Every Lament is a Love Song

Monday, Monday

The second morning without Logan.  I woke up wondering where my morning song was, and jumped up to check on him, then remembered...  How many mornings will I wake up like this?  How many mornings will my body ache?

Vanessa was sweet enough to wait for me to pay her, so I asked her if I could come in and finish my other eyebrow.  I won't lie, I didn't want to go.  I didn't want to step foot in the Salon.  I didn't want to re-see and re-smell everything I had when I got the call.  I pathetically asked Lucky and Bart to go with me, and even though I didn't explain myself, they graciously said yes.  The three of us were clinging to each other, desperately holding on.

After we were done, we went to Walmart to pick up green bandannas and the cards we had made for the first responders.  It has a picture of Logan, and underneath, thanked them for being incredible and so gracious with us.  We said we were sorry they had to see him the way that they did, but we wanted them to remember him like the picture, happy and full of life.  We were blessed to have the first responders that we did.  They were incredible, and we saw how deeply Logan's death had touched them.  We wanted to give them peace.

I couldn't help but wonder, as we were walking through the store, if people knew.  Fernley is a small town and it was all over Facebook, on Fernley pages, before we had told half our family.  Did they know?  Did they know I had lost my baby.  Could they see my grief?  Could they taste my sorrow?  Did I look like a ghost as I floated through?  Why couldn't time fucking stop!?!?  I wanted to stand in the middle of the store and scream that he was here.  He lived!  He breathed!  He was my love and he took my heart with him... But I haven't broken yet. I haven't hardly cried. Not here. Not now. 

We took the cards to the Sheriff's office and the Fire Department. All we said was that there was an incident Saturday, and the office staff immediately knew who we were. They gently took the cards and fought to keep composure. What do you say to the family of a dead child? What could we say in return? 

Off to Reno. We weren't really keeping funeral clothes on hand. What do you wear to your babies funeral? Lucky and Bart picked a shirt, we found something for the kids... But I couldn't find anything. What do you wear to your babies funeral? I wanted to look beautiful and strong for my little guy.  He would giggle and coo when I got dressed, in his own way, telling me he thought I was beautiful.  I wanted to be beautiful for him.  She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come. Proverbs 31:25 I wanted to be that woman...  For my God and for my son, the one who loved to laugh.

We went to store after store. I am not much of a shopper, but I was frustrated that everything seemed over the top cheery. No one carries mourning clothes any more. Lucky and Bart (bless them) followed me around without complaining. They seemed as frustrated with neon as I was. 

I texted Angela before walking into the last store. "I'm too young for this." 

I think, as women, we see the toll that having babies take on us. After Logan, I felt deflated and worn out. I had three babies in six and a half years. But now... But now I looked in the mirror, wearing a Grey dress, and I saw a hurt, scared, little girl. I am so young, so very, very young. 

I stepped out of the room to show Lucky and Bart. The dress was too big, but three women stopped me, on the way to guys, to tell me how fantastic I looked. I wanted to say, Thank you, it's for my babies funeral, but I smiled and thanked them graciously instead. 

The nod and the look on Lucky and Bart's face confirmed that it was the one. Lucky went to see if they had it in small. Small. I am small. So tiny and insignificant. I am nothing. A tiny girl, in a dress too big. I am nothing, but his loss, oh God hear me, this loss is huge. This loss, in the heart of an insignificant girl, could rock the heavens.

I may have peace...  But I still have sorrow.  I do not mourn his death, I mourn my loss.

And Then There Were Two

"I want a baby brother.", Owen demanded of us.  It was hard to explain that we couldn't pick to an almost four year old.  "We are going to name him Wolverine-"  "We can't name him Wolverine."  "Fine, we will call him Logan, but his name will secretly be Wolverine.  I am going to teach him how to play, and build legos, and be a super hero, and we are going to be best friends.  I love him already."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I woke up Sunday in a panic.  Why wasn't Logan crying.  Oh, God, please don't let him be- dead.  He is dead. My body ached in ways I didn't know it could.  My breasts started aching like it was time to nurse, but there was no milk, and no longer a baby.  My emotional numbness was being physically over compensated.  My body had the familiar ache of just giving birth.  Even physically, I wanted him.  I got up and was again blessed to have our closest friends here.  Easter Sunday... Jesus came back... Logan won't.  

