delighted to be

date night / april 15, 2013

Date nights have been far and few between around here. I think this is the first time since January that just Tyler and I have gone out alone. It’s just so easy to bring Jack along, you know? I think he would have done fine on our date night, but it was much more relaxing without him.

Before the BYU / Stanford volleyball game we went to dinner at Lyfe Kitchen, a mostly vegetarian/vegan place picked out by Tyler. It was nice to know I could get almost anything on the menu and it would be plant-based with lots of veggies. I got the quinoa crunch wrap, which I am going to attempt to duplicate in my own kitchen this week. We really love healthy, fresh food in our family, but sometimes it can be hard to find. I’m crossing my fingers that something similar to this place opens up near us soon, or I guess we’ll just have to move up to Palo Alto. ;)

Volleyball games seem twice as long when you have to sit down in a boring section.But the Stanford student section (see last photo) kept me amused the entire time. It was really fun to see everyone’s creative costumes – definitely not something that BYU students could pull off I think.

Thanks for the date, husband. May we get to hold hands again soon (without a toddler in-between).

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failures and faith / april 12, 2013

I’m finding that there’s a very fine balance between the love and the faith you have in your child.

Speech therapy evaluations & second opinions are anything but friendly. They have biting, sharp words that pierce even the toughest mama’s heart to the very core. Your child is behind, late, below average, poor. Those pages and pages of professional assessments all but tell me that my child is broken.

Part of me wants so badly to believe in Jack, to have faith in him that he’ll eventually get it. He’s young still! Her kid started talking late too, maybe Jack is just like her kid. But then again, the doctors tell me it won’t go away on its own. Who do I put my faith in, and is faith enough without works?

No matter how hard I try as a mama, apparently I’m just not good enough. No amount of repetition of the “m” or “c” sounds, or sounding out the words “more” and “milk” and “car” and “tree” seems to sink in. He points out flowers and trees and motorcycles on our stroller walks, but without his cute little pointer finger saying “there!” I’d be lost and confused.

It’s just hard not to feel like a failure of a mama when one of your kids is dead, and the other is approaching 2 1/2 and can’t even communicate with words clearly. It’s hard not to feel like a failure of a mama when you feel like you can’t create a child without a fatal flaw.

A tear rolled down my cheek in the car this morning when Jack combined two words to say, “see bus!” I started bawling, right there at the stop light, so happy for that little tender mercy. And there are more of them – many more of them – every single minute of every single day.

I am true to what little faith I do have, and we’ve begun the works to go with it. And as faith and works are working hand in hand together, we’re already seeing tiny mercies and progress. May they keep on coming, because I need them desperately.

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calmer seas / april 8, 2013

It’s always a solemn, quiet drive to the cemetery and back. It’s funny how awkward a fifteen minute drive can seem when you sit there in silence.

We don’t go very often, but I’ve been trying to visit her more. For so long I tried to block her out of my thoughts and feelings, because remembering means crying.

I don’t like to cry.

I feel like I was doing really good for a while. And I’m still doing fine – recovering, but fine. Every once in a while there are waves of emotion that hit me hard in the chest and knock me over for a few days. Then I get back up and block it out again until the next wave overcomes me. I’m learning to live in this rough ocean, but I long to go back to the calmer seas I once knew.

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dear amelia lynn, / april 3, 2013

Amelia Lynn,

I caught your brother dragging Bunny Amelia by the ears this morning, and told him to knock it off because he would hurt her. He gave Bunny Amelia kisses instead, and gently stroked her belly.

I caught your brother giving rides to Bunny Amelia this morning on his little red bumper car. He made sure she knew how to make the horn go “beep beep!” and how to make the car go “boing!” when you run it into the couch. He kept checking to see if Bunny Amelia was having as much fun as he was.

I caught your brother trying to put shoes and socks on Bunny Amelia this morning, so she could come to the post office with us. He was so sad when I showed him they didn’t fit her.

Amelia, your brother loves you. Somewhere deep down in that tiny toddler body of his, he knows you still exist. I bet he’s confused when we “go visit Amelia”, and wind up at the cemetery. It breaks my heart that he tries to hard to bond with Bunny Amelia, but she can’t bond back like you could have.

I don’t know why you were taken from us so soon. I don’t know why Heavenly Father felt like you needed to only come to earth for two short days. Sometimes it’s hard to keep a happy face when I don’t have you here in my arms like other mamas do.

I was okay for a while, Amelia. I put on a brave face and tried to move on the best I knew how. But lately the would-have-been milestones are hard to think about. Seven month olds sit up on their own, don’t you know? Seven month olds eat vegetables and fruits and crunchy cereals. Seven month olds babble and play peek-a-boo and throw rattles at their brothers. Seven month olds give wet, open-mouthed kisses. Where are my kisses, Amelia?

Someday soon enough, I’ll get my chance to be a mama again. But nothing will ever fill the empty, gaping hole in my heart you left. Nothing comes close to being you, Amelia.

And for that, I’m a little bit angry. I’m a little bit upset, and I’m a little bit hurt.

This permanent ache in my chest just can’t be soothed, and it’s downright frustrating. I feel like my arms are destined to remain empty.

Until we meet again, my darling daughter, my heart is yours. Save some kisses and babbles and smiles for me.

xoxo, Mama

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