A Grief Observed: The Mind and Body

I would be true, for there are those who trust me;
I would be pure, for there are those who care;
I would be strong, for there is much to suffer;
I would be brave, for there is much to dare.

(Howard Arnold Walter)

Remember this post? I wasn't kidding when I said that that Grief and Stress can greatly affect the body.

In October, I learned of some health issues that I was experiencing that were likely brought on by the overwhelming stress caused by multiple and major Life Changes last year. So I began treatments and started to simplify my life. I thought I had everything under control.

And then November hit.

One evening, I was sitting in bed, going over the digital files for our Christmas Card before we sent them to print. I remember looking over the content with David, shaking my head that this was REALLY our card this year. I couldn't bring myself to sign our individual names and not include Bennett and so I opted for signing our surname. Who would have thought these little things would be so hard?

Awhile later, the kids were tucked in their beds, long asleep, and David had drifted off into Dreamland. I had just switched off my lamp and laid my head on the pillow when the world began to cave in on me. I started choking, I couldn't breathe, my entire body was shaking, my heart was going crazy and I felt like I was going to black out.

In short, I felt like I was dying.

In fear of passing away in my sleep without David knowing, I shook him and muttered that we needed to get to the hospital. Fast. I was dying. I could feel it. I looked at the clock. It was 1 am. I picked up the phone and called my parents. I awoke them (of course) and begged them to come and watch our kids while David took me to the emergency room.

To be honest, I didn't know if I'd be coming back. I felt Life slipping from me. I have never been so scared in my Life.

Actually, I take that back. January 22nd takes the cake.

Now, a little clarification here. I am not afraid of Death. Quite the contrary. In a healthy way, I quite look forward to the Next Life. But right now, my family is in a vulnerable position. My kids need their Mommy and my Honey needs his Sweetheart. I knew that. And so - for their sake - I knew that it couldn't be my time to go. It just couldn't.

As my parents spoke to me on the phone, David pulled out the lap top. We started typing my symptoms into google. The results were not promising. A heart attack, Aneurysm, or Acute Anxiety Attack. The symptoms were hauntingly the same.

Ugh. Options, not good.

My Mom and Dad told me to get in the bathtub and see if if the symptoms subsided. If it was an anxiety attack, they would gradually diminish. If not, I probably should get to the hospital. Stat.

So I did.

Over the next hour, the symptoms DID subside. Eventually, I drifted off to sleep in my husband's arms, promising that I would get to the doctor sometime that week.

Well, that was #1 out of 4 attacks that occurred in the next 7 days. Each episode happened at different times, triggered by the unknown. Nothing overly emotional, upsetting or troubling preceding each one. They arrived unannounced, paralyzing me without a moment's notice. It. Was. Hell.

By the end of the week, I knew I had to see a Doctor. And fast. I made an appointment for that morning and was soon sitting knee to knee with our family practioner. As I discussed my symptoms, he asked me a series of questions surrounding my current Life Situation. When I gave him the Readers Digest version of this year's happenings, I thought he was going to fall off his chair. He just stared at me wide eyed.

And then we began to discuss options.

Side Note - At Bennett's viewing/funeral, I had multiple people recommend that we get on medication to help "numb the pain." I thought that was crazy. I felt it important that - as a family - we all be on the same page in our Grief. If we were going to walk this path, we were going to walk it together. That was my opinion.

That is, until the attacks began.

So my Doctor told me that a few things were necessary.

1 - I had to simplify. Everything. And I. Mean. EVERYTHING. That calling that I had just accepted to Chair our Congregation's Christmas Party? It was a no go. Wow. For Little Miss "Sign me up for it", this was going to be hard.

2 - I had to learn how to relax my mind, body and spirit. My Doctor suggested Meditation. I prefer prayer. I needed to find a way to take my mind to a Peaceful Place when I could feel Anxiety coming on. Hmmm . . . this was going to take practice.

3 - Medication WAS necessary. This would take care of itself in time but - until then - I had to be functioning. For Myself, for my Children and for my Sweetheart.

And so it goes. I've been on anxiety meds for two months now and I am happy to say that I am fully functioning and coherent. I am not numb and I completely feel the ups and downs of Life and Grief along with my family. The difference? I am not paralyzed with Anxiety and Fear. We have had to make changes and I have had to develop skills. Skills that I will use for the rest of my life. I don't know what triggered the attacks 10 months into our experience. It was probably more of "the straw that broke the camel's back" scenerio. But it is what it is. And we're dealing with it. Together.

Is my battle with Anxiety over? Hardly. I know I will deal with anxiety - to one extent or another - for the rest of my life. Especially when I have another babe. But I am not willing to let Fear get in the way of the greatest Joys in life. I will not. I will choose to Love. I will choose to have Hope. I will choose to keep Believing. And I will continue to Live.

The moral of the story? There are many things in life that you have no control over. And - at times - that sucks. But what you CAN control is the way that you deal with it. And taking care of yourself is the LEAST selfish thing you can do.

That's what I know for sure.

Real

So, I've been out awhile. The cause? A combination of things. The health issues of a child, an upcoming move and simply the fact that I didn't feel like writing.

So, I didn't.

So where am I at?

I am sad.

I am grateful.

I am nervous.

And I am hopeful.

In a few weeks, we'll be moving. Again. And with that move will come a wave of emotions. I'll be unpacking items that I haven't seen in over a year. A crib, a carseat, bins of clothing, bedding and items that were oh-so-special to a precious little blonde, blue-eyed boy. And - in all honesty - I'm scared.

I'm scared of going back to a really raw place. I'm scared that I may not be ready to deal with some very real feelings. I'm scared that I won't want to use the crib my son died in. And yet, I'm scared to get rid of it. And I'm scared of moving on to this new chapter without my son.

I'm grateful for new begginings. I'm grateful for a home that is customized to fit the needs, lifestyle and tastes of our family (particularly me ;0). I'm grateful for a fantastic new neighborhood, congregation and friends that have already blessed my life. And I'm grateful to God who is the Great Giver of all these Gifts.

I am nervous for what's ahead. I am nervous that I will deal with infertility again. I am nervous about the anxiety I will feel when having another baby. I am nervous about my baby sleeping . . . period. I am nervous about what the core of another child's health concerns are. I am nervous about my ability to adapt to even more change. And I am nervous that my children will grow up with a worry wort mother.

