Tag Archives: gratitude

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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Growth and Gratitude in the Worst Year of My Life

1/1/2018

A new year. I enter it markedly different. I suppose we all do, but after a year like 2017, I feel like I’ve been carved into a very different person. The worst year of your life will do that to you. It hadn’t just been awful since the end of August. No…January began and train wreck after train wreck. Storm after storm. (In April, literally.) Challenge after challenge. There were so many prayers answered “yes.” One big one answered “no.” And so many still up in the air. It occurs to me to be thankful that I have so many things to pray for and about. The ones that He quickly answers give me hope for the ones He’s silent on. The answered ones keep me going when He says no. And even His big no was only a “Not right now…” A painful, deferred yes that I both ache for and anticipate with great joy.

I spent a LOT of time on my knees in 2017 praying for change—and the thing that changed the most was me. God worked some miracles for me and He also brought me to the end of myself so many times I can’t even count. Every strength wasn’t strong enough. Every weakness seemed to be laid bare. Every place in which I relied on myself—even unconsciously—was no longer reliable. Distractions no longer distracted. My efforts to plant dreams or make plans were completely uprooted to the point where I felt paralyzed to even dream or make plans. There was literally nothing I could control.

And I think that was the point. I AM is God of your life, Breauna, not you. I heard that loud and clear.

So, I spent a lot of time also asking God, “What do you want from me? What am I not seeing here? I’m begging you for blessing, Father, and I trust you, so I know there’s a reason You’re not honoring my requests. What do you want from me?” Not in a frustrated way…in a willing one.

“You. I want you,” is what I started to understand. “I want you to seek Me because you just want to be where I am. I want you to seek me simply to draw close. To understand and know Me. You remember how you were when you were a child? In some ways, you need to go back. Let go of control. Let go of thinking you are in any way in charge of your life. Let go of expectation. Let go of your own ideas of what you think a blessed life is and be present in the blessed life I’ve placed you in. I want your gratitude.”

“But you have it, Lord! I am grateful!”

“Not when I bless you and then you’re on to your next request. Achieve one, move to the next. Open your eyes, daughter. I AM everywhere. I want you to see My favor in your life in spite of the challenges, storms, and disappointments. An easy, comfortable life does not equal a blessed one. An easy, comfortable life does not mean you have My favor. When you were a child, it was just you and Me. You had dreams, but no expectations. No comparisons. No notions of what a “happy” life was supposed to be like. You just lived. My pleasure in you and love for you was not based on my action. It was simply based on your belief that I AM what I say I AM.

Trust Me.”

As water poured out of my eyes in my closet, living water was carving riverbeds in my soul. 2017 was an exponential growth year. I grew…because I shrunk. The paradox of moving forward on my journey was all in the setbacks. I needed to revert to mature. I needed to decrease so He could increase. It’s ironic to me that my whole mantra since moving to a little dairy out in the middle of nowhere was “Bloom where you are planted.” I now see God’s motive was “Make a whole new flower.” Your struggles, challenges, setbacks, etc. are not the pain of the executioner’s whip, my daughter. My no’s and my silence are not punishment. Nor are they you somehow missing the road signs or messing up My plans. You, dearheart, are not that powerful. You’re simply impatient. In the meantime, I’m  using my scalpel to fix a few things. I’ve got Your life in my hands. You’ve seen Me in action on your behalf enough to know that. Trust me with it.

I do, Father. I am trusting You. And thank You.

It took me 11 months to stop praying for the things I wanted and start simply asking God to bless me with the things He wanted me to have. To open my eyes to those things when they came. To open my eyes to Him everywhere. To feel Him. To see Him. To experience Him. To be completely fulfilled in all things Him. I sat down with my Bible simply to read—with full faith that if He wanted to me to know something specific, I would end up there at the perfect time. And I told Him I would try my best not to bring my own requests for material or physical blessing, but simply humbly accept what He saw fit to give and cherish with gratitude everything I had. Not because it’s wrong to ask for those things, but because I wanted to put my trust into action. It’s been tough! I’ve had to overhaul some habits and do some major mindset work—or maybe I can’t even take credit for that as my own strength. All good that I do is Him.

