Mixed Emotions

23 weeks...

It is flying by... 

I find it hard to believe that in about three and a half months, we will be meeting our new baby girl face to face. I continue to be absolutely humbled and grateful for God's incredible blessing of this sweet girl, yet as I sit here and type while she gently squirms around, I can't help but feel a lingering sadness as I miss her big brother. Whether it is because I am asked on an almost daily basis "Is this your first?", "How many children do you have?" or because as we sneak towards February and little Miss' arrival, Aaron is on my mind so frequently. This sadness is not only the all-encompassing 'I miss him', but it is every little detail of him. From his antics in my belly of tucking his feet under my ribs, having hiccups at the same time everyday and really squishing his bottom or head into one side to create a lovely lopsided look, to the urgency of his birth and hearing his first cries and whimpers. The feeling of looking into his eyes for this first and last time. These details flood my heart with the unconditional love and complete joy of meeting him, yet simultaneously reopen the wound that has been left by his absence.

I imagine this mix of emotions, both the joy and sorrow left by Aaron, and the joy of new life will continue to ebb and flow over the next few months as we prepare to meet our little girl. Just as with Aaron's birth, I know that we will be blessed with  moments of pure joy, free from worry, sorrow and other conflicting emotions. However, I know without a doubt that there will also be bittersweet moments...those when a big brother should get to meet his little sister...and every picture of our family of three that should truly be four. 

This mix of emotions is simply (or not very simply) the bands of grief and loss and 'what should have been' that continue to weave themselves into our life moving forward. A new blessing doesn't cancel out a loss, the devastating loss of our son, and his absence doesn't annul the happiness and anticipation of an incredible new life...they meld together. One thing is certain in this crazy mix of grief and joy- this sweet little girl is going to know all about the brave, big brother angel she has watching over her.

Blessing

I've been trying to finish this post for some time now. So, an August post in September...better late than never for some Selby family news:


August 22, 2011-
I've been praying for months now...many, many months. This morning, I want to fall to my knees at His feet in quiet, humble, wholehearted thankfulness. I want to run up to Our Father and wrap my arms around Him and thank Him through my joyful tears. How incredibly He continues to remind me that even during the storm and journey of the past year, He is here, He is faithful and He wants to bless us.


Dan and I have been living in a place of quiet and reserved joy (and I'd be lying if I didn't admit to a bit of anxiety) over the past four months. Wanting the freedom to hope and dream, yet fearful of those dreams being shattered again.  Never did we imagine (nor did we doubt) that God would bless us in an immense way in the few days leading up to a difficult time of celebration and mourning for us, Aaron's first birthday. I certainly didn't anticipate, one year ago, that the week of Aaron's first birthday would find us at Children's Hospital again. The ride up the elevator, the smell of the bathroom soap, the third floor waiting area, the pager in our hands; every detail brought back gut-wrenching memories of a year ago. The specific details of this day and the accompanying array of emotions are for another time, another post. As I tried to keep many torturous memories at bay, I focused on today as we were there to see and experience something I had prayed about and only dreamed of... ten fingers, ten toes and the beautiful (perfectly functioning) four-chamber heart of Aaron's little brother or sister! 


Yep, we are expecting Baby Selby #2 in February! The praise and glory to God that I am able to express for this blessing feels completely insufficient compared to the incredible amount of joy and thankfulness in my heart. I only hope know that God could see the smile plastered across my face as the cardiologist gave us the news. 


We continue to pray for the health of our new blessing as it will be a few weeks before we have a full anatomical ultrasound to determine if every detail of baby is healthy. And, although there are some nerves, I can't lie that I'm really looking forward to seeing this active little guy or girl up on the screen again.  We are excited to get to know this new little person and find out if "it" is a wee little he or she. At 17 weeks along (currently), little one is picking up steam in the growing department (or at least the belly is) and I am enjoying feeling his or her amazing 'love taps' which are becoming quite a bit more than the flutters they say to anticipate at this stage. 


It is hard to explain the peace that God has provided during this pregnancy. I am constantly reminded that although we have walked through the storm of the past year and may appear slightly more worn and bearing tattered hearts, we are still in one piece and closer to our Father because of His grace and faithfulness through it all. We continue to pray for Him to protect and guide our hearts in this new mix of joy and grief that we find ourselves. This new little one certainly brings to mind many, many details and memories of his/her big brother and the time we had with him. Fear, anxiety and doubt sneak in at times, but are quickly relinquished when I remember Whose this child is. As with Aaron, we realize what an incredible blessing this is and are grateful beyond words for the undeserved love God continues to pour over us. 