But I am hopeful for our future. God loves me - He tells me daily - and has a plan for our family. He has led us this far, guiding us every step of the way, and will not leave us comfortless. We don't have all the answers but we are closely connected with The One who does. Will hard times come? You can count on it. But are there good things ahead? You. Bet. And we'll celebrate it all. The Good AND the Growing.

Because that's who we are. And that is who we will continue to be.

Lessons Learned from Death

Last night, my Grandfather passed away. He is quite an amazing man. I could write chapters on all that he accomplished in life but - for now - that will have to wait.

I want to write about what we have learned from Death.

Saturday morning, we received a text from my Mother telling us that Grandpa was going downhill quickly. This came as rather a shock. Though his body and mind were aging, we didn't necessarily think he was at Death's door. That all changed last week. It quickly became evident that his time was at hand.

As soon as we heard that hospice had been called in, we hurriedly dressed our little crew and took them up to see Grandpa Saturday morning. When we arrived, we were surprised to see him in a hospital bed in his room. He had been medically sedated for the past few days to control the pain he was experiencing. However, when we came in the room, he responded to each one of us. He is famous for calling each one of his daughters/granddaughters "dear" while referring to every male posterity as "son." And so it was. We each received our term of endearment and he kept looking around muttering "oh boy. oh boy." He was so happy to see his grandchildren.

As he drifted in and out of coherency, we stood by his side, telling him all the things we loved about him. As we stood together, I looked at my children. I was amazed how comfortable they were with Death. They knew what was happening and they weren't afraid to witness it. Given our alarming discovery and circumstances, that is a miracle.

I watched with amazement as my Gracie cupped Grandpa's weak hand between her own as my Emma rubbed his feet. They were administering to him with so much love and tenderness. My mind immediately took me back to almost exactly a year ago.

Despite the shock and terror of finding Bennett cold and stiff in his crib, David and I felt divinely inspired in how to handle our situation. Even in the early hours of realization, we knew we could not change the situation. We felt - however - that the way we dealt with it would mean EVERYTHING to our family.

How right we were.

Because of that, we as a family spent as much time with Bennett's body as possible after his Death. In that time, my children became very comfortable and familiar with the effects of Death on the body. We told them that - though this was Bennett's body or shell - the Bennett we knew and loved was in Heaven. They needn't be alarmed that he was cold, stiff and unresponsive. Because - when they would see him again - he would not be. He would be the same Bennett they tickled, cuddled, knew and loved.

They listened. They heard. And they believed.

And so - not even a year later - when their great grandfather who they cherish passes away, they are not alarmed by this change. They have walked this road before. They love him in Death as they did Life. And they know we will be together again.

And - until then - Grandpa will be playing catch with our Bennett.

Dear Me

Dear January 2011 Me,

Something is about to happen. You don't know what and - quite frankly - it's best you don't.

Right now, you are just getting the kids back to school, trying to keep the house tidy enough to show at a moment's notice (p.s. it WILL sell) and starting to get into a practice routine for Emma on the harp. So many new beginnings. Though not perfect, Life seems charmed. And you know it.

But soon, something will happen that will shake you to your core. It will make you redefine what Life is about and will make you reevaluate who you are and where you are going.

Because of this, I want to tell you a few things.

First of all, I want you to know that you WILL survive. No. Matter. What. Just keep taking one breath after another and trust that the Lord will provide the next. Believe it or not, there will come a time where you won't have to think about breathing. It will become automatic once more. But - for now - just take it one moment at a time. That's all.

Second, know that there are Angels in Heaven and on Earth that will hold you up. You are about to experience a wave of Love, Compassion and Charity unlike you have ever encountered. People will come out of the woodwork to serve you, weep with you and offer their prayers and support in your family's behalf. And - more importantly - the Heavens will open and encircle you with a Love, Peace and Comfort that is more powerful than you have known. Know from whom these Angels come. You are not alone.

Next, it is entirely up to you what you Become. Period. So much in Life is out of your control. But you CAN control how you act and react. This is your opportunity to show Yourself, your Family and your God who you are and whose you are. That is the real test. Don't forget it.

And lastly, in the depth of your Grief, you will be prompted to do something. Something that you would never consider on your own. When that impression comes, follow it. No matter how scary it may seem. As you follow that impression, you will be blessed beyond your wildest imagination. You will widen your circle of friends, you will find a support system that stretches around the world and - in sharing your story - you will find Healing. In the end, it will save you.

In closing, I just want to wrap my arms around you. I want to encircle you with all the Love, Peace and Perspective you will need to get through the next twelve months. It will be the roughest of your Life, to be sure. But - with the strength of the Lord - you can do ALL things. Even the Thing that may break your heart.

Remember this.

Bless you, Mother Heart -

Love,

The Woman You Will Become

My Thoughts this New Years

This is a picture of our last New Years Eve Celebration. My sister and niece joined us and we had a rip roarin' party. So fun.

This morning, this was my Facebook Status:

While I am eager for New Beginnings after the most difficult year of my life, I am also melancholy today as I close the book on the last year that bore my son's breath.

But I am changed. Changed for good.

And - though at a high price - we are more fit for truly LIVING, loving, learning and giving while we "live in the moment." In other words, we are more prepared for moving Home with Bennett.

So thank you, 2011. Thank you.

That about sums it up. There's not much more to say.

Happy New Year, friends. Happy New Year.

Thirty Five

Tomorrow is my birthday. My 35th.

When I was a child, I thought I'd die by the time I was "that old."

When I was a teen, I thought 35 was a lifetime away.

When I was in my twenties, I thought I'd have life figured out by that point.

But - once in my thirties - I've realized that my life has just begun. I am just beginning to learn all that I need to learn. I am barely sensing what the Lord needs me to be. And what I DO experience means so much more because of the context that lies beneath.

I have never been a person concerned with aging. My mother gave me that gift. I own every year of my life and have tried to fully LIVE every season Life has offered me. I am not concerned about age spots, wrinkles, or sagging tummy skin. Each represent a memory, laughter or - one of Life's most sacred experiences - child birth. All beautiful things. Things that make me smile with gratitude.

I have loved this season of being a Mother of young children. Can it be monotonous and exhausting? Oh yes. But the joys . . . oh, the joys. There are none greater. I feel so blessed to be a Mother.

So, in honor of being alive, I am making a list of things I want to LIVE, EXPERIENCE and BE in 2012. I feel that the coming year will bring great blessings for our family. I sense healing, happiness, adventure, new beginnings, creative ventures, new friendships, service, growth and - hopefully - new additions.

