As some of you know, I hurt my arm a few weeks ago, and am on the slow road to recovery from repetitive strain/stress injuries that have me on prescription anti-inflammatory and muscle relaxing drugs as well as occupational therapy. And to answer Holly’s question on the last post, it is a work related injury (I spend a lot of time on the computer). That’s why I have over 300 unread posts in Google Reader and have been so out of touch with my friends on Facebook, BabyCenter, and Twitter. I think I’m starting to heal, but it will be awhile until I am all fixed.

Last week, in addition to the running around and tests for my arm issues, I also had an appointment with a nurse practitioner at Kaiser. I scheduled it over a month ago, because I wanted to talk to my caregiver about transferring my medical information from UCSF and give her a head’s up about everything that happened to me and losing my two babies. It was difficult being in the obgyn department and having to lay on the exam table in the dressing gown. The NP told me I looked sad, and I explained that it was hard being back in a hospital and that their due dates were so close. Her response was one of the best things anyone could have said to me: I would have heartache, too. On my way out, as I was waiting to schedule an appointment with a counselor, I watched a newly pregnant couple as they were told, We’ll schedule your 18-week ultrasound. Congratulations!

These past few week’s have been challenging for me. And that may be an understatement.

I feel like my body is breaking down, and I feel lost about my career goals and what I really want to do. Most of all, I just feel so heartbroken – especially tonight. It’s August 3rd, and I know what could have been. I was going to write should have been, but I know that in the greater scheme of God’s plan, everything *is* as it should be. Knowing that, however, doesn’t make it hurt any less right now, and it doesn’t stop my heart from feeling like I should have a baby in my arms and a toddler clambering into my lap.There is no “either Calvin or Rainbow.” We could have had them both.

I’ve been told that grief comes in waves, and today, I was overcome by a big one.

It was/is the sobbing, whimpering kind of grief. The kind with lots of tears and a runny nose that turns stuffy and makes it hard to breath. The kind that leaves you feeling breathless. That makes you feel both heavy and empty at the same time.

I wish I knew what it was like to have a pregnancy that ends with a living child. I wish I knew what it was like to raise two children almost exactly a year apart, to hold them both in my arms and be oblivious to the world of baby loss. But that isn’t my life – not yet, not in this world.

So I’ll just continue to bow my head in thankfulness for this aching love and cradle my babies in my heart.

This post has been a long-time-in-the-making, but I just kept pushing it back because I wanted more time to process the images and get them in good good shape/size for posting. This morning I woke up and decided I would do just that for this month’s The 5th Belongs to Calvin, because (1) I love seeing their names over and over and (2) I wanted to share the lovely work of some amazing people.

it is with much gratitude and warmth in my heart that I share these beautiful name images, which were created by such loving hands and hearts for my precious loves:

My sweet boy, I miss you and Rainbow so much, and am so thankful for the wonderful reminders we have of you both. You are my reason for seeking joy in this life. Happy 16 months in heaven, Calvin. Mommy and Daddy’s love for you just deepens with each passing day.

In addition to announcing the winner of my Something Happened giveaway, in this The 5th Belongs to Calvin post, I wanted to share a little bit of Calvin and Rainbow’s daddy – the man who has been with me since high school, when I was just a girl trying to catch his eye and capture his heart. I guess I did a pretty good job of it, too, since Louie is now my husband and the father of my two heavenly babies.

Photo credit: Ed Pingol Photography

I am very proud to call this man my husband, my best friend, and the father of my children. (I guess you can call him my homie-lover-friend-baby-daddy ). I love him and the way he loves me and our children. He isn’t perfect, and there are times when I don’t know whether to scream at him or tear my hair out. But his imperfections – and the way he so gracefully (most of the time) accepts mine – are part of what makes him right for me.

We are by no means one of those couples who are always on the same wavelength, and sometimes it takes a lot of work to understand things through each other’s eyes, but that’s okay with us. I will never know the hurt I caused in my moments of anger, selfishness, and spite. I will never know how it felt for him to doubt our relationship right before our wedding but still decide he loved me enough to make it work. I will never know what it was like for him to watch me deliver our dead son beyond the I’m sorry’s he tearfully whispered into my hair over and over or the helplessness he must have felt I bled and lost our second pregnancy, our Rainbow. What I do know is that he does not ask it of me.