Approaching a Year

It seems like so many of my thoughts are consumed with Aaron lately, especially as his one year earthly and heavenly birthdays are fast approaching. I find myself longing to remember every detail of those days...every detail of him, and still wanting answers to calm the lingering questions in my heart about his last moments here. 


I sat down this evening and flipped through last years calendar, looking at today...one year ago, wanting to remember the specific details of this time last year.  We started the day with a non-stress test and OB appointment at University Hospital, a regimen that had become the all-too-familiar twice weekly routine. I wasn't admitted to labor and delivery for observation that day, so Aaron must have tumbled around enough to make the nurses happy and allow me to go about my normal day of work. Flipping to the next week, my calendar is filled with typical doctors appointments and work patients, all scheduled along with a NICU tour, Labor and Delivery Tour, and meeting with neonatologists. Each Friday counting down to Aaron's due date is neatly circled and numbered in happy, yet anxious anticipation. 


This time last year, I remember thinking that in just a month or so, our son would make his arrival into this world.  We planned what little we could, but memories of the stillness of that ultrasound room filled with our tears only two months earlier always lingered in the forefront of my mind as a reminder that our best laid plans are often futile...we are not in control.


Those appointments that filled our calendars and days would never actually happen. During the time that we planned to spend anxiously awaiting Aaron's arrival, we would actually welcome him into the world, place him in the arms of surgeons, watch him slip from this life into eternity and plan his memorial service. In a small, private room of the CICU, I held him for the first time after the doctors let him go and in a quiet room of the funeral home, I held him for he last time. My heart knew that it was merely the shell of our sweet little guy, but how do you hand over your child when you know that it is the last time you will see him, most likely, in a very long time?  The next several weeks in the calendar are blank as is my memory of much of that time.  It still feels surreal.


Here I sit, almost a year later and on some days I am still in disbelief that our son was here...that he cried in the OR, that I got to peer into his eyes just once, and that we had him here with us for three whole days. On other days I struggle against the traumatic memories of the night we said goodbye.  Images I can't get rid of...nurses performing chest compressions, Aaron's blood covering the floor around his isolet, 'those words' spoken by our surgeon and the heartbreak and disbelief that this was our reality.  Mostly though, are the days that God lifts the burden of grief from my still broken heart. Over the past year, I have run the spectrum of clinging to Him with every fiber of my being to pushing away in anger, frustration and emotions too confusing for words. Yet He still extends His grace and love, compassion and guidance to me...me...me, who comes before Him with a heart that is understanding yet questioning, loving yet angry, soft yet calloused and bruised, healing but still broken. 


He reminds me that through suffering grows an enduring hope, a steadfast heart and a reliance on Him that I had never before known. I revel in the moments when His love and presence wash over me and quiet my aching heart, and once again, for awhile anyway, I am comforted that Aaron is healed and Aaron is home. 

Three Little Words.

I can't tell you the number of times I've sat down over the past couple months to write a post, just to end up sitting and staring at the screen, or typing and deleting...typing and deleting. No words seem right.  It's not that I don't have anything to say; truly, in this journey of grief there is no lack of thoughts, emotions or experiences to share. Honestly, I miss coming to this space for Aaron and pouring out my heart... I try to write, but only three words seem to make it onto the screen...I miss him. That's it. That's my heart. Those three simple words. They are just that, simple, yet it is so difficult to put into words the depth of hurt and sadness that those three words still encompass. I miss him.


Since my last post, Aaron's eight and nine month earthly and heavenly birthdays and the one year anniversary of his diagnosis have all come and gone. On these days, we have celebrated and remembered quietly, in our own way. It seems that this solitude in my grief is what my heart has needed lately. This privacy and quiet time, mixed with happiness, laughter, prayers and still some tears continue to restore my broken heart.


I received the link below from a wonderful friend today (thanks Jess!) and it inspired me to get back on here and to share it. I never knew that this incredible testimony accompanied this worship song that I love...her words speak so much truth into continuing to worship in the midst of tragedy and on this journey through grief...

 We miss you, sweet boy. 

