Lacey

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When I was eight we had to put, Rascal, our dog down. I loved Rascal. And I begged my parents for another dog, Mom wasn’t ready for that kind of heartbreak again. So every night I prayed that God would let me have a dog. For three years I prayed this prayer. And one day, Mom came into Dad’s office and said, “I want a dog.” At the time, that moment was the happiest moment of my life. That night we found a golden retriever breeder and went to look at pups to adopt.

There were so many cute little puppies, but there was one in particular that loved my shoe laces and followed me everywhere. I loved her. We chose her and I named her Lacey. Lacey was exactly like me and she became my best friend. She followed me through some of the toughest years of my life. She was there for me when the kids at school bullied me. There for me when I had my first heartbreak. She slept with me at night and kept the nightmares at bay. She was there during my awful teenage years and the incredible lows of that time. The most heartbreaking thing about moving out when I was seventeen was that I had to leave Lacey.

My first spring semester at college my Dad called me around four in the morning. I ignored his call, I thought he had butt dialed me or something. Until he called again. He called to tell me Lacey had died. I lost it. Dad picked me up from my dorm and drove me to the vet so that I could say goodbye. I sobbed over her and tried to ignore the clumps of hair coming off of her and her stiffening body. I couldn’t understand why she had to go then. How could she go now? Why would God do this? Why now?

The following July I found myself ready for another dog. I was moving into my first apartment in a month and wanted a companion. I searched and searched and eventually found a beautiful flat-coated retriever. She had been a rescue and her current owners didn’t want her anymore. Emmy and I became inseparable. We spent quite a bit of time together and she quickly became my first “child.” A year later we moved to Athens, GA to be closer to David. Eight months later, I adopted Rosie, my next dog daughter, from a kill shelter – four hours before her death. I made wonderful friendships. David and I built a relationship together.

David proposed, we were married, we moved into a wonderful home, I became pregnant with Brielle and we had some of the best times of our lives with her. So many wonderful things happened in the past six years. A lot of awful things happened, but good things too. I found myself thinking about Lacey’s death the other day on our way home. Lacey left at just the right time. It broke my heart, but none of these things would have happened if she were still living or had not died when she did.

I would have never moved away from Texas, I wouldn’t have been able to leave Lacey. I would have never adopted Emmy. Rosie would have died. I would have never married David. I would have never had Brielle. I would have never made the friendships I did. Now I see how Lacey’s life was exactly what it needed to be. I had prayed for her for so long and she had been exactly what I needed. I don’t know why Brielle couldn’t stay as long as she did, but I’m thankful for the time I’ve had. I wouldn’t trade that time with her.

I hope that one day I’ll know the reason for her death. Or at least see the good that came from her death. Just like the good that came from Lacey’s death. I don’t know why Lacey died when she did, but I do see how God has blessed me through the years following her death. And this is one of the many reasons I have faith. Throughout my life I have seen how God has provided and blessed me and my family. That didn’t mean we didn’t suffer or have hard times. But he was always there, still helping us, loving us, and taking care of us. And taking care of others too.

I think that’s the whole point of faith. It’s all about hope. I have hope that Brielle’s life will do good. Her life has meaning and value. And I know and can trust that God will use her life for good. When we’re in the midst of grief it can be hard to see how he is caring for us. We can become so caught up in pain, anger, and bitterness that we miss all of the good things around us. And sometimes it can even take another tragedy for us to look back and see how wonderful our lives have been because of loss.

Lacey’s life saved the lives of four other dogs (that we know of). How much bigger then will Brielle’s impact be?

“For in hope we have been saved, but hope that is seen is not hope; for who hopes for what he already sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, with perseverance we wait eagerly for it…And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.” Romans 8: 24-25, 28

Trusting God Through the Pain

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When I found out I was pregnant, I was beyond excited. Not just for the obvious reasons. Last Thanksgiving we got the call that my Papa’s cancer had moved to his brain and was quickly growing and he would have to be put on hospice. A year ago today, my Dad and I drove to Arkansas to help take care of him. For the next month my family helped take care of him. It was a very difficult December, to say the least, and a couple of days after we had our Christmas with him, he passed away. I wasn’t looking forward to my first Christmas without my Papa, but I was going to have a sweet new baby for Christmas. God had blessed me with a special gift that I’d treasure, that would bring joy to not only me, but my family as well for Christmas.

One of my first thoughts when I found out Brielle had anencephaly was, “What kind of sick joke is this?” To take my Papa and my daughter away from me within a year of each other, on Christmas? What kind of sick God does something like that? I was angry, but mostly deeply, maddeningly hurt. I’m still not sure why God gave us a baby on the first try, that would be born around the holidays, and then die. I hurt, but that anger and hurt aren’t at or from God anymore.

