The Day Joshua Died

I've blogged about the morning that Joshua died, but I don't think I've ever written about the hours after he died.

That morning, I carried Joshua in my lap the entire trip home. We could have had him transferred by a hearse, but I could not bring myself to even think about him leaving us. We were given a transport paper- permission to transport him ourselves. They tried to put him in a basket with blankets. I couldn't bear to put him in a carseat. What was the point? But I couldn't bear to put him in the basket in the back of the van either. What if it fell over or rolled around? I asked if I could carry him in my lap, and they said yes.

We got onto the highway where the traffic was at a dead stop. He was in my arms, covered in a blue blanket given to us by our friend Kristine. It had his name written on it.

His skin started feeling cooler by the minute. It was a sunny day. I held him in the blanket, but wanted him to be in the sun. He had never been in the sun before. I just wanted it to warm his skin a little. Maybe the sun would bring him back.

But I knew I didn't want him in the sun. He was dead. The warmer he got, the faster he would start to rot. Oh, God. My baby will rot. He's dead.

I held him. Covered in that blue blanket. Sitting in the sun. Praying that the sun would warm him. But hoping it wouldn't warm him too much. I looked at his fingers- his nails turning black. All I could think was that I wanted to run. He was with me and I wanted to run.

If only I ran with him, he would never leave me. But then I remembered the rotting. Running with him would not bring him with me. It would not keep him. It would not bring him back.

We drove 2 hours in the car with him. We didn't stop. Shane and I both held our breath every time we passed a truck. We weren't doing anything wrong, but we didn't want a trucker calling the police on us for carrying a baby in my lap. I couldn't bring myself to explain to a police officer that I was carrying my dead baby in my lap on his first trip home from the hospital. His only trip.

We finally arrived at home. Hannah was 2. She was standing in the doorway of the back door. I hadn't been home in almost 2 months. All she cared about was that mommy was home! And then she saw a baby in my arms. I will never forget the look on her face. She was so happy that her baby brother was home too! She didn't know.

And then there was Caleb. He was 4. He was standing in the back room. My mom and dad behind him. The look of pure joy on his face. His mom and baby brother were home. Life would soon be normal! He didn't know either.

We asked my mom and dad to step outside for a few minutes. We walked through the kitchen into the living room. Hannah on the floor, beaming. Caleb on the couch next to Shane. They were holding Joshua.

And then we told them. Joshua was dead.

Hannah smiled and crawled into my lap. Shane and Caleb wept on the couch. Hannah was the lucky one out of all of us. She didn't understand what was going on. She was spared the devastation.

After a few minutes of crying as a family, we asked my mom and dad to come back in. They held Joshua and cried with us. My dad was at the hospital within an hour of Joshua dying. He planned a visit for that day- unknowing what would happen.

We spent an hour or so with him in our home. The funeral home knew we were coming. We couldn't wait too much longer. We had to take him.

We drove down the street to the funeral home. Once again, Joshua in my lap. When we came to the parking lot of the home, I remember wanting to tell Shane to keep driving. Not to turn- if we just kept going, then we could keep Joshua forever. But he turned and I was reminded that our reality didn't involve living with Joshua.

When we got there, the building was locked. We knew the director was coming, so we waited in the parking lot. There was a corn field next to the building.

We walked along the edge of the field. The kids picked an ear of corn- excited to see what was inside. I remember looking at that field and being bothered by the life that was in it. It took me a few months to figure out why that field bothered me so much.

Finally, the director came. We followed him inside and sat with him for a few minutes. I don't know what I was expecting at that moment, but I wasn't expecting it to all happen so fast. He asked us a few questions, we told the kids that we would not be bringing Joshua home again, and we said our good byes. My arms literally ached the moment I handed his body over to the funeral director. They were empty. That was it.

And then we went home.

When we got home, there was a pot of beef and noodles sitting on the stove. Some friends from church came over while we were gone and left dinner for us. I was so thankful for that. I had not eaten all day. I was exhausted and hungry, but when it came to eating, I couldn't do it. I took one bite and that was all I could eat.

While everyone else ate, I went out to unload the van. Everything looked so different, yet the same. I hadn't been home in almost 2 months. Most of my things were in that van. Joshua's things were as well. I started unloading his things first. I wept.