So as I anticipate the celebrations of tomorrow, I will set some time aside to quietly sit and contemplate what I want to do, be, and become. In essence, what difference I will make in the world. Most of all, my own.

Every breath is a gift. And I will not waste one.

That is my Birthday Wish.

Brownie Points

Today I ran into someone I haven't seen in a long time. She was going one direction - with a toddler on her hip - and I was going another. But we quickly made time to catch up for a minute.

The typical questions came up. How long have you lived here? Where do you live? How many kids do you have? The last question - of course - is always interesting for me. I ALWAYS say we have four children which leaves people awkwardly looking around for the missing party.

Come to find out, this friend had heard through the grapevine of Bennett's death. She asked me how he passed away (a question that does not bother me in the least). I replied that he quietly and unexpectedly passed away in his sleep. She stood there - stunned for a minute - and then suddenly responded, "It must have just been his time. What a blessing."

Ouch. Sucker punch to the gut. I looked into the eyes of her beautiful blue eyed 2-year-old boy whose adventurous eyes gazed back into mine and quietly replied, "Not really."

I could have said so much more. I could have told her that - despite all that I've learned - I'd give EVERYTHING back in a heartbeat to have my arms full of toddlerhood and ALL that that entails. I'd love to be spending my days wiping noses, changing diapers, child proofing my electrical outlets, finding trails of cheerios on the floor, stressing out about potty training and helping him "adjust" to his nursery class at church. That I'd love to have his distractions on my grocery shopping trip and I'd love to be dealing with his "terrible twos."

But I didn't say any of that. I held my tongue. Why? Because - from what I can remember - this woman is an angel. A Saint, I tell you. She has a heart of gold and wouldn't hurt a flea. She had no idea how her words hit me. And I know they were not meant to do so.

But they did. And it was all I could do to not scoop up her little boy in my arms and give him all the extra 2 year old Mommy love that I'm so missing right now.

I'm learning. I'm learning so much. I'm trying to give people the benefit of the doubt whenever possible because I KNOW I've been "that person" a time or two (or more) myself. I KNOW I have. And what goes around comes around.

And - heaven knows - I need all the brownie points I can get.

The One

Have you ever heard something that just made your stomach turn? I have. Last night. And it took me back to the early moments of my grief and the thoughtless things some people would say.

Let me explain.

While perusing the latest postings of a private facebook group, I read the leader's emotional post about the suicide of her 14 year old daughter's best friend. My. Heart. Broke. While my child passed away in a much different manner, my heart ached for the sweet Mother, Father, siblings and community affected by this tragedy. I can only imagine what they were feeling. My whole soul just heaved for them. Oh, the heartache.

What began as a heartfelt "live in the moment" post quickly turned into a soapbox rant on health and nutrition. Among other things, this woman (a dietitian) stated that "eating soda and junk food was no different than shooting yourself in the head." When I read those words, my stomach just flopped. Did she REALLY just compare this girl's tragic suicide to eating junk food and drinking soda? I. Was. Sick. I prayed that that Grieving Mother would never read that post. I can't imagine what she'd feel.

I too have had people innocently say things to me that acted as a sucker punch to the stomach. Words that left me reeling and only added to the overwhelming pain in my soul. That's an awful place to be.

I wish I knew this grieving family. I wish I could show up on their doorstep and just wrap my arms around them and cry. I mean really, really cry. It's amazing how much shared mourning can comfort the soul.

I speak from experience.

Bennett passed away on a quiet Saturday morning. The following Sunday, I was a mess and decided I wasn't quite ready to go to church and be approached by throngs and throngs of people. So we stayed home, held one another close and tried to eat enough to sustain life (we had no appetite) while we visited with countless friends, family members and neighbors that came to our home.

Minutes after our church meeting ended, we received a knock at the door. A moment later, a dear woman I had worked with in church entered the room - tears streaming down her face - and just swallowed me up in her arms. We both. just. sobbed. She cradled me as we wept together for what seemed a really long time. No impromptu speech was given. No rehearsed cliches were rendered. We just mourned together. And when we felt like we couldn't cry anymore, she gave me one more hug and simply walked out the door.

That's all.

I have said many times since that this dear friend TRULY did the perfect thing. She didn't stay away, not knowing what to say. She didn't avoid the subject when in my presence. She didn't share all the blanket statements you hear so often after losing a loved one. She just came to be with me and - together - we wept.

Sound familiar?

In the last year, my heart has changed. A lot. While I've always tried to be a good person, something inside me has just switched. In essence, the Light has turned on.

I have learned what compassion, charity and true service is at the feet of angels. Both in heaven AND on earth. And I am learning what it means to "mourn with those that mourn and comfort those who stand in need of comfort." I have tried to do that all my life but it's all different now. I have received quite the education. The tuition has been high, but the wisdom that I'm gaining is life changing.

Because I have been the One.

I have been the One to experience tragedy.

I have been the One that could scarcely breathe.

I have been the One that has known what it physically feels like to have a broken heart.

And I have been the One that has looked to the heavens, wondering if my Life would ever be the same.

But I ALSO have been the One to know comfort.
I have been the One to feel enveloped by a Peace that only God can give.

I have been the One to be the recipient of more love, prayers and quiet service than I could document in a lifetime.

And I have been the One who has come to know God in my extremities.

So my prayer is that when the opportunity presents itself, that I will act as my dear friend. I pray that I will not use the moment to philosophize, offer opinions or dwell on the "woulda coulda shoulda's".

But instead, I will embrace. I will weep. I will listen. I will share my love. I will do whatever can be done to lighten their load. And I will let them know that I will be there. For the long haul.

Because I too have been The One.

A Mother's Love

I am home from church with the Little Guy today. We both have been having some health issues of late that have prevented us from going to church the day of the Primary Program. Blast.

I have been thinking about my last days with Bennett this morning. As in, my last days with his body. We were blessed to have a lot of time with him after his passing. That was a gift. Simply a gift.

After we learned that Bennett had passed away hours before we found him, we were told that the medical examiner would be arriving shortly and that we would have 15 minutes to spend with our boy before he was taken away for an autopsy.

That was simply not okay with me.

I immediately pulled our Investigator aside and told him that though I knew I couldn't do anything to bring my son back, I knew that I HAD to handle this in the a way that would promote healing for my family.

