The Indescribable Bond

For Ethan and his Sissy, it was there from the very beginning.



Watching cartoons together on March 30, 2010 (well, okay, Sissy watching, Ethan just cuddling!).

A Lamb, A Monkey, And A Sweet Baby

Ethan at two weeks old (March 26, 2010). He is with his little lamb from our good friend Linda, and his monkey blanket from our good friend Beverly.

How can it be, Sweet Boy, that you are not here with us?...

As always, I ache to be able to tell you I love you...

Ethan's Little Pumpkin

Here is the little pumpkin we got for Ethan when we went to the pumpkin patch on October 23rd. We got him a big pumpkin like Sissy's, too, but kept that one at home for him!

Dear Lord

Emily and Daddy are in the other room, and I can hear her asking him why her little brother died.

Is that really something a five-year-old should have to wonder??

Lord, I know You know what You are doing...

But I don't think I'll ever understand this side of Heaven.

I still can't believe I'm even breathing...

How do I wake up every morning knowing I've buried my son?

It is a miracle I can do this... a miracle I can breathe, a miracle I can function at all.

I am experiencing You in a way I never have before... and frankly, in a way I would never choose to.

I love you, Lord.

Please kiss my sweet boy for me.

Why Didn't He? (Warning: Raw)

I re-organized Emily's keepsakes tonight into new boxes.

I have been dreading this... I knew it would be so special to reflect on Emily's life so far, but that at the same time it would be a slap in the face of everything we will never get to have with Ethan.

No artwork, no birthday/holiday cards, no Sunday School papers, no letters to or from Santa or the Tooth Fairy, no awards, certificates, or programs, no ticket stubs from baseball games, theme parks, plays... no handmade cards to Mama and Daddy saying, "I love you"...

I expected a flood of emotions.

What I didn't think about is how I would feel when I came across the mementos from Emily's heart procedures/surgery.

The hospital bracelets, the newspaper article about her world-famous heart surgeon, the Bravery Beads stuff, the get well cards...

In an instant, it was 2005 again, and I remembered the fear.

The fear of losing her.

She had her first procedure at three-and-a-half months old.

Five years later, we feared losing Ethan.

And the same procedure that his sister handled so well killed him, when he was almost three months old.

Actually, the anesthesia for the procedure.

Five years ago, Emily also made it through another cardiac cath with balloon angioplasty at 10 months, and open-heart surgery at 11 months.

And her little brother didn't even make it through the anesthesia for the first one.

Yes, his heart was worse than Emily's. But, after he died, their cardiologist told us you could take 10 other babies with hearts just like Ethan's, and this wouldn't have happened--- that's how rare this is.

Why couldn't God protect Ethan like he protected Emily????

Or rather, why didn't he?

You see, one of the hardest things to accept is that God could have intervened and let Ethan stay here with us.

And he chose not to.

I don't believe for a second I am any less of a Christian because I have a hard time with this.

I am a grieving mother, pure and simple.

I don't know how to put it into words, but I need to try...

When I looked through her stuff, I thanked God for what he did for her--- and us. I can't even begin to explain how precious she is, and always has been, to us.

At the same time, I felt incredible, horrible agony that he did not do it for her little brother, too.

Yes, I know Heaven is the ultimate best for everyone. I know Ethan is living in complete joy and fulfillment.

But I am his Mama.

And I just want him here with me.

Five Months Ago Today

My Sweet Boy,

Five months ago today, God welcomed you into His presence forever...

And we will never be the same.

We are so grateful that the joy you are experiencing is beyond what we could ever imagine...

We remind ourselves of your happiness often, because we miss you so much.

One day, in place of the unbearable pain we feel, there will be Restoration.

We will live with you and the God Who loves you forever.

Ethan, you are so, so loved...

And we are so, so proud to be your family.

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.

Ethan's Marker Is Almost Complete!

Ethan's new picture arrived about two weeks ago, and it is beautiful!

