A truth has burned in my heart since we lost Ethan... it is one of the very, very few things that bring me comfort. And it has rested on me today as a heavy weight...
June 4th, 2010 did not take God by surprise.
He was not sitting in Heaven wringing his hands when Ethan went into cardiac arrest that morning.
He did not cry out in disbelief, "Oh, no! What do we do now?!"
No.
He knew every detail of June 4th on June 3rd.
He knew before He even created Ethan.
He knew before He created me, before He created my husband... before He created the world.
Nothing--- NOTHING--- takes Him by surprise.
My husband and I do not believe it was God's perfect will for Ethan to die. We believe His perfect will for Ethan was to still be in our arms.
But, God did allow it to happen.
He allowed our son to die.
He could have intervened by saving his life (on Earth), or preventing the cardiac arrest in the first place, and He chose not to.
As much as this angers me, it also brings me comfort.
Why?
Because if I know He was ABLE to keep Ethan here with us, then I know He didn't because He DECIDED not to... that He made a decision, for a reason, to bring my son home to His arms instead of allow him to stay in mine...
My son didn't die because God was caught off guard and just didn't know what to do.
God, and God alone, holds the keys to death and the grave.
Satan, what you meant for our harm is being turned into a beautiful, fragrant offering to Our God...
And my tears only water the seeds of Ethan's life... a life that points to Jesus.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Friday, August 27, 2010
12 Weeks
Ethan the evening before he went to Heaven, at the hotel pool with Mama, Daddy and Sissy!
Ethan met Jesus 12 weeks ago today...
when he was exactly 12 weeks old.
That means from now on, he will have been out of our arms longer than he was in them...
It is, as my father-in-law said the day of Ethan's wake, ridiculous.
Ethan should be here with us.
It feels as if he has been part of our family forever. He was loved beyond measure from the moment we knew we were pregnant. And then when we saw him for the first time, we realized we hadn't even gotten started!! We were smitten--- all of us!
He spent nine months in my womb, 12 weeks in our arms, and is now spending eternity with Jesus.
Sometimes dates are full of meaning, and sometimes they aren't. I would like to share how I feel about this line we are crossing today--- the one that says we have now been without him longer than we have been with him (in our arms):
It means pretty much nothing to me.
What I mean is, it doesn't diminish the time we had with him, or make the future any easier, or enable us to be further along in "the grief process"...
He is our son.
If we live another 70 years on this Earth without him, it will not make it any easier. They say you eventually adjust to the grief--- learn how to live with it--- and we are trusting that is true. But the fact that we have been without him longer than we've been with him will never make it easier or make him less real to us.
How can he be less real? He is still alive.
Mama, Daddy and Sissy love you, Ethan... See you soon, Sweet Boy!!
Ethan met Jesus 12 weeks ago today...
when he was exactly 12 weeks old.
That means from now on, he will have been out of our arms longer than he was in them...
It is, as my father-in-law said the day of Ethan's wake, ridiculous.
Ethan should be here with us.
It feels as if he has been part of our family forever. He was loved beyond measure from the moment we knew we were pregnant. And then when we saw him for the first time, we realized we hadn't even gotten started!! We were smitten--- all of us!
He spent nine months in my womb, 12 weeks in our arms, and is now spending eternity with Jesus.
Sometimes dates are full of meaning, and sometimes they aren't. I would like to share how I feel about this line we are crossing today--- the one that says we have now been without him longer than we have been with him (in our arms):
It means pretty much nothing to me.
What I mean is, it doesn't diminish the time we had with him, or make the future any easier, or enable us to be further along in "the grief process"...
He is our son.
If we live another 70 years on this Earth without him, it will not make it any easier. They say you eventually adjust to the grief--- learn how to live with it--- and we are trusting that is true. But the fact that we have been without him longer than we've been with him will never make it easier or make him less real to us.
How can he be less real? He is still alive.
Mama, Daddy and Sissy love you, Ethan... See you soon, Sweet Boy!!
Ethan's Butterfly
A beautiful butterfly was dedicated to, and released in honor of, our precious Ethan Carter yesterday... so, so special! Thank you, Rachel!