What was I supposed to do with his things? He didn't have a bedroom of his own. I didn't want it in our bedroom. I couldn't put it in his crib. I pulled the mobile out of the van and I fell to the ground and wept. What was I supposed to do with this stuff?

Shane came out and took over. He told me to go upstairs to our room and rest. He would take care of unloading the van. I had never been more thankful for his strength. I'm still not sure how he survived that day. The strength he demonstrated that day is something I will never forget and something I will respect for the rest of my life.

I went up to our room and I fell apart. My eyes were puffy and burning. My contacts were stuck to my eyes. I sat down on the edge of my bed and I wondered how I would ever pick up the pieces and live again.

 I felt my breasts. They were full of milk. I had been pumping milk for Joshua every 2 hours for the past 2 months. I hadn't pumped since 4am that morning. I went into the bathroom and put together my pump. I held the shields up to my breasts, but could not bring myself to turn the pump on- not even enough to relieve the pressure. Again, I wept. My breasts were a painful reminder of what was gone. I needed to endure the pain of engorgement because the emotional pain of pumping was much greater. I went back to my room, sat on floor, and wept again.

In that moment, Shane came into the room. He pulled the door open and the click of the door startled me. I jumped. My heart raced. I began to sweat. My reaction scared me. I knew at that moment that in the upcoming days, I was going to face more than just grief. I was going to face fear, anxiety, and restlessness. I knew that things were never going to be the same.

I don't remember much else from that day. It was all a big blur after we dropped Joshua off at the funeral home. I remember that night, after the Caleb and Hannah were in bed and my parents had gone home, getting online and seeing the horrible things people were saying about and to us- that I killed my child, that we deserved for him to die, that we cared more about his penis than we did his life. I remember feeling shocked at how horribly people were acting and wishing that it would just go away.  I remember Shane's family coming in at some point. But other than that, I don't remember much of anything else.

I do remember that night, when we went to bed, Shane fell asleep quickly. I laid in bed, trying to close my eyes, but I was haunted by that morning. All I could see was Joshua dying. All I could see were his eyes looking up at me, begging me for help, or telling me that he loved me, or saying goodbye. I relived that moment in full detail, all while jumping at any sound.

Sometimes, I need to remember these moments. Sometimes, memories come to me that I had forgotten. Sometimes, I feel like I'm crazy and over exaggerating my grief and anxiety, and I just need to write out what happened as a way of reminding myself that I'm not crazy. And sometimes, I need others to know what we have been through. I need them to remember. But mostly, I want my children to eventually know what it was like. I want them to be able to read my words and understand why I've struggled as much as I have- never because of anything they did or were responsible for. I want them to understand fully what happened, when they are ready. So I have to write. I have to write to remember, and to share, and to remind. Thanks for listening. 

Beautiful Faces

As I think about this past weekend, I can't help but fight the tears.

I have only seen the large sanctuary of my parents home church completely filled at Christmas; until this past weekend. As we said our final good byes to my father, I couldn't believe how many people came to pay their last respects.

At the closing of the service, the pastor offered communion to anyone who is a believer. He instructed our family to come and receive the elements first, and then as others felt lead, they could come and partake.

After we received the elements, I watched as others stood to enter the aisle. Slowly, the aisle filled and before I knew it, the line was as long as the sanctuary.

As I watched the people wait to receive the sacraments, I was brought to tears. I looked at the faces of each and every one of them and all I could see was a little piece of my dad in each of them.

They were all there because they loved my dad. They were all there because, in some small way, my dad made an impact on their lives.

As I watched the line move, I felt my dad's presence. I pictured him, looking down from Heaven, crying tears of pure joy at what he saw. All of those beautiful, beautiful faces, each unique and special, coming for the love that they had for my dad.

There is no greater honor than to be loved by many, many faces.

If you are one of the many beautiful faces who came to honor him, thank you. You blessed me in ways that you will never understand.

Beautiful Words

This weekend, we said our final good byes to my dad.

We knew that we were going to be expecting a lot of people, but we had no idea how many "A LOT" would be.

