Keep On Keeping On

These days...

Heart feeling heavy, chest and throat tightening, eyes watering, followed by feelings of complete desperation, and finally feeling like I can't breathe...all over again...as the memories  of three years ago come flooding in.

But I push through the pain, I push through the emptiness, I push through the tears....and I remind myself yet again (because I need constant reminders, especially days like this) that "despite all these things, overwhelming victory is mine through Christ, who loves me" Romans 8:37

Honestly, I don't feel victorious, let alone "overwhelmingly victorious" but I know I can't rely on my emotions but rather on His promises.  I know that while I may not feel victorious, He has already won my battles! So, I cling to a promise spoken to me years ago as I cried over Israel's grave "I tell you again indeed, you will walk the streets of gold, enter my Kingdom and see your child again"...When I do, I will dance in the heavens with my little boy while we worship our Creator together.  

In the meantime, I will keep living life to the fullest.  I will keep loving fiercely.  I will keep forgiving.  I will keep smiling.  I will keep dancing.  I will keep singing my 80's songs.  I will keep trying new things.  I will keep my head up.  I will keep mixing up my words when I speak.  I will keep being bolder.  I will keep drinking coffee,  and keep on keeping on, doing all the other stuff you'll never get a chance to do....

Loving you my sweet boy is one of the easiest things I've ever done; but loving you from afar – by far has been the hardest...

"I miss you, miss you so bad
I don't forget you, oh it's so sad
I hope you can hear me,

I remember it clearly, The day you slipped away
Was the day I found it won't be the same" -A. Lavigne

To say this journey has been extremely difficult, is an understatement.  Yet, God has been relentless and has not let me wallow up in sorrows. What I find amazing and extremely humbling about this is to learn how others have been affected by this experience and blog.  What was meant  to cause harm, God has used it for the good....I said from the beginning, if one life would be impacted by this experience and serve a purpose then Glory to God.  The following are the words of my daughter Erika.   The beauty I find here is not that she writes about me, but rather that I see the evidence of her dependence on  God in her life.  I was touched immensely that she would share this with her class, 3 months ago.  Thank you God for your strength and love that is continuously getting us through this journey. 

A Mother’s Smile

When someone speaks of inner strength and goodness in the midst of difficult circumstances, the person that instantly comes to mind is my mother. Through the death of my brother, Israel Mark Plaza, her greatest qualities were displayed, proving to everyone around her that she is a woman of great emotional fortitude.

On a cold foggy day in December of 2012, my younger sister and I sat on a booth at First Peek Ultrasound in Oak Brook, Illinois. My numb hands were interlocked with one another, and I stared blankly at them in confusion. I twiddled my rough thumbs as I spoke softly to her.

“I don’t know what’s going on with mom and the baby... but we have to just pray about it, okay? You have to remember that everything happens for a reason...” I paused. “I just have this really bad feeling about the baby...” She turned her head up to look at me, she had the eyes of a solemn, stray deer in a forest of anguish. 

She interlocked her hands as well, and we both bowed our heads to pray to a God that probably wasn’t even listening. She began. “God, I don’t know where you are but I pray that everything is okay with my mom and the baby, because I love them and I don’t want them to be hurt.” A tear began to form at the corner of my right eye. I was scared to blink because I didn’t want the unwanted mix of salt and sadness to make her even more anxious than she already was.

We had just been kicked out of my mother’s ultrasound room. We were going to find out the sex of the small pea-sized blob in her whom. My mother’s pregnancy was an accidental surprise. My younger brother, Matthew, wasn’t even a year old yet. At first, we were scared for the arrival of this baby considering the fact that my mother was older now; more complications could take place with the pregnancy due to her age. However, we learned to feel happier knowing that we’d have yet another new addition to our growing family.

When we entered through the doors of First Peek, we immediately started making bets. “It’s a boy, I just KNOW it!” my father exclaimed.“No, it’s definitely a girl!” Krystal retorted. “I think so too Krys,” my mother laughed, rubbing her small round stomach. “Well I agree with dad!” I smirked. “It’s totally a boy, I can feel it in my soul.”

After meeting with the nurses at First Peek, we waited around the couches until we were called back into a room. It was dark and cold. The couches were stiff and uncomfortably itchy. I scratched my arms with the stubble I had for nails. The nurse’s smile was a bright cheery sun shining on the cold world of the ultrasound room; it made us anxious to find out the gender of the baby.

