I Feel You

Dear Ethan,

I feel you...

in every sunset, 

every rainbow,

every rain.

In your sisters' laugh,

in their love,

when I speak your name.

In my dreams:

when I'm asleep,

when I'm awake.

I feel you...

with every breath I take.

Ethan Carter, the evening before he met Jesus face to face.

"There he comes!"

We went home to Florida to see our families and some special friends a couple of weeks ago.  My mom and I talked about how much we love this quote while sitting at her kitchen table one day, and I wanted to share it.

"A ship sails and I stand watching until she fades on the horizon and someone by my side says, "She is gone". Gone where? Gone from my side, that is all; she is just as large as when I saw her. The diminished size and total loss of sight are in me, not in her. And just at the moment when someone at my side says, 'She is gone', there are others who are watching her coming, and other voices take up the glad shout. "There she comes!" And that is dying." 

On June 4, 2010, my Daddy said, "There he comes!"

... and met his grandson for the first time.

My Heart

I know I never write on here anymore.  It's not my plan, in fact it's the opposite, but it's just what happens (or rather, what doesn't happen).

The reasons have nothing to do with Ethan... I love and miss him as much as I always have... even more if that is possible...

No, it's just that life gets in the way.  Life gets in the way of so many things.

But I can't complain when that life has included a beautiful, precious new baby and her incredible big sister... yes, life with a baby is busy.  Life with two children is even busier.  But it is such a beautiful busy.  And oh how I wish it was even crazier, with three children needing me constantly instead of two!

I have been sorting through our homeschool cabinet today, and it's amazing how tears have filled my eyes throughout the whole thing, and how those tears have just sat there, brimming... for hours.

I need them to fall, but I can't seem to let go.  There is a lump in my throat, and the only thing I can think to do is write.

I miss my son.  I miss him with everything in me.  Every fiber of my being.  I feel like I walk around with a heart that is permanently broken.  I know there is nothing anyone can do for me, not really... there is no mending this heart on this side of Heaven.

I'm being honest, because I don't think sugarcoating pain helps anyone.  It definitely doesn't help me, and neither does pretending.

But in the midst of the pain, God has graced us--- yes, graced us--- with unspeakable joy.  So while the pain is unspeakable, so is the joy.  It's like I said in an earlier post... it is possible for joy and sadness to run together...

I am in absolute awe of the little princess God has given us... Julia Carter has swooped into our lives and we are all putty in her hands!  She is an incredible, beautiful, sweet, fiesty, perfect and adorable, ball of energy!

Emily was an extremely easy baby (though we didn't know what that meant at the time, since she was our first), Ethan was a tad higher-maintenance than her (but not much!), and Julia gives us a run for our money! :)  But I simply cannot describe how sweet she is... it's amazing!

Yes, she has been such a balm to our hearts... mine, Josh's, Emily's... our extended family's... she is a Miracle Baby in every sense of the word.

The homeschool cabinet is hard because so many sweet "Ethan Memories" are wrapped up in the contents, like so, so many things in our home.  I started preschool with Emily right before I became pregnant with Ethan, and she actually prayed for a little brother or sister during one of our Bible lessons right around the time he was conceived!  The faith of a child...

The following year, Ethan witnessed her first weeks of Kindergarten, as I often held him in my arms (and many times nursed him) while we did school.

Just two weeks before his death, Emily learned to write their last name.

Just the day before his death, I read Junie B. Jones to her in the car on the way to Birmingham.

I look at her schoolwork from when Ethan was here, and the tears come.

I feel like I was so naive then.  There was an innocence there that no longer exists--- for me, for Josh, for Emily... for us all.

Daddy and I never imagined Emily and Ethan wouldn't grow up together, and neither did she.

Little Brothers are born, but they don't die...

I am a different person than I was before June 4, 2010.  I am not naive anymore.  I look in the mirror, and I feel like my face is old... like I can tell just from my appearance that I've lost a child, my precious Ethan...

No, I'm not the same person.  

But I'm a better person.  I know what matters in life, and what doesn't.  My heart aches for others, particularly for those who have lost a child, in a way I never knew was possible.  And I know God in a way that, to be honest, I never wanted to know him.  It's an intimacy that gives me my every breath.  My heart, though broken, is continuously being shaped by the Potter.  He promises to keep working with the clay.

