Hannah's Heartstrings

Grief is a strange thing. It is not as linear as the "stages of grief" chart might suggest. Its a lot more like waves that never really stop. You might think you're through it, but the moment you do, something comes out of nowhere and reminds you of it all over again.

I was supposed to be 40 weeks pregnant today.

I should have been nesting, cleaning, meal prepping, and washing tiny baby clothes this week. I should have been making final plans with my midwife, and arranging care for my toddler. But none of those things needed done. Instead, I just trudged through a normal week of days spent keeping my kid occupied, and waiting for my husband to come home. Instead, I have dealt with whacky hormones and annoying hair loss that only serves to remind me that I am postpartum without a baby in my arms.

I missed the six month mark due to being out of town and occupied. June 17th came and went without fanfare, but it actually hurt a lot once I realized I had missed it. I had paused on the 17th of each month since December to cry a little, pray, and just take a moment to honor my baby. But I missed the sixth month. Perhaps because I was so focused on the fact that the same month I would be acknowledging that it had been six months since I miscarried, it would also be the month I was due to give birth to the baby I'd lost. I don't know if you'd call that irony or not, but it felt significant to me.

It's been a rough week, not just because of my due date, but for reasons all seeming to come from the same theme. I've tried to take care of and be gentle with myself. I have been learning a lot about trapped emotions lately and how they effect the body physically, so I have been careful not to bury things or suppress big emotions. Even still, this is hard to express.

Like I said, grief is a strange thing. It is filled with such a range of emotions. Sadness, loss, failure, anger. You never quite know what you're going to get.

Once I knew my miscarriage was complete that day, I was filled with an overwhelming feeling that I can only describe as a sense of finality. The violence that I experienced from my body left me with nothing but an ending. It was so completely final. I felt like I was standing there utterly empty handed. I've only experienced that a few times in my life, with the losses of friends or after heartbreaking experiences.

Endings are hard. Even if the end is good, there's still a sense of loss and nostalgia for what once was. I am still in the midst of this ending. I know that there will be new beginnings eventually, but knowing that doesn't always bring as much comfort as it's supposed to. I know a lot of things that people generally think should negate the pain. I know that I am grateful to have one child already, that my baby is in heaven waiting for me, and that I will probably have another baby eventually. But that doesn't make it any easier.

And you know what? It's ok. 

The Bible says that we do not sorrow as those who have no hope (1 Thess. 4:13), but it does not say that we don't sorrow at all. It's ok to mourn and grieve and feel big, deep things. We don't have to pretend that the loss doesn't hit us hard simply because there's so many other things to be grateful for. We don't have to heal on anyone's timeline, or "be ok" because not being ok makes people uncomfortable.

Our God is truly faithful, and He does carry us through the worst of storms and battles. He doesn't push us to "be ok," but points us toward himself as the ultimate source of peace and healing.

So today, on the day I would have been expecting my baby to be born, I am resting and writing, crying and praying, singing and being still. I took my toddler out for an ice cream date, and am spending time reflecting on all the joy he brings to my life, as well as all the love I've received over these last six months from so many people.

Grief is big and real. Its heavy and takes time to process. Trust the process and the One who created it. Don't rush, don't be ashamed of it, and don't make excuses for it.

If you are going through something that fills your heart with grief, please remember the biggest and most important thing: you are never alone.

***

(Photo of the little wooden box that we buried the tiny earthly body of our baby in last December. I will always be grateful for the 12 weeks that I got to be this little one's mama.)

On November 9, 2017, I began writing this post, tears streaming down my face as I typed. It has taken me a while to be able to come back and finish it. 

***

I've been awake for hours. I'll blame it on pregnancy, even though this sort of thing just seems to happen every now and then. Its ok, honestly, because even though it leaves me incredibly tired, it usually means I get to spend a little time with my husband before he goes to work for the next twelve hours, or I get some "alone time" to reflect in the quiet before Titus wakes up. Both of which have happened this morning.

There have been lots of thoughts swirling in my mind in these early hours. I'm looking forward to Fellows Family Thanksgiving this weekend, and getting to see our Canadians. There's food prep to think about. In the spirit of Thanksgiving, I'm quite grateful that I figured out how to transition Titus into sleeping through the night.

But everything pales in comparison to the two overriding themes currently presiding over our family.

There is a new baby growing in my belly.

And our Grandma is dying.

