Turning A Corner, part 1

This is a hard post to write, but it is important for me to do. I'm writing in two parts, because it made the most sense to me in organizing my thoughts, because I want to literally turn a corner on part two, and because it would be just too long to put all together! I want to apologize, in advance, for what may seem like a little of a rant and a little of an extended whine, but bear with me - I'm sharing it because I have a hunch that it's going to end up OK (and thank you, in advance, for reading).

Ok, taking a deep breath...

photo under creative commons license by Pensiero

Many of you know that this past year for me has been a tough one. I feel like there has been loss after loss after loss, and there is no end in sight - or at least for quite some time, there hasn't seemed to be. I know that there are so many others who have faced way more devastation and heartache than I have, but I'm living MY life, and that is all I can speak to with any authority. I heard a talk yesterday on the radio, and the speaker was convinced that if we simply took the time to share our experiences, people could be spared unecessary pain - the reality, according to this man, is that most of us go to our graves with our collective wisdom, never sharing it for the good of others. I don't know if what I've been through brings any profound revelations to anyone but me, but part of my reasoning for this blog is to create a breadcrumb trail of where I've been, so, if only just for me, I'm going to record my journey. I'm hopeful that when I look back at this in a year or five from now, I'll feel a sense of strength - knowing where I came from.

It all started last June, when during a mundane summer morning my darling little three year old came running into the living room where I was to tell me that "it was accidentally, mom, I flushed your ring down the toilet." It took a few seconds for what she was saying to register, I followed her to our bathroom, where she again pointed to our toilet to tell me that she'd accidentally flushed my ring (as I look back, I'm sure she was fascinated by the marvel of modern plumbing - how you can see something in the toilet one minute, and it is whisked away the next - when you think about it, it really IS amazing!). After frantically searching all the usual spots where I might have set my wedding rings and finding them nowhere, it began to set in that, after 14 years of marriage, my rings were gone. We called a plumber to disassemble the toilet and he announced it was "clean as a whistle." (While normally words that would make me swell with pride over my superior housecleaning abilities, under the circumstances, it was confirmation of the loss.) I am relieved to say that, while I was so very sad about never being able to see my cherished wedding rings again, Denali survived the incident - I heard a small still voice in my ear that day telling me to forgive her, she did not know what she'd done.

I know rings are just "stuff," but the symbolism of the loss has been hard for me to come to terms with - I promised my life to my husband wearing those rings, we bought our first house while I wore them, they were on my finger when I gave birth to both of our girls - all the milestones of the past 14 years were represented. To this day, I now wear cubic zirconia rings that I ordered online because I can't fathom not honoring my marriage by leaving my ring finger bare. Someday, we'll have the money to replace these "fakes," and that gives me something to look forward to.

Another blow came when, throughout the summer, Kyle's home building business that he'd taken the risk of quitting his job to start in November the year before, was beginning to reflect signs of the economic slow down. The beautiful home he'd built to showcase his incredible abilities as a builder was finished, but because of a slow market, there were no buyers. On top of that, funding for his salary was quickly being depleted, and it became clear that we were going to have to make some decisions so that we could provide for our family. The result was a loss of his dream to build homes independently, a very difficult split with his business partner and our friends, and our need to face a hard, cold reality that what we had hoped and planned for was not going to come to pass. At least for now. All of these events, including a last ditch effort to buy a foreclosed home to fix up and sell (which still hasn't sold), started us down a path that eventually brought us to the place where we are today, planning to move from our home in Colorado to pursue an alternate career opportunity in Las Vegas.

While I have written extensively about my own sense of loss as we prepare to leave, I am also just beginning to understand the enormity of loss that my husband has been bearing through this whole ordeal (even though he's tried valiantly to be brave and positive for his family). As I write this, with tears streaming down my face, I'm just so very sad for him and mourning right along with him. I'm trying to hear that small still voice now, the one that has, all along, told me we were going to get through this just fine - I don't know how we will, but I know it is true.

As the drama of Kyle's business was unfolding, in October, Kyle and I were surprised and shocked to find out that we were expecting our third child. I had hoped and prayed for another baby, but we weren't "trying", so I felt so blessed to find out that my prayer was answered and remember thinking that this baby was obviously meant to be. I was ecstatic.

Weeks went by, and my belly began to swell slightly - enough for me to notice. I had a strange sense to keep my pregnancy a secret from most everyone (call it a small still voice), only telling one good friend (because I needed to explain to her why I wasn't able to run with her as strenuously as normal). My plan was to reveal our good news to the world after our first ultrasound, which was scheduled at nine weeks.

Unfortunately, the news that I ended up sharing was not quite what I expected. The day before my nine week doctor's appointment, I woke up and found that I was bleeding. I knew that something was not right, I just knew. I made arrangements to see my midwife and drove the 45 minutes to her office where I had an ultrasound. It was there, as I looked up at the monitor to see the little tiny form of my baby inside, that I realized it was lifeless. There was no heartbeat, and I was told the bleeding was my body recognizing the loss and the beginning of a miscarriage. I delivered our third child the next evening, and we buried him (or her) in a surreally tiny casket Kyle lovingly made with a single yellow rose inside and a piece of fleece as a blanket. I'm struck at odd times with the thought of how big and obviously pregnant I'd be today, how I'd only be about two months from delivery (I was due in June), and how I miss that little life that was once, ever so briefly, growing inside me. Grief is tough that way, it comes in waves, sometimes when you're least expecting it.

A very dear friend, who was instrumental in my putting one foot in front of the other at that very hard time, told me how grief waits for us, demanding to be attended to, never leaving our side until we face it. I've found that to be true. I've also found a secret sisterhood of other women who've been through the excruciating pain of losing a child, too, and I'm so very thankful for each of them in my own journey through this valley. I'm also so incredibly grateful and humbled at the small still voice, who, at that time, told me "Everything is going to be OK" and took my breath away when I heard it. My Savior was stopping to be with me, in my bedroom, to feel my pain, and I heard Him promise me there would be joy again. What a gift.

So, that's the last 10 months in a nutshell. Maybe this will give you a little more perspective on why I feel like I'm at a crossroads in my life right now. As we anticipate the events of the next 6 weeks, to include a move to a new state, change in schedules, change in work for my husband (and possibly for me), and the upcoming due date of our third child that didn't make it, I'm uncertain about the future. I'm desperate to understand the lessons that I need to learn, if for no other selfish reason than to never have to repeat them again. (I'm just going to be brutally honest, here.)

What I can say, without hesitation or reservation, is that I know that these trials have been not only the most challenging in my life, but also the most fertile for character growth and spiritual enrichment. I've never felt quite so close or so far away from my Creator than I have over the roller coaster that has been our last year. But, I know that one day I'll see the reasons, and that brings me hope. As I sit here today, I have no doubt that what He's promised me is going to come to pass. That He has plans for me, plans to prosper me and not to harm me. He promises me hope and a future. (Jeremiah 29:11) I'm banking on it.