Triplet Butterfly Wings: Ethan Carter: "Ethan Carter Lane Born March 12, 2010; met Jesus face to face on June 4, 2010, at just 12 weeks old. He is, and always will be, Mama's Boy,..."
Triplet Butterfly Wings: Ethan Carter: "Ethan Carter Lane Born March 12, 2010; met Jesus face to face on June 4, 2010, at just 12 weeks old. He is, and always will be, Mama's Boy,..."
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
No Eye Has Seen
Ethan on his last Sunday (May 30, 2010), heading to church... "Look at me lifting my legs! I'm such a big boy, Mama!"
"No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for Ethan."
--- 1 Corinthians 2:9 (Mama's Paraphrase of the NIV)
I love you, Sweet Boy, and am missing you, as always. Enjoy the arms of Jesus...
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
That's Mine
I took Emily to McDonald's for lunch today after a morning spent at the dentist and the library.
Of course, we had to do the PlayPlace (really the only reason we even go there!), and when it was time to go, I told Emily we needed to leave and started to gather our trash. She was up inside one of the tunnels with a new little friend.
As I was at the nearby trash can, she called out, "Okay, Mama!" Then she instantly turned to the little girl and said, "That's mine" in a content, super-proud little voice.
As in, "That's My Mama."
Wow.
My heart did that little lurch... you know, the one where you realize it is walking around outside of your body in the form of the little ones you gave birth to...
It was one of those moments I'll treasure, even though she doesn't even realize she said anything special.
As we headed toward the car, I couldn't help but think about how Ethan will never turn to a friend and say, "That's mine."
And my heart ached... because not only is it walking around outside of my body in the form of the little ones I gave birth to, it is also walking around on streets of gold in Heaven.
Because when Ethan left, he took so much of it with him.
No, I will never hear him tell people I am his Mama on Earth.
But, I pray that one day, when I get to Heaven, he turns to those around him and says, in a content, super-proud voice...
"That's mine."
Of course, we had to do the PlayPlace (really the only reason we even go there!), and when it was time to go, I told Emily we needed to leave and started to gather our trash. She was up inside one of the tunnels with a new little friend.
As I was at the nearby trash can, she called out, "Okay, Mama!" Then she instantly turned to the little girl and said, "That's mine" in a content, super-proud little voice.
As in, "That's My Mama."
Wow.
My heart did that little lurch... you know, the one where you realize it is walking around outside of your body in the form of the little ones you gave birth to...
It was one of those moments I'll treasure, even though she doesn't even realize she said anything special.
As we headed toward the car, I couldn't help but think about how Ethan will never turn to a friend and say, "That's mine."
And my heart ached... because not only is it walking around outside of my body in the form of the little ones I gave birth to, it is also walking around on streets of gold in Heaven.
Because when Ethan left, he took so much of it with him.
No, I will never hear him tell people I am his Mama on Earth.
But, I pray that one day, when I get to Heaven, he turns to those around him and says, in a content, super-proud voice...
"That's mine."
Friday, August 20, 2010
Beautiful Music
"The mention of my child's name may bring tears to my eyes, but it never fails to bring music to my ears. If you really are my friend, please don't keep me from hearing this beautiful music: It soothes my broken heart and fills my soul with love."
I am grateful to a fellow blogging mom who also lost her son for this perfect way to say how much I need to hear and talk about my son. I read it tonight and thought, "That's me! That's me!"
Hearing Ethan's name is the best kind of therapy!
I am grateful to a fellow blogging mom who also lost her son for this perfect way to say how much I need to hear and talk about my son. I read it tonight and thought, "That's me! That's me!"
Hearing Ethan's name is the best kind of therapy!
Thursday, August 19, 2010
He Will Tell Me
Dear Ethan,
I'm missing you, Sweet Boy--- as always!
Daddy and Sissy and I went to the beach for a few days--- to a place called Destin, Florida. We got home tonight, and brought a painted shell to your "special place" for you.
Your Sissy had so much fun "surfing" at the beach, playing in the sand, finding little fish and throwing them back in the water, swimming at the hotel pool...