And so, I asked for Time.

Time to hold him, time to caress him, time to bring his siblings in and tell them what had happened. And time for David to give him a final Father's blessing. The investigator heard this Mother's plea and kindly relented.

What happened in the next four hours was heartbreaking, harrowing and nothing short of sacred. I wrapped him in the blankie I had made for him before he was born. I held his body close to mine. I kissed his sweet little cheeks. I ran my fingers through his hair. I gently pushed back his eyelids to once again see his lovely baby blues. And I told his brother and sisters that Bennett was called Home. That is, to his Heavenly Home. And that - though at times we would feel him close - he wouldn't be living in our house anymore. That is one of the hardest things I have ever done. E V E R. No mother should ever have to have that conversation with her children.

After four beautiful hours together, the medical examiner arrived and I was told it was time to take Bennett away. I refused to put him in a body bag so instead I opted to wrap him in a beautiful white blanket and personally "tuck him in" the car. Fastening him on the gurney was one of the most surreal moments of my life. I experienced firsthand what it feels like to have your heart break. Literally. Break. As they closed the door, I stood outside the vehicle with my mother. My nose pressied against the glass as I took one last look at my boy. I couldn't get enough. I just needed more. More time, more kisses, more cuddles, more giggles. More bedtime stories, more holidays, more birthdays, more memories. Just. More.

I received a call from the mortuary Monday night notifying me that Bennett's body had been received. They needed time to prepare him to be seen. I don't know if I was prepared for the trauma of an autopsy. Even though I could feel no life in my child, no mother wants to see their child in that condition. That said, the Spirit fell on us and we were able to see him as our son. We held him, touched him, kissed him, dressed him and whispered sweet sentiments in his ear. I knew he heard every word because I knew he was with us. There is no where else he'd rather be.

In the next few days, we spent every moment possible at the mortuary. In fact, it was on the couch holding Bennett that David and I penned our joint funeral address. Our children LOVE story time - Bennett included - and so we decided to share our thoughts in the format of a story. I'm sure it was Bennett's idea. ;0)

During one of our visits at the mortuary, our tender mortician asked us if we would like Bennett to spend his last evening before burial in our home. We tearfully replied yes. We thought it would be a perfect opportunity for our little family to say our final "see you laters."

After our first viewing Thursday night (that was five hours long . . .), we retreated to our home and Bennett followed us shortly. With tender love, the funeral directors carried his little casket in our home and asked us where we wanted him to be. The Family Room, of course. For the next hour, we held him, caressed him, did our family cheer, had a family prayer and sang some of Bennett's favorite songs. While we did so, a gifted photographer that kindly offered her services to us captured every moment. During our time, Ashton (who had been quite reluctant to see his brother's body) took his car and kept driving it up and down Bennett's chest. "Wake up, Bennett! Wake up! Let's play cahs!" he kept saying. My heart smiled and broke all at once.

As time quickly passed, we soon realized that we had to get at least a few hours of sleep before the viewing and funeral the following day. And so we sang Bennett's song (a tradition every night before he went to bed), tucked him in, and even left a light on in the hallway for him. Just because. And I couldn't help but steal an extra kiss or two from my boy. Time was short. I knew it. And I had to take advantage of each moment.

I awoke hours later, unable to sleep. I snuck downstairs and picked up my boy, trying to take in every moment in the quiet hours of the morning. With the dawn would come new realities. Like burying my boy. While each moment spent with him confirmed that he was not with us, each second was a treasured gift. My heart took a picture. I knew it would not last forever. And I knew that I would look back on these moments for years to come, trying to remember every. little. detail.

How right I was.

Awhile later, David stumbled downstairs. He too wanted to share some quiet moments with our son. Within minutes, the girls joined us, each wanting to cuddle, hold and create "a moment" with their little brother. Their ease and affection amazed me. They loved him in death as they did in life. It was such a lesson to me. How blessed I am to be their Mother.

Around 7 or 8, the funeral directors arrived. When they walked in the home, we both knew that my time with Bennett's body was nearing an end. Though I could touch and caress him in his casket at his viewing, I knew my moments to hold him in my arms were over. I held him close one last time, cupped his fingers in my hand, kissed his sweet little face and whispered tender reassurances in his ear. And then I tucked him in and they took him away.

The viewing that morning was far different than the one the night before. The previous evening, I had our time with Bennett at home to look forward to. We were strong, we were comforted and we wanted to share our peace with others. But the morning of his burial, all I could feel was loss intermingled with heavy doses of God's love and peace. A chapter in our family book was closing. One that's story had just begun. And one I was not ready to finish.

After emotionally greeting many loved ones at the viewing, family and close friends gathered as the doors to the room closed. My Father offered a beautiful blessing on Bennett and on our family that gave me the strength I needed to do what was ahead. When his prayer was over, one by one, family members approached his casket to say their final goodbyes. Many members of my family had written love notes to Bennett that would surround him with love until we were reunited. I loved that.

And then it was our turn.

As I approached the casket, I longed to hold my baby again. In hindsight, I wish I had. That perhaps is my only regret. But instead, I caressed his hair, I covered his face with my tears and kisses and I even took off his socks to kiss his sweet "toesies" (something he loved) once more. David joined me and did the same. Together we stood, learning over the body of our son, holding each other up. We would make it through. We would tread this path together. And - with the Lord - we would do whatever was required to be together again. THAT was for certain.

And then, we closed the casket.

Why am I writing about this now? Because my arms have been aching - ACHING - to hold my little man this week. And though it would be ideal to hold him in life, I would even settle for holding him in death. Though not the same, it was so precious to be with him. To hold him, caress him and shower him with all the love and adoration we have for him. He was adored. And he knew it. And I pray that after looking down on how we continued to care for him after his passing, he knows that more than ever.

So for now, I reach my arms heavenward. Whenever they are feeling extra empty, I ask God to fill them with Love - His Love - for me. Sometimes that comes in holding one of Bennett's siblings. Sometimes that comes in holding another little child. And often it occurs in the form of putting my arms around another who is in need of peace, love and comfort.

Because as I help other's feel God's love and grace, I feel a little bit of Heaven in my home. In other words, I feel my Bennett. And I'm one step closer to being with him again.

And heaven knows there's no where else I'd rather be.

