Another Reason To Dread Mixers

Some things that are hard:


1.  Harper going to kindergarten.  You might think I mean the sadness a lot of moms and dads experience as their babies march off to start their school career.  Nope.  I was okay with that.  Harper is doing half day kindergarten at a small school that also houses the preschool she went to.  She knew the teacher and a few friends in her class from going to school there the past two years.  The school only goes through second grade.  So really, it just feels like more of what we've been doing.  I didn't have too much of a moment on the first day.  What's hard about Harper going to school is that I love it there.  I think it is the most amazing kindergarten on the planet.  And I adored the preschool.  And Wavy wanted to go there so badly.  And this year she could have.  (Obviously) she won't now.  At back to school night I sat in Harper's tiny chair and listened to all of the great things that will happen there this year; my heart was sad.  I read the information the teacher handed out through blurry, tear filled eyes because I wanted to have both my girls in that wonderful place.  I wanted to be able to provide good things for Wavy.  But now someone else gets to.  I'm sad about it.


2.  Mixers.  Well let's get real.  Nobody likes these.  I'm talking about the awkward social experiences you sometimes have to participate in at the first of the year in a large group setting.  Things like say your name and a personality attribute that starts with the first letter of your name.  "I'm Molly and I'm mannerly." Yikes.  That was embarrassing just to write.  A lot of times these types of things involve information exchanges about your basic stats: family, job, where you live, hobbies, etc.  The bottom line (and what I could have said much more succinctly to be sure) is that I hate when people ask how many kids I have.  Or if we have kids.  Or any such question.  I hate the question because I hate the answer.  I can hardly bear to say "one."  It makes my stomach hurt, my mouth pinch tightly, and fills me with an almost overwhelming need to try to get to my bed and lay down on it.  My best answer is to say, "I have a five-year-old daughter."  True.  But it allows me to say the number "two" in my head.  Which also makes my stomach hurt, my mouth pinch tightly, and fills me with an almost overwhelming need to try to get to my bed and lay down on it.  Because while my heart belongs to two children only one really remains mine.  However, I still prefer that to thinking the answer is one.  That just doesn't seem right at all.


3.  Pictures of other peoples' families.  It makes me see that the mirrored image of my family is woefully empty.  Pictures with two or three children remind me that there is only one little girl standing in my pictures.  And there is a huge empty space right next to her.  


So some things are hard.  And that is okay.  I can handle that most of the time.  We have come to realize that while the longing for our daughter causes great suffering, it will not undo us.  We look to God and He carries us through.  Our family and friends support us.  We can have hard days.  We also have better days.  There is absolutely no point to this post.  It is just me chronicling this loss.  If you're still reading I am sorry this was heavy tonight.  It's just what is on my mind.  Thanks for being here. :)


Love,
Molly

Some Happiness

During the long months that have brought us up to now I have cried buckets.  We have felt completely destroyed, lain through many sleepless nights, felt physically ill as we missed our sweet one, and suffered agonizing loss.  One thing that I realized during this time was why creature comforts are called just that.  There is something amazing to me about how much certain pick-me-ups can help me get through a ridiculously hard moment/day/afternoon/whatever.  I am not downplaying the extreme importance of the  things that matter most in my life.  I just thought I would share a few of the simple pleasures that can make me smile most of the time.  In no particular order:

*green tea lattes from Starbucks

*a great book

*a funny tv show like 30 Rock or Modern Family

*a weird sound my dog Parsley makes

*oatmeal made with cream and brown sugar

*a little green butter plate I keep my glasses on in the linen closet

*my gray toms

*a little present

*the way aveda products smell

*phad thai

*flowers in my house, especially zinnias from my friends' gardens

*running across a fun quote that I like

*getting an email that a book I requested at the library has come in

*the little gold owl on my desk

*good looking dish towels

*a pretty box of kleenex instead of the one that looks like hunter green or mauve marble (who wants those?)

*a letter in the mail, one dear friend always makes my day with these (xo to you KW)

What creature comforts do you most enjoy?  I might borrow them.

Currently

Thanks so much to all of you who read our last post, are reading this now, and/or  have left encouraging comments.  It feels so great to know that people still care for our girl and our family.