The three of us talked about you constantly--- as usual! And, as usual, you were always in our thoughts... every second.
We mourn that you will never dip your feet in the ocean, see the sun set over the water, build little castles in the sand... that you never saw a fish (or any animal!)... that you will never take a beach vacation with us, your family.
Ethan, do you know how proud I am to be your Mama??
I must have made your Daddy reassure me a million times this week that you were having even more fun in Heaven than we were at the beach. "Promise me!", I said, over and over again.
Your Daddy was very patient. :)
I love you, Baby Boy. I long to hold you and smell your sweet baby smell... to nurse you... to smother you with kisses... to touch your little chin with my finger or sing your name to see you smile...
I ache for you every single moment.
I think to myself that God better have had a really, really good reason for bringing you home to Him instead of leaving you here with us.
And you know what?
He did.
And I believe--- I trust--- that one day when I see Him face to face as you do now, He will tell me what it was.
I love you, Ethan--- beyond words.
Love,
Mama
I'm missing you, Sweet Boy--- as always!
Daddy and Sissy and I went to the beach for a few days--- to a place called Destin, Florida. We got home tonight, and brought a painted shell to your "special place" for you.
Your Sissy had so much fun "surfing" at the beach, playing in the sand, finding little fish and throwing them back in the water, swimming at the hotel pool...
The three of us talked about you constantly--- as usual! And, as usual, you were always in our thoughts... every second.
We mourn that you will never dip your feet in the ocean, see the sun set over the water, build little castles in the sand... that you never saw a fish (or any animal!)... that you will never take a beach vacation with us, your family.
Ethan, do you know how proud I am to be your Mama??
I must have made your Daddy reassure me a million times this week that you were having even more fun in Heaven than we were at the beach. "Promise me!", I said, over and over again.
Your Daddy was very patient. :)
I love you, Baby Boy. I long to hold you and smell your sweet baby smell... to nurse you... to smother you with kisses... to touch your little chin with my finger or sing your name to see you smile...
I ache for you every single moment.
I think to myself that God better have had a really, really good reason for bringing you home to Him instead of leaving you here with us.
And you know what?
He did.
And I believe--- I trust--- that one day when I see Him face to face as you do now, He will tell me what it was.
I love you, Ethan--- beyond words.
Love,
Mama
Friday, August 13, 2010
God Himself
It is raining outside... pouring, really.
My heart is heavy... yet, isn't it always?
Ethan's grave marker is here.
I can't believe I just wrote that.
I read about a family today who is taking their son home--- to die, maybe.
Where are you, God?
"Right where I've always been."
And it's true. I don't understand His ways, but He is still good.
We are grateful to be loved by so many as we walk through this valley of death--- of losing our precious son.
I only ask that you are patient with us.
We cannot rush our grief.
And I know it makes some people uncomfortable. But, God Himself grieved the death of His Son--- and always will.
And He will experience Restoration one day, too.
Come quickly, Lord Jesus.
My heart is heavy... yet, isn't it always?
Ethan's grave marker is here.
I can't believe I just wrote that.
I read about a family today who is taking their son home--- to die, maybe.
Where are you, God?
"Right where I've always been."
And it's true. I don't understand His ways, but He is still good.
We are grateful to be loved by so many as we walk through this valley of death--- of losing our precious son.
I only ask that you are patient with us.
We cannot rush our grief.
And I know it makes some people uncomfortable. But, God Himself grieved the death of His Son--- and always will.
And He will experience Restoration one day, too.
Come quickly, Lord Jesus.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Happy Five Months, Sweet Boy!
My Sweet, Sweet Ethan,
Wow... you are five months old today!
I wish so much you were here, but I know you are enjoying the arms of Jesus. Your Daddy says now that you've seen the face of Jesus, you don't want to come back to us even if you could. He is right, and we both take comfort in that. Because as much as we long for you, as much as it hurts to be without you...
We are so glad you don't feel the same way.
We are glad you don't miss us--- that you aren't feeling the separation like we are.
You are our baby, our precious son, and we take comfort in knowing that while you will rejoice when we come to you one day and live forever with you, you don't ache for us in the meantime.
