D U H !

It's of note, isn't it, that God knows what He's doing?  Remarkable, really. 

When I first found out about Ivan, I thought the task impossible.  I prayed with my wet face buried in the carpet of my living room floor for relief.  I wanted God to take him then.  I thought it would kill me to watch my son die in my own arms.  And then as I prayed, my wails turned to laughter.  A real, deep belly laugh. A thought had been whispered to me and it went like this:  Maybe God knows better than you do, Alana.  I don't know why I thought that was so funny.  I was laughing, I guess, at my own pride.  It's like that was the first moment in my entire life I really understood God is God.  And so God knows better than I do, right?!  Because He's like...God!

It was maybe the first time I felt real humility.  To compare my will to His was laughable.  Just plain ol' country funny.  Like someone had just told me a great joke.  I knew then my will is NOTHING.  The humble surrender felt sublime and brought great relief.  I laughed.  And sobbed. And laughed.  I handed it all over to my loving Heavenly Father in that moment and decided to trust Him because remember... He's like...God!

D U H !

I also knew in that moment that Ivan would be born full term and I would get to meet him.  I just knew.  I'm so thankful my Heavenly Father loves me and all of us enough to let us suffer.  He is good and will turn our sadness to joy, the bitter to sweet if we let Him.

Ivan's Gifts

For this photo of Brandon carrying that little box... I have no words.

Okay, so I'm Alana and I always have words and usually lots of them:  The man in this photo looks like he's being crushed by the actual, albeit unseen, weight of the world and it breaks my heart.

Ivan brought our family so many gifts, I don't know where to start.  Among them, a sweet spirit in our home and especially between me and Brandon.  There is something about standing next to a man and dressing the baby you share for burial that makes it very hard to ever  be unkind to him again.  I still can be jerk, but like I said, it's much harder. ;)

I've been a terrible wife for a lot of our marriage.  I always hated the wife I was, not the husband Brandon was.  It is an ongoing internal struggle for me but I really started to make some good changes a few years ago.  My progress has been slow, almost imperceptible.  But I've never given up.  I think about the last 10 years and it feels good to honestly say I'm a much better wife than I was when we started out. 

Brandon is perfect.  No, really.  That isn't some figure of speech or an exaggeration.  It's explicitly true.  Okay, he leaves socks on the floor and stuff like any other human being but what I mean is:  He's sinless!  He's never said an unkind word to me.  Like, literally not once.  He's never said an unkind word about anyone.  He has not a hint of idleness.  He has no passions to be bridled... no anger, no lusts.  The man doesn't even eat if he's not hungry.  He'll be all, "No, I don't want dessert, I'm not hungry."  Who eats dessert because they're hungry?  I cannot find his fallen man.  I see no flesh mouldering in corruption.  I call him The World's Last Good Man.

All my cruelty towards Brandon in our early years was because of my own dysfunction.  It has taken me a long time to accept the fact that Brandon loves me.  And an even longer time to be at peace with the fact that the way he shows his love and affection is not the way I show my love and affection.  Ivan's gift was dashing to pieces that last bit of viciousness I had yet to shake.

Ivan's gifts have been many. He boxed up love, compassion, gratitude, sweetness, even eternity itself...tied it up with a pretty little bow and left.  He's helping us to become an eternal family.


And since I hope my blog will eventually start to lay off all the death and coffins and stuff, I leave you with an image of what I think Brandon will look like when he is an exalted man, or the angel he already is...  He's totally gonna be Thor!!!

Slightly less God-of-Thunder, maybe.  Lose the hammer but keep the long hair and beard and intensity and glory.  Are you seeing it too? 

Don't Worry. This Has Happened Before.

The above is something my nephew said to my daughter when he was only six years old.  My daughter was having a meltdown over something-  I don't even remember what.  He calmed her by saying, "Don't worry.  This has happened before."  He told her, "This happens to everyone."

His little comment has stuck with me.  It calms my meltdowns.  For everything I've had to go through, someone else has done it before and will do it again.  There is great peace in accepting life is supposed to be hard.  There is peace in recognizing the nature of the beast.  I don't know why we act so surprised by death.  It's as common as birth!  I knew after my Dad and brother died, there would eventually be someone else joining them.  Thankfully, though, we never know who.

I am part of a private group on facebook for moms and dads of anencephaly babies.  I also met with a girl in town who went through this six months ago.  Talking with others who have gone down the same path has brought me immense comfort and strength.  When I was getting close to delivery,  I panicked a time or two with the horror of having to watch my baby die in my own arms.  But then I thought about the others who had braved the same thing and survived it (even found peace in it) and I was lifted up.  I thought if they could do this, maybe, just maybe I could.

