Raindrops From Heaven

The last month of Annie's life was excruciating.

For all of us.

It really was. 

It still makes me shudder when I let myself really remember that time in our lives.  I have never felt more alone.  I have never been more desperate for comfort;  truly, agonizingly, achingly desperate.

I remember describing that it actually hurt to breathe at times. 

That sounds crazy. 

But, that is how it felt to live through some of those days.  That is how it felt for me. 

I can hardly bear to imagine how it felt for Annie. 

I know I have already written some about this, but I want to share an experience today, on her four- year angel day, that has stayed with me all of these years.

One morning in July of 2010, I stopped by my sister-in-law's house to drop my kids off on the way to the hospital.  I remember that I came inside for a few minutes to change Hadley's diaper before I left.  And I remember that she (my sister-in-law) was getting her baby out of the tub while I was kneeling on her living room floor with Hadley at my knees.  My sister-in-law's own sweet daughter was born just a few weeks after Annie, and as I watched her carry that baby wrapped up snug in a towel my heart just broke in two.  I was caught completely off-guard by my reaction to such a small thing, but in that moment, to think of the everyday regular things (like baths and fluffy towels) that Annie was missing out on was more than I could bear.  Not once, in Annie's entire life, did she get to take a bath; at least not a bath like that.  Until that day at my sister-in-law's home, a real bath had not even been on my radar of things to be sad about. But this particular morning, it completely crushed me.

I got in my car and I wept as I drove towards the hospital.  At first my tears were sad, broken-hearted tears.  But, it did not take long before I was crying tears of frustration, bitterness and even anger.  I almost never felt anger during Annie's life.  But I was angry that day. 

I started a conversation with my Heavenly Father right there in my car.  This was a regular occurrence for me during Annie's life, but this time, the conversation was different.  This time, I really let Him have it.  And by that, I mean that I held absolutely nothing back.  I didn't choose my words carefully.  I didn't filter my thoughts.  I vented.  I cried.  I begged.

And, I told Him that I felt abandoned by Him. 

I said the words out loud that I had been feeling for days, but had not dared to vocalize. 

Especially to Him. 

I held nothing back.

In the midst of this heated (on my part) conversation, a big fat raindrop hit my window.  At first, I didn't think it was (or even could possibly be) a raindrop, because in every direction from my vantage point there was nothing but blue sky and sunshine.  I literally could not see a cloud in the sky.  But then, another, and another, and another hit my windshield and before I knew it, I was turning on the wipers to clear the rain so I could see the road clearly. 

Now this seems like a silly thing, and of course, there is an explanation for the rain (there was a cloud above my car that I simply could not see from my place in the driver's seat).  And, I know that I am not the first person to experience a summer rain cloud surrounded by an otherwise beautiful blue sky. 

A small thing really. 

But that day, it was everything to me.

In my broken-in-every-way state, with tear drops falling freely from my cheeks, I found long-sought comfort in those rain drops falling freely from the sky.  Such a simple thing, I know.  But, I honestly felt like Heaven was weeping with me that morning.  Somehow, I felt like my suffering was acknowledged and for the first time in good while...

I didn't feel alone in it.

He was with me.

I felt Him there. 

He didn't care that I was angry and frustrated with my situation and even with Him.  He didn't care about my unbecoming meltdown in the car that day. 

He just cared about me. 

That's it. 

One daughter out of countless daughters. 

He cared about me.

I've never forgotten it.

I've had other hard days and times since that unbelievably hard time in my life.

I've even had more unbecoming meltdowns since that morning in my car.

But, I have never forgotten that He was with me that day.

I've never forgotten those raindrops from heaven.

And I never will.

Tender Mercies

This little cutie-pie turned 5 in December.  I love this girl and often say to others that she has been SO good for my heart these last few years.  When I found out that I was pregnant with Annie, I cried, in part because Hadley was only 6 months old at the time, and I couldn't fathom how I was going to add another baby to the mix and keep my sanity.