Cammy was a mess.  She knew something was going on, but didn't understand what.  Owen was in Maryland with his dad, clueless that our world had just crumbled.  I asked Megan to take Cammy down to Hawthorne with her.  I just couldn't care enough to be of any use to anyone.  It wasn't fair to her to have an absent Mom.  For the first time, Cammy begged not to go with her Aunt Maymay.  She wanted to be with me but I sent her away anyways.  I couldn't do it.  I just couldn't be a Mom.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The jelly was cold and slimy.  I hated ultrasounds, but I couldn't wait for Lucky to see we were having a boy.  I told him the night before that God gives us the desire of our hearts, and I knew that I was giving him a son.  The tech asked if we wanted to know the gender, and I shot Lucky a knowing look as I said yes... And then there was Logan.  He was perfect and beautiful on the screen.  "It's a boy.", she said happily.  Lucky glared at her.  "You don't believe me?  Here are the testes and here is the penis.  It. Is. A. Boy.", she laughed at Lucky.  He didn't look convinced, but he did look hopeful.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bart, Ian, Lucky and I sat quietly.  What do you say when a light goes out?  What do you do when there is no way to turn it back on?  Justin messaged Bart (Trying to be respectful of Lucky and me) saying that he couldn't just sit there any more.  He had to come down and be with his brother and his family.  Those are the kind of people God has given us.  We don't have friends, we don't have blood, we have a bond that far exceeds anything I have known before.  We are blessed.

Justin and Kari showed up with forty cheeseburgers and two cases of soda.  Ian had to work the next day... No rest for the broken, so Bart was going to take him home, pack a bag, and come back.  Ian would have stopped the world to do the same, but time stops for no one.  After the guys left, Justin and Kari sat with us watching Youtube.  We laughed and marveled at how freakishly creepy some animals could be, but we laughed.  A Sunday spent in silence.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lucky was laughing at me as I lay on my side, straddling a giant peanut shaped ball.  They were having me rock against it to try and switch Logan's position.  Every contraction was like a high for me.  Every one meant the little guy I had prayed for was about to make his debut.  I knew my Tiny Titan was going to change the world.  Lucky asked if I thought he had time to go smoke before Logan came.  I told him to go for it.  No sooner had Lucky made it out side, Logan decided it was time.  Lucky rushed back up, and in just a couple quick minutes, he was here.  It was such a humbling and intimate experience.  He was perfect and peaceful.  Lucky climbed into the bed with me and we spent the rest of the day and night, holding each other, and Logan, and marveling at how there was something different- special about him.  Yes, my Tiny Titan would change the world.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I Skyped home.  My family was having an Easter dinner, and damn it, I wanted to be there. I wanted my Uncle Alec to pick me up and hug me while teasing me about how tiny I am, I wanted to hear the way Uncle Jeremy says "Heya, Whit." , the peace that comes with sitting next to my Uncle Jim, and the gruff but loving hug that only Uncle John can give. Lucky and I sat side by side and talked to all my family as they crowded in my Aunt's dining room.  I caught a glimpse of us on the screen.  My eyes were glowing and we looked so young, so small, and so helpless.  I hate being helpless.  But we also looked united.  Lucky and I, no matter how young, how hurt, or how small, were put together by God.  We can take on the world... I just wish we didn't have to.

