Leif’s Story: Day 5

8/31/17

Breauna

I woke up this morning a little stronger—a little lighter. My chest was no longer throbbing and I sighed as I looked up. Thank you. I had a few things I wanted to get taken care of before Leif’s funeral and it gave me purpose. My resolve to place pieces of my heart in every aspect of Leif’s funeral carried me through a solo trip to the city where I encountered pregnant women and babies at every turn. But, I couldn’t help reflecting on a moment I’d had the day before with Luxe. I was sitting on the couch watching her dance. The little girl loves to dance and it’s thoroughly enchanting. I caught myself with a grin of amusement as I watched her and thought, I’m grinning. She stopped and said, “Mama, dance!” just to dart into another twirl and spin. I laughed and stood up, feeling free in that moment to just goof off, So, I did. I danced just to keep her dancing and laughed while I watched her. I thought to myself as tears started to spring, Oh, Luxe, you sweet, precious girl. You are serving right now and you don’t even know it… used by the Lord and He honors your name. Light.  

Baby girl was bringing the sunshine. I see You, God. He winked. The great I AM. Ever resourceful. A shattered heart felt a little less broken. I soaked up the warmth of Luxe as the arms of God encompassed us both. I gave myself permission to feel the joy without guilt and I felt His blessing, knowing He created the moment and called it good.

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Before I went to sleep that night, I opened my Bible to read. I had read Ecclesiastes 2 the night before, so Ecclesiastes 3 was the text for this  night and the timing was no coincidence because right in front of me–on that particular evening–were these words: “In every season, there is a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.” (Ecclesiastes 3:4)

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Tears of gratitude welled up and comfort saturated my heart. I had divine permission to grieve, yes…but also blessing in moving forward. To have happy moments did not mean that I didn’t love Leif… just like being entrenched in sorrow didn’t mean I cared less for the children in front of me. This verse was drenched in grace and I was struck with wonder. Here I was… suffering, broken, so small in the grand scheme of things that go on in the world…and Almighty God was right with me…stooping down in tangible ways to show how He draws close. And even though I hurt, to experience Him like this created a hunger for every single morsel He had to give.  I see You, Lord. Let me see more.

 

Leslee

I dug his grave today. I wanted to. Needed to. I’ve cried many tears and I know I’ll cry more, but today they fall in the form of sweat. It pours out, soaking my shirt.

I work hard and hard work builds muscle. My muscle is one thing I can offer Leif right now—and my family. I hit tree roots and rocks. It only makes me more determined.

Breauna and I chose this resting spot for our son and it is perfect. He’ll be right under a maple tree. Not only will it be beautiful this fall, but it will provide shade for Leif. This was symbolic for Breauna and I. Our biggest and most important goal has always been to plant trees in the lives of our children that provide them strength, trust, faith, love, and shade. This is done by raising them in the Lord. Those trees will be a refuge—a cover—for them as they encounter ugliness on their journey to Heaven. Leif has already made it. But, we still wanted Leif’s little body to rest in the shade. And if my pain brings me any joy at all, it’s knowing that my son and one of my daughters have already been successful in their journey.

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Leif’s Story, Day 1, Part 3

Leslee

I made arrangements for the girls to be brought to us in the city as Breauna rested. I had laid Leif in the little crib cart the nurses had brought to our room and sat down. Heart broken. Spent. Still in shock. All I knew was that I had to be strong for Breauna. My mind raced. Maybe something was wrong with him and that’s why God took him. As an act of mercy on us. No…no no no…He was perfect. I know in my heart there wasn’t anything wrong. Why, then? Why did he make it to this point and then…? I wanted answers so badly. It’s me, isn’t it, God? It’s not Breauna. She’s suffering because of me. Because I just can’t get my act together. I battle controlling my mouth. I battle so many things. I’m not who you want me to be, right? I  think it’s pretty obvious right now that I am cursed. Two out of four…not a real great success rate… But over and above all that, I looked over at my wife and wondered what she was thinking and feeling. I felt for her more than I thought of myself. What was it like to bear a child? What kind of pain did that entail? What pain she must be in…far greater than mine…to have carried him for nine months, felt every kick, felt every roll,  and lost him. What was she feeling right now? What was she thinking?

I watched her bring Leif into the world knowing he was dead and I couldn’t think of anyone I’d ever known who was stronger than my wife. I was thankful-so thankful-that she was here. I may not have had Leif, but I still had her. I knew what it was like to lose my whole family–

My outlook took a turn there. Was I discouraged? Yes. Was I hurting? To the core. Was I afraid of what lie ahead and how we would navigate it? Yeah…a little…because I’d gone down this path before. But, I was harder now. Stronger. See, that’s the thing about death and loss—at least for me, anyway—each time I suffer, I get tougher. The dark places of this rough road are familiar. Call me callous, but the first time I went down it was the hardest. After that, I knew how to get where I wanted to go. But, I could not imagine going down it without Breauna. That would be a whole different road. That’s the other thing about death and loss—for me, anyway—my loss caused me to love Breauna like I’ve never loved before. That woman lit up my road—lit up my entire life. I didn’t have to wonder what it would be like if I lost her—goodness, I didn’t even want to think about that. Black. The darkest black. Blind black. Black I didn’t think there was any way I could ever recover from.