We estimated close to between 400 and 500 people showed up to the visitation and approximately 230 at the service.

How incredibly humbling.

My dad was an incredibly blessed and loved man.

At 6'6" tall and close to 300 pounds, he has been frequently called a gentle giant. That description could not be any more fitting.

As I listened to stories being told of my dad, I was brought to tears many times.

Years ago, my mom and dad founded a youth center in the heart of Hammond, Indiana called "The Basement." (named because of the geographical location of the center- The Basement was located in the basement of our home church.) The Basement is located in the heart of Hammond, surrounded by public housing, poverty, and crime. Yet, at it's height, it was bringing in approximately 150-200 inner city teenagers every Saturday night.

My parents' goal with the creation of The Basement was to bring the youth of Hammond to know Christ. They wanted to give them a safe and fun atmosphere that they could come and hang out without fear of being jumped, robbed, or raped.

Don't get me wrong. The crowd that The Basement drew was a rough one. There were fights almost every Saturday night after Basement hours and there was weed that was smoked in the bathrooms, but these kids were learning about Christ every week. They were loved and cared for by adults who invested in their lives, no matter what choices they made. These kids were loved.

There was a young man who came to my dad's funeral and shared words that will forever be engrained in my heart.

This young man attended the basement when he was in Jr. and Sr. High. He came from a rough family life and was running with a rough crowd. Yet week after week, he came to The Basement. My dad reached out to him and, over time, they developed a special friendship.

This 20 year old stood in front of approximately 230 people at my dad's service and shared his connection to my dad. He said "If it weren't for Mr. P (my dad's nickname) I'm not sure I would be alive. If it weren't for Mr. P, I would not be where I am today. He loved me and accepted me, when wherever I went, I was unaccepted and and a cast off. Mr. P saved my life."

As I listened to this rough looking young man's words, I was brought to tears. My dad truly loved him. My dad, who by just being himself, saved this kid's life. How humbling.

I listened to story after story like this one. Stories of how my dad changed lives. How he loved unconditionally. How he made people laugh. How he cared.

My dad was truly an incredible man. His love ran deep and it ran wide. His love was without boundaries and he touched so many.

I was honored to hear all of the beautiful words that were spoken this weekend.

 

Our Final Goodbye

It's taken me a year to finally ask my friend Molly for these pictures. 

These are the very last moments that we had with Joshua. 

Looking at these brings back the smell of his body, the feeling of his cold skin and feathery soft hair.

I remember his beautiful long fingers.

I'm reminded of how he looked in the onsie that I picked out for him 

when we first found out about his heart.

Oh how he loved his snugglie-

Something I slept with for a week before Joshua was born 

so he could smell me when I was away.

The love that surrounded us that day was palpable. 

The sadness overshadowed by innocence and God's promises. 

Saying goodbye was the hardest thing we have ever had to do.

You Left and Took My Heart

I don't even know how to start this post. 

The pain is too great. 

The sadness too overwhelming.

This was the day that you left.

This was the day that you took a part of my heart with you.

A part of me that I will never get back.

This was the day that my world fell apart-

the walls of my safety and security came crashing down all around me.

This was the day that I knew life would never be the same.

I was with you as you took your last breath- my first ever experience with death.

I ushered you into the arms of Jesus. 

Shocked. 

Devestated. 

Broken.

Alone.

My love was not enough to save you. 

So I had to let you go. 

I had no choice.

My heart hurts yet rejoices because of the knowledge I have of where you are. 

Yet, here we are. 

A year later. 

Still picking up the pieces of our broken and shattered lives. 

Trying to live without you. 

Learning how deep my love for you really ran, how unending the pain will always be. 

Sweet Relief

With the first year after Joshua's death coming to an end, I was unprepared for one of the emotions that has come along with the year coming to a close.

Relief seems to be a feeling that I am trying to get used to.

Relief as I realize that we have survived a year of this.

Relief that we've made it through all of the "firsts" without him.

Relief that I KNOW that God is near and has never left my side.

Relief that I'm not facing yet another birthday in the near future without him. His birthday was by far the hardest milestone for me to reach. There is just something totally unnatural about celebrating a birthday when the birthday boy is dead.