Last month, a friend gave me an idea that I prayed about weeks. A word. I simply wanted a word. Something to hang onto as I entered 2018. I prayed for it. Waiting. Watching. A day or two later—the word “prepare” was jumping off book pages. It was everywhere I looked. It was a broken record in my head. I looked up. Is that you, Lord? Is that Your word? I timidly asked because it had a positive feeling with it, a hopeful connotation, and I’ll admit to being afraid I was intercepting it wrong. Afraid of getting my hopes up.  Things expectations are made of. And yet, this word would not leave me alone. Prepare.

Weeks went by. I kept my eye out for a different word. A different message. I’ll admit I’m still doing it. I just don’t want to get it wrong. And yet, this pesky prepare is still here.

Prepare…prepare for what?

I’m not sure…the only thing I can be sure of is that change is always certain.

Prepare for change? Is that it? At this point, I feel like I’m prepared for anything. Having no expectations will do that to a person. Anything can happen. I simply have to roll with it, which completely goes against pride and my own self-accomplishment.

There’s a sense, for me, that prepare was an apt word for 2017. Brace yourself, Breauna. This is going to be a long, dark, bumpy ride. Major growing pains around the next bin.

And yet, here we are in 2018, with this positive, hopeful “prepare.” What was He preparing me for in 2017? And not just me…but Leslee, as well? I’m reminded of Jacob after wrestling with God. Leslee and I can relate to walking with a limp. We come limping into 2018, but with newfound strength, as well. And  humble, grateful hands wide open for whatever the Lord wants to give.

And the word is… “prepare.”

It’s A Wonderful Life

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11/25/17 – Our Thanksgiving was a blessed one. It wasn’t stressful, we didn’t spend a lot of time on the road, and somehow we managed to see a lot of family AND take a cute photo for our Christmas cards over the course of two days.

Leslee and I were doing good. Great, actually.  Our focus was on the present…not the past…not the future.

The past is now something I don’t want to talk about. Saying that makes me feel a little guilty, but in my mind, it has nothing to do with Leif, and everything to do with choosing joy. Choosing healing. Choosing to continue on this path the Lord has me on in cooperation with His will rather than dwelling on what mine was.

The future is always uncertain. So, the day I have is mine to enjoy. One good family photo was all I needed, so we sat for it and my mind was on making sure the girls were doing what they were supposed to be doing while I was still maintaining a smile.

We got up and started back for the house when sadness snuck up on me. Our family photo was missing a person. I should have had my little guy in my arms. My arms were empty. And this photo on my camera looked as if nothing had ever happened.

Inhale, exhale. Get it together, Breauna. I had actually been avoiding family photos to avoid this feeling. However, Luxe wasn’t a part of any of our family pictures to date, so I took the opportunity I had on this one.

We walked in the house and the girls were a blessed distraction as they bustled around trying to put play clothes on and go their separate ways with other family members. I sat at my desk in the silence and touched up a few things on the photo. The next task was perusing the different holiday cards for the perfect one.

I scrolled and scrolled thinking, Meh, not right for us….too many picture slots…too much pizzazz…etc. I wanted something very simple. At the very end of all the card choices, I found it. Just the right one. It was a simple family photo card and across the bottom it said, “It’s a wonderful life.”

I sat there and pondered that for a bit. I overanalyzed what people might think of me–with my empty arms—sitting there on a card that says it’s a wonderful life. The enemy was in my ear. “Is it a wonderful life, Breauna? Really…for you? I’m pretty sure a person wouldn’t call losing a child a wonderful life…”

No…no, they wouldn’t. But, that still didn’t define everything that this family in the photo was…or is. Losing Leif didn’t make the people or the pieces that still remained any less wonderful. It didn’t make me any less full of wonder when I thought about how this life had been specifically orchestrated for each of us by a Master Conductor.  How each day was another piece of the puzzle that I was certain was going to be wonderful when I got to see it all put together and finished.