As the nurses had my mother situated, my dad began to pace nervously around the room, back and forth. Back and forth. Krystal and I waited patiently on the couches at the corner of the room. Our eyes scanned the monitor on the wall for anything that might’ve resembled a baby. I looked back at my mother, and she gave me a weak smile as the nurse prodded around the surface of her stomach. Again, our eyes plastered the screen.

“I told you it was a boy!” my father exclaimed. The small chuckles that crept from his lips displayed his joy.  “Aw man!” my sister said. “I really wanted to have a little sister!” “Get them out...” I heard my mother mumble. My father didn’t seem to hear her as he kept gazing at the screen, stuck in a daze. I had heard her though. Everything seemed to be happening all at once. Vivid images of my mother burying her face into her palm, my father snapping out of his trance-like state, and being rushed out of that ultrasound room still haunt every crease of my brain.

I couldn’t hold back the tear any longer. The knot in my throat was a violent, drunken man at a bar who just wanted something to hit. Krystal’s quiet, innocent prayer was interrupted by the jolt of the ultrasound room door. I had never seen my father look so old. His light, euphoric eyes were now a sad, meaningless color in between brown and gray. The crinkles around his eyes seemed to cave into his aged face like craters on the cold, dark moon. He waved us in with his callused but gentle hands. The nurse stood in a shocked position. But all I really cared about in that moment was my mother.

I peered over and looked around so many different bodies, just trying to catch a glimpse of hers. I could see her struggling to get herself off of the ultrasound bed and clean the ultrasound gel off of her stomach with a towel. I really didn’t understand what was going on; everyone was so quiet. Anonymous sniffles echoed through the room. My mother hobbled over to us. Suddenly, a random, chilling scream escaped her lips and tears spilled from her eyes like a flood.  The ...the...” she sputtered. My instincts reached me and all at once, I was holding her. “The baby’s gone...” she sobbed. At that moment in time, I felt as if I were her mother, and she was my child. I held her tightly in my arms and gently caressed the back of her head with my fingers. As I rubbed her back, curling my pinky into her hair, I felt her shudder repeatedly into my shoulder. I shushed her heart-jerking cries and tried to calm her down. My father, Matthew, and Krystal huddled around us, enclosing us in a hug. I wish that hug lasted forever. It was the one place I knew she felt safe. Invincible, even.

The nurse encouraged us to head to the ER as soon as possible. Everything else was a blur, really. The drive to the hospital was just as cold and dark as the feelings we all felt on the inside. The doctors at the hospital pulled my mother away in a wheelchair. My brother, Israel Mark Plaza, would’ve entered our lives on May 15, 2013. I can’t extract every detail from his “birth”, simply because I wasn’t present for most of it. My mother went on later to describe her feelings to me. When I went to give birth to him, I really didn’t want to. I knew that once they cut the umbilical cord from him, it’d be the last true connection I’d have with my baby boy.”

Through the sudden, unfair death of my brother, I learned that my mother was a lot stronger than she had ever claimed to be. We all agree that though Israel never spoke physical words, his life told us of a beautiful woman’s strength in the midst of terrible circumstances. Over the past couple of years, we have watched her deal with Israel’s death in her own way; a way in which her love, goodness, and grace have never left her. She continues to nurture us and has never stopped laughing at the simplest of things. She still cracks jokes and sings deafening versions of songs from the 80s... But most importantly, my mother never stopped displaying her love. In fact, she holds us a little bit tighter and gives us a few more kisses each night because she knows loss and has been able to overcome it with a smile on her face; if I were to become half the woman she is, I would be blessed.

“A time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance.” -Ecclesiastes 3:2-4

 

One Year Later...

December 2, 2013

So here I am, one year later from the day I last saw my son.  It has been a difficult year.  Some days have been harder than others but there have also been days of laughter and joy.  Still miss my son, I don't think that will end until I hold him again.

Along this journey I have learned that the loss of a child and the grief that comes with that comes in waves.  There have been days or occasions where out of nowhere the emotions have been so raw and my heart has been crushed all over again.  BUT there have also been days when I have remembered Israel and the thought of him being in a better place than those of us still here, brings me joy.

I have also learned that God's love and comfort is really like no other. There have been moments where my mind and my heart have been so conflicted, and yet God (or as I like to refer to him) "Daddy" has loved me unconditionally. I remember asking Him one year ago, not "Why" but "How" I was suppose to go on. His answes was simple, "With Me." The truth is that this journey has been everything but simple.