I've approached this week with dread, but so far, it's not been as bad as I expected it. Sure there have been moments of complete sadness. There have been moments when I wish that this week held no significance in our lives other than Caleb's first parent teacher conference at school.

I'm not sure how Thursday will be. I'm not sure how tomorrow will be- remembering my last day with Joshua and then reliving the moments when he died. Those are burdens that I carry alone- I was by myself with him when he died, Shane on his way down to Indianpolis, but couldn't get there fast enough.

I'm not sure how it will be watching my husband grieve- this day seems to be much harder for him than for me (the exact opposite with Joshua's birthday- that was hard for me and easier for him.)

Relief is not an emotion that I have typically associated with grief, but this week, along with the sadness and pain, it is a very real feeling that is washing over me.

We have survived. We will continue to survive. The first year is over.

Sweet, sweet relief.

A Way to Honor and Remember

After I wrote yesterday's post, I sat down to really think about what we should to for Joshua's birthday.

I don't want to have a social gathering of some sort. I don't want to be a blubbering fool in front of people.

I do want to spend the day with my family. Remember, looking at pictures, and doing something special with the kids to help them remember.

But I also want to give others, who love Joshua, an opportunity to remember and honor him. There were so many who loved him, were affected by his life, and who knew him- either personally or through my blog.

All of a sudden, an idea came to mind.

I want to open my blog up. I want to allow others to share their thoughts about Joshua and his life. I want others to help remember and honor him.

Joshua lived from August 16 to October 6. 51 days. I have every single day of his life recorded on this blog (except for 2 that I removed and will not be reposting.)

I would love to fill those days that he lived, a whole year ago, with letters of love and remembrance from those who loved him the most.

I already have a handful of people who are working on letters or posts about him. I want to open that opportunity up to you as well.

If you feel led, I would love for you to write a guest post, a letter, a remembrance, a testimony about how Joshua impacted your life and email it to me. Include identifying information about yourself and also tell me how much info you would like me to share about you. I am happy to post links to your blog if you want me to.

I will start posting your letters/posts on August 16th all the way through October 6th.

I will also donate all of the earnings during that time period from my BlogHer contract/ads to the NICU at Joshua's hospital. I would love to be able to help them purchase photo paper and/or a new digital camera to use within the NICU. Some of the pictures that the NICU took of Joshua are our most precious. I know they go through photo paper and digital cameras like crazy- I want to make sure the families of critically ill babies have plenty of pictures of their little ones.

So, I want you to think about it. If you feel led to share your thoughts about our precious little man, please email your posts to jillhaskins1@yahoo.com. (I reserve the right to pick and choose posts to publish and will not publish posts that are controversial or attacking.)

I'm excited to share these upcoming days with you. There are so many of you who have been an amazing support to our family over the past 9 months. There are so many of you who loved Joshua in a way that I could never imagine. I am so excited about sharing this journey with you as we honor and remember Joshua's life.

Moving Forward and Hope

Before Joshua died, my biggest fear was him dying.

 I didn't think I could possibly survive if he didn't live.

There have certainly been times after he died that I felt like I could live no longer.

But I've not had much of a choice.

There have been many people who have innocently said "I could never be as strong as you. I couldn't handle what you have been through."

And while that is flattering, it's not quite true.

I didn't have a choice in the cards that were dealt. I didn't choose to have a critically ill child- and quite honestly, I wouldn't have chosen that path for myself or my family. I didn't choose for my son to die. It's what life has thrown at me, and I've had no choice but to continue moving forward.

With that being said, there have also been others who have said that they don't know why I have continued to blog so publicly. They don't understand how I can write about such raw emotions and faith struggles. They think I should have thrown in the towel a long time ago, and focused on my family rather than pouring myself into my blog.

Here is where I struggle.

Yes, I blogged daily during the life of Joshua. Yes, I Tweeted, Facebooked, and blogged when things got rough. No, that was not my first priority and never will be. No, I have not made blogging and social networking a priority over time spent with my family.

Blogging has been a part of my life in one form or another for the past 6 years. I started a blog (on another platform) when I found out that I was pregnant with Caleb. It has always been a way for me to process and record the struggles that we have faced. It has also been a way to record our triumphs and joys.