We are grateful you know no pain, no sorrow, no broken heart...
And we can't wait to be with you again.
So enjoy the arms of Jesus, Sweet Boy...
And know I can't wait to hold you in mine again one day.
I love you--- beyond measure.
Love,
Mama
Wow... you are five months old today!
I wish so much you were here, but I know you are enjoying the arms of Jesus. Your Daddy says now that you've seen the face of Jesus, you don't want to come back to us even if you could. He is right, and we both take comfort in that. Because as much as we long for you, as much as it hurts to be without you...
We are so glad you don't feel the same way.
We are glad you don't miss us--- that you aren't feeling the separation like we are.
You are our baby, our precious son, and we take comfort in knowing that while you will rejoice when we come to you one day and live forever with you, you don't ache for us in the meantime.
We are grateful you know no pain, no sorrow, no broken heart...
And we can't wait to be with you again.
So enjoy the arms of Jesus, Sweet Boy...
And know I can't wait to hold you in mine again one day.
I love you--- beyond measure.
Love,
Mama
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Two Pictures I Love
Just wanted to post a couple pictures of my sweet boy!
Ethan at one week old--- so beautiful!
Ethan at two weeks old... notice who he is looking at--- his Sissy!
Ethan at one week old--- so beautiful!
Ethan at two weeks old... notice who he is looking at--- his Sissy!
I Still Know
I struggled to get out of bed this morning... to face another day without my son.
As my husband came in to kiss me goodbye, I told him, "I'm having a rough day already... It's just never going to be any different... It's never going to be any better, because I will never have my son back (on Earth)..."
All he could say is, "I know...", because he feels the same pain.
Last night, as we lay in bed with our backs to each other (my husband is not a "cuddler" when he sleeps, he needs his "space" to be able to sleep, much to my dismay!), I heard him quietly sobbing... and it broke my heart all over again.
I told him how badly I hurt for him... I hurt for myself, for him, for our daughter, for our families...
Watching your husband bury his son, and sob for him in the dark of the night... it is once again impossible to describe.
We are still functioning every day... working, taking care of our daughter, running errands and maintaining our home, paying bills, getting cars fixed, going grocery shopping, going to doctor's appointments, getting together with friends (and even laughing!)... but, it is all done with hearts that are dying inside and eyes that are full of tears when no one is watching... and a daily trip to the cemetery.
I know the special grace from God our sweet friends who lost their son seventeen years ago told us about is real--- otherwise, I truly believe I would have died the moment Dr. McMahon told me my son did.
And speaking of God, let me say this (Warning: It's honest):
I praise Him these days because I know He is worthy, not because I always feel like it... because, I don't.
We sing a song in church that says, "I am a friend of God... He is my friend." Well, folks, let me just tell you...
I'm not feeling very friendly.
That song is hard for me right now. So, sometimes, I skip that one. Instead of singing it, I pray silently for my heart to change. And then, usually, I am on my knees at the altar in a couple of seconds. But, I'm still not singing... now, I'm just sobbing about my son, and begging God to get me through another day.
Let me just say... I refuse to turn my back on God, but I also refuse to have a fake relationship with Him. If He and I are going to do this thing, it's going to be real.
Which brings me to my next point, one that isn't easy for me to say...
I think I'm mad at God.
I think the time has come. In an earlier post, I said I wasn't mad at Him yet, but that I wasn't making any promises about the future, either...
Well, after doing some soul-searching, I think I'm a little mad... or resentful... or something. I don't know... it's not a normal type of anger; it's hard to explain.
And I'm okay with it.
Because I still know Who My God is.
And I know I won't stay here.
It's one of the "stages of grief", I'm told... and I'm so grateful I have a God Who is the same "Before" and "After".
Listen to the song "I Am" by Nicole C. Mullen, and you'll know what I mean.
As my husband came in to kiss me goodbye, I told him, "I'm having a rough day already... It's just never going to be any different... It's never going to be any better, because I will never have my son back (on Earth)..."
All he could say is, "I know...", because he feels the same pain.