For those of you who read an earlier post, you might remember me mentioning that the picture on the right side of the marker was going to be replaced (we didn't like how it had turned out--- they put a black background behind it which required them to make some other changes, and it just didn't look like our Ethan).

I would like to take this opportunity to say that we love Paula, the manager at the cemetery and the one we purchased everything through... she has been such a blessing to us! We know we are probably high maintenance. :)

Now, all we are waiting for is the custom granite (it will be black and have Ethan's very own handprints and footprints etched into it)!

By the way, Emily adores cleaning her Little Brother's "special place"... she begs for the brush every day!

We Said Hello

We said hello
Never dreaming that just three months later we would say goodbye

Jesus chose to fix your broken heart in Heaven
By breaking ours down here

One day the goodbye will be hello again
And our hearts will be fixed, too

Loving Us Well

Josh, Emily and I want to say thank you...

Thank you to our friends, family, church family, and medical professionals for loving us so well...

Thank you for your acts of kindness...

Your gifts in memory and honor of our sweet Ethan...

Your expertise...

Your tenderness...

Your patience...

Your tears...

Your faith in Our God...

and for crying out to Him on our behalf.

You are vessels of God's grace to us... His comfort to us in human form... and representatives of His love.

We are grateful for you... and we know Ethan is glad his Mama, Daddy and Sissy have so many people who love them.

We love you, too!

Mama Loves You!

Missing you tonight, Sweet Boy...

As always.

I never knew my heart could physically ache like this...

Or that it was even possible to feel this much pain.

I love you, My Ethan.

One day you will look up at me with those big blue eyes again, and say the word I never got to hear you say on this earth, but long to...

You will call me "Mama".

And as I hold you for eternity, this present pain will be only the blink of an eye.

Come quickly, Lord Jesus.

Love, Mama

Dear Ethan,

We just got home from your "special place". We know you aren't really there, but we can't help but go every day, anyway.

Tonight, Sissy and I sat by your grave and sang songs to you, raising our voices and faces to Heaven, like we always do when we sing to you... because we know that's where you really are.

We sang "You Are My Sunshine" first, then "Jesus Loves Me"--- the only song I ever really sang to you when you were here with us. For some reason, I never sang any other... I just repeated that one over and over again.

Looking back, I'm not sure there could have been a better choice. Because when you met Him face to face, you saw how true that song really is.

So, after Sissy and I sang those, she started making up songs about God for us to sing.

And informing me I was singing them incorrectly.

She is a very bossy worship leader! :)

I told her how one day in Heaven, you and her will sing songs to Jesus together.

Oh, Ethan... how wonderful that day will be when we are finally together again--- and for eternity!

After singing, Daddy, Sissy and I prayed like we always do... for God to help us make it through another day, and for amazing things to come from your life.

Ethan, I want you to know He is answering those prayers every day.

We not only make it through each day, but already amazing things have come from your life.

I love you, Sweet Boy...

Beyond measure, forever.

Love,

Mama

From Ethan's Daddy

As a father and a husband, you spend so much of your time trying to convince your family it's going to be okay. But, how do you stand tall when you've been sucker-punched and you're just trying to catch your own breath?

This race that we're now running is not only long, but it's completely isolated. The most sympathetic people struggle to only imagine what it feels like to hold your dead son in your arms, as blood trickles from places it shouldn't. Yes, that's my nightmare! Though I would not trade the time we spent with Ethan after he was welcomed Home to Heaven, I can't shake the feel of his cold face against my lips. Morbid, I know... but, in a way, a treasure. It's what I have left.

You see, when I lost Ethan, I lost more than a son who held my heart--- I lost a big part of me. I became a man who wears two faces--- one that is so broken it yearns for death, the other a small, annoying nag that won't let me quit. I know Ethan doesn't need me now, for he has Jesus. Even though I need him. But his sister needs me, and for her I will carry on. I do not want her to have lost her brother and me at the same time.