If I had given up blogging after Joshua died, I'm not sure where I would be today- even with all of the heartache it has brought. Personally, blogging has been such a good way for me to connect with others who have experienced what we have. It has been a great way for our struggles to make a difference in others lives. It has been one of the many ways that I have coped with the emotions and struggles of losing my son.

If I had just given up blogging because of the defeat that I felt, I would have been, in my mind, rolling over and letting go of life. To me, giving up one of the things that I love the most would not have been an effective way to deal with my grief. By continuing to blog, I am continuing to move forward with life- and when you struggle with grief like I have, moving forward with life and not becoming defeated is a GOOD THING!

The same goes for having another baby. We are not trying to replace Joshua. Nothing could or will replace him. NOTHING. But, God has given us this life, and just because we lost Joshua doesn't mean that we should stop living. By having another baby, we are acknowledging the life that was here for 51 days, but we are also acknowledging the fact that we are still living and need to continue to move forward. Not only for our lives, but for the lives of Caleb and Hannah.

We have started fresh. We are in a new home, we are looking for a new church, and our "group" of friends has changed drastically. We are not forgetting the past, we never will forget the past. We are simply pressing on, determined to not get stuck in our grief and to live a full and healthy life.

As my sister in law stated the other day, "The devil cannot steal my Joy." He cannot take away the promise of our Eternal Life through the blood of Jesus. He cannot force me to give up on life. He cannot take away the freedom and joy that we have found in moving forward, even when every fiber of my being screams to just admit defeat and give up all together.

The pain and sadness are still there, but there is hope. Hope for a good life filled with love, joy and peace. There is the Hope of life after death, both in Heaven and here on Earth. We just need to continue moving forward, one day and one step at a time- and that's exactly what I intend to do!

All Mixed Up

I'm always amazed at the hold that grief has on me sometimes.

It feels like some days, I'm constantly struggling to remember what was lost, but also remember the blessings of the present.

Today is one of those days. One of the many days that I am constantly fighting the tears and looking for reasons to laugh. It's one of those days, that when I catch myself laughing, it feels SO good, but then it's almost immediately taken over by some sort of sadness. Not necessarily the paralyzing sadness that knocks me to my knees in grief but rather a bittersweet sadness that brings the smallest tear to my eye and causes me to take a moment and remember what was lost and how painful the journey has been.

As I'm packing up the last few odds and ends of our house, I remembering everything that these walls hold. Joy, hope for the future, ignorance of what could truly be, family, love, and hard work. All of these things are wrapped into this house that we have made our home for the last 6 years.

We've brought 3 of our children home to this house. 2 of them have grown and learned here. 1 of them came for a brief time after he was already gone. Bringing him home wasn't for him, it was for us- for our children. Life has been created here- 4 times. Life that was made out of a love so powerful that we have survived the darkest days of our lives.

This was the first home Shane and I bought as a married couple. There have been many struggles within these walls, but there have been even more triumphs.These walls have heard our wails and our mourning. They have heard our shouts of joy in the discovery of new life growing inside. These walls have been our refuge in our darkest moments- when we wanted the outside world to completely disappear.

And now we are leaving. It's time to leave, but it's bittersweet. This house is literally falling apart as we speak. The foundation is slowly crumbling and the walls seep water. It's time that we leave this place and start over. It's time that we start building memories in a new place that will be big enough for our growing family. It's time to live in a home much nicer and much cheaper than this. But it hurts. The memories, the hard work, the feeling of security within these walls.

I'm looking forward to the future. I'm looking forward to a fresh start. I'm looking forward to creating new memories and a sense of security. But my feelings of excitement are being pulled away by that small sense of sadness of everything lost.

Almost Moving Day

It's almost moving day.

6 days to be exact!

Here are some sure signs that it's getting close!

Our dining room is PACKED with boxes, and will be even more full in the next few days.

This is the part that makes me really sad to leave this house. The kids and I love this yard. It's not the same when it's not littered with toys and play equipment. SAD DAY!

I love making lists!!! 

I may or may not be the type to add things to my lists to just cross them off...

My brother in law and mother in law both get their own list for this weekend! 

