Walking With You ~ Mirror, Mirror ~ The Comparison Trap

This weeks talk on Walking With You: "Mothers often fall into the trap of comparing ourselves to one another. This is a trap many women fall into. We compare our families, mothering styles, fashion sense, careers or lack thereof, bodies, etc. Even mothers with babies in heaven compare the way we grieve our children. I know…sad…but we do it, if we’re honest enough to admit it. So, how can we find freedom from this? Sharing is a start…telling the truth…admitting the struggle. I think, then, we will see that we all love our children, regardless of how we choose to remember and honor their lives…whether publicly or quietly…with big parties or simple moments of remembrance. Be real on this week’s post, and let’s free ourselves from the trap of comparing!"


I often struggle on feeling as though my image needs to be equal or above that of other mother's/women, but quickly realize that we are all created in His image... so technically, we are all the same. When it comes down to the way I compare myself to another bereaved mother, and how she chooses to remember her child(ren), well the answer is simple, I don't. I have always felt completely comfortable in reading on how a mother was extravagant, or simple in the way in which she chose to honor the life of her child(ren). My problem stretches among the judgemental people, who turn their noses up... point their finger at how I choose to honor my son.

When it comes to keeping the memory of my son alive, I become a fierce mother... just as I am to the four precious boys that I endlessly take care of and give a tender motherly love to, on a daily basis...

In the beginning of my loss, I would mother Isaiah in secret. I had a feeling of shame as I thought on little things that I wanted to do for him. Just because of his absence in my physical life, did not mean that I did not have a mother's natural instinct to show my love to and for my child. I carried him within my womb for 19 weeks and 3 days. As each day passed, I grew more aware of his personality... I bonded with my son. I fell in love with the daydreams I had of holding him... loving him... bringing him home from the hospital... raising him.


I was his mama.

I.Am.His.Mama.


The duty of being a mother, does not get erased just because your child died. I know that can be a scary word, especially when speaking of a tiny innocent baby dying, but it happens. Instead of the weird looks or thoughts of others, I think that there could be a little more compassion for the parents who want to memorialize the life of their child. The world kept spinning, as our hearts became shattered. Some women, including myself, become frantic, trying to search for each piece, so that we can bring the pieces back together. It may be days, weeks, months, and some years... we have taken on a new shape, but that one very special piece cannot be found... Our child(ren) are gone, but somehow, still remain here with us. We medicate that empty hole, that missing piece, by doing unique things... whether it be that empty spot at the table, in the car, under the Christmas tree, on the blanket watching fireworks, etc. Our hearts become marinated in the love that we are able to give.

Have you ever thought what love really is, or what is the best way to show love?


Wikipedia states: "Love is an emotion of a strong affection and personal attachment."

I would have to agree to the above definition. I loved that little boy more than my fingers can type in an expression to describe... Personal attachment? I would have to fill my lungs with every ounce of oxygen that I could inhale, and shout out "Yes!"

God had to forsake Jesus at the cross... He never asked me to do the same to my son.


No more feeling shameful.

No more hiding.

No more whispering.

No more giving excuses.



He was my little boy.

He.Is.My.Little.Boy.



Until my dying day, I will mother my son, Isaiah Christopher Ross.

It may be by placing his baby chick on his grave at Easter, a pumpkin in the fall, a wreath during the Christmas season, having his birth date/name/footprints engraved in my back, etc. It may be as simple as baking and decorating a cake in honor of his life... of my deep undying love for my child...

This was Isaiah's 2nd. birthday cake. I bought the star candles to give it a little bit of heaven, and the two candles in the middle were for his birthday. While we were singing "Happy Birthday," the two middle candles went out, just as if he were there with us in that very moment, silently participating... whispering, "I am here mama... I love you"......



“You've gotta dance like there's nobody watching,
Love like you'll never be hurt,
Sing like there's nobody listening,
And live like it's heaven on earth.”
― William W. Purkey

Walking With You ~ Overcoming Guilt ~ Embracing Joy

This weeks talk on Walking With You: "One area so many mothers struggle with is guilt, especially those who experience the loss of a baby/child. We want to address this struggle in this post. It will help mothers quietly battling guilt for living life and experiencing joy to know they are not alone. Other moms silently battle this as well. Whether it is the startling first time you really laugh after losing your child, or whether you have experienced the healing balm of joy for years, share your thoughts on this week’s post."