Recognising Miracles

After the kids were in bed tonight, I decided to peruse Netflix so I could watch a flick while I cleaned up the post-Christmas decoration mess (yes, it's up). While flipping through the numerous options, I happened upon a 13 minute story entitled "In the Arms of Angels". The short film relayed the story of a Pioneer brother and sister and the heavenly intervention that took place that saved their lives.

*PAUSE BUTTON - I must note - in full disclosure - that "faith promoting" stories have not always comforted my heart since Bennett's death. Oft times when I hear tales like "I was backing out of the driveway and felt prompted to check behind the car and discovered that I almost ran over the garbage can", I feel conflicted, torn and - at times - even angry. Why was their seemingly inconsequential prayer answered before it was even uttered? Why didn't I hear my son - whose crib I could see across the hallway - while his life slipped away? Why did I not receive a prompting that may have saved his life?

Perhaps some of you flinch as you even read those questions. I have as I've asked them. At times they have tormented my soul. But they are raw, they are real and they are legitimate. It is what it is and it's part of the journey.

Okay, back to our story.

So the older sister makes a decision that puts her and her brother's life in danger. Then, in the midst of disaster, angels lift and save them from sure death. They are rescued and live to tell the tale.

So how does this apply to me, you ask? I will tell you. It's all in the application.

There were a few lines written in the narration that cut me to the core.

Life is lessons.

Life is troubles.

Learning obedience may be Life's hardest lesson of all.

I would add that accepting God's will and going forward IS the highest form of obedience. It's dang tough. But necessary.

Another . . .

There are times in everyone's life that you feel that you've been given the short end of the stick. I believe that at those times we need to accept the situation, pull ourselves up by the bootstraps and move on.

Move on. Hmmm . . .

That principle echoes in my soul. I may have worded it differently ("go forward" would be my phrase of choice) but there is truth in the concept.

So what was my take away after watching this 13 minute film? Did I walk away feeling guilty, cheated, or abandoned? Hardly. I was inspired. And I'll tell you why.

I was reminded that miracles come in all shapes and sizes. Sure, there are those that are immediately recognised as such. And then there are the other kind.

Like the death of our sweet Bennett.

Did the word "miracle" EVER cross my mind in the moments immediately following our horrific discovery? Uh, heck no. But in the days, weeks and months following this realization, I have seen God's grace first hand.

I have witnessed the goodness of humanity.

I have felt God's all consuming love so intimately in my "midnight moments."

I have been carried by a Loving Father in Heaven and His Angels. Both on Earth and in Heaven.

I have experienced a "peace that surpasses all understanding."

I have met so many beautiful human beings around the world that have supported, lifted and comforted me in my loss.

I have felt my belief and faith strengthened while living one of my greatest fears.

I have known Hope in Heartache.

And I have been directed in how to help my precious loved ones as they grieve the loss of their brother and son.

All things considered, God IS a God of Miracles. THAT I know. They happen everyday, be it in the Good or the Growing. It is simply up to us to recognise His hand. Is it easy? HECK NO! But it is what we were sent here to learn. Tough things are going to happen. After all, Fair is where they show the pigs. But what we BECOME from it is entirely up to us.

So I choose to see Miracles.

The Flower Bush

So, our extended weekend away was really quite wonderful. Just what the doctor ordered.

Here's a summary of our favorite things:

• The girls pampered ourselves with an afternoon of mani/pedis.
• We laughed as we splashed and played at the Aquatic Center.
• We cuddled up on a FABULOUSLY comfy sectional for family naps everyday.
• We thoroughly enjoyed Tuacahn's production of "Little Mermaid" (seriously love it).
• We made many memories at Snow Canyon hiking and playing trucks in the "big dirts" (aka Sand Dunes).
• And we savored creamy frozen frozen custard at one of our favorite shops. Delish.

All in all, the rest, relaxation, and recreation refueled and refreshed our souls. It. Was. Divine.

While playing in the "dirts" Saturday afternoon, I was taught a lesson by The Great Teacher. As I watched my children play in the sand with their adoring Daddy, my heart ached. I just. felt. empty. We weren't complete! Someone was missing! Ashton wasn't supposed to be playing cars by himself. Granted David and I were by his side but - let's face it - a parent is just NOT a brother. Period.

Anyhoo, as my kids were building sandcastles and I circled around snapping pictures, I literally stumbled upon this Flower Bush. Small, tender and budding yellow, it was quite the surprise juxaposed against the red desert sand. Where did it come from? How did it get there? How did it sustain life? It was quite the mystery.

And yet there it was, standing tall, acting as reminder of Life amid the toughest conditions. As beautiful as the red rocky landscape was, the contrast of the yellow made it all the more breathtaking.

Curious.

I thought about our Sunshine Boy. I remembered all the bright, sweet, joyful times that we shared. I remembered all the laughs, giggles, snuggles and songs.

And then I thought about the last 9 months. The Desert of our lives.

We have been nourished by the rain. We have learned to build sandcastles in the most arid conditions. And - through it all - our Little Flower Bush has stood by, looking all the more beautiful against the harshness of the conditions. How grateful we are for his immortality.

And so I will remember. I will rememeber all the "fun things" but - above all - I will remember the dramatic beauty of the desert. I will remember playing in the sand. And I will remember the sweet, unexpected Flower Bush that brought so much meaning on a tender afternoon.

Tender Mercies. Tender mercies.

Accountability

So I have this sister-in-law. Actually, I have five, but today I'm talking about this one. Her name is Haley.

Isn't she lovely?

She has a charming blog that some of you may already follow. It is all things virtuous, lovely, of good report and praiseworthy.

Really. It is.

She is so upbeat, positive, kind and nurturing. She has been a lovely addition to our crazy family.

In July, she wrote a post noting her desire to work on her physical and spiritual health. To be held accountable, she would write what she had done for her body and spirit at the end of every blog post. Because - as we've learned - they ARE Inseparably Connected. I loved the idea! I thought it was brilliant.

So I am going to follow suit and do it myself.

I need to be held accountable. I need feast on the word of God more often. I need to feel the sunshine on my face and experience the magic of my body tingling with endorphins.

I just need to be better.

And You, my friends, will help me do so.

So thank you. Thank you for your help.

Nourish your soul and have a good day.

Physical Health:

Go on a long walk with Ashton to pick up the girls (unless it rains)

Spiritual Health:

Watch an inspirational message by Quentin L. Cook (The Songs They Could Not Sing). Love it.