I'm sure they love me dearly for it!

Wednesday cannot come fast enough!

9 Months

Can you believe that this baby would be 9 months old today?

I remember that moment so clearly. 

If only we had known what was ahead. 

We would have never let him out of our arms. 

We would have never stopped kissing him.

We would have made sure to get a family picture.

I loved love him so very much.

Happy 9 months sweet Joshua.

I miss you so SO much.

Prayers for a Friend

Do you remember this post? I wanted to give you an update and ask for some serious prayers.


My sweet bloggy friend, Marsha, was pregnant with two beautiful twin girls. There was a problem with the cord with one of the babies. They were holding onto hope that God was going to bring their sweet baby through, but that was not meant to be. One of their sweet baby girls went to be with Jesus shortly after my initial prayer request post.

However, her sister is fine. She is growing and thriving. Marsha and her husband are trying to focus their energy on their beautiful little girl that has made it so far.

Marsha and I have been emailing back and forth and recently, Marsha was admitted to the hospital in premature labor on April 25th. She is currently 26 weeks.

Most recently, they found that the baby that passed is going to be delivered soon. Doctors are confident that they can stop labor when it happens, keeping the healthy baby tucked away safely inside Marsha to continue growing.

Marsha and I are begging for your prayers of safety, comfort, and wisdom for everyone involved in her situation. They have already experienced an infant loss and now a prenatal loss- all in the last year- the last thing they need to experience is the loss of the other baby.

Please, if you feel led, head over to Marsha's Blog and leave her some words of encouragement and prayers.

Thanks so much my sweet bloggy friends! There is power in prayer- I've experienced it first hand! Let's pass it on to another who needs it!

Packing

I've been slowly trying to pack our house up for our big move on June 1st.

I've been doing extremely well...until today.

I was packing away all of my Willow Tree figurines. Joshua's urn is displayed among them.

I picked up that little box. The top of it was slightly covered in dust. I wanted to open it but I couldn't.

It was too painful. I didn't want to see the ugly gray dust that used to once be his beautiful skin, eyes, hair, and body....

How is it fair that the only remenants of my baby that will be with us for the rest of this life are his ashes? How is it fair that we don't get to create a special room for him in our new house? How is it fair that all of his things are coming with us, the only thing missing is HIM....

It's not fair....and I'm tired of the pain. (I realize that life isn't fair, that death is a result of sin within this world, and I realize that there is still hope- I WILL see my baby again one day... but some days it's not enough for me...)

My bad days are becoming less and less. I am smiling every day. I laugh and joke. I can look at his pictures without the paralyzing pain of his death looming over me. I can remember him without falling to my knees in grief. But then something like that happens and it knocks the wind out of me like a swift punch to the gut. My baby is dead. Only his ashes will be coming with us.

This sucks and I'm done packing.

Nothing of Importance

Yesterday was a busy day for us. The kids and I went up to visit some great friends Christia and her 2 amazing kiddos for the day. After some great and insightful conversation with someone who really understands what it means to go through extreme trials, we decided that we needed to wear the kids out, and we did just that. We took them to a park, let them run for hours, and then took them on a long (for them) walk! By the time we left, my kiddos were filthy and plum tuckered out! Mission Accomplished!

After that, we played outside for most of the afternoon/evening in our back yard....one of the biggest things I will miss about this house is our backyard....There is a huge maple tree out back that shades almost the entire back yard. I have spent many hours under that tree watching our kids growing, exploring, and playing. I know we will build new memories at our new house, but it's sad to think of all of the fun we have had within the confines of our little fenced in area.

I've been struggling lately with letting go. I feel like our lives are moving forward and good things are finally happening for our family (after almost 7 years of struggling and hardships). I couldn't be more excited about the changes in our near future (new house, new jobs, new ministry opportunities, and new baby!) but I can't help but feel like we are leaving Joshua behind. I know we will take our memories of him with us and that he will always be in our hearts, but it doesn't make it any easier to close this chapter of our lives and start a new one. If it weren't for Joshua, we would not be experiencing these new changes...I guess it's all just extremely bittersweet for me.

