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On Choosing Joy

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JOY at its best
I have been hash tagging #choosejoy since the passing of my little Emme, not because I am experiencing an overabundance of joy, but because I am trying really hard to choose joy when I can so easily cry all day and night. I recently finished reading “Carry on, Warrior” by Glennon Melton, and let me tell you, living to be the best version of you is the hardest thing you can do, but it can be done. I’m not even trying to be the best version of me, yet. Maybe in a couple years. Right now I simply want to see joy, and that’s hard enough.  

The month of October has been difficult since Emme. I can’t quite put my finger on why but it seems, for now, to be a combination of things. I have cried almost every night of this past month. I mourn yet another year of life without my little giant. October is the month when Emme would celebrate 18 months of life, and instead I mourn life without her. I mourn celebrating another year of life for me, without my daughter. I mourn with all other mothers, and the precious babies they have all lost and are trying so hard to conceive (Pregnancy and Infant awareness month). I mourn for my beautiful children, who will grow up without their beautiful sister. 
I mourn. 
Joy captured by our amazing friend Hannah Sons
And in between waves, I try my hardest to pull my face above water and choose joy. And because I try so very hard, I see it. Well, it probably isn’t all because I try hard, I know my Father helps me A LOT. 
My little Buffalo
We were at Ralphs a couple weeks ago. It was a horrible morning for me, as I was crying about everything, but about nothing in particular. I was being difficult with Eric simply because I was mourning and could not deal with life. So while we went in and out of every aisle, I knew that I had to breathe and bring myself to choose what kind of vegetables I was going to make myself cook as a side dish for the week ( sigh!). As we are putting the groceries in the trunk, Elea strapped onto my chest, Nathan crying in the cart over a special dinosaur he really needed to have, I was on the verge of a ‘cry it out’ moment, when an older gentleman, white hair, dressed in a crisp white dress shirt, gray dress pants, on a scorching hot morning, approaches us with a sign and asks if we have time to march around the parking lot for world peace, all while we sing “All you need is Love” by The Beatles. And, he so politely asks, if I would be willing to carry the roses I was holding in my hand while we march, as they would add to the beauty of our cause. 
You got it! My initial reactions was, SERIOUSLY! do you know what kind of day I’m having! and you want me to stop what I’m doing with both my kids and march around the parking lot singing to everyone else, while I hold roses in my hands and try to recruit other people, who are clearly busy and will think we are crazy, while we march on this super duper hot day for world peace??!!! 

But we marched. Yes. We marched. No one joined the march. But we sang our hearts out. Elea looked at all of us like we were crazy, and Nathan smiled the whole way ( Nate’s favorite band just so happens to be The Beatles) and the guy made his day by singing his favorite song, Yellow Submarine, so nice and loud, in front of Chase Bank. 
It was at this point that I realized that as hard of a day we are having, in between the waves, there is joy. We can choose joy. We have a choice. And every morning I pray I have the strength to choose joy instead of holding out a white flag for the day, because joy will inundate me, if I allow it…even if it’s just a tiny little taste. 

My Little Giant’s Birthday

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It was exactly a year and a half ago today that I gave birth to my first daughter, Emme. Today she would have been 18 months. She would have been walking. Giggling. Driving Nathan crazy by taking all his favorite toys and sticking them in her mouth. She would have been crawling around and yelling up a storm with my beautiful niece. She would have been completely in love with her baby sister, Elea. 
This picture is my all time favorite. I can feel her on my chest when I look at it. I can feel her heart beating against mine. I can feel the warmth of her body on my chest. I can feel her little hand wrapped around my finger. I can feel her little head being caressed by my hand. I can feel her cheeks and her soft baby skin against my lips. I can smell the pamper-hospital smell if I breath deep enough. I CAN FEEL. 
I like to imagine what my face looks like. I like to think that I have a smile on my face, even if its faint. Reminding myself of her in this moment gives me a version with a smile. But the truth is my eyes were purple and extremely swollen from crying. I remember begging Eric only to capture her beauty and not my sadness. You were able to see heartbreak, at its best, in my eyes. 
As I drove Natey to school today, we drove in silence as we both looked over at the ocean. We love the ocean. He leaned against his car seat as he looked out and I tried to channel all the wonderful memories of our baby. Lately Natey has been talking to Elea about Emme. Telling her where Emme now lives and why they can’t go see her. Hearing Natey explain it to Elea is definitely heart warming. There does not seem to be any sadness. He smiles at Elea and simply tells her, their sister resides in heaven with God and they can’t go there right now. He smiles. I love her, he tells her. Elea smiles joyfully. 