I have learned that there is no 10 or 12 step process for healing, no "take two of these and you will feel better in the morning" medication. There isn't a one size fits all mold for feeling better.  Rather each person will deal with grief in his/her own way. It is a process that cannot be rushed. It is a hurt that you simply can't "get over it." It is a journey of aches and pains deep in the heart that cannot be described nor mended with words. It is a soul searching journey, at times even a battle within ones own mind.  But it is also a journey of resiliency, strength and tenacity. 

For me, I have been truly blessed.  I have had the support of my husband and my children who have listened, who have held me, who have cried with me, who have laughed with me, and who have prayed for me.  I have had the support of my best friend who has continously encouraged me and sent me monthly messages.  I have had the support of  other family members and close friends who have allowed me the time to grieve but have also given me the time to remember the life of my son.  Most importantly I have had "Daddy", to comfort me, to help me, and to restore me a little more each day.

So for those of you that are wondering how I am doing today, I am doing better than I expected.  Does it still hurt? Ofcourse.  Do I still miss my little boy?  Terribly.  Does it get easier?  Yes, but a part of you is never the same  How have I done it?  By the Grace of God

But as Pastor Larry said this weekend, there is a bigger picture to look at.  I know I WILL see my son again, it is just a matter of time (and no, I'm not in a rush to get there). For now I will keep moving forward on the journey He set me on. There have been lots of hurts and loses along this life, but there have also been wins.

So today while it is difficult,  I choose to celebrate the life of my son, Israel.  I choose to think of him dancing and rejoicing before the presense of our Creator.  I choose to remain grounded in Him.  I choose to give Him all of me, over and over again.

                                     
See you later my little Prince, Momma loves you and misses you :) Lots of hugs and kisses.


(For those of you who have followed my blog thank you! I pray that this has helped you or spoken to you.  No, this is NOT my last entry just wanted to do this post as a side bar as I am living it, not remembering it).

One last time

December 2, 2012 (Late morning-early afternoon)
Later that morning after waking up and having a small bite.  The doctor came to see me and checked on me, when she was done she told me I would be released before noon.  I was placed under strict bedrest for a week, until my follow up appointment.  She prescribed several medecines, including one to help me sleep and gave me paperwork to give to my employer.  I was down to about 30-45 minutes left where I could physically touch my beloved child. I held him, retraced his little body with my finger, and prayed while I held him. I tried memorizing everything about him.  Lastly, I got dressed and my husband packed the few items we had with us.  The last minutes at tha hospital I spent them sitting at the edge of the bed watching my husband hold our baby one last time. The nurse, walked in and informed us it was time to go.  She would get a wheel chair for me and then take the baby.

My husband placed the baby in my hands one last time. I didn't want to part with him, and I certainly had no idea "how" I was suppose to walk away or leave my child behind. Knowing, I would walk out of the hospital empty handed was heart wrenching. It wasn't fair, it wasn't right. As I saw the door opening once again, tears welled up in my eyes, I knew the time had come.  I saw the nurse enter the room and walk over towards me, I thought to myself, I can't say goodbye, it doesn't feel right, so instead I whispered  "I love you baby boy, I will miss you until the day I die" and then I managed to hand him over to the nurse. She walked out of the room with him and as she left I cried and told my husband I wanted his yellow cloth. (What I really wanted to do was to run after her, but I knew I couldn't). When my nurse walked back in, my husband explained that I really wanted the cloth and asked if  I could have it, she said "ofcourse" went back and got it for me.

So there it was, as I was being rolled out of the room in my wheelchair, there were no smiles or words of celebration from the hospital staff, there was no diaper bag to carry, nor no car seat to check.  There was no baby in my arms to take home, there was only tears, pain and a tiny yellow hand towel that had served as his blanket.  I looked at the hand towel and traced the stains that were evidence of where my son once laid. I folded it and tenderly carried in my hand. With my heart in my throat I uttered "we can go."

As we exited my room and was taken down the hallway I saw two people entering the labor and delivery section with full smiles and excitement in their eyes, surely there was a baby for them to see.  Out in the waiting area,  I quickly observed through the glass window, the people that sat and waited.  As the doors opened for us to go through, they looked up with anticipation, perhaps awating news of their loved ones.  As for me, I simply looked down, not being able to bear their looks.  Surely they noticed we did not carry a baby.  Surely they noticed my eyes swollen and tired from the night's event.  It was enough to cause me, to want to jump out of the chair and run. 