As we start to head into our next adoption journey it seems like some have been a bit surprised that we are back at it again.  Family members asked if we were ready.  This was asked out of concern -- not out of condemnation.  We ARE indeed ready.  Not because we are done grieving or because we feel like we are ready to move on.  I can tell you that could not be further from the truth.  However, we are ready to experience a separate joy.  We are ready for more noise in our house, more tiny voices, more little things to lose in the wash, more sleepless nights, more carseats in the backseat.  Our family was meant to be bigger than three.  Our grief and our joy is not something that will line up next to each other on a continuum.  They are two separate things that we will experience at the same time.  Yes we miss our daughter desperately and whole heartedly; yes we are longing for a new love in our family.

We are working to finish our updated home study.  Then we will begin the process of signing up with an agency and beginning the wait to be matched with our next child.  This is exciting.  This makes me nervous.  This feels really right.  We would so love any prayers you have to offer on our behalf that this match would be made perfectly in every way.

I would also like to offer fair warning.  I really like adoption.  Like, a whole, whole lot.  So especially now that we are embracing it anew right now, you will probably hear many of the reasons why I think it is a lovely institution over the coming weeks.  But then again, if you're like me, this might just compel you to come back and keep reading.  (Because it's so awesome {adoption that is}.)

Love,
Molly

I'm getting gutsy. Or stupid... I'll go with gutsy.

I think about this blog every day.  My gaze lingers on the link to it in my favorites bar every time I use this computer.  I often think about how much I loved the release I felt after posting and the comfort I received from the comments.  I have written out whole posts in my mind so many times.  But then I can't come to the site because I don't know how I'll do with the bombardment of pictures of Wave.

I do well when I am very much in control of the things I let myself think about, the memories I revisit and don't, the pictures in my house that I know and love.  But man do I get derailed by the unexpected: a picture of her I haven't seen of that I find at my parents' house, a voice in the store that sounds just like hers, an encounter with an acquaintance who doesn't know of our loss and asks how she is.  Anything really.  So I haven't trusted myself to come here.  But I've been gearing up for it.  And tonight I cautiously clicked on the link for the first time since February.

I read all of the comments on my last post and all of the comments on Matt's posts.  And here I am just typing away!  I am crying pretty good but man I have done it.  I saw a shirt at J.Crew recently that said "Small Victories" -- at least I think it did.  It was actually in French.  Which I don't speak.  But to me it said "small victories!" And since I like to draw all comfort from mass fashion retailers I took heart.  Just kidding.  But I really do think it is small victories that can really send me into forward motion.  Which is about all I'm asking for these days.  So yes, I'm writing a blog about writing this blog post.  I'm sure everyone is riveted!  (Sarcasm.)  It seems so risky.  While I can't be completely sure that this won't cause me more pain than gain I am feeling very brave.  Bravery is my small victory.

Ta da!

"How are you?"

So it’s been almost 6 months since we last posted on this blog, and what a 6 months it’s been. We felt like we were dragged kicking & screaming into the dark valley of grief not knowing what we would find, what we would feel, and when – if ever – it would end. We had every intention of keeping everyone updated, at least for a while. After all, everyone has been so good to us. People fed us for months, helped us dig our of our financial mess, sent cards, hugged us, cried with us, listened to us and prayed for us. There were so many days where we really wanted to write and share how we were doing, but when the time came – we just couldn’t. As I’m sitting here writing this, I’m still not sure if I’ll finish or if this will even get posted, but its time to try. So now, months later, we’re going to give it a try. Honestly, I’m not sure how many people still check this page, but for those that still do we want to share how we’re doing and what life looks like now.  When people ask us “how are you?” it’s a really difficult answer and my guess is people get more than they bargained for, but here it goes…

How are we doing?

There’s really two answers to that question right now...