After Skype was done, we just laid in the middle of the living room.  I snuggled up to him, and we stared at the ceiling.  What do you say?  We lost the same child, but our hurt is so very different.  So we held each other in silence and waited for the day to end.  I mumbled something about being homesick, and Lucky told my parents that I needed to be with them, so Dad set up Skype and sat me in the corner of the room so I could watch.  It was comforting to pretend I was sitting with my Mom and Aunt Andi again.  They are my heroes and their strength was comforting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Why isn't Logan in my room?"  "Because Mommy has him in our room tonight.  He is a little congested."  "But he is my little brother.  It is my job to protect him."  "No, baby, it isn't.  Your job is to be the best big brother you can be, and you are.  He knows how much you love him." "But I have to protect him."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bart made it back.  The guys wanted a couple drinks...  I wanted a couple bottles of tequila to drown myself in... so I opted out.  Bart, being the care taker that he is, went to the store for us.  I didn't want to leave.  Hell, I didn't want to be breathing either, but at least we didn't have to go to the store. Right after he left, Austin showed up.  We opened the door, and there was Austin, all 6'6'' of him.  His arms were covered with bags of food, and he let out a sound of grief and scooped Lucky and I into what could be called a hug.  See?  More than friends.  A lumberjack of a man, humbled himself to show his grief to be shared with us.

Everyone we had there the first forty eight hours, EVERYONE of them, God bless them.  God bless Ian for the hugs he gave me in the first hours.  Making me realize that I did need human contact.  Oddly enough, Lucky and Ian were the only ones I felt OK with touching.  For Bart, despite his pain, nurturing us, holding our hand and taking care of every need and want before we could think of it.  For Rachel and her husband making us one of the best dinners I can remember, and Rachel sitting us down and forcing us to eat.  She knew we wouldn't have otherwise.  Bless her.  For Sean, despite school and long work hours, dropping everything just to sit that first night.  Sometimes silence is better than words. Bless that man. God bless Megan and Theora, for their love and comfort given to Cammy, when I was too weak and broken to.  God bless Justin and Kari, despite all their new life changes, showing us and putting up with hours of nonsensical videos.  For laughing with us.  And Austin, bless him for his beautiful heart, for grieving with us and talking into the night.

“Of all the words of mice and men, the saddest are, "It might have been.”

-Kurt Vonnegut Jr.

Bugs Trapped in Amber

Do you ever have a day where you wake up, get ready, and feel beautiful?  Like you could take on the world and nothing could stop you?  That was how my day started.  The sun was shining and birds were singing.  The day was beautiful, I was beautiful, life was beautiful.

We rushed through our morning and cleaned up the house.  Cammy and I rushed off to get her hair cut.  She got the princess treatment, the hair wash, the cape, and the blow dry.  I had just had my right eyebrow waxed when my phone started ringing and Cammy started singing, "It's Bart! It's Bart! It's Bart! It's Bart!", and that song told me everything was wrong.  There was no reason for him to be calling me.  He knew I was getting Cammy's hair cut, and we had only been gone for 20 minutes.

"You need to get home.  Something is wrong with Logan."
"OK, what?"
"I don't know, we called an ambulance.  Just come home."
"OK, bye."

I told Vanessa that Bart told me and asked if she would take a rain check. I rushed out the door, with only one eyebrow done.  I shot up a prayer for peace and started driving.  Right when I got to the round about, I saw the ambulance behind me, so I pulled off and took a back way home.  I tried calling my Mom, but she didn't answer, so I called my Dad.  I shot off that I was driving and to pray because something was wrong.  I was speeding through a neighborhood and someone yelled for me to slow down, and out of no where I heard myself yell something about my baby.

When I pulled up, there were two ambulances and maybe 3 or 4 police cars in front of my house.  I had to park in front of the neighbors.  Bart was there waiting for me and I don't know if I said anything, but he nodded and I ran out of the car.  Right when I got to the front of the house, Lucky burst out the door making a noise that probably does have a word, but one that does not define it, and dropped to his knees.  I tried picking him up, consoling him, telling him that the EMTs were there.  That everything was going to be OK.  He was crying that he was dead and begging my forgiveness. I left him there.  I tried to run in the house, but an officer stopped me.  I told him that I was his mother and gave my name.  I demanded to see him.  Another officer escorted me to the bedroom.

I said, "He is dead, isn't he?" and the officer started trying to console me. I told him to stop.  I needed him to be straight forward with me.  I wasn't going to break but I didn't need the bull shit.  He opened the door, and by the toy box, I could see my babies silhouette under Owen's monkey blanket.  His hands looked like they were trying to push it off.  I don't know if I made a noise, but I felt silent.  Everything was silent.  I pulled back the blanket and he laid there frozen like a bug trapped in amber.  He was cold, and frozen, and gone.