Downstairs my husband brought the car around and helped me get into the car.  As we drove off, and left the hospital I cried and cried.  I noticed my husband was also crying.  There were no words needed to explain what we were both feeling.  It was the worst car ride ever.  One that we knew was simply too painful to even try and speak of.  The silence left us with nothing less than the void we felt and the heartache that had overtaken us.


My husband and I have been through hell and back.  But I am pretty sure neither one of us imagined we would ever have to go through something like this.  My husband was a rock the whole time.  I saw a side of stregth in him I never knew he had.  He knew and recognized I was barely functional physically, emotionally or mentally and he took care of everything.  

We recently stopped at that same hospital to take our oldest daughter for an leg injury she caused to herself and we both had to take a moment to catch our breath.  Walking out of the hospital empty handed was extremely difficult for both of us. My heart goes out to every woman that has lost a child in one way or the other.  I pray that God will give you peace and strength and I pray that day by day you find yourself a little better a little stronger.  I pray that you find hope and rest in Him.  It's a journey lived day by day, one day at a time.

Exhaustion

December 2, 2012 (early Morning)

For a brief second when I regained concious, I thought to my self  "Am I alive?" "Where am I?" I faintly heard a beeping sound, and then i opened my eyes.  I saw the heart monitor, oxygen mask and my nurse, almost all at once.  She asked me how I was feeling.  I tried speaking and then realized my throat was sore (I suppose from the intubator).  After a couple times of attempting to talk I just nodded that I was ok.  The reality of why I was there came rushing over me again, but I was doing  was as best as I could under the cirmumstances. 

My nurse continued on taking my vitals; blood pressure, temperature, etc.  Once she was done she asked me "are you ok? (Ofcourse, not how could I be). Do you need anything?" and I whispered to her that I wanted to see my husband.  After a couple of minutes she walked out of the room and went to get him.

As my husband entered the room I could see the relief and love in his eyes.  He seemed as if the weight of theworld had just been lifted from his shoulders.  He bent down and layed his head on my lap.  I gestured with my hand for him to come closer to me and when he, I whispered to him "I'm not going anywhere buddy, you are stuck with me."  He grinned with eyes full of tears and held my hand. "Good" he said, over and over.  "I couldn't do this without you." and then I drifted off to sleep again as he reassured me that he would take care of me.

After about 20-30 minutes. I was taken back to my room, where immediately I asked for my baby again.  I still wanted to be near him as much as possible.  Shortly after, one of my nurses came in and took several picture of the the three of us (the baby, my husband and I).  During the course of the night and morning we signed alot of paperwork, but the last pieces we signed were to have our baby released to funeral home (which we had no idea who that would be yet).

We were also asked if we wanted the hospital to run genetic testing to see if they could determine what went wrong.  We knew it was beyond our understanding but we still were looking for a "reason."   Part of me thought, if he was sick then this will give me more peace.  My husband asked if the sex could be confirmed because we were initially told it was a girl then later a it was a boy. (During this time the doctors were guessing it was a boy, but were not certain). It would take a couple days to confirm the sex, but up tp10 days to get the genetic testing results.   After all this was completed  I managed to stay up a little longer with our baby before finally giving in to the exhaustion.

It had been quite the unexpected day, we went from starting that morning on such a happy and excited note and it had come down to all of this. Had someone told me I would live through this and not lose my mind or my faith in the midst, i would have called them crazy. Don't get me wrong I was a mess, I was broken, I was hurting, I was depressed, I was helpless, vulnerable, etc etc. But somehow someway God was leading me on. No it wasn't easy, but I had made it through the day. Not by my strength but by His.  There was alot I could not grasp nor understand (frankly I still don't) but I understood this much.  I was not alone.  I was exhausted and depleated but His Grace was indeed sufficient and His peace that just kept surrounding us was truly supernatural.

 

Glimpse

December 2, 2012 (No idea of the Approx time)

Just minutes after my doctor left the room and I had my major breakdown, my husband walked back over to the table where the bassinet and baby were placed.  As I watched my husband lean forward to take a look at our baby again, I suddenly felt my heart skip a beat, then another, then another.  Within seconds it started to become increasingly difficult to breathe and then nauseau came over me all over again.  I called my husband and said to him "I need the bucket" but as he made his way back to me he noticed and sensed there was something different. 

I was now holding on to my chest (same side as my heart) and I told him "I can't breathe."  I could hear myself trying to breathe and I could literally feel every beat of my heart pulsating throughout my entire body.  I began to feel as if I was "fading away" somewhere.  I was still unable to breathe, but instead of freaking out or gasping desperately for air I simply just felt an overwhelming peace.  I attempted to speak, but could not.  I attempted to sit up, but was unable to muster the energy. 