I know most people do not understand this, but he was my miracle. I longed to see his day. I prayed for a son my entire life. His sister will never know this (and I would not trade her for the world--- she is my heart, my love for her knows no bounds--- I can't express my love for her, but they both represent a different part of me), but I wanted a boy first--- so he could protect his sissy.

When I lost Ethan, I lost more than my baby--- I lost my son, and I lost a big part of myself that has existed for as long as I can remember. Ethan was the epitome of all I had hoped for, my dreams, my fantasies, and my future... we were all waiting for the day of his arrival.

I loved him before he existed. Then, when he was born, he was all I hoped for and more. He was a dream come true to the 100th power. I was overcome by him. My past expectation and wonder met the most perfect embodiment of a son anyone could ask for. When my dreams met reality, and reality was beyond compare... I was complete. I was happy. For the first time, amidst all the heartache I have been through, it all came together in Ethan, his sister, and his mommy. I was, for the first time, completely whole. My family was complete--- all the pieces fit together.

I had my daughter, who I must confess, is truly my heart--- I love her so much. I had Ethan, the embodiment of all I hoped for, made perfect before me. I had their mom, in which I have pledged my life. This equaled wholeness.

Now I am incomplete.

I just want to tell him:

Son, Ethan, I needed you. I need you. You don't understand how much I need you. How I long to hold you, to kiss you. To tell you again how much I love you. The thought of never being able to tell you I love you rips out what's left of my shambled heart after your death. Life is a cruel joke... for while it feels like in just a minute I will be able to hold you, it never comes.

It's like something dangling right in front of me, and with all my might I lunge forward--- and fall right on my face, for you are just out of reach. You're such a real reality... yet, it feels utterly hopeless.

But I wait on, until we are reunited again.

Everyone acts like you will automatically at some point be mad at God. But, it's my heart that is decimated--- not my faith. I can be in torment and still love God more now than ever. I'm in torment, yet I love Emily and my wife more now than ever!

I want to know God deeper than I ever have. I want to see the face and rest in the arms of the One who holds my son.

When all is said and done, only One really knows my pain, and it's Jesus. As much as my wife and I are the only two humans that truly know our story best, I still do not understand fully what it was like--- and is like--- to be Ethan's mom.

So I will forever hold her hand as we run together, and I will thank God when He holds her hand when our track divides.

But, most importantly, we will both hold the hand of the Only One who is Faithful and True. Though we see but through a glass, cloudy--- one day we will see face to face and all will become clear. I long to see the God of Restoration... but, what I long for even more than that is to hear the words, "Well done Thou good and faithful servant"--- not "You made it by the skin of your teeth", but "Well done". With that, everything will be right. Down here, not everything turns out well. One of these days, every wrong will be righted. One of these days, everything will be made correct. Heaven will be right. Things will just be right.

Happy 7 Months, Sweet Ethan Carter!

Oh, Baby Boy...

Seven months old today--- I can't believe it!

And I can't believe you're not here with us.

When I get to Heaven, I'll have a lot of kisses to give you to make up for the ones I can't give you here... good thing we'll have eternity!

I am so proud of you, Ethan.

My heart bursts with pride that I am your Mama... and aches because I am your Mama and I can't be with you right now.

I love you and miss you, Sweet Boy... sit with Jesus and let Him tell you a story...

Ethan Gets Sugar At Church

Ethan's last time at church was Sunday, May 30, 2010.

It was Movie Night that evening, and during intermission, Ethan was entertained by Mrs. Letitia... and Ethan loved her!

A precious picture of a precious moment...

Daddy, Just In Case You Ever Wonder...

I know exactly who you are.

(Daddy and Ethan, May 23, 2010)

Moments Like This

May 10, 2010



It's simple moments like this I sometimes miss the most.

Ethan and I were waiting for his Sissy to get out of dance and gymnastics...

I had just nursed him (very discreetly) in the car, so his little belly was all full...

I remember feeling so content, so happy, so thankful...

and giving him so many kisses.

Worth A Thousand Words

We never had a professional family portrait taken with Ethan, and that brings us so much pain...

