The Invisible String

If you haven't heard of it, The Invisible String is a children's book I first became acquainted with while I was in the hospital with Hailey. A kind person brought it by as a resource to help my young son through the impending loss of his baby sister. The book itself doesn't focus on loss, but the love that connects us all, no matter what, near or far.

This book just reentered our lives once again, through the kindness of yet another, as a gift to our son upon his third birthday. I think in this instance, it will help our little boy feel connected to his father, even though Daddy is traveling to the other side of the world for a while.

The significance of this book and its emergence in our lives is not lost on me. In fact, I've thought about it quite a bit, especially as I've heard from so many of you over the past number of days as we've endured a health scare with baby #3 right before my husband departs. And while many of my posts speak of faith in the midst of this challenging road we are on, I want to write this post in part for the people who do not follow a faith, but DO follow their hearts.

At numerous points over the past number of months, I have been so touched by the many ways in which people have lifted us up. Not the least of these is when I hear from folks who don't profess to pray or put much stock in religion, but offer up their heartfelt hopes for my family, in whatever way they can. They are letting me know that invisible string of love reaches even further than I often know.

The absence of that string --- that sense of humanity and love that connects us all --- is perhaps one of the worst feelings I've ever felt, and one I came into contact with a few days ago. When the nurse practitioner at my OB's office told me she was referring us out to specialists due to two abnormalities on the baby's anatomy ultrasound, I begged her to find a way to schedule us before my husband's deployment. She said they'd see what they could do, but I will admit I didn't have great faith in her statement after the way the entire appointment had been handled. I checked back in later that day, and the next day. No news whatsoever, and our timeline was quite short. I asked if I could call the specialists myself to see about the appointment and they gave me the number. I didn't want my husband going to war, worrying we might lose another child. I was heartsick and desperate.

I called the specialists' office and spoke with the most heartless person I've encountered --- really the ONLY one --- since we lost Hailey. She told me she wouldn't speak to me, wouldn't give me an appointment, and that they would only deal with the referring doctor's office. I calmly replied that I understood that, and believed they should have already had my referral in their possession for a bit of time, but just wanted to call to explain our situation. I told her we had buried our daughter in January, that my husband was deploying in days, and that I didn't want to be trying to track him down with potentially bad news as he leapfrogs across the globe to his final destination. The woman curtly replied that she understood and told me the doctors would "get to it when they get to it", and hung up.

I felt so crushed, I cried. It wasn't that they couldn't fit us in --- that, I could understand and accept if I had to. It was that the woman didn't care, wouldn't take my name, wouldn't even LOOK. My suffering was simply a nuisance to her. I understand rules and regulations exist for a reason (I did marry into the military, after all), but it all just felt so cruel. Like every painful moment we had been through didn't matter at all. She at least could have been more gentle about shutting the door in my face, rather than slamming it. I felt disconnected from the world around me, in suffering, in lack of understanding, desperately reaching out for that invisible string. In that moment, dejected, I gave myself up to the world and whatever else it might subject us to.

It wasn't that I feared what may be wrong with the baby. Of course I felt worried, but that bit of stress I'd already agreed to give up to God and our Hailey-in-the-Stars. Baby #3 would either be okay, or she wouldn't, and we would face it either way, just as we did with Hailey. Any control I tried to exert was out of an aching concern for my husband's heart. It is already hard enough for him to leave us for this deployment (and for us to see him off) and if I could move mountains to spare him any suffering, I will always give it my best effort. And I did. Apparently to no avail.

But then, the following day, after I'd already given up, I received a phone call from the specialists. Apparently the doctors had finally gotten to our file, and were willing to give us the next available appointment, which was on Monday. Excitedly, I asked my husband to clear it with his command. Then I spent the weekend praying to God and Hailey-in-the-Stars, and trying to truly enjoy some of our last days together with my husband.

At our appointment on Monday, I found out from the woman conducting the ultrasound that we had been referred to them not just for the two abnormalities I'd been told about, but a third as well. My heart dipped. There was a kidney concern, a heart concern, and (news to me!) a concern with the nuchal fold measurement. The nuchal fold measurement can pertain to Downs Syndrome, but luckily, I already knew from the genetic testing we'd done earlier in the pregnancy that baby #3 does NOT have Downs.