My life is full. I am blessed to have an incredible husband, a wonderful family and two AMAZING living children. Natey and Elea definitely keep me busy and full of joy. I am lucky enough to be able to stay home and enjoy every single moment of their life, tantrums included 🙂 It is completely normal for me to feel the emptiness left behind by my Little Giant. Mourning is like the morning waves. Natey likes to tell me whether the waves are average, small or too big everyday on our morning drive to school. Today they were overwhelming.

On a Sunday morning…

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On Sunday morning I was getting a nice gift, I was getting some pampering with my hairstylist. I was on my way, happy as can be, and the light turned red. I came to a complete stop, looked around my very familiar surroundings and BAM, to my right there it was, the mortuary that I have driven by a thousand times. And the waterworks began. The day Emme passed began to play like a movie, and there I was, in the dreaded room where my life paused. I cried all the way to my hairstylist, thankfully she was running a little late and I took the time to compose myself only to start crying again while my hair was being washed. 

I started this post, a long with the previous post, in July but never got around to finishing them. And as I stand here, rocking back and forth, as my little rainbow baby sleeps on my chest and my little ray of sunshine enjoys pre preschool down the street, I finally have time to start writing again. As I read these unfinished posts that I intended to delete and start fresh, I can’t. They were raw moments that needed to be written down and although unfinished, I will publish. 

You didn’t lose a thing

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A very strong statement for a mourning parent to take in. I read an article yesterday where the author describes the way she has been able to cope with the death of her second child and how raising her subsequent baby and first son has been different, yet very beautiful, as her second child sends her what I like to call heavenly kisses. 

The author has obviously come a long way to be able to make such a statement . At this moment in my journey, I don’t think that I will ever be able to say that. We lost A LOT in losing Emme, and I don’t think her loss will ever be described as not losing a thing. 
I remember the day it truly hit me. The day I was no longer numb. When Emme’s absence became overwhelming. The day we picked up her ashes. 

I remember having to choose Emme’s urn and how obsessive I became about finding the perfect one. Eric wanted to make things easy for me and pick it out himself but I very much wanted to plan all the details of her memorial. I chose how much of her ashes we would spread and how much we would keep. The word ashes has an entire new meaning to me now. 
I remember picking up her ashes (I demanded to go with Eric, he didn’t think it would be a good idea). I remember sobbing in the car as we left the funeral home, thinking, how is this little bag I now hold in my hands, all I had left of my little girl. It all seemed surreal. Eric placed his hand over mine and simply squeezed. I cried all the way home. It wasn’t fair. 
In all the crying I did, her ashes made me the angriest. I think life was redefined for me that day. I went from holding my living baby, to holding a little bag of ashes that now was all I physically had left of her. But her presence, like the author also says, after her death has been clear and comforting. Her heavenly kisses make it bearable when it feels like it’s not. She makes us smile in the gifts she gives us from up above. So although our loss was great, so much so that words come short, we still very much feel her love every day. 

