Lydia Grace left this world one year ago today.  She’s the daughter of my good friend, Amy, who I have known since high school.  Back then, all we had in common was our high school Spanish class, but now?  Our lives are intertwined with love and life, grief and sadness.   We could never have imagined (or wished for) a deeper bond.

When Amy was twenty weeks pregnant she went in for a routine ultrasound, she entered the room filled with excitement at the idea of finding out if her second child was going to be a boy or a girl, she left with the knowledge that her child had Anencephaly and would not survive.

She and her husband needed to decided whether to terminate the pregnancy or carry Lydia for as long as she possibly could.  After many tears and countless prayers, they decided to carry their beautiful miracle for as long as possible.

When Amy was close to thirty weeks pregnant, I was able to spend the day with her.  I am still in awe and will be forever, of her grace, her poise, her strength, her faith.

It has been one year today since Lydia Grace took her first…and last breath.  I asked Amy to guest post today about her beautiful daughter.  Grab a kleenex…and please, don’t hesitate to share your thoughts, your words of support, whatever you want with Amy in the comment section.

Thank you, Amy.

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Remembering You.

One Year Ago….

I was in a Labor and Delivery room awaiting your arrival. I was advised to get rest and tried to sleep, but my nerves were too great. I listened to songs like Amazing Grace and Somewhere Over the Rainbow and prayed for God to help me through the physical and emotional pain. I prayed for our time together, that it would be everything we needed it to be. I thought about Job who stayed loyal to God after losing everything he had—his wealth, his children and his health. He persevered through suffering and here I was trying to do the same. I held your daddy’s hand. We sat in the dark, yet the room was softly illuminated by the white lights of your Christmas tree.

Twenty six hours after I arrived at the hospital, I was actually able to doze a bit. I awoke after what felt like 10 minutes and I felt your head, right.there. I woke up daddy and called for help. Then, everything happened so fast. I was crying and shaking when the nurses and doctor encouraged me to push. I think I screamed that I wasn’t ready. I was so scared because I knew that finally saying hello to you also meant goodbye. And then…you were no longer inside of me. You were out of that safe place that carried you for 34 weeks. You were placed in my arms and I was stunned to see you. You didn’t make a sound. Daddy and I did though—we wept. You didn’t move either, but your little heart beat for 28 glorious minutes. What a bittersweet day, that of your birth and death. I remember it so vividly and I hope I always do. I was given a few hours to bathe, dress and cuddle you. To focus on your beauty—your hands, long fingers, big feet and precious lips. I kept you close. There was no reason for you to be anywhere else. I did all I could with you in our earthly time together and I am forever grateful to God for the special moments He gave us.

Today…

I look at the pictures and watch the video of you often, typically after everyone else is in bed. Your brother, Alex, likes to watch it, too. He’ll ask me if I’m sad and hug me tight. Sometimes he asks when you’re coming back from Heaven. When asked what he’s thankful for, Alex always says his baby sister. And he means it.

For the most part, I feel like I’ve been pretty numb this past year. But as December 3rd has been fast approaching, I’ve gotten more emotional. Thoughts and memories of you flood me. The Christmas decorations, music and holiday spirit put you on my heart. Will I feel this nostalgia and longing every Christmas?

I wasn’t planning on it, but I lost it in church on Sunday. We had placed some pink and white flowers on the altar in memory of you. I couldn’t stop thinking about you the entire service, which was about Hope. Then, at the very end, during the last song, Mighty to Save, I was blind-sided by a baptism of a beautiful six month old baby girl. I found myself watching, crying, feeling, wishing…for what might have been. What a special and amazing ritual a baptism represents and I’m ashamed to admit I was envious that I was not the one holding my baby at the front of the church. The more I reflect on it though, I am confident that you know Him, you are with Him, you are happy and whole because of Him and I find comfort in that. I don’t have the jealous feelings and “why me” mentality on a daily basis, thankfully. I rarely think, “Oh, Lydia should be with us here right now” or that you’re missing from a family picture. Because I know you were only ours to keep for a short while. Instead, I sometimes think about how we will be reunited in Heaven. I know your body will be healed and perfect but, when that day arrives, will you still be an infant or grown into a young woman? I don’t know how that works, but I have no doubt I will know you.