I clutched the necklace around my neck --- one I wear in remembrance for Hailey --- and prayed through the whole ultrasound. The tech was very sweet and kindly obliged us and turned on the 3D function to show us our daughter's face. It is too early on to have the fatty baby cheeks, but I knew seeing her face would do our hearts well and help us to bond with our daughter throughout whatever storms we might be about to weather. Here is our little beauty!

And then the time came to meet with the doctor. I wondered what the odds were that both the heart AND kidney (it was just one that had been off) could be okay.

My husband and I received a blessing we often prayed for with Hailey, but so rarely ever received. GOOD news!! Whatever the odds were that everything could be okay, they were! I don't know if our issues from the first ultrasound were due to old equipment, a bad tech, the baby's poor position that day or likely some combination of all three, but who cares!! Our daughter --- picked out by both God and Hailey-in-the-Stars --- is okay! And please know, for all those parents out there who don't get the news they were hoping for, I understand. We've been there. So I don't offer our proclamation lightly or without sensitivity for the broken hearts of others. I just need to embrace our good days when we have them.

With love and a grateful heart: for this good news, that it could be shared in person with my husband, and for the invisible string that connects us all.

How Do You Do It?

In a previous post, I wrote about how grief and happiness are not mutually exclusive in my heart. Along those same lines, neither are hope and fear. I think hope and happiness are such powerful emotions because they can bloom in your heart DESPITE grief and fear.

My husband is unfailingly happy and optimistic by nature, and I envy him for it. I'm reminded of the sayings, "ignorance is bliss" and "don't borrow problems you don't yet have" and "we'll cross that bridge when we come to it." Yet when faced with any tough situation, my logical mind cannot help but consider the potential of all possibilities, many of them negative. But what I've come to realize is that if you let yourself live in that space permanently, it can be unhealthy. Worrying does not change the outcome.

So at some point, while my mind might still have to look at all paths, I must still make the tough choice to have faith. Choosing to believe is actually the only piece of control I have. And yet, as we navigated our journey with Hailey, I worried that if I spoke faithfully, people would feel that I was naive about the situation --- that I could view it only with the hope born of a mother's love. I felt it necessary to couch anything positive that I said with a leveling comment about the odds or understanding the science of it all. (Just as with grief and happiness and hope and fear, I do not believe faith and science are mutually exclusive either!).

Why did I do this? Why did I need to prove that my faith was not blind? Perhaps because faith with both eyes open is even more powerful. I knew what we faced with Hailey, just as I have a good idea of the risks associated with my husband's upcoming deployment.

So do you wonder what is circling in my heart and mind right now when I'm burying my daughter and seeing my husband off just months apart? I can't stop thinking about how we found out just two days before Christmas that we were going to lose Hailey. I go back to watch this video, recorded at about 2 a.m. on December 30. It is of me reading Hailey my favorite childhood story until she falls asleep in my arms. She went home to be with God later that day. Holding your child in your arms as she dies is faith with both eyes open.

For the past few nights, I've watched my husband pack his bags for deployment and then take an hour or more putting our son to bed because he can't stand the thought of parting from him for so long. We are both optimistic about this deployment, especially with our guardian angel, Hailey, watching over us. But of course we know the risks. That is faith with both eyes open.

 

And then came today. The 20-week anatomy ultrasound for baby #3. I actually scheduled it for 21 weeks, just so my husband could be present. It was his last chance to see this baby before he deploys, which was particularly special since he won't be home for the delivery. I was so excited, and had been hoping the ultrasound tech would turn on the 3D feature so we could catch a glimpse of the baby's face, but it was not to be. It was an older machine that didn't have 3D capability and unfortunately, the baby was poorly positioned for the ultrasound anyway.

After a while of the ultrasound tech trying to get every measurement she could despite the baby's difficult positioning, my husband had to leave to head to work. The tech and nurse practitioner didn't tell me until after he left about the two abnormalities they'd noted during the ultrasound. They took just long enough that my husband had made it into work, that I received the news alone, and that I couldn't get ahold of him because he was sitting in a secure briefing.