I have thought on this subject for a handful of days, and how I was to answer these somewhat "simple" questions. Just compile a list of painful memories, and how I have carried around the guilt of the death of my son. Simple. The answer became more complex, as I searched over the broken pieces that have been swimming around in my heart, throughout the last four years.

Sunday morning, I was standing in the bathroom with my eight year old son, Parker, fixing his hair for church. As he was standing there, watching me in the mirror, he asked, "Mom, how did Isaiah die?" I stood there, kept combing his hair, my heart began to beat faster and faster, and I honestly was at a loss for words. How do I answer this question. A person may answer, "Tell the truth." It's really not that easy. Well Parker... "Your brother's life was taken, so that I could have a fighting chance at living. Yes, that's right, kind of like murder." Really? I don't want to lie to my children. They need to know the truth, but are too young to completely swallow the entire "real life" story. They know that I almost died, but I don't think their minds can imagine a little boy, their brother, laying in my arms, fighting for his life... Heart slowly beating... oxygen depleting... death overtaking life... gone.

Forever... in this life.

I think he could read the pain in my eyes, and accepted my quick answer, "Parker, there are a lot of things about the loss of Isaiah that you just can't understand right now at your age. When you get older, you'll be able to understand the story completely," as I continued combing over the same patch of hair, a dozen times. He gave a quick/cheerful "Okay," and ran off to go play with his brothers.

I feel like I have to conceal the way Isaiah died, like I'm going to be judged on what a selfish, wretched mother I must be, allowing death to come upon my little boy. On rare occasions, my mother will have to comfort me, whispering the same sentence, "Jenny, you were going to die, the doctor did all she could do to try and change your health, and there was no other option." With a crack in my voice, I conclude, "I know, I just wish..."

Last summer (2012), I went to the hospital to get copies of my medical records. Only a couple of people knew that I did this. I ordered from the night of August 2, 2008 - August 5, 2008. The woman told me that I couldn't get them for a few days, and that I could have them mailed or that I could pick them up. "Pick up please," I quickly stated. I opened the door, walked down the shadowed hallway, past the cream walls, and to the elevator. My legs felt heavy, the same as my heart did. I pushed the button to the main floor, all the while, my thoughts were consuming every inch that had healed over the last three and a half years. Did I just open a door, that I'm going to regret? Am I going to read the doctors notes, and find reason to believe, that she was wrong in the decisions that were made in regards to my health?

Three long days passed. I got a call from the woman in the medical records department, letting me know that my papers were finished, and could be picked up at any time. "Thank you," I exhaled heavily.

After picking up the envelope, I quietly sat in my car, still debating if I should read them, or shred them. I started the ignition, laid the envelope on my lap, and slowly drove home. You sure do look at life differently, when your eyes, heart and soul, search for good among the bad.

I walked through the front door, and sat on my couch. Opened the seal of the envelope... the seal of "life." Slowly pulling out the packet of papers, I flipped through papers upon papers of blood transfusions. My past was alive again, as I continued searching.

There it was... My doctors medical notes (quotes from her notes):

*"The patient was adamant she wanted to try and save the pregnancy."

*"The decision in light of the chronic placenta abruption underlying an acute further abruption now leading towards DIC."

*"The decision was made to proceed with induction for life saving measuring."

*The infant was then swaddled and wrapped in a warm blanket and placed on mother's abdomen..."

I'm going to cut in here real quick... Isaiah was delivered into the mighty hands of God at this point in the notes...

*"Estimated blood loss during delivery is 525 ml."

I'm now in the O.R.:

*"She was placed under anesthesia by Dr. O"

*"Attempt at using the large curet to scrape free the tissue, but was very difficult."

*"The placenta came out in multiple small fragments with pieces of membrane and small pieces of cord and very attached to the uterine wall."

*"I had a very difficult time getting any kind of uterine wall texture."

*"She was taken immediately to ICU."

*"Estimated Blood Loss: 300-350 mL of active blood in the operating room."

*"Fluid Replacement: 2300 mL in the operating room."