There is such a dichotomy of happy and sad in our hearts right now. We are rejoicing in the home going of a dear 94-year-old saint, a woman who has brightened every life she's touched, all while mourning the end of her beautiful life and dealing with the heartbreak of seeing her mortal body suffer through its decline.

We are also completely thrilled at the new life joining us next year, but sad that he or she will never get to know this amazing person nearly everyone simply called Grandma.

Watching someone go through the end of their life while beginning someone else's life inside me is such a humbling experience. To be this close to both the beginning and the end of creation...it's something quite holy.

We keep saying it won't be long.

It won't be long before I have this precious baby in my arms. It won't be long before I get to go through birth again and Titus gets to be a big brother.

It won't be long before Grandma is home in glory, seeing the husband she hasn't seen in thirty years, her family and friends who've gone before her, and most of all, the Savior she has loved for nearly a century.

There are tears. Lots of tears. And comfort food and comfort pants, thanks to my indescribably amazing sister-in-law, Amy. We are all rallying to support and love each other. Its deep. Its meaningful. Titus brings joy with his infectious toddler energy, and I recount the most recent wonders  of how my miraculous baby is growing to the size of a blueberry this week.

One of the most incredible things to watch during this time has been my mother-in-law taking care of her mother-in-law. I watch her in complete awe sometimes. What love it is that compels a person to take care of someone else so tenderly and intimately! Her tireless attention, generous spirit, and deep, deep kindness makes me hope that I can be even half the woman she is. There are few things in this world that I have seen more admirable than this.

***

Now, two months later...

Life and death surely have collided, but not in the way we were expecting.

Based on what I wrote earlier in this post, Grandma should be in Heaven, and I should be close to 17 weeks pregnant.

But she isn't. And I'm not.

Grandma has somehow hung on to her threads of life for two more months, rising and falling from week to week, and surprising us greatly with her longevity. She has even managed to outlive a friend who was nearly 15 years younger.

And I lost my sweet, tiny baby. I've never experienced a miscarriage before, and hope with all my heart I never have to again. I was 12 weeks along, but the baby was no bigger than 6-8 weeks, so very well may have been gone already when I began began this post, or shortly after.

I miscarried a week before Christmas. Nothing could have prepared me for the process, the grief, the pain, and the confusion of such an ordeal. I am so grateful for the love and support that has carried me through this last month, some of which has come from places I never expected.

This is not going to be a post about how God's ways are higher than our ways, or how He always has a plan. I don't believe that's how God works with us today. I don't believe He micromanages our lives in ways we cannot understand (and I don't want to have any doctrinal debates with anyone over this, so please don't even start).

What I am here to say is that sometimes, life is horrible. We live in a fallen world, where beautiful souls linger in bedridden old age far longer than they want to, and where babies die before they get to live a life. Its horrible. It hurts. It is unexplainable and unfair. The answer to our agonized question of "Why?" is simply that life happens in the worst ways sometimes.

But we do not sorrow as those who have no hope (1 Thessalonians 4:13). We are grateful that this world is not our home, and we look forward to better days in Glory. We know that we have peace no matter what happens, and that God comforts our hearts and gives us the strength we need to get through the worst things life throws at us. He doesn't leave us unprotected. He builds us up in our hearts through His word, giving us wisdom and courage to persevere even when we don't want to.

God did not take my baby so that I could learn some valuable lesson, and He is not leaving Grandma here in pain and confusion for some unknown purpose. But He is loving us, comforting us, and teaching us how to live through tragedy so that we may help others going through the same thing. He does not bring about the pain so that He may teach us, but rather can use it to help us learn when it happens.

This new year is looking different than I thought it would. Right now, instead of looking forward to the halfway point of my pregnancy, I'm healing my body from a traumatic experience, managing deep anxiety, and hoping in the near future to try again for a new baby. And we are still waiting to celebrate Grandma's home going.

Life is crazy, and amazing, and unexpected. And we look to the future with hope and a joy in our hearts that cannot be quenched.


(It doesn't matter to me if you agree or not, and I'll reiterate that my Biblical beliefs are not up for debate. If you have found comfort in some other belief, then good for you. I've spent enough time arguing and studying to know where I stand and right now, I don't need to hash it out again with someone just looking for a fight. Thanks but no thanks.)

Life is always interesting.

I ended up crashing with a cold that has been circulating Kyle's family since July. Took its good old time getting to me, but alas it caught up to me and thankfully I had the weekend off to fight the worst of it.

