Not Lost. But gone nonetheless

6 weeks. 3 days. You realize life never really stops. I don't even really tear up anymore when I tell people my baby is dead. I stopped saying "lost" because I know where Everett is. And people assume I had a miscarriage if they didn't know I was pregnant. And somehow, dead sounds more... Real. More. Solid. Lost is a big misnomer when it comes to babies dying. Or anyone, for that matter. Because you lose your keys, and you find them. You lose your temper and regret it. You lose your weight (and usually find it). You lose a game and play another. "Lose" just doesn't have the sting that "my baby died" does. And, if you haven't noticed, I'm a reality facer. A cut the crap kinda girl. I'm not a fan of sugar coating. So why should I tell someone I lost my baby? I know where he is. And one day (maybe, in our limited vision/version of heaven) I'll find him again. But he isn't lost. He's dead.

He's dead.

We were in BJ's yesterday, surrounded by babies and Kipton kept reaching for them saying, "I want him". And I asked him if he missed his baby. Both boys said "Yeah. I miss him." Very sweet moment. Then I asked them where our baby was, and Kipton promptly replied,"We eat him". I laughed out loud and assured him we didn't eat the baby, the baby died. I gave him one of the picture cards I keep in my purse and he began to kiss, then eat it. At least I know why he thinks we ate the baby.

Because the biting truth of reality hits hard. And sometimes I almost have to be reminded. My baby is dead. Not lost. But gone nonetheless.

And all I have are pictures for comfort. And a teddy bear. Ok, I have 2. But anyway, the hole,this, void; It doesn't go away. It lingers and haunts. As we eat breakfast, I think about how much easier it is without an infant in the mix--and I want to throw up-- or at least
punch myself. HOW could I have just thought that?!?! Or getting ready for school? Or how would Aiden be reacting if there was a new baby in the house? Would he be so good? WOULD WE BE THIS CALM? I wonder if Kipton would be so happy, or if he would have remained aggressive as attention is drawn from him to a baby who needs Mommy even more than he does? And you wonder, are we a better family, in a better place, with a dead baby rather than a 6 week old? And you want to...throttle yourself for even considering it. But it's true. In a million ways, it's true. I'm sure that any family who has had 3 kids in 4 years would tell you it's hard. It's hard to manage it all. Pay for it all. Love each one as best as you can. It's hard. And maybe a little more time between babies would have made it a little easier. And if a mom is standing there, frazzled, exhausted, and chasing a 2 year old while holding an infant, and yelling at an almost 4 year old, it doesn't sound bad. It sounds honest. Reasonable. But a mom with a dead infant of 6 weeks, chasing a 2 year old, and yelling at a 4 year old, it sounds atrocious.

But it's true.

And we are so much better because of Everett in so many ways. We are better parents. Better, kinder disciplinarians (but firmer and more consistent). We are gentler. We are more loving. Less demanding. More playful. Less preoccupied. More intentional. Less "by default". We are the kind of parents I think our kids will be proud of. The kind that leave minimal scarring. The kind that recognize our shortcomings and try incredibly hard to correct them. The kind of parents that don't expect our kids to be something special, the kind that recognize they ARE something special. The kind of parents that are willing to forgo wealth in order to be truly family oriented-- home schooling (hopefully), weekends where Daddy is home-- not constantly gone, Mommy who will get in the bounce house with them. Parents who are lovingly, actively, intentionally involved in their kids' lives. And we know full well we aren't perfect, nor do we have good days everyday, but we know we are consciously parenting. Consciously looking for ways to improve ourselves and our parenting skills.

And it's true.
It is because of our dead son. Not sure we'd be here if Jan 10th 2012 was a very different day. Not sure we'd be as happy and peaceful if our lives had not been hijacked and shipwrecked. And it's a horrible, beautiful realization. That one little boy could do so much.

And keeps doing so much.

And yet....

I know every Thursday will be hard for a little while longer.
I know that life's demands keep coming.
I know I believe in a God who makes all things new.


And one day, new will mean whole. With no Everett sized void.

But until heaven is here, he will hold a large piece of my heart. For those 42 weeks, 6 days, and 3 1/2 hours will be the start of the life we said we wanted but were unwilling to fully work towards. Those 20 weeks of agonizing uncertanty opened our hearts to a fullness of God's unfailing, unconditional, all encompassing love-- despite our sin, our doubt, and fears. Those 6 days I wrestled and wrestled with control. Only to be reminded that I am not in control of anything. Those 3 1/2 hours of overwhelming joyous sorrow that left an emptiness in a post partum mother's arms and heart that cannot be filled, only appeased by a band-aid covered teddy bear. Those 3 1/2 hours that changed me and Keith for the better.