Hope

This message contains my greatest hope. I want to live with Jonah again. I want our family to be reunited. I want to hold his body and kiss his belly. Some may say it is a foolish thing to believe in, but it is a belief that gives me purpose and energy and fills my heart with love. So I will keep believing.

Weakness

I woke up this morning feeling weak. Jonah has been gone for two months today. I think I am still in denial. Sometimes when I type blog posts, or read books on grief, or talk to other grieving moms I have to remind myself why I am doing it, why it resonates with me. I have lost my only child. It is not that I ever forget that Jonah died, but sometimes it seems so unbelievable that my mind can't really comprehend it.

I can't seem to get out of bed in the morning. It takes me a while. Usually I read until my back hurts and then I'm so uncomfortable I get up. This morning I grabbed Stand a Little Taller by Gordon B. Hinckley, it has a scripture and thought for each day. I flipped to November 29 and read the following scripture from the Book of Mormon:

And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them. Ether 12:27

I have read this scripture many times. I always thought it applied to specific weaknesses. For example, if you are not good at public speaking, humble yourself, rely on God, and He will help you be a good public speaker. Although I think it can work that way, I have a new view of it's meaning.

In the last two months I have been shown my weakness. My mom had a heart attack over the weekend, my sister has five children and is getting divorced, my son died, my dear friend lost her baby at 20 weeks, and other members of my family are struggling. It is very clear to me that I possess very little control of the world around me. This lack of control has been very humbling. I realize that my weakness is not a singular character flaw, it is a state of being.

Many people have told me they are impressed that I have turned to God in my trials. My response is that I am too afraid to go it alone. I feel so vulnerable and defenseless, like anything could happen in life, and I really need help. I need to be strengthened. I feel stronger when I pray for help. I feel stronger when I read God's promises in the scriptures. I feel stronger when I go to church. I feel stronger when I attend the temple. I have turned to God because I want to feel strong again. Honestly, I don't know what else to do. So I try to be faithful, and believe that God's grace will help me feel strong, that my constant weakness will eventually become my constant strength, and that maybe some morning I will want to get out of bed.

The Blue Balloon

There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.
Albert Einstein

On October 21st my kind father-in-law, Mark, and his wife brought us this sweet blue balloon attached to a little blue pumpkin. It was such a lovely gift and reminder of Jonah.

Jonah absolutely loved balloons. At the grocery store he would spot balloons, then lean and steer Jordan over to see them. He wanted to touch them, pull on their strings, and try to taste them. We never left Harmon's without a balloon. On the day of his funeral we released 100 baby blue balloons for Jonah. I think he loved it!

To my surprise I woke up the day after the balloon arrived and it was still floating. What is the average life expectancy for a balloon? 1 or 2 days? We left town for 10 days, only to return to a perfect balloon floating high. 20 days later it was still floating. This blue balloon floated, without drooping at all, for a month!

This may seem silly to some people. Maybe you could explain it away as a fluke, amazing high float, a high quality balloon, etc... But to me it is a miracle. I think Jonah loved this gift from his Grandpa and kept his balloon floating! I like to think that he knew it would lift my spirits to see it floating and defying the odds every morning. In the end, how the balloon continued to float is irrelevant. Each day I saw the balloon I smiled, and that was a miracle.

I know that we have the opportunity to see miracles in our lives everyday. It is our choice to notice them or to explain them away. I have seen many small miracles in the past two months, and it has brought me happiness in the midst of heartbreak. This everlasting balloon is only one example, and it feels like a perfect gift from my beautiful boy, and his loving grandpa.

Ruby Jane

I have been thinking a lot lately about this beautiful family. I have never met the Taylors, but I love them. Their precious daughter Ruby Jane died in August while waiting for a liver transplant. She was 7 months old. I learned about their family while Ruby was in the hospital waiting for the perfect match. I was so moved by their story and their faith. I prayed that the right donor would be found, and I wept for Ruby's mother when I heard that she passed away.

Little did I know that I would lose my sweet boy only a few weeks later. As I held Jonah's beautiful body in the hospital a nurse gently asked if we wanted Jonah to be an organ/tissue donor. She told us he could still donate his heart valves, even though he had been deprived of oxygen. I immediately thought of Ruby. I thought of her beautiful family, and said "Yes."

It is an amazing feeling to know that your sorrow can be transformed into joy for another family. Ruby's story made a difficult choice easier for us. Her amazing parents are on a mission to raise awareness about organ/tissue donation. In their grief they have managed to find hope and ultimately save the lives of children and adults waiting for transplants. They are incredible examples to me.

You can learn more about Ruby and the facts about organ/tissue donation on their website. http://www.rubyjanefoundation.org/

If you live in California you can participate in their 1st annual Run for Ruby in January.

You can register to be an organ donor here.

Gratitude

Thanksgiving was a hard day. I thought it would be easier. I only had one Thanksgiving with Jonah. He was so little and I was so sleep deprived that I hardly remember it. His presence is not woven into my memory and nostalgia for the holiday and so I thought we would move through it just like any other day. I was wrong, it was so hard.

I realized that the heart of the holiday is not tradition, it is family. Even though I was surrounded with friends and family that I love, it was so evident that my family was not whole. Jonah was absent and my heart was with him. As I made conversation I could imagine myself chasing him up the stairs, or changing his diaper in the hallway. I wondered what food he would have gobbled up. I wished for the excuse to leave and put him down for a nap. Instead, I sat. I ate my food. I thought of something to be grateful for, and I tried not to cry.

When Jordan and I finally came home last night, we crawled into bed, talked about how hard the day was and said a prayer together. After we prayed I laid in bed thinking about gratitude. It is not necessarily hard for me to find things to be grateful for, it is just that the cumulative impact of all those good things only seems to make a small dent in the grief I feel. My health, Jordan, my home, Jordan's job, my family, good food... As I listed these things I remembered the last night I had with Jonah.

The night before Jonah died he woke up 3 or 4 times. This was unusual for him, and I had recently gotten used to sleeping through the night. Each time I got up with him I tried to figure out what was wrong. He wasn't teething. He had a dry diaper. He wasn't hungry. He wasn't grumpy, just awake. Each time I would hold him and kiss him and put him back to bed. The last time I got up with him it was about 4:00 am. Normally after the 3rd wake up I would have made him a bottle and given it to him in his crib, and gone back to bed. I was so tired, but I felt like I should hold him. I pulled him out of his crib, grabbed his blanket and sat in the recliner with him. He was wide awake. He laid on my chest for awhile, and then popped his head up and looked at me with the brightest eyes. He began to scoot off my lap like he was ready to play. I said "no, no, it is time to sleep, come here." I pulled him back on my lap and he smiled. Then he cuddled into me and laid his sweet head on my chest. Something inside me told me not to worry about sleep, and to enjoy holding my sweet boy. We laid together for a long time. I stroked his wispy hair and breathed in his little boy smell. When I finally put him down in his crib, he was still awake. He looked at me and I signed "I love you." Then he turned and snuggled into his blanket. This is one of my sweetest memories.

I am so grateful. I am grateful for the opportunity I had to be a mother, to be pregnant, to feel his life grow inside me. I am grateful that I was able to stay home with him and be with him every single day of his life. I am grateful that I tried to soak up every minute I had as his mother. I am grateful for the sacrifice of motherhood and how it tied my heart to his. I am grateful that I was with him the day he died, that I was the last face he saw, and that I could hold his hand as he left this life. I am so grateful for the sweet whisper of the spirit that told me to stay and enjoy my little boy one last night. Most of all I am grateful that I listened.