Remember

It has been said that the most important word in the English language is the word Remember. Because if we all Remembered, a lot more marriages would stay together, more parents would spend quality time with their children, humans would treat one other with more dignity and mankind in general would reflect on the Hand of God in their lives.

O, what a world that would be.

The word Remember will forever be different to me. Bennett's entire existence is held together by our memories. The sweet smell of the back of his neck, the softness of his velvety ivory skin, how his petite little body fit so perfectly in my arms, his magical, infectious giggle, the way his smile could light up the room, his "keeses" attacks on my face and neck, the way he'd blow bubbles on my not-so-tight tummy (loved that!), the way his little body would scoot across the floor as he swept the floor for his Mommy and the way he would wave his little hand while saying "nigh nigh" to me as I tucked him in . . . ahhhh, it's the stuff dreams are made of.

Particularly Mine.

So we've tried to create family traditions that help our family REMEMBER.

• After every family prayer, we immediately follow our "Amen" by blowing a kiss to Heaven. It's our little way of continually sending our love to our Sunshine Boy.
• After Bennett's death, Ashton refused to sleep in the room they shared for a few months. When I had had enough, I prayed to the Lord for guidance in how to handle this fragile little boy. I was immediately prompted to sing this song to him every night before bed. It worked like magic and has become part of our nightly ritual. And - P.S. - he's been sleeping in his bed ever since. Just another Tender Mercy.
• We have been blessed to have two very special friends offer to take some of Bennett clothes and make Healing Quilts for our family. Each quilt is individual and oh-so-different. But each is PERFECT. When one member of our family is feeling particularly tender, they are gifted a cuddle session or a night's sleep with one of the quilts. As we wrap them up in our arms, Bennett's memory and God's love, they are reminded that - no matter how tough this road is - we are in it together. And that - in the end - it's going to be okay. God's grace will make us whole.
• More recently, the girls have really been aching for Bennett. I have turned - once again - to the power of music for healing. I have begun singing this song to them as they lay cuddled up in our Healing Quilts. It reminds us that God is in control of all things and that He has a specific timeline and plan for each of us. Including our little Bennett.
• Whenever we visit Bennett's grave (which is quite often), we always write him a note or color a picture in a journal that was so lovingly left in a water tight container at his grave by a friend. This journal has become priceless. It documents the road to healing for our family. It is real, tender, tough and divine. We love it.
• Another tradition we have when visiting Bennett's grave is to hold hands and circle round his memorial (ring around the rosies style) while singing His Song and our own version of You Are My Sunshine. These songs remind us of our Little Sunshine Boy. Oh, how we adore him.
• For Bennett's birthday, we released yellow balloons laden with love notes to Heaven. For his "Angel Day" (the day of his passing), I think we'll send off Chinese Lanterns (like the ones seen in here) reminiscent of his Journey Toward Light. What an adventure he's on. What an adventure.
• As I was looking through our Halloween pictures from last year, I saw the above pictures. As a last minute thrown together costume, Bennett was dressed as one of the army men from Toy Story. He was so dang cute.
  In this picture, I was reminded how much he LOVED the chocolate dipped pretzels we had at the extended family Halloween Party. So from now on, chocolate covered pretzels will be a regular at our Halloween Day celebrations. All in memory of our Bennett.
• For Christmas, we will use Bennett's Christmas stocking as a Service Stocking. Between Thanksgiving and Christmas, we will fill Bennett's stocking with pieces of paper documenting ways we have brought Joy into other's lives in remembrance of the Joy Bennett brought to us. And then, on Christmas morning when we may be missing him extra much, we can go through his Christmas stocking and feel all the Joy that was brought about out of our Love and Remembrance of Bennett. I think it will be very, very tender.
• We will also create a Bennett Christmas tree in our home every holiday season. On it will hang pictures of Bennett with items that remind us of his sweet little life. And perhaps we'll include miracles that have occurred in our hearts and others since his death.
  Hmmm . . .
• Another seemingly small tradition we have is that - when asked how many children we have - we ALWAYS include Bennett. This has been happening quite a bit since our recent move. We are in an area that did not know our boy and - therefore - only sees us as a family of five. THAT we are NOT. Sometimes it's hard retelling our story time and time again, but it's important for us to have our new neighborhood and congregation know of our Bennett. He IS one of us and will always be considered as an integral member of our Eternal Family unit.
• Most importantly, we continually REMEMBER the covenants - or two-way promises - that we made with God in His Holy House that make it possible for our family to be together. Forever. And when our hearts are aching and we are feeling his loss most poignantly, we cling to one another, remembering a Loving Heavenly Father's Reassurances and Love. And that helps us keep putting one foot in front of another.

These traditions have helped our family Remember. We may add traditions. We may redefine the traditions we've created. And that's okay. The point? We will do the things that feel right for our family, promote healing and that help us remember the Joy, Sunshine and Happiness that our Little Man brings to us.

And now, O man, remember, and perish not. (Mosiah 4:30).

Inseparably Connected

They say that "the spirit and body are the soul of man" (Doctrine and Covenants 88:15). I couldn't agree more. What affects one affects the other. They ARE inseparably connected.

There are only two times in my life when my body has gone into shock: 1) When I was eight months pregnant with our third child and was told that our three year old daughter was critically ill and might not make it, and 2) After Bennett passed away.

For those who have not experienced physical shock, it is interesting to find out just how your body responds. Some throw up, some scream, yell and throw things and others may faint. For me? My whole body went into convulsions.

After Bennett's death, bedtime seemed to be a trigger for me. Both when I went to bed at night and when I awoke in the morning. For a moment I would forget. Then I'd look across the hall into his empty crib.

Where was my baby? Why was his crib empty? Why wasn't he calling for me in the morning?

And then it would all come back to me. My body would begin to shake as my teeth chattered.

And then the sobs came.

All the trauma, emotion and shock would hit me like a crashing wave all over again. I was reminded what that empty crib meant to my heart and how that changed our family. And my sweet husband would just hold me until the shaking subsided.

The shaking stopped just in enough time for the investigation to begin. For nearly three months, there was an open investigation into Bennett's death. During that time, we were questioned while awaiting the test results conducted during Bennett's autopsy. When they DID come, we were told they found no physical reason for Bennett's death. I asked the State Medical examiner how often this happened. His answer? Less than 1% of the time.

Lucky us.

I thought the worst was over. Then one day, nearly three months after Bennett's passing, I received a knock at the door. It was the investigator assigned to our case.