Things around me became blury, it was as if I was looking through a tube where only the center of my vision was clear but eveything else was distorted/blurred.  I could see my husband start rushing over to my bed all while calling out my name, louder and louder.  I could see myself lying there covered in blankets, my body slumping in further into the bed.  I could see the fear in my husband's eyes as he ran around my bed and then dash out into the hallway screaming out for help.  I could see the flood of doctors and nurses rush in to my room and hear them saying that my heart rate and blood pressure were both dropping and continuing to drop.  I could hear all the yelling, comotion, orders, etc but it was all in a sort of slow motion, an out of body experience.

I saw as my husbad paced back and forth as the doctors also began to call out my name.  I could see all the chaos around me, yet I wanted nothing more than to keep going and drifting into that peaceful place.  My husband at that moment came closer to me  (his eyes filled with so much anguish) and started speaking to me "Glo, stay here.... don't leave....Glo..... Glo....- Where is Matthew?, It's time to feed him, right?" At the mention of my son Matthew, something clicked inside and caused for me to refocus and no longer want to sink into "that" feeling, I almost felt as if I had stopped drifting off and then just lingered there.  The doctors suddenly put something over my nose to smell and caused me to sort of re-awaken, long enought to fully focus for a few seconds.

Everything was happening so fast, I began to feel the same feelings all over again, the doctors were wheeling me out of the room.  I was being taken to another room.  I wasn't sure what was happening but I knew they needed to "work on me." Doctors and nurses continued to call out my heart rate and others vital stats to each other, none of which made any sense to me.

I saw as the doctors scurry around in the room, I heard one of them call out that they were ready to intubate me.  Another was ready with anesthesia and yet another was informing me that they were going to surgically remove the placenta.  I felt when my head was lifted upright and felt the tube in my mouth inserted as they "intubated" me.  The anesthesiologist looked at me and said "you're going to be ok, I am putting you to sleep now."  I saw as he put the medication into my IV and my last thoughts were.."God, I don't know how, I don't know when..... but I will, count it all joy. I am yours God, my life is in your hands."

At that moment I had no idea what was happening or even if I would live or if I would die.  But,  I recognized fully and completely that at that moment I only relied  and trusted God.  I was ok with whatever His will for my life was.  I wasn't angry, I wasn't sad, I wasn't upset , nor in pain.  All I felt was peace.  It is the kind of peace that is described in the bible "the peace that surpasses all understanding." I hadn't done anything to earn it.  I hadn't said or acted in a specific way to achieve it, God simply gifted it to me.  Perhaps it was a glimpse for what is to come, perhaps it was to show me that Israel lives in complete peace, perhaps it was to get me to underststand all of this, or perhaps it was simply to give me strength and remind me of His love.  A glimpse of hope, a glimpse of rest, a glimpse of no more suffering, a glimpse of Him ......all in one glimpse even under the storm. 

 

Defeated?

Dec 2, 2012 2:00-3:30 A.M

After a few minutes the doctor asked me to push again.  Still no luck with the placenta.  They had been trying for a few minutes to no avail. The doctor was going to attempt to pull it down herself.  (YES, THIS SECTION CONTAINS SOME GRAPHIC CONTENT).  Several times she tried with her hand, each with a few minutes of waiting in between.  The bleeding continued.  Over and over they had to change the padding on my bed.  Pastor Yeze left around this time, but told us that if we needed her to come back we could just call her again. 

I held our son in between moments.  Our nurse brought in a tiny little white bassinet (possibly made for a doll) where we placed him in.  When we placed him in the bassinet,  he seemed to disappear in it.  He was still wrapped in his little yellow blanket (which was a smaill hand towel) I imagined he was going to be bigger, but he was so so small.   He was next to me for most of the time, but was removed from my bedside each time the doctor or the nurses attempted to pull down the placenta. At some point they layed down a bag of ice underneath the cloth mattress of his bassinet. He still looked beautiful to me, despite that he had slowly changed from a pink color to a purpleish/blueish hue. Through my eyes he was nothing more than magnificent.

With each attempt things just became more and more painful and more and more physically traumatizing.  After almost an hour the Doctor then decided to try pulling the placenta with forceps.  First attempt, no luck.  My mind was all over the place, I kept crying out to God, "How much more Lord, How much more?"