Love you, always...

Someday

As the days get longer and the warmth of the sunshine is stretched well into the evening hours, I miss our son even more. I miss the evening walks as a family that should have been. I miss our first spring days together in the warm sunshine and cool, crisp Colorado air. I miss watching him sleep soundly in our arms. I could go on forever...all of these "should have been moments" that we never got to experience with Aaron... I miss them as if they were a part of our life for as long as I can remember. 


They say that time heals all wounds; that it makes loss easier. I disagree. It doesn't heal the gaping hole that your child's death leaves behind. It doesn't make it easier, it makes it different. The longing, tears and sadness that used to consume every minute and every thought of every day after Aaron died are replaced by the true realization of what we are missing...of who we are missing. The grins, giggles and busyness of a sweet seven month old boy that should be filling our days never will. For some reason, now more than ever, this reality is setting into my heart... and it hurts.


A promise is all that carries me through this hurt. A promise that someday I will see this sweet face again. Of this, I am sure.

(Aaron at 1 day old...I think he would have enjoyed a pacifier from the looks of it. Thank you for the video Steve and Amy!)

Dreaming...

"Imagine a love so strong that saying hello and goodbye at the same time was worth the sorrow"

-Author Unknown

My heart is aching lately. I feel so broken. I miss Aaron. Everywhere I turn, I am reminded of him and of what we are missing. This sorrow isn't always evoked by something in particular, but this time it has been and I know the trigger all too well. I drifted into a dream. A dream of a future family and a healthy baby. I wondered what it is like to have a twenty week ultrasound with the words "four chamber heart" and "completely healthy". Of holding our child for the first time, alive; a child that we would actually get to bring home, love and experience.


...and then reality crept in... waking me up with a slap in the face... breaking my heart.... reminding me...


Just because we've been through what has felt like walking through hell and back over the past several months, we are not promised a perfect road ahead of us. At times it is easy to slip into the mindset that just because we have been through something that feels almost impossible at times, that the rest will be easy. Not true. God is faithful, but He doesn't always promise easy. Certainly, we look to the future with great hope and pray for these things...healthy future children, a family... but we are not naive. Nothing is guaranteed; we are not exempt. I see pregnant women in their often naive bliss (where I once was for a short time, as well) and to be honest, I'm slightly envious. I want that. I don't want to know what the other side looks like, but I do...all too well. I know that on the other side, babies die. Parents have to say goodbye to the tiny life that they have anticipated for months and have only just met. They experience the greatest joy and deepest sorrow almost simultaneously. It's not fair, but they do. 


I realize that I may come across as quite the pessimist in this post... I am not. These thoughts are simply the result of loss, grief and a step into a world which I was once oblivious to. We truly do look to the future with hope, but through a lens that has been permanently altered. I think about a future child and I am instantly taken back to the overwhelming joy of having Aaron and the sudden heartbreak of losing him. I know that God hears us in our brokenness, but the void that Aaron has left has nearly crushed me in the past several months. Can I handle that again if God calls us to walk through it? Can my heart be open and vulnerable to that depth of love once more, and possibly, that depth of heartbreak again? 


This is the uncertainty with which we face the future.  We drift into these dreams, yet in this grief, we find that even our dreams aren't safe from reality. 

Heart Work

It has been a long while since my last post in this little corner of the world. For those of you who still drop by for a read, thank you.  Intentionally lately, I've been quiet.  Although life has been anything but quiet, I've been trying to consciously give myself something I've desperately needed on so many levels...rest. Rest for my heart, for my mind and my body. Unfortunately, it doesn't mean that I've had an opportunity to take a hiatus from the responsibilities of life, but instead of publicly writing and being constantly surrounded by social media, I've spent more time reflecting, praying, focusing on our marriage, working out, (working), sleeping, reading and just being. Rest. This rest has provided me time to grieve privately....to let my emotions linger for a short while...to figure out where I am. Right here. Right now.

This respite from blogging doesn't mean that I'm moving on from Aaron or his absence in our life; it doesn't mean that I no longer miss him. In fact, those statements couldn't be further from the truth. For us, life looks and feels drastically different than it did even two months ago, but I miss him the same. Deep anguish and mourning now come and go rather than being ever-present on a daily or hourly basis; still, I desperately long to hold him and see the 6 month old boy he would be today. To hear his giggles...or his screaming and crying...would be music to my ears. Days of more sorrow than joy and the accompanying meltdowns still manage to make their appearance here and there, and it is in these times that I so selfishly want him here. But, in this rest, God has been fervently working on my heart.