I’m not cursed. I’m still very blessed. And I determined right there that we would certainly cry together—we would hurt—but I was going to be the one this time that lit our road. I was going to guide her down it. In the fog, I would try my best to bring clarity. I would validate her feelings. I would hold her when she cried—when we cried. And I would understand.

I tried my best to cling to that thought—how very blessed I still am—and decided to focus on what needed to be done right now. There was one thing nagging my heart in that moment: Taegan was on her way to the hospital and she didn’t know. My heart broke all over again thinking about her…knowing she was excited and happy. I asked our family not to say anything to her because it needed to be me. I was dreading that phone call, but I couldn’t let her get here thinking she was going to meet her baby brother and find out once she was here that he was gone. That felt cruel. So, I picked up the phone and called my sister.

“Hey, Tanna. Where are you guys at?”

“We just left…only about 5 minutes down the road from Mom’s.”

“Ok, can you put Taegan on the phone? I need to tell her.”

“Yeah.”

I heard some shuffling and then Taegan’s sweet little voice.

“Hi, Daddy!”

“Hey, baby…um…There’s something I need to tell you.” My voice broke and tears started rolling down my face.

Silence.

“Leif didn’t make it.”

“What…?”

“He didn’t make it, sweetie.” She started to cry and  the call dropped. Oh, no! Aw, man! I dialed it back as fast as I could and got Tanna again.

“Can you put Taegan back on the phone? I’m not sure if she hung up on me or if you lost signal, but I need to talk to her again.” I felt awful. There was no easy way to do this and I couldn’t come up with words. I could hear her crying in the background.

“Hello?” Taegan said.

“Hey, I lost ya there. Mommy and I want to see you really bad. I’m going to have Tanna text me as soon as you get here and I’ll meet you at the front door, ok? I love you, Taegan.” She was still crying. “Hey, I love you. I’ll see you when you get here, alright?” She wasn’t talking. Just crying.

Tanna came back on the phone and I said, “Hey, Tanna, just let me know when you’re parked and I’ll come meet you at the front door.”

“Ok, Leslee. Love you.”

“Love you, too. Bye.”

I felt awful. That was definitely one of the hardest phone calls I’ve ever had to make.

 

Breauna

I listened to Leslee make that phone call, tears rolling down my face. My mom had arrived and was sitting in the chair next to my bed in tears, as well. She was holding Leif and trying her best to be a comfort. The only thing I could think about was Leif. I beat myself up. How did I not know? I’m his mother! How did I not know?! I went shopping on Friday and bought the rug I’d been wanting for his room. I took the girls to the pediatrician and told her she was going to have a new little patient. And he was already slipping away…or gone! I didn’t even know! He didn’t tell me goodbye! Oh God, please say he didn’t suffer. I was supposed to protect him. He was supposed to be safe with me. I failed. I failed miserably. I failed my son. I gave him my best and it wasn’t good enough. Tears continued to come. I thought I’d never stop crying. I continued to pray for peace, comfort, and strength. I got it, but I found that tears were a part of it.

My sister arrived and we held on tight. “I wish I could take all of this on myself,” she said as she cried. “I wish I could carry this pain on me rather than see you carry it. I just want to make all this go away. I feel so helpless to help you.” These were the same sentiments almost verbatim that my mom had said when she had arrived earlier. “I wanted to let you know there’s a little bit of buzz on Facebook. Nothing specific. It’s all pretty vague, but people are asking questions.”

“Aw, man, are you serious?” I asked.

“Yeah…”

In that moment, I was frustrated that I had to do it, but I would much rather have had people hear it from the source than find out from someone else, so I quickly typed up a Facebook post.

 

I’ve heard there is Facebook chatter, so I’ll go ahead and address it. I went into labor this morning, got to the hospital fine, and found out our son, Leif Owen, was no longer with us. He’s with the One who gave him to us. We are experiencing the unimaginable, but I feel Jesus here with us. And through it all, we still believe that God is good. Your prayers mean the world to us. Leslee and I are leaning into each other while we trust the Father with this grief.