These were just little pieces of the 48 pages of copied notes, from my medical records. I investigated every single letter and number in that booklet that held my life... my sons life. I had to see with my own two eyes, read each word...

That.There.Was.No.Other.Option.

I placed that packet back into the white envelope that it was given to me in, and sat silently on my couch. Tears filled my eyes, as I whispered...

There.Was.No.Other.Option.

I believe that in that very moment, I was allowed a different kind of healing.

I had held myself captive in the first three years following his death. I would emotionally and mentally keep my heart in the very place where his stopped...
Swallowing the truth of his death, was not going to be an option... Until now...

No more.

No more imprisoning myself with an unreasonable guilt. God's will is not for me to travel as if I were lost, but awake to a new day, finding the good, the love in life.

On one of my recent posts, I wrote this; "I have concluded that there will be no forgiving myself. How do you forgive yourself, when there was nothing you could do? It's not possible, nor necessary. I have come to accept that fact. Trust and faith in God, will be my greatest recipe for my healing."

I made a decision to look at life deeper, for him... for me. I learned how to carry him in my heart, not keeping it on that blood-ridden bed, where the lasts of his heartbeats were heard.

I remember in the first few months after his death, I would conceal my smile around people, other than my family. I thought if they witnessed a smile, they would assume that I was "fixed." All better. Now we can have her back... the way she used to be. There is one problem with that... I will never be the same.

Honestly, I don't think that I can get through two hours, without thinking about him. I carry him around in my heart, mind and soul. He is a part of me. His little body was carved with special pieces of my husband and myself. The Lord knit him with the very best pieces of his daddy and me. Maybe, that is why he couldn't stay here on this earth... he was far too perfect...

Walking With You ~ Steps Back Into Life

This weeks talk on Walking With You: "Share about your first steps back into life. What helped you survive in the world outside as you took those first tender steps? Are there still tender areas for you today, living in a world that doesn't embrace or understand the loss of a baby/child? How do you cope with those struggles? What advice would you offer those new to this walk to encourage and bring hope? How has this changed for you from the beginning? If you are in early grief, what do you fear/struggle with as you try to navigate a new normal….life without your baby?"


My first steps back into life... looking at my feet that were covered in hospital slippers, walking down that cold darkened hallway, away from my life... that little boy that lay peacefully "asleep" in a beautiful wicker basket, nestled in baby blankets. Giving a final kiss upon that tiny precious head. Whispering a final "I love you," in his ear. Those were my first steps... into a world that never appeared the same, as it had before arriving at the hospital.

People surrounded me with lots of love. Phone calls, dinners, the most beautiful sympathy cards, etc. I knew that I was loved, and that others hurt for me, but just didn't "get it," by no fault of their own. They slowly trickled off into their own lives, leaving me with many thoughts and aches to carry on my own. I felt abandoned. As they "left," I locked the door. To the deepest depths of my heart. My pain. They were to be excluded. I suppose it was my way to survive. I wanted to be alone. Alone.

Sound. Taste. Sight. Touch. My entire being of who I was, had converted into a new person. A new woman. A new mother. All that I looked upon, was different. I noticed the way a raindrop rolls off of a leaf, maybe, because I had so many tears roll off of my cheeks in much the same way. I noticed the way the ants would carry loads of dirt upon their shoulders, just as I had begun carrying a weight upon mine, building the new foundations of my life.

I was to never be the same, but I knew deep down, I wanted to be better. I wanted to be a better wife. Mother. Daughter. Sister. Aunt. Friend. Neighbor. I wanted to reflect the beauty that I knew God had for me. There was no right or wrong in grieving. Only making sure that I continued to walk on the path that was straight and narrow. I knew that if I didn't wander off on my own path, that God would always meet me right where I was. Sometimes, I would follow Him, having enough strength to continue. Other times I had to pitch a tent, and camp out right where I was. I didn't want to go further. I needed more time feeling, breathing, crying... taking it all in. Being the gentleman that He is, I would be carried through the mud and muck. Then I would allow Him to continue paving the way... and I would follow. My attire would be covered in stains, torn with holes, wrinkled with doubt, but my tears would cleanse the stains, straighten the wrinkles, and His hands would mend the holes.

I'm miles away from the beginning, but never forgetting how I got this far. I need no reminders. I live, surrounded by them every day.