The day Calvin was born, it wasn’t until my arms were heavy and weak that I asked Louie if he wanted to hold our baby. (I will never forget the weight of him – my first child, my son – in my arms, it helps me know that he was real and he was here and he lived.) The way Louie’s face lit up, as he smiled and said, Really?, will never leave me; he was willing to let me carry Calvin in my arms for as long as I wanted, the whole time, even, without thinking twice about it. The pride and love in Louie’s face, the gentle rocking and soft sweetness in his voice as he sang to our baby, and the way he carried him over to the window overlooking the city to have his daddy-son talk – These moments make all the heartache that came with leaving the hospital worth it. I am so thankful to have been able to see Louie father our son.

Photo credit: Ed Pingol Photography

I know that I neglect to tell him how much he means to me and that, though it may seem like I take him for granted, I know that he has gone through so much in our 11 years together, and especially in the past year and a half. The rate of separation between couples who have lost a child are higher than those who haven’t (which is already high as it is), and I feel lucky to have a husband who is willing to walk through the valley with me in a very real way: from losing friends to family to our only children. He has stayed with me and held me in my brokenness, sharp edges and all. I am so blessed by Louie’s heart. I am in awe of his strength and his sensitivity. I am so jealousy of his creativity and artistic talent. I am inspired by his way with words, especially when they are formed by compassion. And I am especially in love with how much he loves our babies.

Happy 15 months in heaven, Calvin Phoenix. I am so proud to call myself your mommy. Thank you for blessing me and daddy. Thank for all the ways in which you’ve inspired me. And thank you for helping me see just how great your daddy is.

Now the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, that ye may abound in hope, in the power of the Holy Spirit. Romans 15:13.

In the beginning of this lesson we read in Ezra about the return to Jerusalem, which had been turned into a ghost town, and how the people began rebuilding it. There were those who wept over their lost city, and there those who shouted for joy at the laying of the new foundation. Honestly, I relate more to those who wept, but I can understand the hope that the new foundation symbolizes after the destruction of Jerusalem – this is a cause of rejoicing. It makes me think of what Jesus said about the temple being destroyed and rebuilt. Even though I know the He is risen and that His suffering has ended, thinking of His passion and the suffering that he endured still brought me to tears, as I wrote about in this post. It’s the same with my two babies. Though I am in a place where I can see a “new city,” I still weep for what was and for what could have been. I know that God is working in me. He is re-laying the foundation of my life and my joy. But honestly, I am still in the storm of my grief.

The authors share the following quote and ask which direction we are looking:

Sorrow looks behind,
Fear looks around,
Faith looks.

I am looking in all directions. That can be dizzying.

Praising God after losing my babies was not as difficult for me. I knew the blessing that my babies each were and remained thankful for that. Maybe that’s why I didn’t completely turn away from or feel anger towards Him (but that doesn’t mean I didn’t feel undirected anger), even if I did feel abandoned at times. “Moving on to something new,” however, is a whole different issue that I have difficulty even trying to contemplate. Cognitively, it’s very hard for to separate “moving on” to “leaving behind.” I’m starting to understand that it’s not so much moving on from Calvin and Rainbow, but moving on from the pain and the grief, but I haven’t untangled it all, yet, and I’m okay with that – I know that God is ever so patient and that He is here with me, helping me separate the threads of grief and sorrow from those of hope and joy. And one day, I will made anew. I will be a tapestry in which the lives of Calvin and Rainbow are intricately woven.

³Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who according to his great mercy begat us again unto a living hope by the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, ⁴unto an inheritance incorruptible, and undefiled, and that fadeth not away, reserved in heaven for you, ⁵who by the power of God are guarded through faith unto a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time. ⁶Wherein ye greatly rejoice, though now for a little while, if need be, ye have been put to grief in manifold trials, ⁷that the proof of your faith, being more precious than gold that perisheth though it is proved by fire, may be found unto praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ: ⁸whom not having seen ye love; on whom, though now ye see him not, yet believing, ye rejoice greatly with joy unspeakable and full of glory: ⁹receiving the end of your faith, even the salvation of your souls. I Peter 1:3-9.

We are asked to list some of the “new things” God is doing in our lives. One of the new things God has done in my life is strengthening my faith and erasing the feeling that I need to be “inconspicuous” about my faith so that I don’t offend others. Freedom of religion is about being able to freely practice my beliefs, not about worrying about how my doing the sign of the cross or saying grace at a restaurant might affect others.