I'm not the first Mama to lose a baby and I certainly won't be the last.  My experience is uniquely mine but not unique.  Death is not unique. I can feel the strength of all the Mamas gone before me.

If we're lucky enough to be around for a while, we'll all lose people we love.  This thought doesn't depress me.  It comforts me.  Death is normal.  Don't worry, I tell myself,  this has happened before. 

Love Wins

To:  My Body
The milk.  It seems to me a really low blow.  Is there no system override when my mind knows my sweet babe is not here?

To:  My Dad
When you died, I just couldn't believe you had food in your fridge.  And fresh fruit on your counter.  I wore your slippers, sat in your chair and ate your chocolate pudding.  I couldn't comprehend that you had just been here.  Just days before.  You were actually on earth, had gone to Wal-Mart and picked out fruit!  And it was still fresh.  This was proof you were close when you were gone.  Inevitably, though, the time came to empty your freezer, box up your books, lock the door and turn in the key.

To:  My Sweet Baby
My milk is gone now.  It was painful while it was here but it was proof you were close.  That you had actually been with me for nearly one year.  That I really did hold your warm body against my chest and hear your sweet voice talk to me.  No one can stop this arrow of time.  I can't slow it down.  I hate these days passing.  I want you to be close.  Please stay close to me always.  Let me feel you close.



I've been thinking of the instincts a mother has.  Even animals are driven beyond their own control to fiercely protect and nurture their young.  I understand now the aching arms.  Everything in me wants to hold my baby and take care of him.  The fact that he is in a box in the ground is a very disturbing nightmare, the ones you wake up from to find your baby still sleeping in your arms.  I keep getting a panicked feeling, similar to the few seconds you can't locate your child at the park or in a mall.

For so long, I knew exactly where Ivan was.  I knew he was safe and warm in my belly, spirit and body together.  And now I just want to know exactly where he is.  I know he is safe and with God but I feel like I've lost him.  I feel terrible I couldn't fix him and make him well.  Every cell in my body is wandering, looking for my baby.  Every bit of me aches to hold him.  I wander the house, full of the energy and adrenaline that keeps you awake nursing those first months, not knowing what to do with myself next. 

And then yesterday I remembered that my baby loves me back.  When I am empty, I let that love flow between us.  I send some to him and he sends some to me.  It fills me up.  Love wins.  I'm so happy he is my son!  I'm so happy to have had him here with me.  I miss him.
 

I love this picture my midwife took.  It captures the intense love and happiness we felt when we finally got to meet Ivan, Brandon's eyes wet all at once with happy and sad.  A volunteer from NILMDTS came and took professional photos which I should have in several weeks and am very much looking forward to seeing.

March 5th, 2013

We drove the kids up to Zion today.  We just had to get out of the depressing house and try to make the kids feel normal.  They really needed our attention.  I told Anika when someone dies, families need a lot of time together to give each other extra love.  I have felt like I don't want to leave Brandon's side, even to go downstairs alone. We really needed today to be together, close together.  And to rest.

We drove through the Zion tunnel.  Anika thought that was great fun.  It was nice to see her enjoying herself.  When  you come out of the black tunnel, the light seems blinding. We parked in the campground and walked down to the river to let the kids throw rocks in it.  The sun was so bright, I could hardly see.  I hadn't felt the sun soak my skin for a very long time... or I was just too sick to notice.  It feels weird, unrecognizable to not be sick.  I haven't thrown up since I was in labor, standing over the toilet vomiting up cranberry juice while simultaneously peeing all over the floor.

Sitting there on the west bank of the Virgin River, I felt like I had just split the Red Sea, wandered in the wilderness for forty years, crossed the River Jordan and was sitting on its west bank...The Promised Land.  I was resting with my family in the crimson-bright light.  How beautiful, I thought, will it be when we walk where the pain ends and into the light.  Into the arms of everyone we've ever known and loved.  How beautiful to be missing no one.  The sweet will be sweet only because we have tasted the bitter.  The joy will be joy only because we have known the pain. 

March 4th, 2013

Dearest Ivan,

The day you were born was the day the sky changed from a winter sky into a spring sky.  We buried you today, the day the spring winds came.  The grass was half green, the trees hinting of pollen.  I imagined myself as a wrinkled old woman, still wearing your golden ring around my neck.  Dozens of springs lie ahead of me.  Thousands of days.  I will long to hold you and kiss your sweet cheek each and every one of them.  Like the world in winter, seemingly dead, you lie dormant.  But I know you live.  I know we will be together again.  I know you're looking down on us, my sweet angel.  I miss you.  I love you.

Love,
Your Mama