It is a wonderful life, I firmly declared and went about setting our photo in that card, all the while still feeling melancholy.

Leslee walked in from doing chores and peeked around the bedroom door.

“Whatcha doing?” he casually asked.

“Oh, trying to get our Christmas cards ordered…It’s got me in a little bit of a funk.”

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?” he asked.

“Well, I look at it and I can’t help thinking about what it’s missing…”

“I totally hear that. I was thinking about that earlier,” he replied.

“But…,” I looked up at him, tear-filled eyes, as he looked at the proof of our Christmas card, and said, “it’s still a wonderful life…right?”

“Oh, babe…absolutely,” he emphatically replied. He circled the three girls in the photo with his finger and said, “There ain’t nothin about this that isn’t wonderful. I look at the three of you and think, ‘Man! How did I ever get so blessed?!’ It is a wonderful life. Send that one. That’s the card.”

I guess all I needed was his corroboration to bolster my own belief. It’s interesting how choosing a simple Christmas card made me question my truth, but it wasn’t even about me, really. It was about me looking at my life from the outside–the tragedy of it–and wondering if someone would question God. What kind of God gives someone a baby and allows it to die? And how in the world is that woman still calling her life wonderful? She’s delusional. She’s out of her ever-loving mind!

See, that’s the point that I can’t explain to my own humanness. It defies understanding…this peace. This wonder that still remains. This joy. The wholehearted belief that God is still so good. It’s impossible to wrap a mind around.

Which brings me back to the card. It’s a wonderful life…when the Lord is in it. A wonderful life. Full of Him. Full of  wonder.

 

Leif’s Story, Day 1, Part 4

Shortly before the girls arrived in a quiet moment in my room, I received a message from my friend, L.A. In it were words sent straight from Heaven. I couldn’t have been more appreciative of the vessel she allowed herself to be when I read:

Baby Bird (The Gift It Is To Be)

Baby bird lays in a tree

Warm and safe ‘neath mother’s wing

Knowing not a world of sin

 Or pain or suffering of man.

He knows of only joy and love

Protections by his God above,

The care his parents give and of

The gift it is to be.

In his egg, he stays untainted

Blue and white and speckle-painted

Content to live unchanged

From his fetal state of life.

For to live a life so short as

Straight heaven-bound from unhatched

Is having not such things as

The devil and his strife.

He’ll know of only joy and love

Protection by his God above

The care his parents gave and of

The gift it is to be.

 

I cried as I finished it and thought to myself, Oh, yes…what a gift it truly is to simply be. I read it to Leslee and said, “Those last 4 lines…they have to go on his headstone.” Leslee agreed.

I had a moment to myself later. No one was in the room. Leslee had gone to get our things and see the girls off. I was alone. Alone with Him. A moment I had been waiting all day for. I looked over at my baby in the crib, sweetly “sleeping.” I started sobbing. Desperate pain and sorrow overtook me. Oh, Father, please give me strength! Give me comfort!  I don’t know how I’m going to do this! I love him so much! I can’t bear this burden, God. I need You! I need You to take this! I don’t know what you’re thinking. I don’t know what path you have me on, but I want you to know I trust you. Please give me peace.

And then the poem came to mind and even amidst the deepest sorrow I’ve ever felt, I felt gratitude, which only brought more tears. Thank you for letting him “be” with me. Thank you for keeping my little treasure. I told You I wanted to raise him to be Yours…This isn’t exactly what I had in mind, but I’m grateful, Father. I’m so thankful I got to be his mommy.

 

Leslee

The girls arrived and ran to me. I soaked them up—sight, smell, and sound. Taegan’s little face was tear-stained. Oh, how I wish she could have been spared the pain of this. And oh, how I hoped this didn’t shake her faith or ruin the burgeoning little relationship we saw our daughter enjoying with the Lord. I prayed about that– and sensed it was up to us to model what unshakeable faith looked like for her. I walked them to our room and Taegan was the first to enter. She went straight to Breauna and held on. I had watery eyes. They held onto each other like a lifeline. Taegan saw Breauna’s mom holding Leif and averted her eyes.