Thanks to you, I truly know the meaning of unconditional love. God gave me grace when he gave me you, Lydia Grace. You were..you are…the greatest unmerited favor I could ever imagine. I didn’t deserve you and all you taught me, but God gave you to me anyway. Why? I suppose I’ll know when I’m finally with you again. Until then, I’m just incredibly humbled and grateful to Him for loaning you to me. For choosing me to be your mother. I am blessed.

I hope I always think of today, December 3rd, not as the day I lost you, but as the day of your birth. I want to celebrate you. Happy Birthday, sweet girl. You’ll always be my daughter. I love you so much.

Here’s a note from Teresa to all of you.  (by the way…you, readers?  You are incredible.)

Wow.  I am truly overwhelmed by the responses to my
story!  I want to thank each and every one of you for writing and sending your
well-wishes and prayers our way.  I have to tell you that the more people I have
to pray for my soldier the more secure I feel! He called in the wee hours last
night and things are going well so far.  He should be sending me an address soon
and to those of you who asked for it to send him a care package, I will be happy
to pass it on.  This has truly been a remarkable experience for me and I
appreciate all of your support and kindness.  What a wonderful group of women I
had the privilege to hear from!  Again, thank you, thank you, and thank you from
the bottom of my heart!

I have a very special guest writer today.  Her name is Teresa.  She is my sister-in-law, her husband, my brother, Dan, left for Iraq two days ago.  I asked her to write for this blog, her thoughts and emotions as a way to share with all of us, just exactly what it’s like to watch your spouse be deployed into a war zone.  Not one time, not two, but three times.  She sent this to me in the wee hours of the morning this morning and today, I opened up my laptop, at Panera and began to read, and I cried.  This is one of the most amazing, emotional, heart breaking things I have ever read.  I ask that you please show your support for both Teresa and Dan in the comments, they both check my blog regular and Dan is due to guest post sometime soon.  Thank you, Teresa.

I have survived day one and almost day two now without my soldier.  I say survived because that’s exactly what it is.  Emotions are a heavy thing. The hard ones can eat you up if you let them. The night before he left I was actually patting myself on the back pretty much all day because I had kept it together. I even thought this time might be a little easier since I seemed to be getting through the day with smiles and no tears. The whole family went out together: Dada, Nommy, Ga, Ehtu and T-Monkey. (those are the names my 23 month old has given all of us in the house- and yes, she is the monkey!) Anyway, we all got through dinner with laughter and TONS of food and even a few happy pictures.  The last time he deployed none of us could eat or be in the same room together without crying. So, I thought this was great- piece of cake, right? 

Everything was going great until it was time to put the kids to bed. Since Dan had to be in at 4 in the morning for his weapons draw and itinerary check, we thought it would be best to let the kids stay up a little late and then stay in bed and sleep while I took him to the unit. We have this routine with T-monkey where we put on her music, give her a ba-ba while we rock her and then put her in the crib.  She’s our last baby so give me a break about the bottle thing, ok?  Anyway, Dan took this shift since it would be the last time he would see and hold her for a good 8 months. And that’s when it hit me.  Like a freakin’ freight train. I lost it.  All control over tears and emotions just flew out of my Colorado windows.  All I could think about was how much he loves that little girl and lets her get away with anything and everything because she is his baby girl. 

I remember when I got pregnant with her- 9 years after my middle child- and he hoped and
wished that it would be a girl because we had two boys already and that she would look just like me.  Well, he got exactly that – it’s like he special ordered her from God!  And since then, she has been in control of his heart and I love it.  I kept thinking about how hard it’s going to be for him to not wake up to her bright, curly-headed smiling face and her ‘hi, dada’ in the morning.  How she won’t really understand why she doesn’t see dada when she gets out of bed in the morning and why he hasn’t appeared for dinner. How she won’t understand that when she asks for dada he can’t come to her and pick her up and save the day.  My heart is breaking and the tears are here again.

Then, it was the boys turn. They had kept it together really well for the past couple of days.  They are 14 and 11 and handsome and wonderful boys. They mow the lawn for me and do the dishes after dinner and crawl in bed with me for 30 minutes at night before they climb in their own beds just to hang out.  They are my saving grace.  We took them bowling, and Dan took them to the movies – just the guys- the day before. Dad even made their favorite ribs on the grill a couple nights before even though he really didn’t have time. But that would be the last set of ribs to be made for about 8 months.  Lord knows I don’t know how to make those things or even have the patience to mess with consistent heat on the grill!  It was time for lights out for them as well and I don’t know if any of you know this but as a mother of little men, the hardest thing to see is your not- so -little boys trying to be brave and not cry for dad. In the end they couldn’t hold it in.  They are veterans of this deployment thing. They have been through this 3 times before, really remembering at least 2 of them. This man of mine is their one and only hero.  They look up to him and think he is the best thing since sliced bread. They can’t get enough of him. And now they are left with just me- to be the Dad and the Mom. To throw the football and play Wii with. (I have to admit I actually love the Wii!)