 

I knew my tears were selfish, but I couldn't deny my feelings (or stop the tears for that matter).  At that time, I had no idea about Annie's complicated heart defects and the toll that they would take on her life and mine.  And still, consumed in self-pity, I questioned Heavenly Father's timing in sending another little one to our family.

I just could not see the wisdom in it.

 

Fast forward a few months and we found out that not only were we welcoming a daughter, but this baby was going to have a tough time.  Her life was not going to be easy.  We knew then that even if things went well, she and we would be spending a significant amount of time at the hospital.  By this time, I knew that Annie was meant for our family.  I no longer questioned Heavenly Father in sending her to us.

But, I still wondered about the timing.  Hadley was too young to understand any of it, and I wished that she was older; that the gap between these two was wider.

 

Annie was born and things didn't go as well as we had hoped they would.  For the next several months, I spent every single day (except one, when I was sick) in Annie's hospital room.  She had to be my number one priority, and while I knew that I was making the right choice, I felt guilty about the impact this might be having on my children at home, especially Hadley who was surely wondering why Mom was leaving her every day.

Again, I wished that she was older, and assumed that this would all be a bit easier if she were.

 

Four months later, Annie died.

 

I was home again. 

 

Just like that, it was over. 

 

I had my old life back.

But I was not my old self.

The new me had a hole in my heart that just would not quit.   

 

I still have a hole in my heart.

But I can now see that Heavenly Father's ways are (and always were) so much higher and better than my ways.  What I thought was terrible timing on His part, was, in reality, one of the greatest tender mercies He has ever shown me. 

 

He knew that Annie wasn't staying for long.  He knew that she wasn't coming home to us.  He knew that her life and her death would introduce me to a soul-crushing grief that my previous self didn't even know was possible.  He knew that when she was gone, when she was really gone, my heart and my arms would literally ache to hold and rock and cuddle that precious, priceless, youngest daughter.

 

He couldn't let me keep her.  He couldn't give me that.  But, he could give me another daughter that loved to be held and rocked and cuddled and snuggled tight.  And, He could send these two girls close enough together that the big sister hadn't outgrown all of these things when He called the little sister home. 

 

He could give me that.

 

 

All of my kids have been snuggly-bugs, but Hadley is by far the snuggliest.  Even now, at the age of five, she is happy to curl up on my lap or in my bed and just be held.  She is not a replacement for Annie.  No one ever could be.  Hadley is her own beautiful person that lights up our family in so many ways.  She is adored and loved by every single one of us.  But, I have no doubt that her place in our family was divinely appointed.  She was meant to be a barely bigger sister to our precious little Annie.  The Lord was in all of it.  Every detail.  I didn't understand it.  But He did.  And in His infinite wisdom and love, He granted this blessing to me that I did not ask for or deserve.

 

A beautiful tender mercy.

 

Almost four years ago, while waiting for Annie to come out of one of her many surgeries, I passed the time hand-stitching this quote by Elder David A. Bednar onto a piece of fabric:

 

"The tender mercies of the Lord are real and they do not occur randomly or merely by coincidence.  Faithfulness, obedience and humility invite tender mercies into our lives, and it is often the Lord's timing that enables us to recognize and treasure these important blessings.  We should not underestimate or overlook the power of the Lord's tender mercies.  The simpleness, the sweetness, and the constancy of the tender mercies of the Lord will do much to fortify and protect us in the troubled times in which we do now and will yet live."

 

I loved this the first time I heard it (years before Annie was born).  I love it even more today. 

 

His tender mercies are real.

 

I know that, for sure.

  

August 1, 2010

The phone was ringing and it was way too early for the phone to be ringing.  I knew what the caller ID said without even looking at it.  I knew it was the hospital.  With my heart in my throat, I answered the call.  I tried to listen carefully as the doctor on the other end explained what was happening to my daughter's swollen and oh-so-tired body.  I tried to hear her telling me details about blood gasses and IV access and kidney failure and on and on and on.  I tried to hear her, but my heart was breaking too loudly to hear much of anything.  I hung up and knew that it was over.

Our fight for her life was over.

For four months we had been waiting for and aching for some resolution, and now we would finally have it.  Not the answer that we hoped for, but an answer still.