Yes, I'm a better person... and God and my son have made me that way.

16 Months Later

Ethan and Daddy, just hours before Ethan went to live with Jesus...




It's been a hard day.

October 4th marked 16 months since Ethan left our arms for the arms of Jesus.

16 months... how can it even be possible?

It still feels like yesterday, and I can still feel him in my arms.

16 months later, and I still wonder every day if it is indeed possible to die from a broken heart.

I still wonder how I function every day, do what I need to do, mother Emily and take care of Baby Julia in my belly...

And I know it all goes back to God's grace.

What does God's grace mean to me now?

It means strength to do the impossible--- to breathe when your child no longer breathes on this earth.

16 months have passed, but as I've said before when it comes to time, it doesn't really mean anything.

16 months later, and the love is still the same.

16 months later, and I long for him as much as I ever have.

16 months later, and he is still my sweet baby boy.

16 months later, and still my heart's cry is...

I miss him.

The Incredible Bond

Sissy and Ethan, the night before he met Jesus...

The Little Boy...

who melts my heart.


Ethan Carter at the pool on the evening of June 3rd, 2010... less than 24 hours before he met Jesus.

I Can't Believe

I can't believe tomorrow is June 4th.

I can't believe that on this date last year, we were spending our last day here on Earth with our son... and didn't even know it.

One of my first blog posts was about that day... I talked about our last family meal, at Olive Garden... I called it "Part One", because I planned to finish describing the day in a second post...

http://ethancarterlane.blogspot.com/2010/07/sweet-sweet-memories-ethan-on-june-3.html

It's a year later, and I haven't written it yet.

Maybe this weekend, I will try.

I want so much to share the rest of that last incredible day we had as a family.

But more than anything, I just want my son back.

I can't explain the longing we have for Ethan. It truly is indescribable.

I know no other pain like this... none.

And then I think of the people who don't know Christ... and will be separated from their loved ones forever.

You see, with all my unbearable pain, I bear it... because I know I will see my son again.

But there are people who will never see their children again, because they don't have a relationship with Christ... and so will be separated from Him and them for all Eternity.

Separation is the worst agony.

I thank God that by His saving grace, it can be temporary.

Ethan's Last Day At Church

My sweet boy on Sunday, May 30, 2010, ready for church. We never imagined it would be his last day there.


I remember taking this picture, I remember his baby smell, I remember everything...

June 4th...

is approaching like a freight train.

Next Saturday will mark the date Ethan left our arms last year for the arms of Jesus.

We covet your prayers (as always!!) this coming week and weekend as we face the anniversary of the worst day of our lives.

And tomorrow marks the last Sunday Ethan was at church.

I remember that day so, so clearly... it is burned into my heart, just like all of our memories with him.

They say to have a child is to make the decision to let your heart walk outside of your body.

But what about when that heart walks in Heaven?

Jesus, be near me now...

Thank You, Jesus...

for the cross.



Ethan on the evening of June 2, 2010. Less than 48 hours later, he would meet Jesus face to face... and because of the cross, live forever with Him.

One day, I will join them.

Aching...

for this little boy.




(Ethan getting ready to go to the pediatrician on Tuesday, June 1, 2010.)

"If my scars could speak, they'd say
That grace is my only hope
Grace is showing me the way..."

---From "Run to You", by Michael W. Smith.

It is only by the grace of God that I am still breathing.

Remain... Let...

I am grateful for my husband.

Emily had to be taken to the pediatrician today, unexpectedly.

This wasn't the first time since Ethan went to Heaven, but that doesn't make it any easier, so I begged Josh to go with me. I just couldn't do it alone.

Because Emily's pediatrician is Ethan's, too.

When we got there, it was pure torture. All I could think about is all the many times we brought Ethan.

Josh even unknowingly sat in the same chair in the waiting room that I had on Ethan's last visit (Josh hadn't been able to join me that day)--- Tuesday, June 1st... just three days before Ethan went to be with Jesus.

I remember sitting in that chair and placing Ethan in front of me in his car seat... using my foot to gently rock him in it... getting a phone call from UAB while I was waiting, to tell me what time he needed to be there Friday morning and what time he needed to stop nursing so his little tummy would be empty... telling Emily she couldn't play with the other kids in the waiting room because we couldn't risk getting her little brother sick before his surgery...