I do have a point to saying this, other than just complaining. I have noticed over the past few months that I have the tendency to bruise easily. Like, really easily. Doesn't take much of a bump to give me a nasty looking bruise. So I read up on that, and it turns out that one of the main causes of bruising easily is a lack of Vitamin C. Which explains a lot since, with my diet the way it is, I eat very little fruit. I try to drink lots of lemon water and eat plenty of carrots and other veggies, but I guess maybe its just hard to take the place of stuff like apples and oranges?

Well, over the weekend I started taking a powdered Vitamin C supplement. I really upped my intake of it to try to kill the bad sicky germ in me. It helped that cause, but I also noticed that within about 48 hours of upping my Vitamin C intake by supplement, two good sized bruises on my leg had completely disappeared.

So that proves that theory! Now the challenge will be how to get more Vitamin C in me without always taking a supplement. Hmm...

This weekend was made even more interesting by my husband breaking his collar bone on Sunday. Yep. snapped it clean in two. Makes my stomach turn every time I think about it. So after a quick trip to the ER, he will be spending the next six weeks in a back/shoulder sling and learning how to do almost everything with his left arm.

Being the health nut that I am, I instantly got him started him two homeopathic remedies, rubbed him with arnica gel and even got him to let put French Green Clay on the spot where its broken once so far to help with inflammation and to try to draw the bones back together. My mom reminded me that homeopathic remedies are the only natural medicines that do not interfere with conventional medication, since the doctor gave him some Motrin and Vicodin to help with the pain. I'm not sure yet if what I'm doing is helping any, but its neat to try and I'm thankful he's willing to let me experiment on him!

And now for the best part. I've reinvented Dandy Candy.

Dandy Candy originally came from the La Leche League's "Whole Foods for the Whole Family" cookbook. The old one. I don't believe its in the new one. But its one of the best, easiest treats and kids always love making it. It basically consists of peanut butter, powdered milk and honey, and then you could roll it into balls and add whatever sort of additions you liked. stick them in the fridge and BANG. Dessert. Or breakfast. Or lunch.

But lately I've been missing such delicacies. Since honey and powdered milk are out of the question, I decided to come up with something better. And boy, did I ever! I have created the best possible treat in the whole world.

100% vegan, gluten free, soy free, sugar free, grain free, non-chocolate, no caffeine, dairy or eggs. What more could you want?

Pictures, letters, cards. Notes of things that were important to a teenager. Writings. Declarations of who I was becoming.

The past twenty-two years of my life can fit into one solitary brown box. If needed, my life could fit into a mid-sized suitcase. Yes, there are some unnecessary things…I could scale down much further. But I keep them because I can, because I am not forced to do without them.
I am very sentimental. Too much for my own good. I keep things I should have gotten rid of years ago. A green Skittles bag? Well, it was a limited edition one with Princess Leia on it from the re-release of the first three Stars Wars films. Bits of papers with scribbles on them? Oh yes, those were from my dear little friends when they were first learning how to write. They are now graduating from high school. Ticket stubs? That was from when my Dad took me to see the Nutcracker Ballet. And that shoebox full of letters? Don’t you dare touch that…that is every letter from the past 11 years sent to me by my dearest Canadian girlfriend. The smaller boxes? Well, one holds dried flowers that my uncle sent me on my sixteenth birthday. The other holds all my baby teeth. Yes. Teeth.

I spent most of yesterday going through my boxes. I had, oh, five or six of them. I’m down to one. There were some things that were simply not necessary to save anymore. Some things I never want to part with. Letters and pictures that remind me of a simpler time. The calendar who’s biggest event was my friend getting her first puppy. The scrawled out note of a six-year old thanking me for teaching her the Cat’s Cradle game. The only drawing I have left from a little boy who bruised my ten-year-old heart…the one drawing that escaped my anger and did not get thrown away…the drawing that reminds me never to hold a grudge, because that little boy grew up to be one of the best men I know. There’s the cards and letters from a girl I grew up with…letters dated just a year or two before she was killed in a car accident.

