1in5 #mentalhealthawareness #Selfcare

Grief is like Crocs….

I have very tiny feet, like I’m almost 30 years old and I can comfortably wear a women’s 5 ½ or 6. It’s sometimes quite frustrating to find shoes because stores usually only order a few boxes in those sizes so once they’re gone, they’re really gone. I also struggle to find shoes without some Disney character or pop singer on them.

My daughter, Sophie, also had tiny feet. She wore her super cute 12-18 month shoes from 12 months basically until she died at 2 and a half. Her FAVORITE shoes were her navy Crocs. Whenever we were leaving the house, the Crocs had to be on her feet. She’d bring them to me everytime…and was always disappointed if I wanted her to wear much cuter shoes. She loved them so much that we buried her in them. Well, we buried her in new navy Crocs because I kept her beloved, well worn in pair for myself.

I’ve decided that grief is like Crocs.

Crocs are ugly. They feel weird and uncomfortable when you first put them on because they have those bumps on the inside. You inevitably will get a blister from that rubber strap going across the back of your heel. Yes, they come in all kinds of colors and designs but, no matter what you do to them, they’re still ugly. Even if you add the cute little characters that you pop into the tops holes, they just still aren’t that appealing. Yet you wear them, like they were a gift from a relative and you don’t want to hurt their feelings even though you really want to exchange them for a pair that you actually would pick for yourself.

Grief is the same way. It’s uncomfortable and ugly when you first put it on. There’s bumps and it will rub a blister on you that leaves you feeling raw and limping. No matter what your grief looks like or what you do with it, it’s still ugly. You can cry, rage, ignore it, go crazy, stay busy, or lay in bed for days…they’re all ugly. Yet, you wear it and the Lord wears it with you. He is wearing the Crocs too. He feels the blisters. He is the bandaid that will soothe the raw skin.

“Surely He has borne our grief and carried our sorrows,” Isaiah 53:4.

Crocs, like grief, are not my first choice and I’d exchange them in a heartbeat. Nevertheless, all new shoes have to be broken in. When you wear Crocs for awhile, you eventually start to get comfortable in them. You can bear the bumps and your skin is a little thicker so a blister can’t form as easily. You still don’t really like them and you still think they’re so ugly but, you start to appreciate them.

No one chooses the life of a grieving parent. God didn’t ever want that as part of our lives. Death was never supposed to be in the picture. The world broke long ago and our Father took on the role of the ultimate grieving parent so that He could help us in our grief and promise us an eternity with Him and our lost children. Matthew 5:4 says “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.” He comes alongside us in our ugly grief and raw hurt and he helps us break in the Crocs.

Originally published on Her View From Home

Another month closer and another date dreaded…

It’s been 7 months and 3 days since I held my baby and felt her weight on my chest. I’ve read about amputees that feel phantom pain where their missing limb once was and that’s what grief feels like sometimes. My arms will physically ache to have her weight in them. My chest will feel heavy like she’s asleep on it. My fingers can feel her fuzzy head and soft skin. It’s comforting and agonizing all at once. I miss her more than I think I’d miss an arm or a leg.

This week is a tough week. There have been a lot of tears this week. More than there have been in awhile. I mean there are small tears pretty much daily but…this week has been hard. One year ago this week was the week of relapse. Today, one year ago, we were at home with Sophie for the very last night. On August 8th she was readmitted to the hospital with 16oz of pleural fluid next to her left lung. On the 9th, we found out it was filled with cancer and that our doctors didn’t know what to do next. On the 10th, Sophie crashed during her PET Scan and bone marrow biopsy and ended up intubated, sedated, and tied down with a chest tube in the ICU. Between the 11th-15th she got 15 doses of the chemo while under sedation and intubation that would take her independence away. The rest of the month was spent watching her slowly lose things. First it was standing, then sitting up, then being able to grab things, point her fingers, suck on her pacifier, swallow her spit, turn her head, move her limbs on commands, and her voice…all slowly went away.

It all started one year ago today. The beginning of the end.

You can imagine that’s why I’ve been dreading August. For a cancer family, especially one where you lose your child, it’s not just Birthday, diagnosis day, and death day. It’s all of these other dates that are burned into our brains like a brand. Trust me, I’d love to not remember dates, but I’ve always been a dated person. I’ve always had 3 or 4 calendars and….when Sophie was sick I chronicled everything that happened to her everyday in my notebook. Dates and what happened on them matter to me. But this week? This month? I wish I could forget the significance of these dates.

We did something last week that I’ve wanted to do for months but wasn’t ready for. We had our families send us all of the videos they have of Sophie on their phones. We have both watched every video on our two phones so many times that, we have them memorized. So getting this whole album of ‘new’ videos is such a gift. Many, if not most of them, I’ve never seen so it’s like I’m seeing her…a memory of her that I didn’t have but now I do.

How thankful I am for technology. We have friends that lost their daughter to Leukemia 30 years ago….they don’t have videos and pictures just readily available in the palm of their hands. But we do.

The precious videos of healthy Sophie and pre-relapse Sophie are soothing. They make me smile and fill my heart with joy because she’s just so.dang.cute! Everything she did and said was so cute! But the sick videos? The videos of her trying to talk and trying so hard to control her limbs? The ones where she’s crying in therapy because sitting up with 2 therapists assisting her is so frustrating? Videos of her fuzzy little head and sweet smile as she watches her favorite shows? Those precious noises she made the last few months…those dark brown eyes that I love so much…

Those stab me straight in the heart. I want to pick her up off of the screen and hold her to my chest. Watching them….I just can’t believe that was her life. She was stuck in that bed for 130 days. Disabled, frustrated, and unable to stop anything that was happening to her. I’m so thankful for her life but I just can’t believe that was part of it. But I can’t not watch them…they’re my baby. They’re how she looked and was at the end of her life. They’re my sweet Punkin that I cared and advocated for so fiercely. They’re of the part of my heart that I fought for until we left the hospital on January 4th.

And they’re all I have left. So, I watch them and I laugh and cry and close my eyes listening to her voice. I listen to her and Jonathan call me ‘Mama’. Then I hit my knees on the bedroom floor and sob because it’s so very hard, but comforting too. They are proof that she was real. She happened. She was amazing. She fought like hell. And she was so very loved.

In an effort to help my heart this month, I’m doing an August Scripture Challenge with verses showing that #GodisBigger on Sophie’s Facebook page….I’d love for you to join me as I share my heart and what the Lord is showing me this month. I’d also greatly appreciate prayers as this week and month play out. 💜

“Hear my cry, Oh God, listen to my prayer; from the end of the earth I call to you when my heart is overwhelmed. Lead me to the rock that is higher than I, for you have been my refuge, a strong tower against the enemy” Psalm 62:1-3