Easter for Me

[Easter of my childhood-source]

What does Easter mean to you? I meant to get this out on Easter, but it's been a busy week.  I grew up loving Easter mostly because of candy, the Easter Bunny, oh, and as a footnote, a celebration of Jesus.  It was just a fun day, and it showed we were close to summer, closer to freedom.  I imagine I wasn't alone in seeing it that way.  It always seemed like a fun, safe, holiday, not nearly as interesting as Christmas, but still passable.  Christmas, meanwhile, was a good day to remember Jesus, yes, but it was also the most fun time for food, family, and giving.  They were important to me, but I didn't have a clear vision of their purpose. 

[Color gone-source]

Just after I lost my baby, the days transformed.  Christmas, with its songs about babies and giving birth, became painful.  Easter became another day to remember when  I'd held my baby.  I watched the joy in everyone else and wondered where mine was.  They both became days when she should have been there, when a third child should have been reaching for the baskets and candy and eggs to dye.  They were days with big holes in the middle, black holes that sucked the life and color out of days around them.   

[The source of love and joy: source]

Since then, I have been making a study of what brings joy and peace.  And what I've learned is it all comes back to the healing hand of Jesus in my life and the lives of others, whether they're fully aware of it or not.  He is the source of all true peace, all true joy.  Joy is a shared happiness.  Our joy grows when we serve and love together.  Now, I see Christmas and Easter as two ends of the same glorious holiday.  They celebrate how He came into this world as a tiny, helpless little one, willing to grow up like the rest of us and willing to suffer our suffering, guilt, and agony, willing to die in pain, and then overcome death, pain, and sin for us, for each of you, for me, for you.  In these two holidays, we celebrate that our love and our life doesn't end here, that we can have joy in spite of our pain, and that we always have hope in the future.  Now, these days are truly days of shared joy, even when they're painful.  Because of these days, I will be with my angel Alli again and forever. Now that I understand them, these holidays mean so much more. 

Another Birthday Come and Gone

[A candle for her birthday-source]

I'm not sure why my angel Alli's birthday passed so gracefully, almost (but not quite) painlessly this time.  I always brace myself for a tsunami of pain that these dates--her birth and angelversary--always bring with them.  I expect the worst.  But this time, I was so busy leading up to and through her birthday, that it mostly just played in the back of my mind.  

[Hairy Baby]

Part of it may also be that I do have babies.  I never got my rainbow baby, the baby after loss.  I only had miscarriage after miscarriage to the point that I lost count.  I think we had somewhere around 15 before I gave up trying.  But I have filled the hole she left behind with fur babies, small, loving, friends that are much easier to acquire than a human baby.  I adore my cats.  I love my older dogs.  But when I think baby, I think of my Pom Bean, who I raised from birth.  He's my faithful, adoring baby who keeps me the busiest.  This really hit home when he was gone for a day to get his baby teeth pulled, and the house got so quiet.  

[Busy-source]

Obviously, a dog or cat cannot truly fill Alli's place.  A human baby couldn't do that, either.  But between working full time plus a side job and helping with my teenaged kids' needs (since they're home much of the time on Zoom) and writing and caring for my pets, I scarcely have the time to think about my loss and pain.  

[Angel Food Cake for the broken heart-source]

The significance of the date really hit home twice: once when I was writing her FaceBook birthday tribute and once when we were throwing Alli's brief angelversary party by eating angel food cake and going through her baby book.  I'm glad we have these traditions, or I'd wonder if something was wrong with me, that I'd forgotten her or something.  I don't know how I could.  It does make me wonder if there's a third reason that the day wasn't so hard: have I healed?  Is that even possible?  I'd like to think I have.  But there are moments that tell me I'm not quite there yet.  I guess I'll know more when her angelversary comes. 

Finding Kinship with the Past

[My Kell angel, who left footprints in my heart.]

The nature of my enemy

 When I was pregnant with Alli, my angel, I tested positive for Kell antibodies.  Not just that, but we learned my husband is homozygous for the Kell antibody, winning a most unfortunate and undesirable genetic lottery.  What does this mean?  It means that my body would treat every baby who inherited Kell like a disease, and they were all going to inherit Kell.  We were told 8% of humans have Kell, and of those, 2% are homozygous for it.  Talk about crappy luck.  The body will attack the baby like a disease until he/she becomes anemic and has to be induced or death will result.  The usual pattern for Kell is the first child is born without a problem, then the body becomes sensitive to Kell.  Every baby after that is likely to end up anemic, usually to the point of death.  I read about a study in the 80s.  Of 6 women who conceived with the Kell antibodies, 6 babies were lost.  It's a lot like the Rh- treatment except there is no cure, no treatment, no solution except to watch the baby's skull and transfuse or deliver early.   