“Do you want to hold him or see him?” Breauna gently asked her.

She shook her head.

“That’s ok. You don’t have to,” she said. As mothers do, I knew Breauna could sense every question Taegan wasn’t asking. Every thought she wasn’t speaking. Several family members had arrived with the girls. They hugged each other, offered mutual condolences, and looked at Leif for the first time. Breauna took that moment to quietly tell Taegan through tears of her own, “Baby, you don’t have to be strong right now. It’s ok to cry. Daddy and I are so, so sad and it’s ok for you to be, too. But I want you to know this: God didn’t do this because He’s mad…or because He’s punishing us…or because He doesn’t love us. He is still good and still faithful. I believe that with my whole heart and I want you to believe that, too. Ok? He’s going to get all of us through this.”

Taegan was fighting back tears, but she nodded her head.

She never did look at Leif. Never did ask to hold him. But, when the nurses brought the memory box in with sweet little pictures they had taken of him, a locket of his hair, a special blanket they had wrapped him in, and other little keepsakes they thought our family might like, Taegan untied the green string, looked at every photo, gently touched and inspected each item, and neatly placed it all back in there, tying the bow neatly as if it were something precious. She sat there in a tall chair by Breauna’s bed faithfully for an hour and a half being a little rock. And I can’t number the times she picked that memory box back up and gently, lovingly caressed each item in there while a tear or two would roll down her cheeks. I couldn’t help shedding a tear or two myself as I thought about what she was going through. How much love this little girl had for a baby boy that wasn’t able to feel it. How she had longed to feed him. Longed to hold him. Longed to love him. And in that moment, I did feel a little sorry for Leif. Even though I knew he was in a much better place than I…because he was missing out on Taegan.

 

Breauna

That night was the worst night of my life. Shock was wearing off. Each time I would go in the bathroom, I couldn’t bear to look at myself in the mirror. I didn’t. Everything about me was a reminder of him. I already knew what this felt like. I didn’t need to see it. Everyone had gone home for the evening which left Leslee and I in some much-needed, but very painful silence. Although we were completely exhausted, we didn’t really want to go to sleep.

The nurses were supposed to come take Leif some time in the night so the funeral home could come get him. Leslee had taken it upon himself to make all the arrangements and I was grateful.

I fell asleep some time around 11 and woke back up at 1. I immediately looked over where Leif had been to find him still there. I don’t know why, but this wrecked me. If he had been gone, it would have wrecked me. Everything wrecked me. I was wrecked. If daylight had been unimaginable, the night was beyond comprehension. I let the sobs rock my body. I tried to be quiet because Leslee had fallen asleep, too. We need him to get some sleep, I thought to myself. He’s got a lot on his shoulders right now and I’m too weak to carry anything but this. I reflected on our conversation before bed. As we stood over the crib and looked at our sweet baby boy, I turned to my husband and broke down.

“Will I ever be ok again?” I clung to him and cried my eyes out. “Will this gaping, gut-wrenching hole ever be filled? Because I don’t want to feel like I’ll never recover from this! I don’t want to feel this hole forever!”

All the while, I was wrought with guilt for feeling this way. Salty, guilty tears for having the opportunity to carry on without my baby boy. And wanting to do it without feeling the weight of this misery. People had told me this hole would never be filled, but that time would make it better. That offered me no comfort. It left me feeling like a comeback was impossible. So I turned to the only person that might have an answer for me. The one I trusted most with predicting my outcome. These were uncharted waters for me…but they were not for Leslee. Amidst this present grief, he had been here before. He had walked out of a hospital without his child…and without a wife. He had navigated the unimaginable.