I have a lot of confusion, one day I’ll come to terms with everything. For now, I feel like an open bursting wound. And I hate it. I hate that this is happening now, at Christmas, one of my favorite times of the year. I love Christmas and this is too much.

While I hate all this pain, I’m not going to let it consume me. We get to choose how we handle what the world throws at us. We don’t get to choose what happens in our life, but our attitude we do get to control. David and I won’t be miserable, we’re going to grieve, but we’re not going to live in darkness.

This weekend is David’s birthday. We’re going to see The Nutcracker, take a Christmas historic home tour in Marietta, take the dogs to the farmers market in the square. I’m going to wear myself out and we’ll end up watching a funny movie to distract us from the grief of watching families with young children.

We’ll lean on each other and lift the other up when we’re too deep in grief. We’ll think about how happy Brielle is. We’ll remind each other that we’re not grieving Brielle’s fate, we’re grieving our own. The loss of a perfect baby that was too good for our world. We’ll have a bittersweet weekend.

I’ve said this over and over again, but I cannot stress it enough, the loss of Brielle is horrific, but her life was not. We crammed a lifetime into her ten months here with us. She was the greatest light we ever knew, she brought more joy into this world than we could ever imagine. I’m not going to let that be overshadowed by my pain. I don’t know God’s plan, but I know her story isn’t over. I’m just along for the ride, and I’ll constantly seek out ways to honor Brielle’s legacy. She’s too wonderful not to.

Life After Death

We brought Brielle home yesterday (we put her ashes in a soft white teddy bear, I’ll post about that later). And I spent quite a bit of the day wondering what happens now. I don’t mean for my life or David’s lives. But what happens in Brielle’s world? What does she know? Of course, I fully believe she is in heaven. I know that much. But then that’s it. And no one has the answers of what happens next, what life is like after death.

So I wonder. Time could be different there, are years more like moments for her now? When David and I come to be with her will it be as if only a few moments passed? Will she really not know a world without us at all? This is a comforting thought, she’ll never have to miss us and we can pick up where we left off. But then it’s not comforting at the same time. I don’t want her life to stand still, I want her to be free to do whatever she wants to do. I want her to be more, she was such a lively wonderful baby girl, she should have the opportunity to do more.

So is she having a whole lifetime of fun and adventure? Is she seeing and exploring things? Meeting new people, playing with her deceased family? I know they would take good care of her. Is time faster, more fluid? I have no idea. But if time isn’t slower, then what? What will it be like for her while we are away?

When I talk to her can she hear me? I know a lot of people believe this, but really, none of us know. So if she can hear me, great, I’ll talk to her all the time! But if she can’t I’m just a crazy woman talking to the air.

Can she see us? If we take her on adventures still, will she see them? Will she know we did those things for her? Will she know how much we miss her? I know she knows we miss her, but can she see how much? Do I want her to see that? Do I want her to see me grieve for her? Not really. She hated it when I cried.

Is some part of her still connected to her body? If I tote around her ashes in her teddy bear (which I’ve dressed in one of her onesies), talk to her, sing to her, read books to her, will she know? Will it make a difference if it’s with her ashes or not?

How does this part of death work? What do I need to do to take care of her? Nobody knows.

All of these questions, I feel, are critical to how I learn to live again. I need to know how to mother her still, I need to come to terms with a pattern, a way to grieve her. To show her I love her and respect her life and legacy. And I’m not sure how to do that.

Do I swaddle her cremation urn bear thing, dress it in some of her clothes, read her books to it? Do I leave the bear in her closet or her bassinet? Do I take the bear with me on vacation? What do I do with this little piece of her, her “suit”, as David calls her ashes. I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. When does grief become certifiable? Nothing feels right, it all feels terribly wrong. It is terribly wrong. And this is where I am, in this horrible world, trying to figure out how to love Brielle who is a world away.

Psalm 82:3

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Two years ago this was my devotional for the day. In my status I added that this was what I wanted to do with my life and I wanted my friends and family to hold me accountable. Little did I know that two years later I would have just given birth to the most beautiful little girl ever. Even though no one wants a baby like Brielle, David and I wanted her. We want her more than anything. I know that David and I made a difference in Brielle’s life and she showed us how much she knew and appreciated it after she was born. I am so grateful for the time we’ve had with her. And for welcoming all of you into our lives. You have loved and prayed over our little girl. You all have blessed her more than you will ever know. Thank you for joining us through this and loving Brielle.