The whole reason we were at the pediatrician that day was to get Ethan cleared for the surgery, to make sure his cold was gone (which it was). We were so careful with him...

And we lost him anyway.

Today was torture. So, before Emily was called back to an exam room, my sweet husband told his quietly crying wife to leave. That he would call me when they were done and I could come back and pick them up.

And I did...

Because I am a coward.

I drove around for a while, then ducked into our local library.

I stood in front of the displays of featured books, thumbing through them sadly.

Ethan's Life Verse is Psalm 37:5. "Commit your way to the Lord; trust also in Him and He will bring it to pass."

I read it almost every day of my pregnancy, when I was worried about miscarrying him or something else going wrong and us losing him in the womb. I wrote it out and brought it to the hospital for his birth, and taped it to his bassinet as soon as I could after he was born. It was there when he was diagnosed with the heart defect the next day. And it took on a whole new meaning when they put it in the helicopter with him when they flew him to the University Hospital NICU on his fourth day of life. (They transferred him there because they thought they might have to do an emergency heart procedure, but were wrong--- they just couldn't see things well enough). It stayed taped on his NICU bassinet until he was discharged a few days later. And when Ethan went to Heaven, we typed it on the special memorial bulletin we handed out at his service.

Then today, when I was thumbing through a book at the library, there it was.

With an explanation after it about remaining calm and letting God work.

Ethan's Life Verse... telling me how to live in the wake of losing him.

Remain calm and let God work.

Yes, God... I get it.

When I feel panicky about losing my son, I will remain calm and let You work.

When I long for good things to keep coming from his life, and for You to comfort me even as it doesn't seem possible that I can be comforted, I will remain calm and let You work.

Thank You for using my son to minister to me still.

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!!

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...

Sacred

On Wednesday, Josh and I drove to UAB and met with Ethan's Cardiologist, Dr. McMahon, to discuss the details of Ethan's death.

The meeting was three hours long, and I cannot explain how difficult it was to hear exactly how our son died.

We are so, so broken.

Yet, the Presence of God was there in such a powerful way. I cannot explain it, either... not adequately.

Dr. McMahon told us he has been at UAB for 15 years, and does 400-500 cardiac caths each year...

and Ethan is only the second patient he has lost.

Are you serious, Lord??

The last hour of our son's life here on Earth is so incredibly sacred to us. We will hold it and ponder it in our hearts forever... just as we do his entire 12 weeks--- and the nine months I carried him in my womb.

For three hours, we sat with Dr. McMahon...

The same man who tried so desperately to save our son's life... the same man who, with tears streaming down his face, had to tell us Ethan was in Heaven... the same man who cradled Ethan in his arms as if he were his own son when he brought him to us...

and the same man who cries and grieves with us still.

He is part of a sacred story...

The story of our son.

Precious Memories... Ethan on June 3, 2010, PART 1

Ethan's last full day with us was Thursday, June 3, 2010.

It was a day of precious memories... memories that will (and must) last for the rest of our lives...

We made the trip to Birmingham (his surgery would be at UAB the next morning), stopping for a late, leisurely lunch at the Olive Garden--- the same restaurant chain my husband and I went to on our first date, and the same one we have celebrated so many family occasions at... including this year's Mother's Day, less than a month before.

It was a special lunch... it felt right. Here Josh and I were with our two kids, taking turns holding "Baby 2" while giving "Baby 1" peaches from our tea, helping her with the kids' menu word search, and reminding her not to crawl under the table and to eat her mac-and-cheese, because "There will not be any more food for a while, so don't tell us you're hungry as soon as we get in the car..." It was family life, and we were grateful.

The servers cooed over our two children, and we ate it up, proud to be their parents. Ethan accidentally dipped his uncoordinated hand into my pasta as his head bobbed around, causing us to laugh. He wanted to be held, not put in his car seat beside the table, and we were perfectly happy to do the holding... and to give him lots and lots of kisses. As always, Mama wanted pictures... and thankfully, had Daddy take some.

We lingered at the table, just enjoying being a family. We would have stayed even longer, but we were anxious to get to the hotel so we could enjoy some family time at the pool before tucking our babies in at a decent hour (we would be up a lot of the night to let Ethan eat since he would not be allowed to after 4:00am, and we also had to be at UAB at 6:00am).

Here we are, just happy to be together (Emily's pout is a fake one, by the way!):