The First Embrace

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The first embrace: Elea
Elea Mackenzie Zurbrugg was born two weeks ago. As we begin to adjust to our life with Elea, I finally have the time to look at the pictures of her birth. For some reason, the picture above makes me break out in tears. All the kids look exactly alike. This picture definitely takes me back to Natey’s birth, Emme’s first embrace and Elea’s magical arrival (I say magical because the delivery could not have been more relaxing!) where we both understood the meaning of her birth, the wonderfulness of it and the feelings of a mourning mother that were bound to arise at the birth of a subsequent child. 
Clockwise: Nathan, Emme and Elea
Elea has brought renewed joy into our lives, even Natey finds himself completely in love when he is not smacking her over the head 😉 However, it is completely normal for me to have feelings and thoughts of how it should have been, because in all honesty, I should have three children driving me crazy and making me want to pull out my hair. I know I can’t change anything but it is comforting to sync into each of my children. I will always be a mother of 3, I nourished 3 babies and birthed 3 children. 
The other day I had to run to the bank with Z and while there we bumped into an old friend. We struck up a conversation about our children and it was like music to my ears when she said, “so is three it or do you guys want anymore?” I seriously wanted to drop everything we were doing in that second, sob my sleepless eyes out while embracing her. I hope she reads this at some point and realizes that she not only made my day, she probably made my year (V, in my virtual reality I totally put the baby down, hugged you and cried). In my zombied out reality though, time simply moved forward. 
My Mother’s Day card
Life isn’t fair, someone recently reminded me this week. And while these three words struck a chord with me, I realize, although true, many are the times we can make a bad situation better if we so choose to. It really comes down to the way we choose to see it and the way we choose to react.
xoxo

Heavenly Kisses

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After Emme passed away last year, we received a lot of plants and flowers from our friends and family. I remember feeling happy seeing our home surrounded with life in a time where death loomed. I especially loved this huge white orchid sent to us from our good friends in New York. I cared for them as much as I could, although I have never had a green thumb and every orchid I have owned (many! I used to get 4 new orchids delivered weekly at my office) has always met an unfortunate end. 
I still have most of the plants I received, and thankfully my mother in law (she has a huge garden) has helped keep them alive for me. The orchid, however, didn’t look to be doing too well but I was emotionally attached to it, so I kept it. I watered it whenever I would remember, cleaned it up a bit and would stare at its beautiful white vase, knowing the vase was probably all I would have left once I had the courage to dispose of it. 

On the first week of April my mother in law noticed buds on the orchid and congratulated me on taking such good care of it. All throughout the month of April this orchid has continued to bloom it’s white beautiful fruit. But I can’t take any credit for it. I did nothing right. The temperature was too cold for it, it was getting too much water and there, frankly, is no reason why this orchid should have rebloomed a year after I got it, marking Emme’s one year anniversary. 
I don’t think it was chance. It was my little Giant in the Heavenlies sending her momma kisses and hugs. 

Elea Mackenzie, in cahoots with her sister, waited until May 1st to make her arrival although she was due in April. And when Elea was born, she weighed 9 pounds, 4.7 ounces, Emme weighed 4.7 pounds. Again, you can say it was chance and I’m looking for these things but the truth is I wasn’t, they were just so clear for me to see. 

As my family immerses in loving on Elea, I am so thankful to know that my Little Giant is overjoyed in knowing her sister is here, safe and sound, all while receiving little kisses to bring to me. 

Three Blissful Years

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Five years ago this month, I began dating Eric. Three years ago today, I married the man of my dreams. He has been my anchor, held me and loved me on my darkest nights and without a doubt, bent over backwards to ensure my heart is filled with joy.

                                               

Marriage has been amazing. He is the ying to my yang, and shown patience throughout our relationship. Weeks went by this past year where I couldn’t get out of bed. I couldn’t do anything but cry. And Eric would just hold me. He demanded nothing of me. All he wanted was for me to know he loved me. 
                                                         

Countless were the nights where we went to bed crying together. Mourning our loss while continuing to walk. Yet we did not allow anything to shake us. We stood side by side, faithfully believing we would overcome.

                                                        
I remember meeting Eric for the first time, and instantly knowing there was something about him I really enjoyed. Our first conversation involved sales, college and Greek life. He immediately identified as a Mighty Trojan and I, as a Tenacious Golden Bear! Not knowing we would later cross paths again, this moment I always remembered.

                                             
Our connection was instant and it was difficult to hide. As much as neither one of us wanted anything ‘serious’, we quickly ended up permanently intertwined. We enjoyed being together, and growing old together only seemed natural. 
Nathan, Emme and Elea

Our relationship has not been peaches and cream the entire five years, but I would say, there has been nothing we haven’t been able to battle as one. We grow from each other, learn from one another, and constantly try to make ourselves better. We support our dreams and constantly search for growth. Most importantly, we place our relationship at the forefront, knowing that just like anything else, it too needs caring and love to continue on its path. 