He put his finger under my chin, lifted my face up, and in answer to my question said, “Although I don’t want to say it, you’re not through the worst part yet. But, let me tell you this…you will be ok again, baby girl. We’ll get through this. And just speaking from my own experience, holes can be filled. And it doesn’t mean you love the ones you lost less…it just means you found joy again…and that’s ok. We have two beautiful girls and I love you. I can carry us. We have much to find joy in. We can fill holes, baby. Don’t feel guilty using a shovel.”

He lay sleeping and his words continued to run through my mind. Holes and shovels. I got out of bed and walked over to Leif’s crib. My heart implodes while new tears burst forth. I walked back over to my bed, but decided to sit in the chair next to it. I grabbed my phone and clicked on Pinterest. I wanted distraction. But, as I scrolled, I found no satisfaction. Distraction wasn’t a luxury awarded me. So, I decided to look up comforting Bible verses. I knew them all, but felt led to look again.

“Code blue! Code blue!” an automated voice declared over the intercom system in the hallway. I didn’t know what that meant, but knew it couldn’t be good. I went on scrolling and read verses like Psalm 14:73, “He heals the wounds of every shattered heart.” Isaiah 43:2, “When you go through deep waters, I will be with you.” Psalm 34:18, “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted. He rescues those whose spirits are crushed.” I continued to seek His word for comfort in this as I continued to cry. And then, as I do when anything affects me positively or negatively, I decided to write. I sobbed as I wrote, but yet I didn’t want to forget the moment.

“Code blue! Code blue!” the automated voice again sounded the alarm. It had been about an hour and I wanted to know what that meant. Cardiac arrest was Google’s answer. A patient requiring immediate resuscitation. I inhaled slowly. Oh, please let that baby be ok.

My tears had started to dry up. It was 4:30 in the morning. My eyes were getting heavy and I crawled back into bed. As I drifted off, I was awakened by a screaming sob in one of the rooms down the hall. Leslee stirred. He heard it, too. I wanted to run out of my room to her, but all I could do was squeeze my eyes shut and grit my teeth knowing there was nothing I could do to ease her pain. I knew that all too well.

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The Current Happenings: Doctor’s Visits, Blood Tests,and Birthday Gifts

If you’ve been following my blog, I have been writing about the hours after we had Leif of late,  but today I’m flashing forward to around the 3 week mark of our journey and how it corresponds with some news I received yesterday.

 Leslee and I sat there in the waiting area of my OB’s office. It had been a little over 3 weeks since we had lost Leif and I had been doing better, but this was tough. I sat there staring a hole into the wall, quiet. I couldn’t talk. I had to focus on the wall or I might think too much about how HGTV was on…just like it had been every time I’d been here with Leif. How the chair felt underneath me…just like it had felt every time I’d been here with Leif. How the receptionist looked at me. I was a lot skinnier this time…but they didn’t ask about my baby. Did they know? I sat there and stared a hole in the wall because if I didn’t, this scene and the memories would unravel what resembled a weak amount of composure.

Leslee was quiet, but intuitive. “You doing ok?” I didn’t look at him. I just shook my head as tears welled up in my eyes. I didn’t have to explain myself. He knew. His arm came around me and he softly said, “I’m having a little trouble myself.”

We were here to see my doctor. At the hospital, she had told me it wasn’t necessary for her to see me this soon after, but she wanted to. Women who have a stillborn are at a high risk for postpartum depression and she wanted to check me over emotionally, physically, and mentally. She also thought she might have a few more answers for us by that time regarding what went wrong with Leif. I can honestly say I didn’t care to know. I felt like a scientific explanation would somehow alter the closure I’d already come to: For reasons unknown to me, God gave me a baby boy and then decided to go ahead and welcome him into Heaven early. I didn’t need to know anything other than that. Didn’t want to.

The door opened and the nurse called us back. Leslee and I chatted about other things. He made me laugh so when my doctor walked in, I was smiling. There was a bit of small talk involved before she got down to business.