I felt a tear escape as I lifted him.  I just wanted to hold him, to feel his body against mine one. last. time.  Before I got him to me, the officer stopped me and told me it was a crime scene.  He took Logan, and gently laid him down and covered him and asked me to leave.  I wanted to scream.  I wanted to fight.  I wanted to hold my baby, just once, just one last time.  Instead I meekly followed him to the living room.  He was saying something about grieving and something that was probably meant to be consoling, instead I was eyeing his gun, thinking I was faster than him and if I got it first and scared him, I could go lay down next to Logan.  I didn't want to hurt the officer, I just wanted my baby.

The house was taped off.  We waited out side.  It really was a beautiful day.  Cammy picked dandelions and blades of grass and gifted them joyfully to all of us and the officers.  Lucky was begging my forgiveness in between phone calls to the family.  I kept telling him it wasn't his fault and that I loved him.  There was a gentle breeze, a giggling toddler, and my baby cold and alone in the bedroom.  Lucky's family had arrived and a detective called me in for questioning.  He told me they were going to be hard but standard questions.

"How did your baby die."
"I don't know."
"Why did your husband kill him."
"He didn't and if I had the slightest thought that he did, you would be taking away two dead bodies."
"Has he fallen recently?"
I listed off every single insignificant stumble he might have had, but none that were any cause for alarm.
"Is there abuse in the house?"
"Never."
After what seemed an eternity in the living room, and Logan alone in his room, just feet away from me, the detective apologized for how hard the questions were.  He told me for the first time in years, he could go home knowing that there is nothing anyone did.  For the first time in years there was no one to blame.

They had Lucky re-enact how they found him with a dummy doll.  I was shocked and amazed by how my husband held it together, and how well he responded.  I had to sit in the hall way while he did this, and I looked up at the officer next to me and said, "We did this, didn't we.  We killed our baby?"  I saw the hurt flash across his eyes, and then he asked me, "Did you?  Did you kill your baby?".  "No, I mean, maybe?  I didn't mean to.  I tried to do everything right, but there is something else we could have done.  There has to be something else..."  He told me there was nothing we could have done.  That he has seen babies pass away with only the crib mattress on the sheet.  He said there was nothing obstructing his air, that we were good parents, and you could feel the love in our house.

More stuff happened and we were told we could say good bye.  They had gently and lovingly wrapped Logan in Owen's blanket.  He didn't look hurt, or scared, or in pain.  He looked asleep.  Completely at peace and asleep.  I asked if I cold finally hold him.  I just wanted to warm up his little hands and feet.  I just wanted to feel him against my breast again and maybe, just maybe share a hear beat with him.  They said no.  So I played with his hands and rubbed his belly.  I stroked his downy hair and kissed him.  I let myself shed a couple tears as I said goodbye, I knew I would never see him again.

Lucky's family left, expect Megan.  Sean came down and maybe Theora...  I don't remember much of that night, except feeling blessed that Ian and Bart were with Lucky when it happened, and that we had the kind of friends that we do have.  The word "friends" does not give justice to the love we share.  We talked into the night.  We laughed and some cried...

There was no "Why" to me.  I haven't asked.

“Have you ever seen bugs trapped in amber?" "Yes." Billy, in fact, had a paperweight in his office which was a blob of polished amber with three lady-bugs embedded in it. "Well, here we are, Mr. Pilgrim, trapped in the amber of this moment. There is no why.”

- Kurt Vonnegut

The Dead Healing the Living

There was once a woman named Sara.  I never met her.  I never read her blog.  I never knew she existed.  This amazing woman died this year, I couldn't tell you when, and I have mourned her death.  Sara, who has been gone for months, is teaching me joy.  An unknown dead woman is teaching me life.