Eric is my number one fan, and I am his. I point out his flaws with love, as he does mine. Although five years seems like a significant time, I look forward to spending my life with the man who makes me a thousand times better.

                       

8 Golden Days

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8 Golden Days

I was blessed to have my Emme for as long as I did, eight days outside the womb. Although those eight days held the deadliest storm I have ever wavered, they also allowed me to experience love like never before. They allowed my daughter to touch hearts and bring the Healer to many homes, including my own.

The past eight days have been a whirlwind of emotions. I remember everything like it happened yesterday. I remember sitting in my mothers living room, clutching Nathan so tight, while I sobbed. I remember feeling the heaviness in my heart. The physical ache in my chest that weighed tons. I remember living in the NICU and wanting nothing more than to wake up from my nightmare. I remember the awful feeling of trying to feel and ingrain every second of the days into my memory. I remember believing that I would have Emme longer. I remember her beautiful cry for me and the touch of her skin against mine as she nursed. The sound she made when she swallowed my milk. How her little body felt against mine, as she slept all night snuggled on my chest.

Natey loving on Emme

 I remember how awful it felt when I began to realize that that Sunday would be my last Sunday with her. I remember calling her name after each breathe she took, wanting her to hold on just a little longer. I remember hating the blue marks that the morphine was leaving on her lips, as we tried to soothe her. I remember feeling like I was outside my body and this was not happening to me. I remember holding her tightly for hours after she was gone. I remember changing her one last time with my mothers help, getting her ready to go into the white wicker basket they took her in. I remember running my fingers through every part of her body, trying to memorize everything about it. Her little nose, her lips, her straight silky black hair, her little round tummy, her perfect little toes.

I remember not understanding how completely broken I felt but how everything outside the window continued to look so perfect. The trees, the flowers, the green grass, the neighbors walking their dogs, all while a van sat in my drive way waiting for me to give them my little girl. Even as I write this, my body aches from the heaviness of it all.

This year has definitely been a journey. A journey where everything I knew and believed in was called to question and rebuilding from ashes was all there was left. I am glad that I have come to a period in my journey where I can focus on the positive things that came out from this tragedy. I can appreciate things that I missed in the darkness. I can find joy in these eight days, in the midst of the darkness.

Elea Mackenzie
As my body prepares to give birth to my third child any day now, I smile knowing that Emme and Elea met in heaven. Emme probably even gave Elea tips and sprinkled her with golden dust. 

As the eighth day comes to an end tonight, and I sit here covered in tears and snot, I know that my Father sits next to me, holding me, mourning with me, healing my heart one day at a time.

Your voice holds me together
When I feel like I’m falling apart
I place my world in Your hands
You come and steady my heart
I feel you in the stillness
I know that You are good
I feel you in the stillness
I know that you are good
–Nearness by Jenn johnson, J.P. Jentile, Janie Taylor, Robby Busick

Emme’s Birth Story

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Emme is born 11:24 am
I tossed and turned all night knowing that we would be a family of 4 before the day ended. They were inducing me at 9am, at 39 weeks and 5 days, 2 days short of 40 weeks. Nathan had arrived on his own, 4 days past his due date. Emme had decided not to turn around and was therefore going to be pulled out via c-section. I was extremely nervous about the c-section, although many mothers had told me that it would be done sooner than natural birth and it would be less painful. I remembered how painful it had been when Nathan was born, how much I had pushed to bring my little prince out, so I could definitely do without much pain during the labor this time around, given that I had no choice. We drove to my mothers house and dropped off Nathan. We told him we were going to go get his little sister and that soon enough he would come to the hospital and meet her. We reminded him that Emme was bringing him a gift, and that he would be so excited to see it. I remember embracing him so tightly.

We checked into the hospital where we were soon admitted into our room. Soon enough nurses began to come in and out of the room, setting up my IV and prepping me for major surgery. I remember the nice older nurse having difficulty with my IV. She kept apologizing while I cried. At the moment I wasn’t sure why I cried. She kept saying sorry and I kept saying I was ok; I was simply nervous since I had never had a c-section. Eric held my hand telling me we were going to be ok and to think of the beautiful baby we would soon hold in our arms. We even took a picture of ourselves right before they rolled me away. Eric kept telling me not to be afraid but my heart was heavy. I was scared.