I see his smile when I sit and laugh with my boys. I see him run, while watching my boys play gleefully with one another. I feel his love, as my husband holds me. I see his eyes, when I look in the mirror. He is all around me. He consumes my thoughts. My heart. My soul.

He is, and will always be, my precious son. The little boy I continue to hike miles upon miles, through mud and muck... until that day, we meet again...

Walking With You ~ Clinging in the Pit

~This weeks talk on Walking With You: "If you are not new to loss, talk a bit about early grief. What was it like, clinging for hope in the pits of despair? What did you cling to for hope? How did you survive the early days? What helped? What do you wish you could share with someone new to this walk, clinging in the pit? If you’re in the pit, currently, share your struggles. What can others do to encourage you?"~

I'm not "new" to this loss. The loss of my child. My son. As of today, January 13, 2013, the "helpful" Lilypie button on my blog tells me that I have lived 4 years, 5 months, 1 week & 3 days without him. My child. My son.

As I was preparing for this post, I took about an hour in reviewing my blog from the very beginning, up through 2010. I came upon many sad reminders of where I was, and across many hardships that I still face with the loss today.

In the very beginning, I can't say that I was clinging to "anything" in the pit. I made myself comfortable in that cold dark hole of despair. I needed to take it all in. I wanted to consume my loss. By inhaling and exhaling the pain, touching the emptiness and tasting the tears of despair. Why?

I.Did.Not.Want.To.Miss.One.Piece.Of.My.Loss.

I needed to experience ever drop. I needed to allow God to carry me through....when I was ready. It took a very long time for me to be ready. Try two years ready. Just to want to begin to heal. I carried a lot of weight on my shoulders. Guilt. I had to "forgive" myself, before I could start to heal. Throughout just this past year, I have concluded that there will be no forgiving myself. How do you forgive yourself, when there was nothing you could do? It's not possible, nor necessary. I have come to accept that fact. Trust and faith in God, will be my greatest recipe for my healing.

I am going to end this post with an older post that I had written on January 21, 2011. I named it "Praying.Healing.Where I Am.....Serious Post." Visiting Isaiah's grave was one choice that I chose to do often. No, he is not "really" there....just, well, you know.... I went to his grave so often, my sister ended up calling my doctor, because she was so worried about me. I was "okay," but it was just something that I needed to do for me.

His spirit entered eternal love and peace with God, the very moment his heart stopped, but that little body grew in me. I felt it kick, roll and dance within me. Not just as a mother, but as his - Isaiah's mother - I needed to spend A LOT of time at his grave. I had to be there through the "process." The following post that I am sharing from 1-21-11 is not *sweet talk.*




January 21, 2001 (Keep in mind that this was written nearly two years ago.):

"When I post my words on this blog, they have been straight from my heart. I have kept truth in every word I type. There have been many times that I wanted to dig deeper, share more pain, but I didn't want to hurt anyone or make them fall deeper in their own grief, for reading the words that I chose to write. After two years of blogging, I have chosen to do it. It's not anything crazy and so far out there, but it's a subject that I have only read about one time, out of two years surfing other blogs. I have other things weighing on my heart too.....

I'm going to start off with a comment that I left Kelly on one of her posts, after she had commented on my last post: (My comment below.)

"About my latest post, I sure don't mean to sound negative or like a broken record about my "problems." I truly want healing, and I just really don't know what to do. I pray, and pray, and pray, and I still feel so so bad. I usually numb the hurt for awhile, then it slowly trickles out. I pray that God is still using it for His glory, even though I'm still hanging onto it."

One of the struggles that I come across when writing, is not wanting to represent anything but Christ. I have no greater love, than that of my Lord. He can heal. He will heal. He DOES heal.

I don't want to write out my struggles and leave the post without any hope at the end. I really do walk around with a numb covering, just so I can get through the day. I do laugh. I do have fun. I do all of this, with an opened wound on my heart. It hasn't gotten better for me. This doesn't mean that God can't and won't heal the hurt or the loss. After writing Kelly about how I pray, and pray, and pray, I realized that in my prayers, I never asked God to heal me from the guilt. I prayed that He would give me the strength to live with the guilt. Talk about being deceived! 