During the past six months, so many of our prayers consisted not only of pleading for God to take our pain away, but simply to be able to feel His presence in our darkness. At times, it was unquestionable, unmistakable, that He alone was holding us up. During other times, I wondered how many more weeks it would be until I'd see His hand reaching down to pull us up for air from the storm in which we were slowly drowning. I look back and can see that God has been faithful, upholding His promise, and that in this rest He has been working on quite the project. He has been slowly...very, very slowly... healing a very broken heart. My own.

In this healing, I feel that He has melded a tiny part of my broken heart back together. Inscribed in this little piece is acceptance. No, not complete, consistent and pure acceptance that our son died, but a peace about this path that we walk. A peace in knowing that Aaron is not and will not suffer through this life which, no matter how many ways you attempt to look at it, would not have been easy, or fair. Acceptance that we prayed for healing...and that God chose the method. I'm learning what it is to ask for God's guidance, accept His answer and follow the path that He lays before us, regardless of the anger, fear, disagreement or heartbreak that may accompany it.  Even several weeks ago, I thought that achieving this feeling of acceptance...of peace and surrender... would forever be impossible. Yet, if even for only a short while, God has brought us to this place and given us a glimpse. He is faithful. 

As I drove home from work tonight, I thought about that night, six months ago, when we looked sweet Aaron in the eyes for the first time and said hello and, shortly after, held him as we said goodbye. While reminiscing, this song came on the radio and tears ran down my face...because of the words and because of the memory. Almost weekly during youth group worship in the many months that I carried Aaron, he heard me sing this, my hands on my belly, feeling him move and loving every minute of it. This song brings back some of my favorite, intimate moments with him... the closest I ever got to holding him and singing to him while he was on this earth. God gave us our beautiful son, and despite the road that he chose for us to walk... He loves us.

Oh, How He Loves Us...

To listen, first pause the music player on the right-hand side of the screen.

His Name in the Sand

Just in time.


As the anniversary of Aaron's death comes and goes each month, it is hard not to relive the events of that night...the trauma and complete heartbreak. The devastation. This month I made a promise not to dwell on that, but instead, to focus on what a blessing it was to have three whole days with him. And, to think of it not as the day that we lost him, but as the day that heaven gained him....the day that his heart was made whole as he woke up to the magnificence of heaven and the glory of his creator. Isn't that the marvelous day that each of use should long for...

Well, his anniversary this month was still difficult, but I smiled as I remembered Aaron in a beautiful way....through a beautiful gift. Although his name had been on the wait list for quite some time for To Write Their Names In The Sand, it came in God's time...perfect timing, of course. Aaron's name was written under a beautiful sunset on the evening of January 28th, his five month anniversary, on the shores of "Christian's Beach" in Australia. It may not seem like much to others, but the acknowledgement of your child and act of remembrance by others is truly cherished. 


His name in the sand is so serene...it brings peace to my heart:  

CarlyMarie provides an amazing ministry to parents who have been touched by child loss and has written almost 10,000 names in the past couple years. Check out her story and inspiration behind To Write Their Names In The Sand here.

5 Months

I began writing a post as a reflection of the past five months...the days since we first said hello to Aaron. As I read it back, it truly was a reflection of the past five months; a reflection of our grief and heartbreak. Yet, as I look back to that single day, August 25th, I decided that the post wasn't appropriate. It doesn't capture the feelings of that day at all. In fact, it was quite the opposite. 


Five months ago, today, was one of the happiest days of our lives. For a brief moment in time, we were able to forget that we were terrified...forget that we had spent the better part of the last year on our knees praying for a miracle...forget that our future as a family was completely uncertain.  Five months ago we heard the most beautiful cry and kissed the sweetest cheeks that were ever known to us. If only for a short few seconds, God graciously lifted our anxiety and fears and in that moment allowed us to experience unreserved pure love and pure joy...that of our son. He was perfect. And today, five months later, he is perfect...healthy and healed...perfect, as God planned.  We only wish that we could experience his healed body here on earth, rather than waiting for our eternity. 