I sat there, physically numb. My mind screamed, "NO, I can't do this again! I can't do this by myself while my husband is deployed and I'm still grieving Hailey and raising our son! This is why we did genetic testing!" Outwardly, I quietly accepted the fact that I was being referred out to a maternal fetal medicine specialist for a follow-up ultrasound. I begged the office to find a way to get it scheduled in the little time we have left before my husband leaves. I don't want him to deploy, worrying about the unknown. As of right now, we still don't have an appointment.

On the drive home, I thought of my rather stoic Irish grandmother, who always says we must just do the best we can. That we must keep going. And I realized it doesn't matter if these ultrasound abnormalities are a fluke or something more serious. It doesn't matter if every piece of me screams at going through this without my husband here. I don't have a choice. As much as there is some small emotional relief at railing at the injustice of it all, in the end, that is not a healthy place to live. It will not change the outcome.

And so I sit here, anxiously awaiting news of an appointment date. I pray, and ask for your prayers, that it is before my husband deploys and that he can be there. But more importantly, that this precious gift in my belly is okay.

I will allow myself to feel anxious about the appointment, but the rest I have to give up to God. Through everything today, and even in my dreariest moments, I couldn't stop thinking about the hymn, "It is well with my soul." It was penned by a man who faced immense personal tragedy. (Click the title below if you'd like to hear it on YouTube).

It Is Well With My Soul

When peace like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll
Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

There is no better example of faith with both eyes open, and from this, I take my cue.

With love and a grateful heart.

Three Deer

In our family, we love deer. It is true my husband hunts them, but we give thanks for the food they provide and don't let any go to waste. The hunting isn't about the killing either. My husband could spend hours sitting in the woods, just watching the animals in their natural habitat. He sets up trail cameras to watch them, and we've viewed wonderful moments like a Momma dropping an apple on her baby's head to get it to eat. Really, deer are very special to us.

In fact, on our wedding day back in 2013, my husband and I were a little distracted, but all of our guests spotted three deer on the backside of the country estate in Nashville where we married,
watching over us on our special day. We felt blessed, and fancied they were my husband's late father, and my late aunt and grandfather.

Since then, we have decorated our home to show how we honor deer, to include a stuffed animal deer in my son's room, and crib sheets and deer portraiture in the baby's nursery.

Two weeks ago, when we traveled to Massachusetts to visit Hailey's grave for the first time since we buried her, my husband and I were both hoping for a sign of some sort that our daughter was with us. We were there, in part, for my husband to spend some time with Hailey before deploying halfway around the world. We each took our turns, laying facedown on her grave, bawling our eyes out as we tried to cradle her precious body in our arms despite the earth between us. I know I asked our guardian angel to watch over and protect her Daddy while he is in harm's way. I think my husband sneakily ordered Hailey to instead focus her attention on watching over me, our son and the baby in my belly back home.

We left this beautiful flower arrangement at Hailey's grave, lovingly and freely designed and provided

by an old high school classmate of mine. (I swear the photo doesn't do it justice, but I was already crying when I took it!). And then we prepared to leave. As I turned the car on and began to slowly drive away from our daughter's resting spot, I felt more than a little sad. I longed to feel Hailey close to me, to feel in some way that she was with us that day. There were a few hymns that I always used to play for her to help bring comfort: one was His Eye Is On the Sparrow. And so I'd kept my eye out for little birds that might land nearby. But really, in my heart of hearts, I'd wished to see majestic deer like the ones who had blessed our wedding day.

As I steered the car around the winding, paved alleyways that led out of the cemetery, a flicker of movement amid the tombstones ahead caught my eye. It was approaching 8 p.m., dark storm clouds were rolling in and I thought, surely it couldn't be! But just ahead, I spotted one deer. Then a second, and then a third. Our three deer! Elated, I called out and drew my husband's attention. He lit up, admitting to me he'd been hoping we'd see some deer near our daughter, just like I had. His father, my grandfather and my aunt...our three deer watching over our little dear. We both felt so thankful to God, and packed this moment of light away in our souls as we prepare to face some tough days ahead.

With love.