When Emily drew this today, it brought me so much joy...

Ethan Turns Six Months Old

My heart is so heavy.

Once again, words fail to express the pain.

Ethan turned six months old on Sunday, September 12th.

We do not say he would have turned six months old, we say he is six months old--- because he is alive. And since we do not know exactly how old he is in Heaven, we will continue to count his age the only way we know how.

As every mother (and father) knows, there is just something about your baby turning six months old.

On Ethan's six-month birthday, we did not get to marvel at how fast he has grown up or give him his first bite of cereal. There were no cute pictures to mark this precious milestone... and no big smiles or slobbery kisses.

But even though Ethan is in Heaven, there is just something about him turning six months old.

So instead of sweet pictures, rice cereal, and talk of how time flies... instead of the kisses and smiles we ache for...

There was a balloon... a homemade card from his Sissy... a teddy she chose so carefully... many, many tears...

And a prayer that God would tell Ethan how much we love him.

Ethan's marker on his six-month birthday (the current granite is just temporary until the custom black granite with his handprints and footprints etched in it arrives... also, the ceramic picture on the right is being redone--- we wanted it with its original background, like it is on the blog):



"IT IS A PRIVILEGE TO BE YOUR FAMILY. NOT THE END."

Your Hands

Ethan (Seven Weeks Old) and Mama, April 30, 2010



Would your hands have held tight to mine as you took your first steps?

Or shaped the towers of a little sand castle until they were just right?

Would your hands have scooped up bugs and put them in a jar?

Or made lots of sticky messes for Mama to clean up?

Would your hands have made a snowball to throw at Sissy?

Or grabbed hers on Christmas morning as you looked for presents under the tree?

Would your hands have thrown a baseball to Daddy?

Or given him a high-five after a game?

Would your hands have hugged the neck of a friend when they were sad?

Or even someone you barely knew?

Would your hands have reached in your pocket to help a person in need?

Or served a meal to a hungry stranger in a soup kitchen?

Would your hands have made music in church?

Or discovered a cure for a deadly disease?

Would your hands have slipped a ring on the finger of your new wife?

Or felt her tummy when your child kicked inside her womb?

Would your hands have squeezed hers tightly as you shared the miracle of your baby's birth?

Or wiped tears from your own son's face one day?

Would your hands have welcomed the weight of your new granddaughter as she rested in your arms?

Or clasped in prayer as you thanked God for all His blessings?

Ethan, I will never have the privilege of holding your hand on Earth again.

I miss your hands. I miss you.

Hold the hand of Jesus, Sweet Boy.

Though I ache to have you with me, and I mourn what you will not do here, I must remember there is nothing more beautiful than you holding the hand of the One who gave you to me.

Oh, how I love you.

Safe In Daddy's Arms

Daddy and Ethan, April 23, 2010



Ethan was always safe in his Daddy's arms...

And we know he is now safe in the arms of his Heavenly Father.

Holy Spirit, invade my life.

Cover me with Your comfort.

Saturate my heart with Your Truth.

And remind us Ethan will be in our arms again one day... and it will be the beginning of forever.

I Am That Mother

Her child plays with yours on the playground, but she fumbles with her purse or her phone, and doesn't seem to want to introduce herself or even make eye contact...

Because she is terrified you will want to make small talk about each other's kids--- as if everything is fine and one of hers is not buried in the ground.

She averts her eyes when you walk by her in the grocery store...

Because you have your baby with you--- and she knows she never will.

She is friendly when you speak to her, yet her eyes hold a deep sadness and there is something about her smile you just can't figure out...

Because it is all she can do to pay for her purchases without weeping uncontrollably.

She is so proud when you tell her that her daughter is precious...

And wishes you could have met her son, so you would know he is precious, too.

You ask her how she's doing, and she tells you she's fine...

Because she's not sure if you really want to know.

She knows you love her, and she loves you, too.

But still, she feels so incredibly alone...