I have also been reading through the book of Job, and have come across some verses that really tear at my soul. These verses are the part that I really don't think that anyone wants to think about, or care to read. I respect that, but I feel like I need to cross the "boundary" for those who want someone to do it, because they just can't do it. There is definitely a silent "no no," about speaking about the grave. I am deeply burden by thoughts of my sons grave and I really hope and pray that my respect that I have tried to "earn" on my blog is not lost. I am so so sorry if I "crossed" your boundary in grief.

Two verses that I read out of the book of Job:

*Job 19:26 And though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God.

*Job 21:26 They shall lie down alike in the dust, and the worms shall cover them.

To be completely honest, I don't go through one day without thinking about it. I know that my sons soul went to be with the Lord. Our Creator is holding that sweet soul that He made with His own hands. He holds my son.

* 2 Corinthians 5:8 We are confident, I say, and willing rather to be absent from the body, and to be present with the Lord. 

I believe every single word that is written in the Holy Bible. 

I struggle very deeply with the knowledge of knowing the natural part of death. I don't like knowing what is happing to my son. A mother has a built in protection system for her children. It doesn't matter if your child is a newborn, teenager or an adult. Each child leaves their DNA in their mother's blood. I have all of this protection that I have in me, for each of my children. I'm telling you, I am a very, very, very PROTECTIVE  mother! It troubles my mind to think of Isaiah and what has happened to his body.

Every time I go outside in the cold, I think about it. Every time it rains, I think about it. Every time it's been 80 degrees outside, I've thought about it.  With each passing season, I feel as though I am slowly loosing his tiny little body that I nurtured with my own. I feel as though little pieces of my strength pass with him. 

While I'm lying in bed at night, waiting for sleep to fall upon me, I wonder how he felt as his heartbeat slowly came to his last. 

Did it hurt him?

Did he feel the oxygen being taken from his lungs?

Could he hear his mommy whispering in his little ear, " I love you Isaiah Christopher."

Were the nurses 100% sure that he had passed, before being taken from my arms and placed by himself on the nursery bed?

Should I have had the nurses try to save his life, even though they told me that there was no way that he was going to make it? I could have had greater faith, and at the same time, I didn't want him to suffer for a handful of moments that he would have lived, in pain. I didn't want to loose the warmth and life that I held for fifteen minutes. One answer was right, and only God knows if the other was the one that I should have chosen. Was I supposed to be this women with faith beyond words, than that of the words that were spoken or knowledge learned through college, by nurses? Or, was I supposed to hold onto a faith, for the hope that I had held for my innocent little one? 

There is so much pain, I simply can't handle it sometimes. That's when you will come along a post on my blog that holds so much pain. Although I may appear to sound like a broken record at times, I am so thankful for the support that God has graced me with, on my blog. I am so thankful for the women who come along and just write a simple, " I'm praying for you." There is nothing stronger than prayer. God is within it all. He uses all of us, the broken hearted, to bring Him glory..... if we let Him. Just continue asking, begging if you need to. Cry to Him.

* Psalm 34:15 The eyes of the LORD are upon the righteous, and his ears are open unto their cry. 

* Psalm 34:17 The righteous cry, and the LORD heareth, and delivereth them out of all their troubles.

* Psalm 34:19 Many are the afflictions of the righteous: but the LORD delivereth him out of them all.

 

I'm going to end with the comment that Kelly had replied to, regarding my comment written in the beginning of this post:

"Your latest post was just honesty from your heart about a difficult battle you struggle with...and I'm glad you shared it, so that we can pray and show love to you. We can't help how we feel. My friend, Lynette (in real life friend) says that God's part is always bigger than our part. That means that we don't have to strive to do it all right or have it all figured out. He will work in our lives and hearts in His time to heal, restore, grow, mend...whatever it is that needs dealt with. And, our part is small. It's not about us getting it right. He can work in and through us. Our part is just to keep clinging to Him. So, just keep clinging....He'll do the rest."

That's what I'm going to continue doing. Clinging to the Lord.

This post covers where I am.

Wow! After writing that sentence, I noticed the last two words.

"I Am." 

It looks as though I've been covered by Him all along! Thank you Father!

* Exodus 3:14 God said to Moses, “I AM WHO I AM." 