And I have to be strong and tough so they don’t worry about me too.  They have enough to worry about.  I just pray that my lines of communication are open enough to them so that they can talk to me about anything, even embarrassing boy stuff that only Dad can hear about.  They only cried for a little while since they were so tired from staying up late.  My plan worked, a little.  I couldn’t turn the water works off- I tried to go in my bathroom and look myself in the mirror and say "stop it, now. He needs you to be strong and happy.  You don’t want him to think of you like this.. puffy eyed, red nosed, and absolutely hideous from all these tears. They can wait until tomorrow."  But I just couldn’t do it.  It was my strong, handsome husband who found me and was strong for me. Holding me and telling me he’d be home before I knew it. That everything would be ok, just let it out and don’t hold it in on his account. Superman, I tell ya.

We packed for the rest of the night trying to make sure he had everything he needed to get by at least until I could send him more. We had this whole romantic night planned but it just didn’t happen.  I won’t think about that though because originally he was supposed to have left on our anniversary and then his flight was pushed back.  That was really our night.  It was perfect and I felt so blessed that we were able to have one more anniversary together. That’s the memory of us that I want to hold on to.

It was finally 3:30 in the morning and time to load the van and make that 25 minute trip to the Fort. It was silent. We held hands, tightly. Those damn tears just wouldn’t stop. We promised each other no regrets. He kept insisting that everything was going to be just fine. If only I could tap into some of that incredible strength of his. 

When we get there it’s sooo dark and sooo reminiscent of the first time he left when the war was just starting.  Back then he was a company commander and all of his 100 soldiers and their families were bustling about, getting their gear loaded, tons of pictures being taken.  All the guys were upbeat and ready to go and do what they had been training for ever since they first signed up. He was busy checking all the blocks on the list making sure he was ready to lead these men to the best of his ability.  It something right out of a movie.  This time, there would be only one other family there. A woman with her two small daughters dressed in jammies and wrapped in princess blankets. Her soldier, returning yet again just like mine.  Her soldier with the signs of war on his face, just like mine. Her situation just like mine, a single mom again. The signs of another deployment on her face, just like mine. We  understood each other without even having to say a word. I love the Army wife bond.  It’s an incredible thing.

He has always made me laugh and this morning was no different- he was still being funny and putting a smile on my face. They drew their weapons and it was time to load the van. I had Dan walk me to the car cause the thought of seeing him get in the Army van and drive away was just more than I could handle. I missed him already and he was holding me in his arms.  I kissed his beautiful face and promised him I would take care of his babies. He promised me he would be safe and would be home soon. I pray for that.

I cried for the first 10 minutes on the trip home. I called my sister, and she comforted me enough that the tears subsided. I was doing ok, tired but ok until I pulled into our driveway by myself. Entered our home, by myself. Crawled into our bed, by myself. The loneliness punched me in the gut. I cried some more until I fell asleep. 

It’s been 48 hours now since he left. He’s already called to tell us that he’s safely in Kuwait and is waiting for the next flight to Baghdad. I’ve been trying to clean the house and stay busy because the minutes are dragging by. I’m pretty stoked about the 2 days being behind us already. I’ve already sent him a picture of his baby girl of his two favorite things- her hair right after a bath and her playing in her Elmo t-shirt. I might be ready to walk out the front door tomorrow. I usually lay low for the first few days in fear of showing emotion in public especially in front of new neighbors. No promises. I did take the kids out in the back yard tonight to play so I feelthat’s a good start. I don;t want anyone to feel sorry for us. We’ll make it through this- just like we have in the past. Just well wishes and prayers will do.

And just a little side note, if you ever have the opportunity to support the U.S.O. please do so. While in Dallas, they showed our soldiers kindness, gave them free food and drinks and let them use cell phones while they waited for their flight.  It’s a terrific organization. Oh, and if you ever see a soldier in uniform, don’t be afraid to walk right up to them and shake their hand and thank them for their service.  It means more than you could ever know.