We discovered that Toy Story 3 is on Netflix Instant Watch, so while it's still cold out this morning, we are watching movies and eating popcorn (yes...it's only 10am....mother of the year award right?!) Hopefully it will warm up enough today to go out and play again!

Have a great day friends!

6 months

6 months ago today, he took his last breath.

6 months ago, to the EXACT moment that I am typing this, he looked up from his crib as he was coding, and his eyes said to me "I love you mama, I love you."

6 months ago, to the exact moment, I told him I loved him and scrambled to get word out that he needed prayers RIGHT NOW.

6 months ago today, I asked Shane, "When is enough, enough? When do we say stop?"

6 months ago today, Joshua made that decision for us.

6 months ago today, was the day that my life changed for ever- I've had to learn how to live again, love again, and have faith again.

6 months ago today, my world came crashing down around me and all I could do was hold him and say goodbye.

6 months ago today was the best day ever for Joshua, and the worst day ever for our family.

Sweet Joshua,

I see you. I hear you. I smell you. More and more frequently your memory comes to me. I remember and I am full. But then you are gone. I realize it's just a memory and I will never see you on this side of Heaven again. What feels like an eternity to me- but it just a blink of an eye to you.

I miss you sweet baby. I miss you so, so much.

So many good things are happening in our lives lately. Burdens have been lifted and we are finally able to just breathe. But you aren't here. No matter how good it gets, the pain is still there and very VERY raw.

I miss you, Joshua. I miss you so, SO much.

Love forever and always,

Your Mama

Dreaming

I had a dream last night. I don't remember the tiny details of it or even who it was about, but I remember most of it. It has left me drained and somewhat emotional today.

I dreamed that someone close to me passed away. I don't remember who it was, but I know that it was a woman. As we said our final goodbyes to her, I had a vision.

She was up in Heaven. She was holding Joshua.

I felt relieved. After Joshua died, I was devastated because I felt like he was up in Heaven alone. We've not had very many deaths in our family- all of my grandparents are living except for one of my grandpas and Shane has had a few relatives pass, but not very many. (I know he is not alone, but not knowing who he is up there with made me extremely sad.)

 I dreamed that this woman reached down from Heaven and told me that she had Joshua in her care, safe and sound. He was perfect and whole, and he was waiting for us to join him. He was a happy baby, intense in nature, and wise beyond his years.

I felt relief that he was taken care and healthy, but seeing him alive yet unreachable smashed my already broken heart into many smaller pieces.

____________________________________________________________________________

I've had so many good days. My bad days are becoming further and further apart. I'm able to live life. I've been volunteering again, getting out and playing with the kids, and working on some plans for the future. I've been able to look at Joshua's pictures and smile- remembering the sweet baby that he was.

But I can't do that today. Today I miss my boy. I am angry with myself for not getting a single family picture of the 5 of us. I hurt for Shane that he didn't get to see his son very often. I'm feeling guilty for all that Joshua had to endure during his short life- tubes, wires, open chests, hospital air, pain, drugs, sedation. He never got to experience the sunshine, fresh air, car rides, or home. Today, I'm struggling with everything that was taken from us- a healthy baby, all of the baby milestones, a smash cake on his first birthday, months and years of pictures and memories.

I had a whole day planned for today, but instead I think I'm going to go into hibernation and allow myself to feel what I need to feel.

I miss my boy. I miss him so SO much. When these days come, they come hard.

I May be Done....

Since Joshua died, this blog has been one of my life lines.

It has also been a constant source of contention- both within the online community as well as my real life community.

I never apologize for the things that I write or the way that I process through things. I don't apologize for writing some of my deepest and darkest thoughts- it's all been written with one honest intention in mind- to bring others closer to Christ. However, I just don't know if I can continue on with the constant turmoil that my words seem to bring.

It seems to me that there are many, in real life and in the online community who have taken my words and misconstrued them. They read what I write, make their own assumptions, and then never ask me or talk to me about them. Instead they choose to just ignore it and let me continue on without ever knowing how I've offended or said something wrong. No one has ever come along side me and said "I don't believe this way of thinking is correct, here is what The Word says about this" or "this is what this verse really means." I have never been too proud for correction or learning about God's word.