The first answer is – “not good”. We’re still very early in our grieving process and every day is a hard – some harder than others. Not a day goes by where something doesn’t remind us of Waverley and the fact that she’s no longer with us. I walked down the hall several weeks ago and realized I hadn’t set foot in her room for months.  In a way, for me her room has been sort of a dim reflection of our family now. Her room largely had remained unchanged. If someone walked in there they probably wouldn’t know that there wasn’t anyone living in that room anymore. Yet, there is a gigantic void. There is life missing from that room and that’s exactly what our family feels like right now. There is a void – a gigantic one. There is life missing from our family.  That’s not to say that there haven’t been times of joy since Waverley has been gone – there have been. That’s not to say that we don’t still do normal stuff that we always did – we do. It’s just that she isn’t there for any of that, and we feel that absence and we feel it all the time. We felt it more on Easter and Mother’s Day and Father’s Day. I think that’s all we felt on her birthday. We feel it when someone asks one of us how many children we have, or when we have to refer to our children in the singular now – I’m not going to pick up the girls from wherever they are. I’m going to pick up my daughter. Singular. It may be most painful when I hear someone ask Harper if she has any brothers or sister. It breaks our heart every time. What I think we’ve quickly come to understand is that, at least for a while, this is our new reality.  I remember those first couple of weeks after Waverley was gone. I couldn’t believe how quiet it was.  The sound of silence was deafening, if that makes any sense and it still seems that quiet way too often. We still cry, we still get angry, we still ask God why and are still disappointed and hurt that he didn’t intervene in this situation.  So that’s it. That’s the first answer to that question.  It’s almost impossible to put into words how much we hurt and how much we miss our little girl.

The second answer is – “well, pretty good”. Immediately followed by this disclaimer: “…considering all that’s happened”. Even among the pain and the loss we’ve had some great moments over the past several months. We’ve laughed sometimes so hard we cried. We’ve still celebrated Easter, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, and of course Harper’s birthday.  We’ve still managed somehow to carry on the day to day – which in and of itself seems like a great victory. These have been living examples of God’s grace. That in the midst of so much pain and loss we might still find moments of joy. We could give so many examples of joys that we have experienced in the last six months even with this cloud of grief hanging overhead. Rather than list all of those out I’d like to wrap this up by talking about Easter. Yes, I realize it’s August, but for us I think Easter is something we’ve been looking to more and more these days as we navigate this first year without Wavy.

Easter was the first real holiday after Waverley left and so we braced for a rough Easter weekend. Molly and I have both followed Jesus for a long time now and so we’ve celebrated and recognized Jesus death and resurrection at that time of year for quite some time. It’s always meaningful and has always been a good weekend for us to refocus spiritually. We weren’t really sure how that would go this year. My guess was that it would feel a little like it always did – we’d recognize Jesus sacrifice for us and celebrate his resurrection that gives us eternal life. Mostly, I think we we’re both hoping to just make it through this first holiday without Wavy.  It was hard. Excruciating. Lonely. It was painful and heartbreaking just like we thought it would be, but there was something in there that I didn’t expect. Maybe at another date I’ll share the long version, but here’s the short version. On both Good Friday and Easter Sunday and really throughout Holy Week, I had this deep sense of God saying “I am a God of redemption and I will redeem all things, even this ” It wasn’t an audible voice or anything but there was a distinct sense of God reminding me(us) that He is a Redeemer and a restorer of all things. Even in the pain of celebrating Easter without Waverley He reminded us that he will redeem this situation in a way that only he can and bring restoration to our family.  It will take time, and probably a lot of it, but even now we see small corners of our lives where things are being redeemed and healed and restored. It’s the fact that we’re debt free, even though we should still be in debt over our heads if you add the numbers up. It’s the new traditions that we’ve started that make a holiday seem new and help us move forward together as a family. It’s the pure, unbridled joy that I see in Harper every day that can’t help but put a smile on our faces. They’re small things, but they’re redemptive things.

Everyday now Molly and Harper and I walk into Waverley’s room – the room that dimly reflected our new reality. It has been redeemed as well. It’s no longer a room with no life. It’s now the beautiful, bright and life-filled room of a 5 year old who’s heading off to Kindergarten in a just few short weeks. Every morning we go in and wake Harper up for the day, and every night we go in and tuck in her and say goodnight.  And that’s a good thing. A redemptive thing. And what about Harper’s old room? Well, for now we’ve moved a chair and a crib and a few other things in there. We don’t spend much time in there yet, but it’s being redeemed too. In time it will be a nursery again - full of new life and a reflection of God’s redemptive hand in our family.

Your Hands

We have a lot of ups and downs.  Today has been a particularly hard day for me.  From the moment I woke up I just had the heaviest heart.  I miss her all day every day but today I felt like I missed Waverley by the second.  I would give anything to hug her, or sit by her, or just smile at her and see her smile in return.  I think it might kill me.  