"I just wanted to stop by and give you some good news."

Okay. Maybe they found the cause of death? Maybe they had found something amiss in our home (i.e. carbon monoxide)? I don't know . . . not a lot of good news in this situation.

"I just spoke with the County Prosecuting Attorney and he feels comfortable not press charges against you and your husband."

No words. No words.

Then the self talk.

Keep your mouth shut, Amanda. Keep your mouth shut. He means well and it won't change anything.

Now time has marched on. Nearly 9 months, in fact. SO many things have happened. Both related and unrelated to Bennett's death. But - in the end - it has ALL taken its toll.

A few weeks ago, I decided to see a Doctor. I wasn't feeling right. Something was just "off." So I made an appointment.

After a TON of blood work was drawn, the results came back. The circumstances had waged a war on my spirit and body. My soul was a wreck.

As my spirit suffered, my body responded. They were, indeed, connected. As shock and grief hit, hormones reacted, deficiencies resulted and body systems quit doing their job. What my doctor suggested? It was time to simplify and chill out.

Now, one thing that is DANG HARD for this lady is simplification. I love to give my children lots of building opportunities. I love to attend fun events. I love to say Yes. I love to help those I love. I love to serve in my church. And I love to write and maintain this little blog. But - for the sake of Myself and My Family - I needed to take care of Me.

So we made a list. What were the nonnegotiables? School. Family Scripture Study and Prayer. Family Dinners. Harp. Piano. Then date night, Family Home Evening, weekly church attendance . . . And - hey - we might as well finish up the soccer season. But that about sums it up. Everything else became Negotiable.

So we withdrew from tennis. We didn't sign up for dance this fall. I pushed the pause button on a new demanding church calling. We canceled a family group therapy session that would be taxing on our time, emotions and resources. And we are just Being. Can we remove all the stresses of life? Heck no! But in simplifying, we have made them manageable.

Because we all know that every life situation is an opportunity to learn, what have I learned from this experience?

• I have learned that when Mommy suffers, the whole family suffers.
• I have learned to take care of Myself like I take care of others.
• I have learned that it's okay to say "Not right now."
• I have learned that life can be very rich with very few things.
• And I have learned that the most important things in life are not items listed on a calendar or to do list. They are relationships to be made, strengthened and cherished.

And that my Spirit and Body ARE Inseparably Connected.

My To Do List

As of last night, I am the proud owner of a Home Management Binder. It holds ALL - and I mean ALL - of the info our family needs. I. LOVE. IT. With so much going on in our family right now, I can't leave it to this brain to remember everything. This binder will be my salvation.

As I am looking at my "To Do" list for today, this weekend, this month and this year, I am reminded how ordinary and how extraordinary our situation is. Along with "buy metronome and theory books for Grace" is a jotted note to start Bennett's life history. And this for a boy that only lived a mere 19 3/4 months on this earth. I have the goal of completing it before his "Angel Day" in January. In preparing to start this process, I think I know how sweet, tender, difficult and healing it will be. I just pray that my meager words can do this little man justice. They say a picture is worth a thousand words. I'll have to include as many as I can.

As my thoughts have been turned to this new project, I have been reminded of the fragility of life. How Life can change in a split second. Since Bennett's death, it seems like I hear of deaths around every corner that are somehow connected to me or people I hold dear. And - as a new member of The Poignant Loss Club - I feel a responsibility to pay it forward. Whether it be through loving words, shared tears, a heartfelt gift, a written note or a quiet act of kindness, I know firsthand what a difference those things make. We have received over a thousand letters since Bennett's loss and I have kept every one. When I am feeling weak or incapable of dealing with this heartache, I return to the words of others that believe in me, are praying for me and who grieve with me over the loss of my son. Now it is my turn - even while I'm neck deep in Grief - to Pay It Forward. And, in doing so, I believe that I will find companions in Healing and Purpose. How much I need them.

While thinking about the relationships that really mean the most to me in this life, I came across this video on YouTube. Perhaps some of you became acquainted with Chris Medina on American Idol (I personally have not followed the show since Clay Aiken). Medina's story is one of Enduring Love and Heartfelt Compassion following a car accident that tragically disabled his fiance just two months before their marriage. He is now caring for her along with her Mother and trying to find the help his fiance needs to make a full recovery. His is a loyalty rarely seen in this world. What a noble man. And what a blessed woman.



And if you feel like "Paying It Forward", click here to donate to the foundation to aid Julianna's recovery. I did.

Prayers for Peace, Strength and Healing, Julianna and Chris . . .

Your Perspective, Please . . .

Tonight I am missing Bennett so very, very much. In my aching, I decided to pull up his obituary. As I read through the words I wrote six months ago, sitting alongside his painfully empty crib, a fresh wave of anguish washed over me. I felt all those overwhelmingly raw sensations all over again.

Here's part of what I read:

On Saturday, January 22, 2011, a Loving Father in Heaven tenderly took home one of His own. Bennett, born May 31, 2009, brought more joy, light and love to the world in a mere 20 months than many experience in a lifetime. It was a privilege to call him our son.

Bennett spread love and laughter wherever he went whether it was smothering his mommy with kisses, falling asleep on his daddy's chest for a nap, calling out to his sisters, Emma and Gracelyn, for morning bath time or playing "cahs" with his best friend and brother, Ashton. He was eager to smile, anxious to love, quick to laugh and ready to forgive. We will smile whenever we remember his obsession with all-things handles and the way his little body shuffled around the kitchen trying to sweep the floor for mommy. He was a gift. Simply a gift.

We will forever cherish the scribbles left on our walls, the handprints placed on our windows and the etching he engraved on our hearts. He was here but a moment but will be ours forever. And with Bennett, forever won't be long enough . . .

We'll love you forever, We'll like you for always Forever and Always Our baby you'll be. No goodbyes, just see-you-laters . . .xoxoxoxo

In reading this, I am reminded why I haven't listened to his funeral recording in awhile. I am reminded why I haven't watched video of him. I am reminded why I don't go through his hope chest on a regular basis.

Because I cannot.

The pain and the loss are still too fresh. My heartache is right at the surface. It doesn't take much for me to melt into a puddle of tears. And things that bring back remembrances of that freshness remind me of the gaping hole in my heart and family. In a moment, I can be transported to a very painful time. A time that - even now - seems like a dream.