 

I clicked “post” and tried my best to think about some of my favorite songs. This is not well with my soul, Father. Not yet, anyway. But, I trust You’re going to make it so. You’ve always been my only hope. More so now than ever. So, don’t let me go. Peace came over me as friends and family started to fill up the waiting room. Never have, never will, it was as if He said. Messages of comfort and solidarity started pinging on my phone. Prayers were going up. Friends were crying with us. People loved us and they loved Leif, too. It wasn’t easy letting each of them see me so raw, but I found that visiting and having each of them cry, sit, and talk with us was a comforting distraction from solitude in our pain. I was thankful for that…and thankful for friends and family all over the country that were another vessel for the love God wanted us to feel. And for the rest of that day, I chose to dwell on that.

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Crazy About Chickens

I now refer to my daughter as “that crazy chicken lady.” She’s got them perched on her shoulder. She’s pushing them around in her toy cart. She’s got them with her on the trampoline. Everywhere Taegan is, there’s a chicken. We caught her and a friend “teaching them how to fly” in “chick school” today. The premise being that if you throw them up in the air, they’ll flap their wings and figure it out. We quickly put a stop to that.

The pullets we got at the local feed store are growing great, but unfortunately, a coon got one of our Silver Laced Wyandottes. So, we’re down to 5 teenage chickens.

In other news, Taegan is now on a murderous rampage against raccoons. She was sad for a minute…and then it all turned to violence. Trust me, I’ve listened–against my will– to a few different death scenarios. Hell hath no fury like a chicken lady scorned. I thought I’d put that out there for any local raccoons that read this blog. Don’t come hunting at the Kriders.

Taegan and I have named the 5 we have left. I’ll introduce them in a future post. This post is for introducing our newest additions. Taegan’s class hatched 20+ chicks and you can be sure Taegan was all about adding to the family.

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Allow me to introduce you to Apple (left) and Pear (right). Disclaimer: I, in no way, had anything to do with those names. 🙂

And, really, we couldn’t say no when chicks bring her this much joy.

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Luxe likes the chicks…

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but from more of a distance.

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This is Taegan saying “Don’t hit it!” Luxe’s intention was not to hit it, rather to let it know that it better not even think about coming any closer.

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The next question becomes…What do you do when a chick doesn’t respect the boundaries you’re trying to create?

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Sister’s starting to freak out…

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aaaannndd we’re there. We’re freaked out. Apple is refusing to take no for an answer.

So, it’s safe to say Luxe does not share in Taegan’s passion for chickens. That’s ok. We’ll find her thing.

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Apple came over to see me instead. When I asked her (or him…we really don’t know yet) for thoughts on this new life with new people, Apple replied, “I’m just going to keep winging it. Life, chickenhood, my eyeliner…Everything.”

I’m kind of enjoying all of them. Chickens (I can’t believe I’m saying this) are pretty fun. And I’ll make sure I document on video the next time Taegan and the farmer try to catch our teenagers after they’ve been let out of the coop. I’ve not laughed that hard in a long time.

A Letter to My Daughter on Her Birthday

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Taegan,

Four years ago today, I first met you and my life changed forever. I fell into a kind of love that I didn’t understand up until that point. I looked at you and your face said, “Hi. I’m yours and I already love you. It’s nice to finally put a face to the voice I’ve been hearing.” I felt known in a way I had never experienced.

 

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I can’t help but look back at that day and still be in wonder. That was the day God entrusted me with a little soul. And He chose to give me yours. Out of all the ones He could have given me. He chose you for me. And the way your presence in my life has changed my soul is something I can’t even put into words. On that day, a transformation happened. A girl became a woman. A woman became a mother. And a sinner felt sanctified. My purpose had never been clearer.

 

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These past four years I am certain that you have taught me just as much as I’ve taught you. We’ve learned a lot together, you and me. I’m still flying by the seat of my pants. I will be until you’re grown and you’re making your own choices. I bear the weight of guiding you through life to make the right ones. That responsibility is quite heavy, but I consider it an honor, as well. Raising you to this point has taken me on the greatest spiritual journey of my life. I’m stronger, better, kinder, and softer than I ever was before you. You will continue to grow and change, but the pleasure of getting to raise and know you is all mine. Maybe I got the earlier part wrong. Maybe God entrusted you with me. Your existence continues to make me the best version of myself.

 

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Now, we await the arrival of your little brother or sister and you call it “our baby.” Like the family has collective ownership. I think it’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard and I can’t wait to see you take on your role as big sister. I’m not delusional enough to think that the two of you will be sunshine and rainbows all the time, but I look forward (with a moderate amount of anxiety, honestly) to the new dynamic of our family. You already love this baby and your influence will strongly shape the person he/she turns into.
I need you to know that even though today is your birthday, I get the gift. The gift of coming this far with you and the hope of traveling much further. Even though you won’t be an only child anymore, you are my firstborn. The impact you have had on my life thus far is immeasurable. That impact is yours.

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Daddy and I love you more than words could ever say and we wish you the best birthday a 4-year-old could ask for.


Always yours,
Mommy