Something that has surprised me as being one of the hardest things to handle is hearing any music we listed to together.  She was so particular about hearing exactly the right song.  She knew what she wanted to listen to, how many times in a row, at what volume, and she meant business.  She had her own title for each song.  I can't bear to hear it right now because I can just hear her little voice in the back seat singing along.  Otherwise I would post a link so you could hear it.  But these are the lyrics to a song she wanted to hear a lot the last few weeks she was with us.  She called it The Girl Song.


Tonight I'm thinking about The Girl Song.  I am trying really hard to hold onto the principle of it for myself and let it comfort me for her.  




Your Hands by JJ Heller


I have unanswered prayers
I have trouble I wish wasn't there
And I have asked a thousand ways
That You would take my pain away
That You would take my pain away

I am trying to understand
How to walk this weary land
Make straight the paths that crookedly lie
Oh Lord, before these feet of mine
Oh Lord, before these feet of mine

When my world is shaking
Heaven stands
When my heart is breaking
I never leave Your hands

When You walked upon the Earth
You healed the broken, lost, and hurt
I know You hate to see me cry
One day You will set all things right
Yea, one day You will set all things right

When my world is shaking
Heaven stands
When my heart is breaking
I never leave Your hands

Your hands
Your hands that shape the world 
Are holding me, they hold me still
Your hands that shape the world
Are holding me, they hold me still

When my world is shaking
Heaven stands
When my heart is breaking
I never leave You when...

When my world is shaking
Heaven stands
When my heart is breaking
I never leave...
I never leave Your hands 

Still here.

Well. Here we are.  I didn’t really have it in my mind that we would continue to post on this blog after Waverley was gone (those words feel so sick to me). But as I have said before it feels a bit therapeutic to put some of these thoughts down in a more concrete form.  Since I could use all of the therapy I can get we might just keep it going.

Last week we did the things that I dreaded the most.  When I was scared of the worst-case scenario it always included having to pack Waverley’s things.  It included having to tell her that we couldn’t be her parents anymore.  It included dropping her off somewhere knowing I wouldn’t be coming back and listening to the sound of her crying for me from someone else’s arms.  Well last week we did do each of those things.  Pretty much I just wanted to die.

But here we are.  Breathing.  Making it.  Smiling at Harper.  I did some laundry.  Each of these things has felt like a victory.  We have had many moments where we hurt with a heaviness that feels completely unbearable.  We have had some moments where we feel like given the circumstances we are doing pretty well.   We have had a lot of in between.

This morning I was doing okay until we ran into Target for some light bulbs and paper towels.  They had out spring clothes and swimming suits.  Knowing I wouldn’t ever see Wavy in a tiny swimming suit was almost more than I could handle.  That was at 10:00 this morning and I still can’t get those damn swim suits off my mind.  It’s 4:45.

We left my house in good hands and headed to the mountains earlier this week for some peace and healing.  We got here the day before yesterday.  Simple comforts seem sizeable right now.  I am trying to ground myself in the goodness of my huge stack of books that I brought, chocolate covered oreos from an amazing chocolate shop in town, tulips on the table, Harper’s delight at sleeping in a bunk bed, beautiful mountains in panorama, and the occasional green tea latte.

Yesterday I was reading a devotional some moms from Harper’s preschool gave me (people have been amazing to us).  It listed some verses that I looked up, and long story short , my take away was this:

A family verse of ours has always been Joshua 1:9.

Be strong and courageous.  Do not be terrified, do not be discouraged; for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.

In fact, it was one of the last things I whispered to Wavy before I left her on that awful day. 

Well, the Scripture that grabbed me was Deuteronomy 31:6.  Mostly because I am always moved by Deuteronomy.  Kidding.  But here it is.  It’s the verse that the Joshua verse stems from.  When in Joshua it says, “have I not commanded you?” THIS is the command

Be strong and courageous.  Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you.

And although to anyone reading this it might seem like I am having a moment straight from the intro class to Bible 101 it really smacked some peace into me.

I am missing one of my children, but God is not.  He goes with you.  He goes with Waverley.  I might have had to leave her, but He did not.  He never will.  He will not forsake her.  So.  I’m just remembering that.  And breathing.  And trying to hold onto that peace.  That peace feels pretty slippery.  But I know it will get better as we go on.

If you care to walk that road with us we’ll be here.

Love,

Molly