They rolled me into the operating room where there were 8 people, all for different jobs, prepared for an emergency and if anything would go wrong with either me or the baby. They brought the anesthesiologist and began the process of numbing me. My tears kept rolling down my cheeks and I remember the doctor telling me that everything was going to be fine and it would be over so quickly. I nodded my head and continued to stay still, as they injected the needle in my back. Slowly I felt the cold liquid run through my back and I laid down.

I felt the pressure of the incision as they cut through five layers of tissue. One by one they got closer to my little girl. I felt something removed and I knew she was no longer inside me but I heard no cry. I heard a heavy silence. I asked how much she weight and why she wasn’t crying. The doctor quickly responded saying that sometimes they had to do a couple extra steps to let the baby know it was outside. Seconds later I heard her sweet cry. My heart was at ease and my doctors began to sow me right up as they talked about some mediocre hospital administration issues. Then they rolled Emme right pass me, stopping very quickly so I could see her, we locked eyes and it was then I saw her blue eyes and how much she looked like Nathan. I smiled as they explained they needed to take her for some extra check ups to make sure everything was ok. Eric left with her.

They rolled me into a waiting room, where an empty bassinet laid next to me. The nurse shared no new information with me, as I laid there waiting for Eric to come back. My world changed the second Eric walked in with a heavy heart I could see through his watered eyes. I saw my husband like I had never seen him before. He was devastated. I quickly asked how bad it was to which he responded, they wouldn’t know until tests came back but they knew something wasn’t right.

They moved me into the visiting room where my immediate family soon showed up. And one by one I could see how strong they wanted to be as all I could do was cry and come in and out of sleep. As the doctors began to come in and out of our room we knew it was bad but tests were not all back so they couldn’t tell us what they thought she had. Physically Emme looked perfect but she was struggling to breathe on her own. I wasn’t allowed to go see her because I couldn’t walk, so I refused the narcotics and forced myself to walk up and down the halls with Eric’s help, within hours of my surgery. I had to go see her. I finally got the ok after I begged my nurse, only to start dripping blood as I made myself walk through the hall. After a quick clean up, I finally got to lay eyes on my Little Giant and hold her  close.

It was Tuesday morning when I heard the devastating words, Emme had a chromosomal disorder which was incompatible with life. Eric and I weren’t carriers. It was chance. She should not have made it full term. She should have died in the womb. The words hit me like bricks. One after the other. Beating me down to a dark, dark place. Everything became a blur. Fog rolled in. My world as I knew it had ended.

I could sugar coat Emme’s birth story, and somehow have it end with hope. But that’s not how it felt then. Hope didn’t exist. Devastation felt awful. It penetrated me emotionally and physically. 
This is my story. 

April is Back

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Our Family of Five

My heart grows heavy knowing that I gave birth to my daughter almost 1 year ago. And instead of holding her in my arms, cuddling away, helping her blow out her first birthday candles, I’m searching for the perfect words for her first years post.

                                                          
Emme’s Easter
April is such a heavy month for us. It brings much joy but it also brings tears. Five years ago this month, Z and I had our first date. Three years ago this month we will have been married 3 years. My father is turning 63, the same day Emme would have turned 1. We celebrate Emme’s birth and mourn her passing, as we expect our third child this month as well. 
Overwhelmed is an understatement. I find myself having really difficult days and ok days. I feel a rush of emotions coming at me every day, all while I try to stay afloat. I know this is a journey, there isn’t anything that will make it permanently better. Every day is a new day and how I deal with every day is the choice I get.

Believe

I want April to come by as quickly as possible, but at the same time I want it to be a snail. I want to feel everything about it because feeling allows me to remember. And I love remembering Emme and everything she touched. 
Emme’s First Birthday Cake
  Nathan blew out her first birthday candle yesterday. He told me he was doing it for Emme in heaven 😭 It was definitely a bitter sweet day, celebrating Easter and my little girls first birthday without her.