God is so awesome! Looks like He just used my pain and got the glory. I just love when He shows me special answers along the way. In times like this, it makes the pain worth it all. There is something gained and not lost.

I will praise Him forever......."

I hope that I have not crossed the boundary of any of you, but this post represents the early stages of *my* grief.There were a lot of deep comments on that post, that reflect the heart of women that were right "there" with me. They silently suffered with those morbid thoughts too. If you are interested in what they had to say, click here.

Walking With You ~ Introduction and Where are You Now?

I am joining the series, "Walking With You," from Kelly Gerken's blog, Sufficient Grace Ministries.
This is my third time sharing, and to be honest, it never gets old. I never tire, when taking time to write about that little boy, Isaiah Christopher Ross, whom I miss more than words. Each time writing, is like giving a breath of life, to a body that is gone. He continues to live on through me. Through my thoughts, laughter, smiles and love. I can't put away the pen and notepad, because of four years that have passed. Just as love grows, so do my writings about my son - my pain - my love - my hope. Death will not get the last word.

For those that are new to my blog, let me introduce myself. My name is Jennifer Ross, I am 31 years old, and I have five boys that I have carried within my womb and given birth too. Sadly, one of the boys, the fourth to be exact, died within my arms after being born too early. He was healthy, whole and I believe carried a joy throughout his spirit... The one reason that he didn't survive --- His lungs were not strong enough. With oxygen depleting from his lungs, heart slowly beating to the last beats to be heard...EVER...he left my arms, to be delivered into the arms of his heavenly Father.

(This picture was taken about one month before the loss of Isaiah.)


How did this happen?

August 3, 2008 was the start of a new journey in my life.

From seven weeks to nineteen and a half weeks of pregnancy, I had a huge blood clot that was forming in my uterus. It was covering three fourths of my placenta. I knew that there was a possibility that I would loose my child, but I guess I still looked at myself in the world's view.... "it won't happen to me." You may know what I'm talking about.

Unfortunately, it did happen to me.

On the 2nd. of August, I was rushed to the hospital at 11:00 pm. The blood clot had pulled away from the placenta, causing a partial placental abruption, which started a bleed that ended up becoming lethal. Not causing death to my son..... but a fast approaching death upon me.

The next day, on the 3rd. of August, I will NEVER forget. My doctor came into my room and sat at the end of my bed. She said that I had a condition called D.I.C. She said that we needed to deliver the placenta, or I would be dead within the next twenty four hours. After the delivery, I still only had a 30% chance at survival.

After receiving statistics as frightening and real as they were.... What was I supposed to do? I did all that I knew at that very moment.... what the doctor told me to do. I couldn't "pick" between my three older boys that were home at the time (they would be without a mother), the little innocent boy that was dancing within my womb, or the life of myself... which would also lead to the death of Isaiah as well. He was not to be the "winner" in this circle. In the end, his life was taken, to save mine, and to be completely honest, a HUGE/ENORMOUS piece of my heart died the moment the nurse nodded her head to confirm that he was gone. Never coming back. Never will laugh/cry, run, play with blocks and Lego's, ride a bike, go to school, play on a playground, run his toes through hot sand on a beach, watch fireworks, have a squirt gun fight with his brothers, play hide-and-go-seek, skip rocks on the water, eat birthday cake, dress up for Halloween, open a Christmas gift, make me ornaments for my Christmas tree, make me a Mother's Day card, graduate, have a wife, have children -- he will never wrap his arms around my body... I will never hear an "I love you," spoken from his lips.

Where am I now in my grief and healing? This is a very simple answer. The healing will be for a lifetime. With each year that passes, I am able to mend my grief enough to survive. To smile and laugh, enjoy my family and friends, but there is always tears somewhere hidden in me. I am able to camouflage my pain now. I "learned" how too, in order to survive a loss so great, so painful, so empty at times...But, with the gift of my sons life, his very breath, the future that was taken from him... I make it my mission as his mother, to live a full life. To live as though it were my last day... to smile at strangers and say something nice, enjoy a walk on a warm summer evening, taking it all in...That's how I live, taking it all in... the heart wrenching loss of a precious boy in our family, and living and breathing with a thankfulness for what he has given me... LIFE.

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