“So, we knew there was an abnormal amount of clotting in the umbilical cord when we last talked at the hospital. We sent your placenta off after that to see if they could detect what caused that. What they found were lots of infarcts. Simply put, your placenta had a stroke and that’s what killed him.”

My placenta had a stroke? I had never heard of such a thing.

“Would I have had any indication of that? I mean, I felt fine! Would something like that have had any effect on me or my body? Should there have been any tell-tale signs I just wasn’t aware to look for?” I asked.

She solemnly shook her head. “It happened on a microvascular level over time. The blood clots slowly caused your placenta to not be as effective. The easiest way I can explain it is—a diabetic and their eyesight. That macular degeneration doesn’t happen overnight. It’s a slow process and so blindness happens over time going mostly undetected until it’s too late. In the last month, your placenta was having to work so hard to sustain him and his needs at the time he needed it most. Beforehand, he could still survive because his needs weren’t as great, but at that point, the blood supply to your placenta was so small that it gave out.”

I was in shock. All I could think was, My body killed my baby. My body killed my baby. It got worse.

“All of that being said, I have several tests I want to run on you,” she said. Words like “lupus” came into the conversation. Autoimmune issues. Bloodclotting disorder. She was concerned about me having an underlying issue that caused this.

My mind was reeling. “But, I’ve already been tested for a bloodclotting disorder.” It was a family issue. My mom had Factor V Lieden and it had landed her in the hospital for 2 weeks when I was in high school. A few people in my family had actually died from blood clots. “They said I didn’t have it.”

“Well, that was then,” she explained. “I do have those results in your file. And yes, it was not detected in your blood, but a disorder like that can actually develop over time. Kind of like rheumatoid arthritis. A child shows no symptoms or sign, but it’s there. By the time someone reaches their 40s and 50s, it’s making its presence known. You’re in your 30s now and it’s possible it has developed.”

I was ready to discuss some “what ifs” then in regards to “What if I have one of the things you’re testing for? What does my future look like? Will I be able to have more children? Will I have to be on medication for the rest of my life? What will my quality of life be like if, for instance, I have lupus? Or something else? Ignorance would be bliss. Do I want to know? If I know, will I live my life in fear? Would knowing what was once unknown alter the steps I have taken in faith thus far?” So many questions, so little peace. She answered all of my questions one by one and said, “Breauna, it’s also possible that none of this is the problem. It’s possible each of the tests are going to come back perfectly fine. It’s possible that we won’t know what exactly caused this. That happens.”

“Was this bloodclotting something we could have seen in an ultrasound?”

Her mouth turned into a grim line as she nodded. “We simply didn’t know to look. You had gone through 2 healthy, normal, uneventful pregnancies. You’re in excellent shape. Your blood pressure was always great. His heart beat was within normal range every time you were here.  On the outside, there were no indicators that we should have been worried.” Her honesty with no defensiveness or excuses endeared her to me even more. I didn’t blame her at all for any of this. We were all flying blind.

I remembered how she had met with us at the hospital before we left. She sat with us. She cried with us. She advised us. She told us we were at the very top of her prayer list. I wholeheartedly believed this particular doctor—this woman—was special. I had been nervous upon switching networks when our insurance changed  and being blessed with one of the most beloved doctors in our city was no coincidence. It was God’s handiwork…for such a time as this.

We all talked more about my physical healing and my emotional healing. She asked me about my grief and was so pleased to know that we were leaning on God and leaning into each other. She wanted to know about our children. How was I doing with our friends, Taylor and Mallory, who were having a baby boy right at the same time? Mallory and I had talked so much about how excited we were that our boys were going to grow up together. Big, exciting, fun plans. My doctor knew about this situation. At that point, I was still really struggling. We had just gone back to our home congregation the Sunday prior to this visit. We knew our friends would certainly be feeling as uncomfortable about their joy as we were feeling about our grief when we were around each other. I was ready to be back. I thought I was strong enough. But, I was wrong. Our whole church family was happy and heartbroken at the same time. Such a confusing mess of emotion…how Leslee and I were truly happy for our friends in our grief and their hearts were truly broken for us in their joy. I couldn’t bring myself to go up to Mallory and congratulate her on the arrival of Tyce. I didn’t want my tears to make her uncomfortable.  It was way, way too much. All I could think about was Leif. So, I hid in the basement. Mallory came and found me, pulled me into a hug, and we cried. No words were necessary. Hearts understood.