[My Kell Antibody Curse]

How it Happened

My boy came without a problem, of course.  My first girl didn't have any problems either.  The only thing I can imagine was that because my boy came a month early and had to be induced, somehow, my body didn't get with the program.  However, by the time Alli came along, she triggered the deluxe treatment.  I had to travel to a hospital an hour away every 1-2 weeks from the 20-week point on, until they induced her at 37 weeks because she was safer out than in.  Of the 15+ miscarriages since, none has made it far enough along to have been affected by Kell.  We wonder if there may be some kind of unknown antibody or other problem they don't test for that caused it.  We'll never know because we've given up the battle.  

[Looking back through family lines]

Looking Back

We watch my husband's family history line for possible Kell.  If they had one or possibly two children, they're great candidates for Kell.  Obviously, since my husband is homozygous, it had to come from both sides, both the Swedish Finn side of his Finnish mother and the Scandinavian/English side of his American father.  We do periodically find a family that makes us think Kell.  Obviously, we'll never know.  

[Henry VIII]

Not My Hero

Imagine my surprise when I was reading up on Henry VIII and learned that some historians believe the main reason he had such a hard time getting heirs from his wives was because of Kell.  He consistently blamed them, especially his first wife, but it was very likely because of him.  I never expected to feel any kinship with this fascinating but notorious historical figure. I can't say this makes me feel empathy for most of what he suffered and/or inflicted on others, often because he blamed them for all that went wrong in his life.  But I do feel this strange connection because I get the struggles of hoping this one, this pregnancy, will be the one, the one you get to hold and raise. I'm not sure how to feel about this connection except that it makes me feel at least a little less alone in the struggles we've had, even if I don't love the company.  I'm just thankful for the two we can still hold and for the knowledge that we'll hold them all again.   

Finding Peace in the Storm

 

[Sign of free fall ahead: source]

I don't think I truly knew fear until I had a catastrophic loss.  I thought I knew fear when I bungee jumped or skied for the first (and last) time, when I jumped off the top of a tall rock into water (in a life preserver) before I was much of a swimmer, when I tried rock rappelling, when I tried any number of crazy things kids try when they're young.  At that age, I knew it couldn't happen to me.  Nothing that bad would ever happen just because it hadn't.  I didn't understand real fear because I didn't imagine for one second that I would lose what was most precious.  

[Death-source]

Then, I buried my baby.  And I joined the crowd for whom it (catastrophic loss and pain) could happen at any time.  And the world became full of things that could take yet another loved one beyond where I could see and touch them.  Babies, the most fragile of all, through 15+ miscarriages, became the scariest of all because anything could kill them.  My peace became tied to everyone I loved, and I knew it could be taken at any time.

[2020 Fears-source]

As we entered this last year full of heightened fear around the world, I felt that fear enter those around me.  Suddenly, everyone understood, at least on some level, that it could happen to anyone and everyone at any time.  It didn't matter anymore that it hadn't.  What mattered was that it suddenly could.  

[Jesus=hope-source]

I have one advantage in all of this: I've had years to work on a wall of peace even as a storm rages inside and out.  I'm still not very good at it, but I'm still trying.  I don't imagine I'm alone in this. I have studied the scriptures and understand that the one true peace, the one source of real healing, is Jesus.  He's called the Prince of Peace for a reason.  I trust that He will come again and that I can reach out in prayer and be given the peace I need. I know that we who trust in Him just have to hold onto the light inside as the storm rages, we will make it through.  

Update on a Miracle

 

[Preemie: source]

A few weeks ago, I posted on some friends of mine who had just given birth to a preemie.  I originally posted that the baby was born at about 23 weeks.  Fortunately, the baby was born at 25 weeks, still very early.  They visited her as often as they could over the several weeks she was in the NICU, waiting to go home.  I had a lot of empathy because my first child was a NICU baby.  It becomes harder when, as for them, the NICU is almost two hours away, and they had an army of kids at home.  

[Taking baby home: source]

The joyous day came when they were able to take home their precious bundle, the miracle we'd all been praying for.  It was still scary because it was flu season, not to mention it was in the middle of a pandemic.  And there was the army of kids, all of who could bring something nasty from wherever they went.  

[The chilling, red life flight copters: source]

Recently, they had to rush their precious little one to the hospital, even life flight her due to an infection.  Whenever I see those red helicopters, my heart clenches for whatever family has a loved one there.  I don't have any updates, but I know I would have heard if there had been negative developments.  