Sara had a disease called  Ankylosing Spondylitis.  This disease inflames the joints between bones and eventually fuses the bones together.  People with this disease live in constant overwhelming pain.  Sara went from being a vivacious working woman to bed ridden.  She became a prisoner to her apartment and her body- or that's how I would look at it.  She used that devastating disease that was slowly taking her life to bring joy to others.  She lived more in her last years than I feel like I did in my whole life.  Her physical body might have been frozen but her spirit and heart soared above the heavens.  She was free.

She refused to let bitterness over take her.  She refused to be lonely.  She was a constant reminder of joy. She reached out to people.  She created a community.  Many women I love and respect talk about her being their hero.  She was at weddings, baby showers, and so many other important moments via skype.  She would reach out to those that were hurting and comfort them in a way that only the dying can.  She understood broken dreams, loneliness  fear, and many other hurts.  She cried with them and laughed with them.  She reached out to a hurting world and used her pain to heal.

"...I have lived in this condo since I was 29 years old. I haven't left it, ventured out, even open a window in years. It's where I am, where I will always be, and yet when someone says the word 'home' I don't think here.

I don't think anywhere, really. I think who.

Because my home rests in the hearts of people."

Home.  Oh, my heart aches.  I have such a restless spirit.  I want to be here, I want to go home.  I don't know what I want.  Why can't I have her peace?  I long to be back where I can hear the wind though the trees.  Where I can feel the cool grass between my toes as the cicadas sing their song as the sun sets.  I want  to hear the birds sing.  I want to be surrounded by life.

I am.  It isn't the life I grew up with.  It always startles me when I hear birds out here, but there is life.  I need to take Sara's perspective.  There is a little girl who loves to make you giggle and an amazing boy who loves to sing.  I am loved by a man who worships the ground I walk on.  I have a house- that is way bigger than I need but perfect for the someday when I have friends to entertain.  I am blessed and I feel selfish for being so unhappy.

Choose Joy.  Did you know that is her handwriting on the stone?  Did you know people all over are getting her words tattooed?  I think that will be my next tattoo.  This woman has been sweetly reminding me of things over the last couple months.  A woman I never met has tears from me.  She might have been lonely every once in a while but she was never alone.  She had thousands of people cheering her on.  Her hope and honesty resonates through her blog.  She is whispering to me.  There is peace.  

I hope God is showing her how many people are celebrating her and her life and I hope some day I can hug her and thank her for being there for me during a somewhat dark time in my life.  I hope to show her my tattoo and ask if she realizes how incredibly she lived her life.  

I am Nothing

If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing.   1 Corinthians 13:2

I have faith.  I have faith like a Mofo.  I won't lie to you.  When someone asks, "Well, how do you know?", all I can do is give them a blank look.  Um... How do I not know?  I have more faith in my God than I do in any piece of furniture in my house.  This chair will disintegrate under my weight before God goes away.  I may not like him at times, but more often than not, I really don't like myself.

I always confused "Faith" with being a good Christian.  I have had so many people tell me that I have the strongest faith they had ever seen.  Me?  Really?  You are out of your mind...  But then I realized I do have faith.  To me, 1+1=2.  There is a God.  Yup.  Easy day.  As far as faith making me a good Christian?  No.  Christian means Christ like.  I am soooooo far from that, it disgusts me.  Faith yes.  Christ like?  I need love for that.

Now, when it comes to love?  Psh.  Leave that to the "Carter Girls" as they are so affectionately called.  The have adopted so many beautiful children.  Their homes radiate with a love that I can not fathom.  That's cool.  God made us with different strengths and weaknesses.  I can cheer them on and pray diligently for them, and I do.  But me? Ha.

I do not like people.  I don't.  Put me in a crowded mall or bar, I get aggressive.  I fell claustrophobic and on edge.  Fight or flight.  I see a perfect creation by a perfect God- and then how we have trashed it.  Nope, people suck.  I will fight for a Pit Bull any day.  Very rarely do I care about people.  Most the disease, destruction, and chaos is our fault.  Why. Should. I. Care?

“I like your Christ. I do not like your Christians. They are so unlike your Christ.” Gandhi

Hey!  He was talking about me!  I suck at this whole love thing.  God is love.  Whitney is flippant.  I am not judgmental of people, but I choose not to waste my time unless someone says or does something that peaks my curiosity.  Us nerds call it the Ninja vs. Samurai mindset.  I side with the Ninja.  Now, when it comes to those that I do love, I am more ferocious than any wild animal.  They are mine and I will go to hell and back to protect them.