The doctor tried once again with the forceps and I could hear myself screaming out in pain.  My husband held on to my left hannd.  But atlast, I has reached a state of TOTAL brokeness and I began to cry out, "no more, no more."  I looked at my husband and said, I can't do this anymore, no more, no more.  At the same instant my doctor seemed emotional as well and she shook her head and said to the nurses "That's enough, that's enought she has been through enough."  She took the forceps out, took her gloves off, threw them down and approached me.  My legs were then gently put down by the nurses, my pad changed yet again and blankets put over me.  I have been through several medical procedures (appendicitis, broken jaw, ear surgeries, 3 births), but this took the cake. Never once have I resisted doctors, never once had I felt I had reached my limit, UNTIL NOW...

She said to us, "we have to get the placenta out, you are bleeding alot and we have to stop it, we have no choice but to take you into surgery"  my husband and I agreed.  I was still shaking from their last attempt.  The doctor apologized and said they would go and prepare the surgical room.  She looked at me and said "I know you have gone through alot, so we want to take care of this as soon as possible, I am going to put in the order and I will be back in 30 minutes."

As she walked away, I found myself sobbing on my husbands chest.  I felt I had no more.  In that moment I was defeated, I had nothing left! My husband said to me "It's going to be ok, baby" but I wasn't sure it would be. 


There comes a time where each of us have felt defeated.  Where we have felt we were better off giving up.  I found myself in a state of total brokenness and complete helplessness.  Physically, emotionally, and mentally.  Within me there was no more to give no more take at that very moment.  I wanted to just fade away.  Stop feeling, stop hurting, stop wanting.  I wanted nothing more than just everything to stop.  Perhaps in all of this, I was asking my daddy to take me home.  Perhaps grief and death had gotten the best of me, but it was only for a moment...


But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me. 2nd Corinthians 12:9

Fearfully and Wonderfully Made

Dec 2, 2012- Approximate 1:30-2:00 AM

The bleeding continued on, but thankfully the time came for me to push.  I wasn't sure what to expect.  I knew it was time.  Before I pushed, the tears welled up and ran down my face.  My husband thought I was in physical pain, the nurse said "we know it hurts hunny, just push once."   Yes she was right, it did hurt but it wasn't the physical pain that caused me to cry.  It was the emotional pain that tore at me, knowing this was the LAST  moment I would have my child knitted within me.  It was time to let go, after this push my child would no longer be "with" me. 

I felt when I delivered and immediately the nurse scooped him up and wrapped him in a small light yellow hand towel.  She cut the umbilical cord and tried putting a clip on, but realized the clip was too large so she did away with it. She then handed him over to my husband.  My husband then brough him close to me where I finally got to hold him.  He was no bigger than the palm of my hand, light as as a bird.  So tiny, so fragile yet so beautiful, yet so wonderful.  Every finger was visible.  His arms his legs, his knees, mouth, nose eyes, and tiny little ears, and his tiny little feet.  I was overwhelmed of how intricately God had formed him and how complexed we are all designed.  How amazing yet how fragile life is.  Immediately, I thought of the scripture Psalm 139:13-16

For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
¹⁴ I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.
¹⁵ My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place,
when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.
¹⁶ Your eyes saw my unformed body;
all the days ordained for me were written in your book
before one of them came to be.

I held him close to me for a few minutes caressed his hands and legs and his head. My finger tip carefully tracing his entire body.  Afterwards my husbad held him again.  I recall my husband speaking to him "mamma warmed you up"  "baby, we are going to miss you" 

The nurse asked me to push again so that I would push the placenta, but no luck.  We would wait a few minutes and try again. 

Pastor Yeze also held our little one.  We would get to spend the rest of the night with him.  I was exhausted but I wanted to stay awake as long as possible, because I knew I would never be able to get this time back. 

This is one of those moments that will forever be carved in my memory and in my heart.  As I recall the instant when I delivered and held him in my left palm it seems like yesterday that all this took place, yet it has been over 10 months. 

How raw and fresh the pain comes alive when we relive moments filled with despair, agony, and helplessness.  Yet, amidst the pain something happens: life continues.  You breathe, you sleep, you survive.  For me the grieving process continues, day by day.  There are good days and not so good days, but life continues.   Yes, there IS pain, yes there IS a loss, but there IS also a peace that comes from God and God alone that helps you in your deepest valleys and your roughtest storms.  By His Grace I have survived this, by His Grace I stand in faith, By His Grace I live.