Last night, as we lay in bed with our backs to each other (my husband is not a "cuddler" when he sleeps, he needs his "space" to be able to sleep, much to my dismay!), I heard him quietly sobbing... and it broke my heart all over again.
I told him how badly I hurt for him... I hurt for myself, for him, for our daughter, for our families...
Watching your husband bury his son, and sob for him in the dark of the night... it is once again impossible to describe.
We are still functioning every day... working, taking care of our daughter, running errands and maintaining our home, paying bills, getting cars fixed, going grocery shopping, going to doctor's appointments, getting together with friends (and even laughing!)... but, it is all done with hearts that are dying inside and eyes that are full of tears when no one is watching... and a daily trip to the cemetery.
I know the special grace from God our sweet friends who lost their son seventeen years ago told us about is real--- otherwise, I truly believe I would have died the moment Dr. McMahon told me my son did.
And speaking of God, let me say this (Warning: It's honest):
I praise Him these days because I know He is worthy, not because I always feel like it... because, I don't.
We sing a song in church that says, "I am a friend of God... He is my friend." Well, folks, let me just tell you...
I'm not feeling very friendly.
That song is hard for me right now. So, sometimes, I skip that one. Instead of singing it, I pray silently for my heart to change. And then, usually, I am on my knees at the altar in a couple of seconds. But, I'm still not singing... now, I'm just sobbing about my son, and begging God to get me through another day.
Let me just say... I refuse to turn my back on God, but I also refuse to have a fake relationship with Him. If He and I are going to do this thing, it's going to be real.
Which brings me to my next point, one that isn't easy for me to say...
I think I'm mad at God.
I think the time has come. In an earlier post, I said I wasn't mad at Him yet, but that I wasn't making any promises about the future, either...
Well, after doing some soul-searching, I think I'm a little mad... or resentful... or something. I don't know... it's not a normal type of anger; it's hard to explain.
And I'm okay with it.
Because I still know Who My God is.
And I know I won't stay here.
It's one of the "stages of grief", I'm told... and I'm so grateful I have a God Who is the same "Before" and "After".
Listen to the song "I Am" by Nicole C. Mullen, and you'll know what I mean.
Friday, August 6, 2010
The Day the Dam Broke
"Catastrophic loss wreaks destruction like a massive flood. It is unrelenting, unforgiving, and uncontrollable, brutally erosive to mind, body, and spirit. Sometimes loss does its damage instantly, as if it were a flood resulting from a broken dam that releases a great torrent of water, sweeping away everything in its path. Sometimes loss does its damage gradually, as if it were a flood resulting from unceasing rain that causes rivers and lakes to swell until they spill over their banks, engulfing, saturating, and destroying whatever the water touches. In either case, catastrophic loss leaves the landscape of one's life forever changed.
My experience was like a dam that broke. In one moment I was overrun by a torrent of pain I did not expect."
I wanted to share the above, written by Jerry Sittser in his book "A Grace Disguised: How the Soul Grows Through Loss", because when a doctor came into Ethan's hospital room on the morning of June 4th and told me they were trying to resuscitate my son, the dam started cracking horrifically. And when Dr. McMahon told us he was gone, the dam broke.
And there is no putting it back together.
There is only learning how to live in the water.
My experience was like a dam that broke. In one moment I was overrun by a torrent of pain I did not expect."
I wanted to share the above, written by Jerry Sittser in his book "A Grace Disguised: How the Soul Grows Through Loss", because when a doctor came into Ethan's hospital room on the morning of June 4th and told me they were trying to resuscitate my son, the dam started cracking horrifically. And when Dr. McMahon told us he was gone, the dam broke.
And there is no putting it back together.
There is only learning how to live in the water.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Our Ethan
Emily and I made this today about our Ethan...
I cannot believe today marks two months since the last time we held him in our arms...
To play this, first scroll down to the bottom of the blog and push pause on the music player to turn off the blog's song... then scroll back up and push play on this... thanks!
I cannot believe today marks two months since the last time we held him in our arms...
To play this, first scroll down to the bottom of the blog and push pause on the music player to turn off the blog's song... then scroll back up and push play on this... thanks!
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