Some things I did release from my grasp. Some things didn’t hold as much sentimental value as they originally did. Other things I was glad to be rid of. Little by little, letting go of things I regret, words I said that shouldn’t have been spoken, people I let in that I should have showed more caution to. Releasing their hold on me. Telling myself its okay, and that even when it hurt, I learned something. God gave me the strength to handle it, the grace to get through it, and now its time to move on and do something new.
Some things brought laughter. Most were quickly followed by tears. Some things brought anger and a feeling of defeat over remembering friendships that were, and are no more. Things I can’t fix, even though I try. Life I can’t go back to, even if I wanted.

There are things I have said and shouldn’t have. There are things I haven’t said, and should have.
But what kind of life do I have if I just sit here regretting and wishing over what was? If I focus on the bad I wish hadn’t have happened, then I miss all the beauty that did. And if I worry about the bad of the present and future, I miss all the beauty that is.

This is what life is all about. Seeing and enjoying every little bit of beauty, living with our eyes wide open, and praising God for all of it. We have nothing to live for if we do not have God. Our lives are purposeless and empty, not matter what we try to fill them up with.

God has the amazing ability to make everything beautiful. Even pain. “…My strength is made perfect in weakness…” God’s grace and love turns tears into smiles.

If this isn’t exciting, then we are doing it wrong. There is so much beauty for us to see here. Sometimes we just have to look for it. We have to stop, breathe and absorb.

There was that little boy that pulled himself up on the countertop where I work and looked right at me and said “I love you!” A little boy I’ve never seen and may never see again, but his sweet little words will touch my heart forever.

There’s the sweet sound of my boyfriend’s voice spanning an ocean, and the numbers in my calendar book that tell me he’s almost home.

There’s the friend I’ve never met, sending me a note just to tell me she’s thinking about me.

The baby of a life-long friend about to be born.

My brother telling me how much he misses me.

My mom bringing me home cashews and avocados because she knows I like them.

Finally being old enough to tease my dad without it sounding disrespectful.

The way my heart beats.

The things that make me smile.


I don’t want to miss a moment.

I am weird in more ways than one, but I am weird for a good reason. It has taken me two years to get to where I am now and you couldn’t pay me to turn around and go the opposite way. I enjoy this sane, peaceful, balanced and almost powerful feeling way too much to go back.

I am many things…gluten-free, corn-free, blood-type-diet-follower (for the most part) and vegetarian (ovo-vegetarian to be precise). I am also an herb freak, somewhat of a hippie, and I strive to eat organic. We won’t go into me conservative-homeschooler-ness just now; my odd eating habits are enough to keep anyone amused. :)

This wasn’t just some off-the-wall decision. I was not influenced by peer pressure or religiosity. This was 100% based on the health of my body, the sanity of my mind, and the gripping fears of my heart.

This is the whole story. Chronologically, in the best detail as I can remember, here is what happened:

Sometime around 2001-02: I began experiencing “twitches”. At first they were just annoying; I would jump involuntarily, my eyes would flutter and I would lose concentration for a moment, particularly in the morning sunlight. I just ignored for quite a while.

July 2009: Part of my family and I were planning on going to Tennessee for the weekend. The day before we left, I ate a ton of microwave popcorn (which we didn’t attribute to my problems until much later). The morning we were supposed to leave, my dad had an asthma attack. I woke up at 4am, thinking we were going to be late leaving, and found out my dad was sick so we couldn’t go. For all reasons considered (early morning, popcorn the night before, upset, and bad time of the month for me), I experienced what my mom called a “petite mal seizure”.
There began the long haul of finding out what was wrong with me. I praise God every day that my parents did not take me to the hospital that night. If they had, I would have been put on medication and would now be dealing with being a “vegetable”.

August 2009: I had some incentive to figure out what my problems were, because I intended on taking a trip to Colorado with my brother for a homeschool reunion. So by my mother’s advice, I went gluten-free. Unfortuately that was only the tip of the iceberg. I ate some things I shouldn’t have during the trip and did experience some twitching.

October 2009: A couple weeks before another homeschool trip, this time planned with friends, I woke up in the middle of the night and experienced another seizure. In the morning after, I woke up with no recollection of what happened except for the very beginning. The skin around my eyes was covered in broken blood vessels, and my tongue was bruised on the end. It took me nearly a week to recover. This time I figured out two things: I was extremely sensitive to corn and I was made worse when people coddled and doted over me.

February 2010: My family discovered “The Blood Type Diet”. Since my parents knew their types, my siblings and I got tested to find out ours and we gave it a shot. It made the most sense we’d ever heard. And what did we have to lose? Feeding my blood sounded crazy, but it was worth the try. I was willing to try almost anything.
I noticed marked improvement with my struggles, but even more incredible was that my dad’s asthma decreased almost 100% in three days.