Because with every breath, she aches for her son.

A Fitting Holiday

Ethan was too little to go to church on Easter, so he stayed home with Mama.

We never imagined it would be his only Easter...

or the only holiday we would ever share with him on Earth.

When you think about it, it is a fitting holiday for our precious Ethan.

After all, Easter is how our Ethan still lives... and why this separation is only temporary.

Ethan, may your only holiday here always be a special reminder to us of the hope we have.

I love you, my Sweet Boy... oh, how it must feel to see the face of the One Who rose from the dead on that very first Easter!

(Warning: Raw Emotion)

So much sadness, so many tears.

There really are no words to express the agony we feel.

My husband cried for Ethan in the middle of lunch at Pizza Hut the other day.

In the middle of the night that night, I sobbed silently in our bed...

and then heard Emily crying for Ethan in hers, too.

Today, I took Emily to the tree house play area in the mall...

but could only bear to stay 15 minutes, because there was a little boy there.

Last night, Emily cried when I picked her up from Dance and Gymnastics because a little girl had made fun of her during class.

I know the girl was just being a kid and I told Emily all the right things... but secretly, I wanted to find the little girl's parents and explain to them that my daughter just lost her baby brother--- that she is dealing with enough right now and doesn't need other kids being mean to her just because they feel like it.

I look in the mirror, and I don't look the same anymore.

And why should I?

My eyes have seen my dead son.

My lips have kissed my dead son.

My arms have held my dead son.

Ethan was ripped from us.

And there is no getting him back in this life.

Thank God for the next.

Grief is ugly...

there really are no words.

Ethan, Do You Know?

Ethan Carter on May 24, 2010



Ethan, do you know...

you are more perfect than we could have ever imagined you would be?

Do you know...

it is absolutely impossible to measure our love for you?

Do you know...

in your short time here, you changed everything?

Do you know...

that the pain of losing you on Earth could never compare to the pain of missing out on you in the first place?

Do you know...

your Sissy cries for you in the middle of the night?

Do you know...

she knows so much more about Heaven and Jesus, because of you?

Do you know...

Daddy and I pray together more than we ever have before, because of you?

Do you know...

that the MOMENT you were born, I understood the incredible bond and special relationship between a mother and her son?

Do you know...

Daddy's still convinced he would have ended up being your favorite? :)

We love you, Sweet Boy... and we wait impatiently for Reunion Day!

Come quickly, Lord Jesus!

Still My Child

Ethan sleeps in his crib for the first time (March 18, 2010)...



I always check on my children one last time before crawling into bed at night. It doesn't matter if I just checked on them five minutes earlier... if I then go and do anything else, I've got to check on them again, right before I climb into bed. I've talked to other mothers about this, and I know I'm not the only one.

When I was pregnant with Ethan, I realized I had started checking on him, too... or his nursery, anyway. There he was, in my own tummy, and I still went into his nursery every night, right after I left his sister's room! Okay, I think I hear chuckling now... :)

After Ethan was born, I stopped checking his room, because he slept in his crib in our room... something I cherished then, and that is priceless now.

I always checked on him right before I layed down, even though I had usually been nursing him in our bed just a minute or two earlier. Seriously, my husband can vouch for the fact that if one second passed between laying him down and lying down myself, that little boy was getting checked on! Just like with his sister, I'd lower my head next to his, so I could hear him breathing...

What I wouldn't give to hear him breathing again.

Since Ethan went to live in his new home with Jesus, my routine has changed a little. I still check on Emily right before I lie down, but now hearing her breathe isn't good enough. Now, I have to lay my hand on her chest and feel her heart beating.

Because I lost Ethan when his wouldn't.

And I check Ethan's room, right after I leave hers, because he is no longer in mine...

But is still my child.

Ethan and Grammy

Ethan at one week old with his Grammy (March 19, 2010)... no words necessary! :)

Snuggle Babies

Sissy and Ethan, Snuggling with Mama on April 28th, 2010





Oh, Ethan, how I long to snuggle with you and Sissy this morning... and every morning! Missing you, as always...