My intentions with this blog started as a way for me to write about my life. Once we learned about Joshua's heart condition it became a way for me to work through my faith, my struggles, my worries and my triumphs. It became a way for me to share my sweet Joshua with a world that may never know his existence. After he was born and after he died, it became my way of continuing to work out my faith- something I have never claimed to know all the answers to. You see, I majored in elementary education in college- I never took more than the required Bible courses that the university required of me to graduate. I don't claim to have the correct theology or all the answers, all I know is what I have felt like the Holy Spirit has laid on my heart.

My desire with my blog has always been simple: to honor God by allowing others into my world of faith. Some of the things that I have written have been dark, deep, and often times undesirable to read/listen to, but this is my life, my faith, my journey. I know that some of my darker posts have been questionable, but at the same time, I also recognize the fact that I am NOT the only one who has felt this way and that Jesus' blood covers my sins if I am truly repentant.  I love God with my entire being and want nothing more than for my faith to resonate that.

I will not deny that I have really struggled with my faith since Joshua's death. I won't deny my anger towards God. I also won't deny that I don't have all the answers, nor do I claim that all of my theology is completely correct. Take what you will from my blog posts, but also recognize the fact that I am a mere human- untrained in theology. I make mistakes.

At this point in my life, I feel like Shane and I have some big decisions to make. We need to decide where God is calling us and how He is using us. I would like to think that His Will will still include my blog, but I'm not so sure anymore.

I recognize the fact that Satan is at work. I recognize the fact that he is feeling threatened that we have come out of this with our faith still intact. I recognize that Satan would love nothing more than to win the battle for my soul. But I also know that God is always victorious.

I guess what I am trying to say is that Shane and I need to make some big decisions about our life and the life of our family. We need to make decisions about friendships, priorities, and goals. We need to decide what is best for our family and who we are going to allow into our lives that will encourage us, support us, and love us.

I think this may be close to the end of "Fierce and Feisty." It may be time to say good-bye and allow God to show us where to go and what to do without outside influences. It may be time to put an end to the constant turmoil that this blog brings to our family.

I'm not sure what I am going to do. We need to take some time to fast, pray, and really seek God's direction in our lives. I may or may not be back. In my heart, I truly hope that I am back, but if God says "No" then that is what I will do.

Please join us in prayer for our lives. Please pray that God makes himself evident and guides our decisions. Please pray that some of our hurt feelings and frustrations are not because of our own selfishness, and if it is that we will be able to move past them and once again develop healthy relationships.

Thank you all so much for your investment into our lives. I was looking forward to sharing our future with you, but I'm just not sure what God wants. I love you all dearly and I pray that you have come to know Jesus in a real way through my words. That has been my only intention through all of this.

So for now, I guess this is good bye.

The End- Before it Began

Joshua died.

He was born 2 hours away from where we live.

After he died, we had to bring his body back to our town to say our final good-byes.

We were given the choice to have him transported or to transport him ourselves.

We chose to transport him ourselves.

They gave us the proper forms.

I carried him on my lap.

The most excruciating and painful trip we have ever made.

Shane driving.

 Me in the front seat.

 Joshua in my lap- covered in a blanket.

The first time his skin touched the sun.

The sun couldn't warm it.

________________________

We asked if it was ok to take him home first.

 He had never been.

They said it was ok- we just couldn't keep him overnight.

We took him home.

The first time he was home- with us. He was gone.

We hadn't told Caleb and Hannah yet.

How do you explain that their baby brother died to a 2 year old and a 4 year old?

What words do you use?

We brought him into our home.

We sat together in the living room.

We explained that this would be the only time Joshua would be home.

Hannah was excited. Mommy hadn't been home in over 7 weeks.

 All she knew and cared about was that Mommy was home!

Caleb knew.

 He knew something wasn't right.

He asked about Joshua's black lips.

He was excited.

Excited that Mommy was home.

Excited that Joshua was home.

Little did he know.

We spent time together just the 5 of us.

We cried.

Caleb wailed.

"I don't want my brother to be dead!!!"

We explained that Joshua was not here.

This was just his body.

And soon- we were going to have to say good bye to his body.

This was the end.

 Before it ever began.