[babies=miracles: source]

Based on FaceBook posts, it would seem life is settling back to normal and that the baby is okay.  I know what it is to lose a baby.  I bonded with this mother over our mutual stories of being mothers to angels.  Please continue to pray that the baby thrives.  I know life can go south quickly, but I also believe in miracles.  Let us continue to pray for theirs.  

The Holidays: Learning Empathy

 

[Happy Santa: source]

I used to be able to just celebrate the holidays from Thanksgiving to New Years as if they were, indeed, the "Most Wonderful Time of the Year."  It didn't occur to me that the holidays could be anything but wonderful.  Of course, there were many movies of characters saying "Bah Humbug" to the holidays.  It was a trope, a thing, something other people suffer but not me because, as we all know, the holidays are a time of joy!  Of light!  Of decorations and presents and nonstop delight!  

[Cemetery: Source]

And then, my baby died.  She died in the summer, so at least I can't curse any holiday's name because it took her.  But that first year, it was so hard to muster a smile, a laugh, a glimmer of joy.  Christmas songs made me cry because they were all about babies I couldn't hold, pregnant mothers who would soon hold their live babies, and joy everyone else was feeling even as red, green, and all other colors disappeared into shades of gray.  Other people said, "Happy holidays," and I'd fake the same smile I'd muster when people said, "How are you?" as if they really wanted to know.  I wanted to answer back, "Bah, humbug, I'm dying inside.  What is there to be happy about?"  

[A hand up: source]

I fought the darkness.  I threw myself into making Christmas a joy and a wonder for my kids, for friends in need, for anyone I could.  I hoped if I brought them a bit of delight, I may find some somewhere.  And with each bit of service, I'd slip another piece of paper into my angel's jar as a gift to her, to be opened and read together on Christmas morning.  Every gift or kind deed was in her name and for her. This helped, to some extent, anyway.  And what helped, even more, was the little reminders that the entire point of Christmas is NOT anything under the tree but the gift of the atonement, the sacrifice of the Lord to overcome death and sin for us all. 

[The Light of Christmas: source]

10 years later, I look at those who see only the bleak winter and the blacks and grays of another holiday season without their loved one with nothing but empathy.  Not pity, but a feeling of kinship.  I can see color and joy and light and love again, but I can't expect others to do likewise, especially when their hearts were more recently ripped out, leaving behind a bloody pulp of pain.  I get the loneliness of a world where everyone expects them to smile over the flavors of the season even as they feel the bite of darkness and death.  I pray they, too, will one day find the peace and healing that comes with the Lord's healing hand.  But I don't expect smiles, especially on cue.  I hope and pray that, one day, they will begin to see red and green, feel the dim rays of the sun, and know that a return of light, life, and joy will one day come again as they find sweet reunion with their loved one.  

Get Thee Hence, 2020

[Little Batman]

Not long ago, we brought in a neighbor's feral cats' kittens, so we could adopt them to a loving home.  One of them ran right to me every time.  Then, one day a few days after we brought him in, he lost his appetite.  That night, he faded worse.  The next day, he had lost all coordination and could not function.  We took him to the vet, who said the prognosis was not good and essentially we should say our goodbyes.  That night, little Batman was gone.  It was devastating, even though we were only fostering this kitten on the way to someone else's house, even though we'd only known him a few days.  It felt like I was losing another baby.  I thought that one loss was bad.  Then a bigger one hit me out of left field.  Both of them brought back wayyy too much.   

[My friend, Gillaire.]

I was still reeling from burying a kitten when I got a phone call no one wants to get, that a good friend of my family, someone we had known for around 20 years and who had lived with us for a year at a time, was sick.  Not just sick.  She was sick with COVID and on a ventilator.  Her COVID had triggered her diabetic reaction.  They had her in a medically-induced coma.  I hear ventilator, and my heart stops.  The two comorbid illnesses together caused a stroke.  Her family was told they'd have to let her go because she was totally unresponsive.  Only the machines were keeping her alive.  And in a land of surging COVID numbers, no one but family could attend her funeral.  

[The vibe I've gotten from 2010, 2020, ...]

It felt like 2010 all over again, when I was just reeling with the loss of my brother, who was not in my life at that moment and had less of an impact, when I learned my baby had been taken from me, had died in an accident.  It was just too familiar.  All those emotions started surging again.  It was more of an echo of times past but still hard.  My friend had been there for me, like a sister.  Had watched movies with me, had been just a great person, saucy and strong.  It felt like a punch to the gut.  I know she's back with her parents again, but she was just too young, too vibrant, too alive.  I still haven't processed it all, and dealing with this newer loss shows me I haven't even processed events of ten years ago entirely.  I really can't imagine what 2030 will be like, but I think I'll spend the year hibernating.