I love you, Sweet Boy...

We Love You, Sweet Boy!

Ethan and his Sissy meet for the first time, just minutes after his birth...



Dear Ethan,

Mama loves you, Sweet Boy!

It is getting harder and harder to get out of bed in the morning... but, your Sissy, who I know you love so very much, makes it possible! I know you know what a bright and shining light she is!

In the last few days before you went to Heaven, you seemed especially smitten with her (or at least we were able to see it even more)! The way you looked at her, your eyes fixed on her every move around you... precious... and she definitely got your smiles! Your beautiful, beautiful smiles...

Ethan, I can't help but mourn the relationship you and Emily would have continued to build over the years, though I know you will have it in Heaven. She was in love with you from the time you were in my tummy, and I know you have always felt that love.

Remember the raspberries she did on my tummy all day, every day? We called it her farting on you! It sounds funny when I write it, but it was so, so beautiful. She couldn't WAIT for you to get here, Baby Boy...

The truth is, we had all been waiting for you our entire lives.

Ethan, there is something else that helps me get out of bed in the morning. It is the promise that we WILL be together again... and I long for that day. I long for the Rapture, when your Daddy and I will hold ALL of our children together, for the first time. And there will be no goodbyes, ever.

Losing you in this life, Ethan, feels so unbearable. The fact that I can even function is a complete mystery to me. I guess it has something to do with the fact that I grieve, but I grieve as one who has hope... because I know I will see you again.

And then, for the very first time, I will hear you say, "I love you, Mama".

I love you, Ethan, and your place in our family will never change or be filled. My arms will always have an empty spot that belongs to you, and my heart will never be whole in this life.

I know you are safe, Ethan, and being loved perfectly as you enjoy the arms of Jesus. You are the Little Brother in Heaven, too, just as you are on Earth! I know even as Daddy, Sissy and I mourn your absence here, Sammy, Asher and MacKenzie rejoice that you are with them! I guess you aren't able to cause mischief in Heaven, but I would sure like to see it! :)

I love you, Sweet Boy!!

Love,

Mama

He Knew

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.

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'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,..."

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...

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."

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!

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

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.

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

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!

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.

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.

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!

A picture slideshow by Smilebox

A Baseball for Ethan

Today was Emily's last baseball game of the season.

When she was in the bathtub this morning, she said in a sad voice, "Ethan never got to see me play baseball at all."

I told her maybe she and Ethan will play baseball together in Heaven one day... and about how when she gets to Heaven she will say, "Ethan, here I am!" and he will say, "That's my Big Sissy!"

In the car on the way to her game, I told her if she wanted we could get a baseball and take it out to Ethan's grave... that even though he isn't really there, things we take there are still really special. She liked the idea of taking him a ball, and I told her she would have to sign it since she was the player.

Josh was driving, and silent tears streamed down his face when she told us exactly what she wanted written on the baseball:

"Dear Ethan,

I played baseball. I hope you are playing baseball in Heaven.

Love,

Emily, to Ethan"

Oh, Jesus, be near us now...

I haven't written for a week, because I haven't really known what to say. Words have felt meaningless. There is simply no way to adequately describe the pain. Being separated from Ethan, though it is only temporary, is horrific.

Josh and I are just taking it one day at a time... doing our best to take care of each other and our sweet Emily, and depending on God for every breath.

Dear Ethan

My Sweet, Sweet Baby Boy,

Saying we miss you doesn't even begin to explain it.

You are unforgettable, irreplacable, and precious beyond words... our perfect baby boy.

Our love for you cannot be measured, just as it is impossible to measure the hurt of being without you.

I long to see you again, to hold you and kiss you, to tell you just how much you have changed (and will continue to change) our lives... and how you have made us, and are making us, better people...

Daddy says he pictures us sitting around the dinner table one day in Heaven as a family--- all seven of us--- and I can't wait! It is making it until that day that is so, so hard...