In hindsight, there was nothing that would have made that easier. Sometimes when things are hard, you simply have to force yourself through it. That’s what starts the journey back to good. And I was so grateful for the gift of her empathy and understanding. I’m blessed to have sweet friends.  And as I write this, I’ll have you know that I can now hold and love on little Tyce with only joy. He does make me think of Leif—a constant reminder, really, but not with sadness or loss, which is a gift from God. I enjoy holding him because he’s tangible. And my heart swells with some displaced love that needed a baby boy to pour into.

My doctor continued on with our appointment. “I still need to wait a couple weeks for your body to rid itself of some pregnancy hormones. I know everything I need to know about your pregnant body. What I’m wondering about has to do with your normal, not pregnant state because pregnancy tends to exacerbate issues. So, we’ll get that labwork ordered and compare. It’s going to take at least 2 weeks for those results to come back. So, I’m going to have you come see me again before Thanksgiving to go over the results and discuss what our next plan of action will be.”

We finished up our appointment and I walked out of there feeling a mess. My labwork was scheduled for October 17th and my visit with my doctor was another month after that. Two months felt like two years. I prayed. I prayed so hard about those blood tests coming up. I prayed for weeks. I cried. I begged. I spent a lot of time in self-reflection. Leslee and I had this little hope amidst everything we’d been through. This one little hope that might be as much of a happy ending to this chapter of our lives that we could think of. These test results might dash our hope to smithereens. I took a setback. My grief took a little jaunt backwards. It was all I could think about. All I could talk about. I talked to God so much about it that I worried he would get sick of me. And then just a week ago, I finally reached a point where I wasn’t sure if my fervency had led to peace or whether I had just become complacent, but I wasn’t praying for that quite as much. I simply felt, “It will be what it will be. And no matter what, I’m ok with it…for the most part. And I’ll do my best to live my life fully whether my diagnosis is bad or good. If my hope is lost here, it’s not lost in Heaven. Nothing is ever really lost when God has it.”

So yesterday, on my birthday, as I sat at a corner table in an alcove at the mall with my coffee at my left, a notebook on the table, a pen in my hand, and a good book in front of me, my reading was interrupted by a phone call.

“Hello?” I said.

“Yes, is this Breauna?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Hi, Breauna, this is _________. I’m Dr. _______’s nurse.” I can’t remember her name because I knew the number. My heart was racing. My palms were sweaty. Nerves were already prepared. There could only be one reason they were calling me so much in advance. Doctors only call when there’s something wrong.

“Yes?”

“Dr. _______ wanted me to call you because she has your lab results back. She wanted you to know that everything came back within the normal range. You’re just fine, Breauna. Everything is completely fine. She still does want to see you in November so she can explain to you why she ordered the specific tests she did and to discuss your next move, but she didn’t want you fretting about it until then, so here we are.”

I was borderline speechless.  What a sweet, sweet woman my doctor was, but what a GOOD, GOOD God my Lord was. He gave me the most special birthday gift. The magnitude of that little detail was not lost on me. I cried. I cried happy, happy tears. I cried because He loves me that much—to orchestrate that particular phone call on that particular day…of all days. I’m still blown away. How in this HUGE world with all its demands, God remembered my 32nd birthday and gave me the gift of peace, more hope, and even more validation of His goodness and love. I’m still uncertain of the path He has me on, but He continues to guide me. And even when I feel like He’s backed off and watching me try to walk on my own two feet, He still lets me know He’s right there. Even in the smallest of details. And that gives me hope, as well. No matter what my 33rd year holds, He’s right there. And maybe…just maybe things are about to get good.