This lesson talks abut a sacrifice of praise and how praising Him is the key to letting Him get on with the job.For a previous Walking with You post, I wrote this: Tearful, Empty-Armed, Hurting Praise. I had so much sorrow weighing on my heart at that time, but I learned that there is something very powerful that comes with praising God when you are hurting, and the brokenness becomes okay. His strength is truly made perfect in weakness. Psalm 71:14: But I will hope continually, And will praise thee yet more and more.

I like the quote from Teale Fackler: The Lord has comforted me by giving my grief and experience purpose. It helps to know that I can help others through my experiences by offering my support to those who have lost a child and by helping those who don’t know this pain to understand what we are going through and hopefully give them more insight on how to best offer comfort and support to anyone they know who has suffered this type of loss. I have also found found comfort in the “babyloss” community – through other parents (online and in real life) who have validated my feelings and who have given me hope of finding happiness without “forgetting” and “moving on with my life” – and in those who have, without judgment, been willing to bear witness to my grief and how it has changed me.

There are many things in my life for which I can be joyful. Today though, with Mother’s Day coming up tomorrow, I just want to share this Scripture from Isaiah 49:15-16, because, although my heart aches so badly for Calvin Phoenix and for Rainbow Baby, I am filled with joy knowing that I am still a mother, though my children live in heaven, and that they are safe and whole in God’s care:

¹⁵Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on teh son of her womb? Yea these may forget, yet will I not forget thee. ¹⁶Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands; thy walls are continually before me.

This is the last post of the Threads of Hope series, and I wanted to give a big thank you to Kelly for leading us through it and encouraging us to stick with it. I have so needed to spend this time in His word, and it has meant a lot to me.

This Threads of Hope, Pieces of Joy Bible Study is part of the “Walking With You” outreach of Sufficient Grace Ministries, led by Kelly Gerken. To learn more, read Kelly’s post: “Upcoming Threads of Hope Study.”

To read my posts on other lessons, please use the links below:
•Lesson One: Your Story
•Lesson Two: So Many Questions
•Lesson Three: This Can’t Be Happening
•Lesson Four: Why Me?
•Lesson Five: How Can I Go On?
•Lesson Six: I’ve Got to Get Better Soon
•Lesson Seven: Moving On to Acceptance
•Lesson Eight: Learning to Let Go

I really like how this lesson opens — it addresses the fear I expressed in lesson 7 about acceptance meaning forgetting: What does it mean to let go? It is not the same as forgetting and it not simply ‘getting on with your life.’ Letting go means releasing your child into the hands of God. Letting go also means releasing your grief into the hands of God.

It’s been much easier to release my child to God than it has been to release my grief to God. We found out that Calvin died exactly one week after Ash Wednesday (and I delivered him exactly one week after my 27th birthday). At the time, I thought, Okay, God, if this is what you are asking of me, okay. What did I give up for Lent that year? I gave up my son. Some people don’t understand what that means. They think that I didn’t have a choice, but I did. I chose to say, Okay, God. I think that’s why I never felt any anger at God after losing my son. I felt distant from Him, yes. I felt abandoned and forgotten when I first walked into hospital for my induction. But, I guess, a part of me always understood that He has great reason for what he allows to happen in my life.

The grief? That is a whole different story. Thinking back on it, I probably felt like (a small part of me still feels like), after giving up my son, I should at least be able to hold onto the grief. The pain felt like the only real thing left I had of Calvin. But I’ve started to learn differently.

Getting Out of the Pit

This is the picture I have of my grief:

My grief is like a cave. Dark. Cold. Empty. Lonely. It’s on a mountain. It’s hard to get to — and most others don’t like visiting. It’s hard to leave, though, because the thought of not being able to get back is scary. It’s more comfortable in my cave than being outside, alone on the mountain. It feels lonely, yes, but it’s cozy; I feel less vulnerable being in here and crying outward than being exposed out in the world.

I really like the quote by Corrie Ten Boom: There is no pit so deep that He is not deeper still. It gives me comfort to know that there is no place I go in my grief that God cannot find me. I know He has been with me, especially through the people He has brought into my life, through those who have been willing to join me in my cave.

Waiting for Resurrection

In the three days between His death and resurrection, the disciples might have felt guilt, sadness, and fear. In my own grief, I have felt all three. Right now, I feel sadness, but the guilt and the fear seem to have been lifted from me. I’m thankful for this respite.