It is getting more and more difficult to get out of bed every morning... to face a world that keeps going when mine is standing completely still... to function as if I'm not dying inside when I feel like I am...

Daddy told me last night that a large part of him was buried with you that day, and I feel the same way... but we also know another large part of us remains--- your Sissy. He said it is for her that we have no choice, that we must get out of bed every day... she deserves her parents, too. And he is right.

She adores you, Ethan... and has from the time she found out you were in my tummy. She blew raspberries on you (my belly) every day (we called it "farting"!) and talked to you constantly. She couldn't wait for you to get here. And when you did?

She was smitten! She drove us crazy trying to love on you! She wanted to help constantly, kiss you constantly, and get in your face constantly! Sometimes it could be annoying! And always, it was beautiful...

One day about a week ago, she started lining up pennies on her little school table and announced that each penny stood for one of the days you were alive. She can't count high enough, so I helped her. She had layed out 80 pennies... I told her that it was a little short, because you lived 84 days. She had some extra pennies, so I started to count those, but she said, "No, no, no! Those pennies are for the days he isn't here". She had 17 pennies. I said, "Oh, Baby, he will be in Heaven a lot longer than that... there aren't enough pennies to show that..."

Just another reminder of how long we will be without you... how long it will be before we see you again.

But it is also a reminder that you will never die again... God will never stop counting your pennies...

And Ethan, 84 pennies doesn't even begin to explain your life here on Earth... or the impact it will have for eternity.

I love you--- beyond measure, my sweet, sweet baby boy.

Mama

On Anger...

Ethan trying to roll over less than a week and a half before he met Jesus

Ethan would be four months and one week old now.

Wow. How much we've missed already.

He would have finished learning how to laugh by now (he was just starting!)... he would be squealing with delight... he would probably be rolling over (he was already so close!)...

His time here on Earth has stopped, yet all the babies around us keep growing older. We love them so, so much, yet it is hard to watch as they reach ages our son never will.

We know Ethan's time as a whole hasn't stopped, that he lives forever in Heaven... but it is amazing how little comfort that brings. I know that probably sounds terrible, and not very "pastor's wife-y" (I just made up that word!) but I'm just being honest.

The truth is, death isn't pretty. It's horrific. God never intended it. It goes back to that thing where God didn't create us to stand over graves--- we were created to live forever without dying first. We're not supposed to feel good about death, and it isn't supposed to be easy. God didn't "get over" losing His Son, and He doesn't expect me to get over losing mine.

I'm so grateful He understands where I'm at.

So far, I can honestly say I haven't been angry at God. Will that anger come at some point? Maybe. But, so far, it hasn't.

At first, I was just too heartbroken to be angry. Now, in addition to that, I have a few reasons not to be. One of the biggest?

"Mama, don't be mad at Him."

The words I believe Ethan would say if he could speak to me today... in the sweet, sweet voice I know he has.

Deep in my soul, I know that is exactly what he would say to me.

It takes my breath away.

And so I say:

"Baby, I'm not."

8:13am

These are the last pictures we took of Ethan before he met Jesus face to face.

According to my camera, they were taken at 8:13am that morning... about an hour before he left our arms and entered the Cath Lab.

We had just realized he was cutting a tooth the afternoon before, and Daddy had bought him Orajel and a teether. The teether was way too big for his little mouth, so here I am giving him a clean finger to bite down on.

Less than three months old and cutting a tooth! Seriously, the top of it had already broken through his gum! Ever since he went to Heaven, I've felt like God let him get it so early so we could have the gift of seeing him cut his first tooth. Yet another precious, precious memory...

I look at these pictures (as well as the others from that morning) and it is so unreal--- as it always is--- that less than two and a half hours later, he would be in Heaven.

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.

One Year Ago Today

(Ethan was seven weeks old in this picture.)

Today is July 12th. It was this day last year I found out I was pregnant with Ethan.

And today we ordered the marker for his grave.