I wonder so many things about you, Aaron Matthew. What you would look like, all the things you would now be doing, your personality? I wonder what you are doing now, what heaven is like, if you understand how much we miss you? Some day, Aaron. I know that we will have all these answers, and more importantly, that we will hold you once again...not nearly soon enough, but some day. Happy five month birthday, son. We miss you and love you more than you'll ever know sweet boy.   Love Always, Mommy & Daddy

...He said to them, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these...  ~Mark 10:14

A Week in Pictures...

I was a bit late in getting this post up from last week:


Reminders...
They are everywhere....
...Just when I need them.


Busy seems like an understatement of our life over the past couple weeks. Between work, youth group, church, reconnecting with friends and trying to figure out how to integrate our "new" selves into our "old" life, moments to breathe, reflect, remember and to just be have been scarce. The days have begun to travel by with the slightest essence and semblance of a routine; of a return to normal life. As life has been changing and grief has been changing, all I can say is thank goodness for the reminders.


Aaron is never far from my mind, but these reminders are there when I feel like I am forgetting his smell, the silkiness of his hair, his soft skin, the size of his tiny hands and feet, his beautiful face...him. Our son and what we have been through has changed me, forever. These things I now truly understand: Life is short. People are delicate. You can never get back lost time or moments. Life is fragile. Rarely do we get the opportunity for re-dos, do-overs or mulligans. Love while you can; it may be the only or last chance you get. Take in the details around you. Hold your spouse, children and family close. God is strong. God is loving. God is good. And, I am thankful that He has deeply and richly blessed me.


Throughout the past week, God has placed these glimpses of Aaron and reminders of his life in the midst of the bustle that I know as my daily routine. They are good; they are reminders of him and of milestones we joyfully celebrate, would rather forget, or will never get to experience. These glimpses are a welcome interruption and remind me of him and what is truly important in the midst of this busy life.

Monday...

Today would be his two month birthday. I believe that those of us who have lost little ones place more weight on these small markers of life as they are a constant reminder of what would have been. We always struggle with the question 'why?', but these seemingly insignificant dates bring up the whats? and woulds?. What would he look like now...chubby cheeks, rolls on his arms and legs? Would he be smiling, cooing, holding his head up?...


Homemade cupcakes just sounded good on Monday night, and since it would have been his two-month birthday...all the more reason to make them!

Tuesday...

We received a surprise call from Children's, saying that they had casts of his hands and feet ready to be picked up! We didn't even know they had done any! It was mentioned the night that he passed away, but with the whirlwind of events that evening, I just assumed it was never done and it fell off my radar. We have so few tangible things to remember Aaron by, that I was nothing short of thrilled to get this news and pick them up.

Wednesday...

On my way home from work, I stopped by Target to pick out a "Thinking of you" card for a friend. As I poked my way through the cards, the one above caught my attention. For some reason, dandelions blowing in the wind have always been one of my special reminders of Aaron...even long before he was born. I picked up the card and almost lost it in the store when I opened it up and saw the message inside. So perfect.

Thursday...

Today, we remember the day we said goodbye, two months ago. I don't necessarily like to remember the specific details of that night, but they are there and I do...all too vividly. Although they may mollify over time, I imagine that this date every month will bring up the very real, very raw emotions of losing him. This is now what we look at on our mantle. No urn yet; we can't seem to choose one. How do you pick an urn for your child...no matter how perfect, they all seem inappropriate.

Friday...

I remembered you, little one, as we volunteered at Flatirons' trunk or treat and saw each sweet, bundled up newbie with the cutest Halloween costumes on. I couldn't help but think of how perfect you'd be in the giraffe costume that I had pick out of the hand-me-downs from your cousins...the one that is now neatly folded and tucked away in your room...it was waiting for you.

Saturday...

Saturday, there is no picture, but it was the day with some of the greatest reminders and a welcome "interruption" in my week. For dinner, we had the privilege of  joining a wonderful couple from church who experienced the loss of their newborn daughter a little over a year ago. It was so special to spend time just exchanging stories, sharing memories and reminiscing about our little ones with others who can truthfully say "I completely understand"...I understand the loss, I understand the grief, I understand the heartbreak...been there, done that and still dealing with it. 

Sunday...

On another mother's blog I read this..."We may have had limited time to make memories WITH our babies, but we have limitless opportunities to make memories in HONOR of them."  That's all I need to write to explain the pumpkin.