“Hope” is the thing with feathers 

BY EMILY DICKINSON

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without the words -

And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -

And sore must be the storm -

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -

And on the strangest Sea -

Yet - never - in Extremity,

It asked a crumb - of me.

Despite the fact that I opened this blog post with a poem, I've never been one for poetry. I even switched my college degree away from English when I realized how many 400-level poetry classes I would have to take to graduate. I much prefer when people are more plainly spoken, and often times when we would dissect the meaning of a poem in class, I thought people were clearly just making stuff up. Everything seemed so open to interpretation or hidden meetings and it was too abstract for me. 

That being said, I still find the odd poem that speaks to me. Usually they are the more popular ones because as mentioned above my appetite for poetry is not that deep, and "Hope" Is The Thing With Feathers by Emily Dickinson falls into this category. I've always liked her message that hope springs eternal in our chests, but I like this poem even more now for its embodiment of hope as a bird. 

As with poetry, I never used to be overly fond of birds, but now I have an attachment to them in regard to Hailey. The first time I ever heard the hymn "His Eye Is On the Sparrow," I fell in love with it. I think I was 13. And all these years later, when my daughter got sick, it was one of the songs I'd often play for her, or sing to her myself, in the hope of bringing her comfort. I told her she was one of God's little sparrows. 

On Christmas Eve of last year, as my husband and I had just received news of how dire Hailey's case was and sat alone in the doo-wop, diner-styled hospital cafeteria trying to decide on a plan of care for her, we both heard "His Eye Is On The Sparrow" playing from some still-unknown source. My husband and I had teared up --- we'd each felt it was a sign that God was with us in that awful moment. 

But today is October 18, 2017.  Exactly one year ago today, I was first rushing my then six-week old daughter into the hospital because she'd thrown up a funny color. I remember the feeling of unease I had, driving through the dark myself while my husband remained at home with our son. I was worried...the night felt particularly ominous and I remember telling myself not to overreact. I tried to remain calm.

As our days in the hospital turned into weeks and then months, and the symptoms piled up, I fought to maintain hope for my daughter. There were days when doing so felt utterly daunting. I had to search hard for any little positive bit of news to sustain me. 

*

After Hailey passed away, there was one thing people would say to me that scared the hell out of me. "A piece of your heart will always be missing," they would acknowledge. I understood the positive intention behind the words and didn't blame the people who offered them for the terror they caused me. Because I wanted to believe that my husband, son and I could be okay without Hailey here with us on Earth. I wanted to believe that we could move forward. That we still stood some hope of being a happy family --- just one with a very special angel looking over us from Heaven. But I didn't know. I couldn't be sure. Thinking that a piece of my heart would always be missing made me feel like I would never be whole again. It made me feel panicky. 

I am here to say those folks were not wrong. A piece of my heart will always be with Hailey. I won't ever be the same as before I lost her. She has been gone for almost 10 months and while I can go two or three weeks in a row and be fine, then I will wake up for a day or two in a row and just feel so weepy and heartbroken for my sweet girl, and for us. 

But I don't see myself as permanently broken, as I once feared I would be. Because I fought, alongside my husband, to maintain hope for our future as a family. I sit here, 34-weeks pregnant with Hailey's little sister in my belly. Something I couldn't fathom a year ago. I'd planned to be finished having children after Hailey was born --- so this baby is a miracle that wouldn't exist if not for her big sister. And I wonder how I will feel when I finally hold this baby in my arms --- and how much of a mess I might be all over again for having lost Hailey. But I will embrace that moment when it comes and find my way through as I have with everything else. With faith and the loving support of so many family and friends. 

It is a brave thing to hope. Audacious even, as President Obama once said. 

We cannot know what tomorrow brings. We can fear the negative possibilities and threats of failure that tend to run rampant in a mother's worrying heart, or we can acknowledge the equal opportunity for beauty in all its forms...the best ones being those we often never even could have imagined for ourselves. I choose hope. For myself, and for all those whom I love and know are facing their own struggles. 

With love and a grateful heart. 

 

Horoscopes, Hindsight and HIM

The past few years, it has been hard to get to church. It's true that I never enjoyed going much until my late twenties, when I stumbled onto some joyful and invigorating church communities and my now husband introduced me to the enriching environment a small group/Bible study can provide.

But, moving around with the military can make it hard because every few years we have to start the church search all over again. And having kids can make getting to church hard, too. When my son was very young, his feeding and nap schedule never seemed to work out with the distance we had to drive to attend a church we liked. Then as he got older, his rambunctious spirit sent shivers down my spine at the thought of getting him to sit through a service. And I had to drop out of not one, not two but three different Bible studies because my normally happy son wouldn't tolerate the free care provided by the Bible-study organizers.

Then Hailey was born. And I spent all my time in the hospital, and many tearful moments in the hospital chapel. It was a beautiful place filled with desperation, hope, love, empathy...I miss it and often wish I could go back. It was a room filled with golden light and it made me feel like I was sitting inside a star. It is where I spent Christmas last year...I think it is the only year in my entire life that I didn't formally attend church in celebration of Christ's birth. I just sat there myself in the hospital chapel and prayed. And on December 30, it is where we baptized Hailey and let her go home to be with God.

I've gone to church since then. Only formally for Hailey's funeral mass. But other times, just to sit in a church and pray. To feel closer to God, whom I've never stopped talking to, and now my daughter in Heaven. But I kind of knew that wasn't enough.

So a few days ago, when a friend here in Georgia asked me to go check out a new church with her that she was curious about, I agreed to go if the church could provide childcare for our kids (especially since both of our husbands are away and not around to help right now). I felt like maybe my friend's invitation was a sign, and maybe it was time.

Believing people look for signs --- whether you believe in horoscopes and look for them to be true, or you believe in God and look for Him to be true. Skeptical people struggle with the idea of signs and balance them against logic. Did your horoscope really come to fruition, or did you look for ways to make it so? Am I truly receiving signs from my daughter that she is still with me, or from God that He wants me back at church, or am I being fanciful because my heart longs for it to be so? Or is it all hindsight, it being 20/20 after all?

I don't know. But I couldn't have predicted how my visit to this new church would go. The pastor started the sermon talking about recent events in Las Vegas, which I figured was par for the course. What I didn't anticipate was that the rest of his talk would veer into the pain of losing a child. Or the compassion Jesus feels for us in such a moment. Oh and that friend that I was checking out the church with? The thing that first brought us together was that she has lost a child, too. So we both sat there, next to each other, in that church for the first time, and we both felt so stunned. And so moved.

The pastor spoke about believing in God and in Heaven and how our children will greet us again someday. He relayed a story he once read, written by a woman who imagined twins in the womb. They enjoyed their lives in utero, but as they aged, the quarters became more cramped and they began to sense a change was coming. One twin embraced it and was excited for birth, but the other felt nervous. He wondered, "how do we know life exists after birth? How do we know our mother really exists? We've never met her. No one has ever come back to tell us there is more after this life in here."

But of course, we all now know life does exist after birth and it is wonderful. And I look forward to discovering the beauty of life after death because I hope I will see Heaven one day, and my daughter's spirit made whole. On Sunday, I felt God pulling me close to Him and I'm thankful He'd still make such an effort for me. I look forward to spending more time in His House so that I may know Him better now, while I'm still here on Earth.

With love, and a grateful heart.