In John 20:1-18, we learn of Jesus’s resurrection. After He rose from the dead, He appeared before Mary Magdalene as she was weeping outside of the tomb. Although He was standing before her, Mary didn’t recognize Jesus until He spoke her name. He was right there. She was in His presence. But she did not know it was Him because she was so overcome and distraught. I really like what Kelly wrote in her post, about needing to lift our eyes up to see that He is with us.

When Jesus asks Woman, why weepest thou? Whom seekest thou? (John 20:15), I’m sure He already knows the answer. I think He knows the answer better than I do. But just as He needed to call Mary Magdalene by name for her to recognize Him, I need to answer these questions for myself.

Looking Heavenward

The verses, I Cor 15:40, Phil 3:20-21, and Mt. 17: 1-5, imply that though we are made anew when we rise to Heaven in our spiritual bodies, I will still be able to recognize my babies, my Calvin and my Rainbow, just as the disciples recognized Elijah and Moses. I will be able to see them as He sees them and know them as He does. Thinking about this day, of being reunited with my children and being able to immediately recognize them brings me to tears. I am so thankful for that promise. I am so grateful to Jesus for giving up His life so that I may earn, through His grace alone, the chance to spend eternity with my children.

Unresolved Issues

I think this section could have a better title, but I can understand that the purpose of this section is to address some things that are, well… unresolved, but still…

I still need to organize the mementos I have of my babies. I want to print out the emails, comments, and notes we received from people, including the sweet messages people left for Calvin on Kisses for Calvin.

My babies’ names

Calvin Phoenix: I wrote about Calvin’s name in a previous “Walking with You” post, Naming Our Babies. Calvin has a combination of our first initials (C and L) and also happens to mean “bald,” and Phoenix was an homage to Louie’s grandfather, Felix, and means eternity and rebirth.

Rainbow: A mommy on BabyCenter posted this definition of a rainbow baby:

“Rainbow Babies” is the understanding that the beauty of a rainbow does not negate the ravages of the storm. When a rainbow appears, it doesn’t mean the storm never happened or that the family is not still dealing with its aftermath. What it means is that something beautiful and full of light has appeared in the midst of the darkness and clouds. Storm clouds may still hover but the rainbow provides a counterbalance of color, energy and hope.

Louie and I both agreed to keep the name Rainbow because I felt she was a girl. Although we lost our rainbow baby, she still gave us the new hope and light that definition describes. Because of Rainbow, I know that I can love each of my children with the same fullness.

A letter to God

Dear God,

Thank You for blessing me and Louie with Calvin Phoenix and Rainbow Baby. Thank You for choosing us to be their mommy and daddy, to carry them during their brief lives on earth.

We miss them so much. My heart and arms ache for them so badly. It hurts that I can’t watch them grow up. It hurts that Calvin isn’t here saying Mamama and Dadadada and that Rainbow is no longer growing in my belly. I miss the hope that comes with being pregnant, and though I’m afraid of carrying life again because it means I could lose another child, I’m more afraid of not having anymore children at all.

I want to know what it’s like, Lord, to raise my babies. I want to be able to smell their hair and plant kisses on their hands and feet. I love my babies so much, and it hurts that I can’t touch them or soothe them. I want them to know how much I love them, how much their daddy and I wanted them.

I’m so thankful that they are safe in your care, that You are there with them, Lord, to wrap Your arms around them and give them hugs and kisses when we can’t. I’m thankful that Mama, Nanay, Grandpa Frank, Grandpa Quireno, Grandma, Tatay, Auntie Mona, Mama Floring, and Mama Elang are there with Calvin and Rainbow, and look forward to being reunited with them and our other loved ones.

Please help me, God, to make my children proud, to let let them know that I want to live a good life in their honor and do good things because of them. They have saved me. They have brought me closer to You. They have strengthened and solidified my relationship with their daddy. I am grateful for that. I am so proud to be their mommy. Please tell them that for me.

And please continue to work in my life. Refine me, Lord, so that I may be worthy of Your grace.

Amen.

This Threads of Hope, Pieces of Joy Bible Study is part of the “Walking With You” outreach of Sufficient Grace Ministries, led by Kelly Gerken. To learn more, read Kelly’s post: “Upcoming Threads of Hope Study.”

To read my posts on other lessons, please use the links below:
•Lesson One: Your Story
•Lesson Two: So Many Questions
•Lesson Three: This Can’t Be Happening
•Lesson Four: Why Me?
•Lesson Five: How Can I Go On?
•Lesson Six: I’ve Got to Get Better Soon
•Lesson Seven: Moving On to Acceptance
•Lesson Nine: Finding Joy