Why can't I chose to love people like that?

Orphans are sad.  The hungry are sad.  The poor and lost and desolate are sad.  So am I.  I live.  I breathe.  I feel.  So do they.  Why can't I love, just based on that idea alone?  I did once but the world showed me it was better to look out for myself and my interests.  The starving and dying in some country that I will never see does did not interest me.  

This change of heart... this thing that God is doing, is scaring the crap out of me.

Come on, God, I know I said I wanted to feel you working in my life- but really?  Work with me here.  I meant fix the things I wanted fixed.  Quit making me cry over starving babies!  Oh Lordy, here the tears come...  What if it was Owen or Cammy?  Would some stranger in another country care about them?

Okay God, you get quit with the mind warp.  

In the Airport

My flight has been delayed, yet again.  I guess if anyone was going to be in this spot, it should be me.  I know how to roll with the punches.  As long as I get Owen tonight, I am happy.

Being me, I have smiled as much as I can and handed out compliments to everyone I can.  Honey is sweeter than vinegar.  So far it has gotten me a hotel room, free books, food and drink.  People need to remember a kind word and unassuming manor can get you far in life.

I hope Owen learns that from me.  He seems like he has so far.

I hate leaving him, but I can not tell you how much I cherish my flying time with him.  He is my little gypsy.  He have been through a lot together and he has been a champ through it all.

He will be at the airport at 1130.  from there we will take a shuttle to the hotel, then back to the airport in the morning.  It will be an adventure.  I hope instead of seeing the thongs that did not go as plan he sees it as an adventure.

I hope I am doing it right.

Forbidden Grief

I should be blow drying my hair and getting pretty for when Lucky gets home... but I have to get this out of me.

I know so many women who are hurt be decisions they have made in the past.  One being abortion.  I am Pro Life.  I will not argue my stance, but at the same time I have a heart for those who have been hurt by abortion.  Not just the babies but the women and men as well.

I had a religious friend post a picture that said "Abortion does not make you unpregnant.  It makes you the mother of a dead baby."  Ouch.  That hurts me.

Because she is a devout Christian, I thought I could explain that.  I told her there are many women who were misinformed or naive to what was going on.  That her post just twisted the knife that has been stuck in them. She told me that it wasn't aimed at them but the Pro-Choice people.  But those aren't the only ones reading it.  I told her we should be careful that our words might hurt others and try to be compassionate.  That sparked a heated debate full of condemnation in the name of my God.

I was seventeen.  I was about to leave for the Navy.  A pregnancy would change my plans.  Being the responsible, irresponsible child I was, I went to planned parenthood to get my next dose of birth control.  I wasn't late or showing any signs, just trying to be smart about being stupid.  The Dr. asked when the last time I had sex was.  I told her and she handed me a pill.  "We need you to be on your period to give you your shot.  If you are pregnant it will not hurt the baby.  If you aren't then it will start your period."

Come to find out you do not have to be on your period.  Come to find out that pill was (at the time) the leading abortion pill in Europe.  Come to find out it kills 40,000 women a year from hemorrhaging.  I have never bled like that in my life.  I thought I was going to die.

I do not think I was pregnant.  I do not think I had an abortion.  If I was and if I did, I was tricked.  For years I lived with the guilt of what if.  What if I killed my baby?  If there was a baby, the Dr. at Planned Parenthood abused a young girls trust.  She abused her power.  She took my child.  But that is all what if.

As Christians we need to be careful what we say.  We might have good motives, but  we need to make sure that our words and actions reflect grace, not condemnation.  We are the ones who form peoples opinions of a "loving God" or a "hateful God".  We are his voice in this world.  I am sorry that I have not been  better one.

For those of you who have been hurt one way or another by abortion, please read this:  Sarah Mae's Story

It is one of the most beautiful things I have ever read.  You are loved.  You are forgiven.  You are NOT damned.

There is always hope.