For those that have walked the path of Profound Grief, what has been your experience with Time? I know that it - paired with Divine Mercy - can heal if I allow it to do so. But does the passing of time distance you from the pain? Or do you just learn how to better cope with it? I am new on this path so there are still soooooo many questions I do not have the answers to.

So share, friends. Please share. This tired heart needs some perspective.

Being Present

We just returned from the an outing to the park. It was hot and humid (even in our desert climate) but we were dying to get out of "the cave" (what we affectionately call our rental). On our walk there, we giggled, talked, planned our afternoon at the water park and talked about our "favorite things." Highlights?

• Emma is thrilled to have found "her sport" (tennis) and "her instrument" (the harp). She is also super proud of the fact she FINALLY learned how to tie her shoes, a vice that has been plaguing her for a few years. Yay for setting and reaching goals!
• Gracelyn has turned into a grown girl over night. She is super interested in all things hygiene. Whether its brushing/rinsing/flossing her teeth, painting her toenails, bathing twice a day, changing her outfit 5x daily, brushing her hair or putting on lip gloss. She also loves giving gifts and is always leaving surprises on her loved one's beds. She is such a little sweetheart.
• Ashton is - well - Ashton. Cars/Trucks/Trains still consume his life but we are gearing up for toilet training round #2. We started the process last January but - after Bennett's passing - he developmentally digressed, which I have learned is pretty standard following traumatic events. So back in the saddle we go, hoping to have a break before we get in the diaper changing situation once more.

Why do I mention these things? Because I am learning how important it is amid grief to focus on what IS and not solely what IS NOT. In other words, Living In The Present. Bennett WAS taken Home. There is nothing we can do about that. But I still have three fantastic kids physically with me! And - just as I yearn for the simple every day moments that I shared with Bennett - I need to be present and enjoy them with Emma, Grace and Ashton. My job - for a time - is done with Bennett. But I still have work to do here. And realizing and living that changes my focus.

How grateful I am for the lessons I am learning. These lessons are helping me be a better Mom, Wife and Friend. They have come at a great cost but the lessons we have learned are priceless.

What a Gift.

Coping Mechanisms

As a rule of thumb, I try to be open and honest about our Walk with Grief (and what a walk it has been). And so, I will address aspects that I would not choose to disclose otherwise. Like the ways - healthy or not - that we have coped.

Overall, I believe we have made healthy choices in our Grieving. Though many approached me about taking anti-depressants following Bennett's death, I personally made the choice to walk through this heartache unencumbered. I thought it would be unfair to "numb" myself while the rest of my family walked through very difficult and tender feelings unmedicated. Though not a party, I wanted us all to be on the same page of our grieving. It may not be fun but we are in this together.

(While saying this, I do not judge anyone who has made another choice. Everyone does what is best for them and what is "right" for one may not be "right" for another. We just made the choice that felt best for our family. Period.)

So food has become my drug.

Everything has been a trigger for me. The extreme loss of losing Bennett, the anger and frustration of being investigated for his death, the inexplicable experience of packing up my Boy's belongs that he would never use again in this life, the stress of a kitchen remodel two months following his death in preparation for putting our home on the market and the unbelievable strain of showing a home at a moment's notice when I felt barely functional myself. All this on top of dealing with the deep and open wounds each member of my family is dealing with. This has been the most trying period of my life. Hands down.

While I do not binge, I mindlessly eat, grabbing a handful of this there and taking a bite of something there. And at the end of the day, I can't even remember what I consumed. And so - in five months - I have gained nearly 10 pounds. TEN POUNDS. And ten pounds I couldn't afford to gain.

And so it's time to get my rear in gear. It's time to cut back and rev it up. In our adversity, my Spirit has grown and I am learning so much. Grief has excavated a depth in my soul that I just cannot describe. Only the Lord knows fully what is happening within me. I am more compassionate, understanding and tender than I have ever been. And yet my body is tired and weak.

So it is time for my body to reflect my Spirit. I need the strength mindful and nourishing eating provide. I need to move more and sit less. And I need to sleep more ; something that is really hard to do when dealing with anxiety that is triggered during the night. But He has made me a promise. If I treat my body like a temple, I will be given "wisdom and great treasures of knowledge, even hidden treasures; And shall run and not be weary, and shall walk and not faint."

I will change. I will. And the Lord will help me. Instead of turning to external sources for comfort, I will turn to Him. And He will fill the abyss in my soul that even the best chocolate can't touch.

My Heart's Prayer

Remember this post? Well, last night I had the blessed opportunity of going to Les Miserables with my dear cousin and her husband. While I've always had my favorite characters, scenes and songs from Les Mis, the production hit me differently this time. New themes stood out to me, I saw the characters through fresh eyes and my heart ached for those who had experienced significant loss. The play was not the same. And neither was I.

Two songs struck me in particular. The song "Empty Chairs at Empty Tables" spoke intimately to me of a man experiencing profound grief. The raw lyrics, rise and fall of the melody and dynamics all tell the story of the wide spectrum of emotions one can feel after experiencing loss. I know those feelings. They have been my own and those words have been the sentiments of my heart. Grief changes us. And - after experiencing it - we are never the same again.

I also loved the final reprise of "Bring Him Home" that Jean Valjean sings in his final moments of life. The words are unfamiliar to most because they are not on the Broadway albums (at least the ones I have). They are powerful and speak the feelings of my heart. Maybe I'll have them engraved on my memorial ;0)

God on high,

Hear my prayer.

Take me now

To Thy care,

Where You are.

Let me be,

Take me now.

Take me there,

Bring me Home,

Bring me Home.

While taking in the poignant message the talented cast conveyed last night, my heart swelled with gratitude for the beauty of the Human Experience. Every one of us is uniquely individual and each of us has our own set of Life Events that alter how we see the world and what we view as reality. But every one of us at - one time or another - will experience similar feelings of Joy, Ecstasy, Loss, Disappointment, Heartache, Hope, Loneliness and Fear. But it is up to us what we create from those experiences.

I am so grateful that so many years ago Victor Hugo felt inspired to pen the story of the downtrodden man who was given a hand up that indeed changed his heart and - therefore - his life. Every time I am reminded of the journey of Jean Valjean, I am reminded of the kind of person I want to become. A person of forgiveness, charity, compassion and hope who - at the end of my life - feels confident with who I've become and meeting He who has molded me.

That is my Heart's prayer.