I focused on “doing the diet” for the next year. During that time, we discovered the methylcobolamin form of vitamin B-12. My dad took it for energy and his asthma, initially. Then one day I took it and felt immensely better. It has since become my life saver and best friend. :)
I still experienced minor “twitchings”, but mostly during my time of the month, either the week before, during, or the week after. So long as no one paid attention to me (make me upset or nervous), I was generally okay. This was hard because my family worried about me and wanted to help me. It was hard for them to understand that the only was to help me was by not helping me.

So a year passed as I added, removed and discovered many things in my food life. It was about 50-50 split between rewarding and frustrating. I would jump for joy at finding something I could eat or after having a particularly good month. And I would cry in anger and fear during a bad time when I couldn’t control my twitches and couldn’t figure out what else to do.

I prayed everything I could think of; “God, please heal my body!” “Lord Jesus, I can’t do this alone. Please conquer whatever is happening to me.” “God, show me what to do!” and on and on. I knew in my heart that my prayers for healing were foolish. That was not what I needed. God knew I needed this journey, this story. Little by little, I found the tools that led to my healing.

June 2011: I became a vegetarian. I still eat eggs, so I am not a hard-core vegan. I truly believe that this was the final key to my healing. This, next to the B-12 methylcobolamin, made the biggest difference in my body. I had never felt better. I was even able to spend a week in Chicago, eating not a whole lot of food, running on less sleep than normal and during a time of the month that had previously given me trouble.

It sure felt like a miracle to me.

I am strongly of the opinion that, had I gone to a medical doctor with my problems, I would have been diagnosed with some sort of neurological disorder/disease. I was heavily immunized as a child and I do believe that damaged my nerves and cause my intolerance to so many foods. The biggest benefit of my favorite vitamin, B-12 methylcobolamin, is that it repairs myelin, the sheath that protects nerve cells.

And so, my B-12 is repairing my damaged nerves and my food life is strengthening the rest of my body.

Right now, I feel invincible, even though I know I’m not. I still slip up. I still get angry, scared to death and incredibly frustrated. I confess to nearly bursting into tears in the Whole Foods Market in Chicago when I found veggie chips that I could actually eat. Then didn’t I eat the wrong ones and suffered a feverish neck and headache later that evening.

I’ve learned to be incredibly creative in the kitchen. If I’m hungry for something, I figure out how to make it, or else go without. I’ve found I can survive for days on lettuce, apples and water.
Being a vegetarian is quite helpful too. People understand it better, and nod compassionately when I tell them, rather than staring blankly when I say “I’m allergic to corn, wheat, gluten, pork, beef, and I follow the blood type diet.” Maybe I should just start saying “I’m allergic to food.” That would be about 75% true.

To be honest, I don’t mind if people poke fun (gently) at my oddness. If I didn’t laugh at this, I would be in tears all the time.

This is not about my own self-satisfaction or anything. This is about me being able to function normally and live a beautiful, vibrant life. I want the sanity and strength to be able to live my absolute best for God, and if it means giving up the fleshly freedom of being able to eat anything on the planet, then so be it. There is huge comfort in eating my little salad and knowing that I don’t have to worry about my brain short circuiting on me the next morning. If the worst thing I have to do in life is say “No” to the food everyone else is eating, then I will be blessed beyond my comprehension.

As a young woman who prays for the opportunity to be a wife and mother someday, I came to the realization that I hold the future in my hands. During my “twitching episodes”, I would often involuntarily drop whatever I was holding in my hands. What if I did that when I was holding a baby? That alone was enough incentive for me to do whatever I needed to do in order to heal myself.

I know the story isn’t over. I think I’ve found all the keys, but who knows? There could be one more thing out there that makes my life even better.

I am so thankful to my Lord Jesus Christ for the opportunity to live in this age with its superiority of knowledge in all things healthwise. I praise Him for my family who keeps me going in the right direction, for the friends who encourage me and keep me laughing, and for everyone who has given me even the smallest bit of information.

My prayer is that God will use my journey to help someone else discover their full potential in a complete, vibrant and balanced lifestyle.

Romans 8:18 & 37, “For I reckon that the sufferings of this present times are not worthy to be compared with the glory that shall be revealed in us…Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors through Him that loved us.”