Our little baby was not coming home to us.

She was going home to Him. 

We gathered our other children on our bed to share the news with them.  We wept as any family would.  Yes, we believe in eternal families.  But that doesn't mean that we don't mourn the loss of those we love, and we mourned deeply that morning.  I can still see it.  I can still feel it.  The truth is, I am still mourning her.  I think we all are.

Cameron and I left for the hospital and arranged for the kids to meet us later that morning.  We asked the older children if they wanted to be with us when we said goodbye.  They said yes.  My sister came to be with the little ones.

When they arrived, we huddled around Annie in that crib that had been a prison and a home to her for so many long months.  We cried.  We told her how very much we loved her.  We told her that we knew it was time for her to go to heaven and that we would be O.K.  Somehow, we would be O.K.

We prepared to do what we never thought we could.

Together, we removed every line and monitor from her bruised and broken body.  Together, we held her close while she took her final breaths and passed away. 

Together, we let her go. 

We held her lifeless body.  We dressed her in the blessing dress that would instead now be her burial dress.  We took handprints, and footprints and pictures. 

After some time, the mortician came.  I could not bring myself to hand her over to him just yet.  So, I asked if I could carry her to his car.  I think my request was unusual, but he said yes, so I wrapped her snug in a blanket, like I did all my babies when we left the hospital. Only this was nothing like leaving the hospital with my other babies.  I was led through back hallways and "employee only" elevators and through a parking garage that I had not known existed, to his waiting car.  He asked me to lay her on the front passenger seat.  I was taken aback that this was where he wanted me to place her, but I could not think of what a better alternative might be, so I obliged, and placed her in his car and finally in his care.  This man was so kind and patient with a grieving mom that was not making it easy for him to do his job the way he probably usually does his job.

We walked back to her room where we lingered for hours.  I think we didn't know how to leave and not come back tomorrow.  I think we were afraid to put every earthly piece of her life into a wagon and haul it to our car.  What then?  Put it in a box on a shelf?  What about tomorrow?  How were we going to wake up and not call to see how she did through the night?  How were we not going to drive to this hospital and walk through these doors in the morning, knowing that she would be here waiting for us?  How were we not going to feel her spirit (her spirit that had lived in this room for so long) every day for the rest of our lives?  How?

We did not know how.

The next several days were a blur.  I was amazed to see that life was still going on for the rest of the world. People were shopping and vacationing and enjoying the last of summer.  I was even more amazed to find that our lives were still going on.  We were living and breathing and making plans.  Yes, we were planning a funeral and a future without our baby.

But, we were living and breathing and planning.

And, here we are three years later.  We are getting really good at living and breathing and planning in her absence, but we have not forgotten her and we never will.  We will always miss Annie.

Sometimes I don't just mourn her, I mourn the person that I used to be.  That person didn't really know about loss.  That person didn't really know about suffering. That person didn't know what it is to be so broken and so helpless to fix it.

I'm a different person for sure. 

In my broken state, I have learned something that maybe I could never have learned another way.  I have learned how much I really need a Savior.  I have learned how much I need and want to be saved from being broken.  I need Someone who can heal.  I need Someone who can carry.  I need Someone who can bind a heart and hold a family together across forever.

I need Him.

We all do.

He Is The Reason

Annie would have been three today.

She would have played with her cousins at the family party this afternoon.

She would have hunted for eggs and eaten way too much candy.

She would have an Easter dress lying out for church tomorrow; one that matched her sisters.

She would have blown out the candles on her birthday cake and we would all be eating her favorite flavor of ice cream tonight.

The pink balloons that we sent to heaven last night would, instead, be all over our house.

She would have snuggled up with our family to watch a movie tonight.

She would have been three...

We all miss her so much.  A couple of months ago, I found this note that Ellie had drawn/ written:

As evidenced by this sweet note, Annie is never far from our thoughts and hearts.  She is very much a part of our every-day family life and always will be.  I love that her birthday is on Easter weekend this year.  It feels so perfect to celebrate the life of our daughter today and the life of our Savior tomorrow... to celebrate them together.   It is perfect because He is the reason that we can celebrate her.  He is the reason that I didn't cry ALL day today.  He is the reason that we can move forward with hope and happiness in our lives, knowing that someday, she will be with us again.  It is perfect to celebrate them together this weekend, but, in truth, we always celebrate them together. 

Because He lives, she will too. 

He is The Reason.

Fullness

This weekend, as we listened to General Conference, several messages touched my heart, but none quite like this one:

 

 

"Remember, as you attended the funeral of your loved one, the feelings in your heart as you drove away from the cemetery, and looked back to see that solitary casket, wondering if your heart would break?...

 

  

"I testify that, because of Him, even our Savior, Jesus Christ, those feelings of sorrow, loneliness and despair will one day be swallowed up in a fullness of joy."

Elder Shayne M. Bowen

 

 

 

In my journey with Annie, I have become acquainted with sorrow, loneliness and even, (during her last few weeks with us) despair.  There are no words to describe how anxious I am to experience the fullness of joy that will one day be mine when I have this angel back in my arms again, and our family is finally and forever together. 

 

I'll be missing her till then.

 

 

 

 

Running for Annie

In the weeks after Annie died, Cameron and I started running a bit.  I don't consider myself to be a runner by any stretch of the imagination, but I thought that it might be good therapy for both of us.  Way back then, we talked about the idea of possibly running a 10K and dedicating it to Annie.  One night, after a late run, we sat in the dark on the front lawn and set a goal to someday run from our home, to her grave, and back (approximately 7 miles round trip).  At the time, my longest run was 2.5 miles and to run seven seemed impossible.  Winter came, I stopped running, and those goals faded.

More than a year passed before I again started to seriously consider running for Annie.  I knew that running was not my favorite thing, but I couldn't help but feel that it would be neat to do something hard, something really hard, in honor of my daughter who did unbearably hard things every minute of every day of her life.  I know there is no comparison between running a race and living with and dying from heart defects.  I really know that.  But, it still felt like a good idea, and I couldn't help but think that Annie would be proud of her mom.  I committed to run a 10K.  Then, with some coaxing from friends, I changed my mind and decided to do a half marathon.  13.1 miles.  Unthinkable at the time.  But I set the goal, I paid the entry fee for the race,  I loaded my ipod with every song that reminded me of Annie (as well as plenty that would motivate me to run faster) and I went to work.

I started running again.

I ran 2 miles.  Then 3.  Then 4. 

One early morning, I left my house and about a mile into my run, I decided that this would be the day that I would run to Annie's grave.  Instead of taking my usual route, I changed my course and headed towards the cemetery.  It was a beautiful morning.  I reached the cemetery just as the sun was coming over the mountains.  Realizing that I was finally accomplishing a goal that I had set so long ago, I wiped the tears from my eyes, blew my daughter a kiss and ran home.  From that day on, all my long training runs included passing by Annie's grave and blowing her a kiss.  I didn't look forward to running every day, but some days it was just what I needed.  Often, I could feel Annie close, and the memories of my time with her were part of every single run. 

Race day came early.  3 o'clock in the morning early.  Cameron and I got very little sleep that night, but arrived in time to load the busses along with the thousands of others that would be running the race with us.  The bus drove us up the canyon to the starting line where we waited in the dark for the race to begin.  At 6 am we started running.  My only goal for that day was to run the entire time (no walking) and enjoy it as much as possible.

It was difficult.  There were moments when I really wanted it to be over (especially miles 10 and 11) but, I did it! My race time is nothing to brag about, but I did it.  The best part, hands down, was the final stretch to the finish line.  My whole heart was with Annie and this was a really emotional experience for me.  Something I will never forget.

I don't know if I will run another race, but I'm so glad I ran this one.

Love you, Annie.

Annie's Headstone

Annie's headstone was finally placed last week on the day before Mother's Day.  I was not expecting it until the end of the month and was so happy that they finished it early.  It took us so long to finalize our plans for her bench because I wanted it to be perfect.  Thanks to our neighbor and friend, who helped us to design it, I couldn't be happier with how it turned out.  Thanks to all who made it possible!