Two days ago, I celebrated my 31st Birthday. As I stood over my son's grave with my family, I couldn't help but think how the past year was both the best and worst year of my life.

The best because I had my husband and my two children.

The worst because I then buried one of them.

I told my mom tonight that my whole life is now divided into two categories: "Before" and "After".

Before my son died, and After my son died.

Last July 12th was before my son died. I took a pregnancy test after evening church and Josh and I were downright giddy at the results. We felt pure joy that God had blessed us with another life. And we certainly never took it for granted.

Still, we had no idea just how wonderful that life would be! What a beautiful, extraordinary son we would have.

We also had no idea we would stand over his grave less than a year later... that the same baby who grew in my womb would now be in the ground.

Ethan was a special, special little boy.

I choose to remember July 12th not as the day we ordered the marker for his grave, but as the day we found out he was going to be ours.

Bumpers of Faith

My husband preached a sermon today entitled "Bumpers of Faith". He used an analogy from a father/daughter date he had with Emily a few months ago to describe how the pillars of our faith work in our lives.

When bowling with a five year-old, you use bumpers. The ball may roll from one side of the lane to the other, bang every which way, or spin out of control... but the bumpers keep it in the lane.

This is how the pillars of our faith (pillars of truth) work. Our life may spin out of control, things may get horrible, the pain may feel unbearable... but the things we know to be true hold us securely in the boundaries of God's love.

At the end of the service, Josh had us write down some of the pillars of faith we cling to in our own lives (which are, of course, true for us all) and attach them to the sides of "bumpers" he had created down the center aisle of the church. Then we walked down the aisle, stopping to read the pillars of faith that hold us securely, even in the midst of the storms of life.

My pillars?

He is the God of Restoration.

He will wipe every tear from my eyes.

He is big enough to handle my questions.

Babies live forever with Him.

I know no greater pain than the loss of my son. I cannot explain the agony of knowing this is my new life... that I have joined a club I never asked to or dreamed I would join--- one made up of parents who have buried their children.

But, I also know no greater love than that of the One Who is the Only Reason I am still breathing.

You see, He is a member of the club, too--- only He joined willingly.

He gave His Son so mine could live forever.

That is the ultimate pillar of truth.

Another Day Closer

I pulled up to a green light today and stopped as if it were a red light... and then sat there for a couple of minutes before I realized it.

Sometimes I can't remember where I'm going or how to get there. I struggled for a long time to remember how to get to our local Walmart yesterday... the same one we go to several times a week.

I forget to do important things such as pay bills... even when I have just talked about needing to do them moments before.

As the days tick by without my son, I struggle to keep functioning.

We were going to take down Ethan's pack-n-play today. Although we are leaving almost all of Ethan's things intact/untouched, such as his nursery, Josh and I thought it made sense to get the pack-n-play out of the kitchen/family room and put it away to keep it nice.

But then Emily started bawling and begging us to keep it up--- forever.

She said it reminds her of Ethan and that it is where he used to lay, and that she misses him so bad.

I told Josh that just as we want Ethan's nursery and other things kept the same, we need to let her have things she needs kept the same.

I know some would encourage us not to do this (thinking it will increase our pain or that it "isn't healthy"), but all I can say is we can't imagine doing anything else. His nursery is his nursery... and it would cause us more pain to put his things away as if it isn't.

We are obviously still finding our way on this path of grief, and know we will be for the rest of our lives. I am learning you do what you need to do just to make it through the day. And each day I make it through is another day closer to seeing my son again.

Come quickly, Lord Jesus.

A Letter to My Son

My Sweet, Sweet Ethan,

Your Sissy is fast asleep, and your Daddy is in bed, too.

I close my eyes and all I can see is your face... your big, beautiful, trusting eyes looking up at me the way they did every day of your life.

When I handed you over to the nurses outside the Cath Lab, you trusted me.

After you passed away, I felt like I had handed you over to your death.

I still feel that way.

I wonder constantly what your Daddy and I and the doctors could have done differently.

Knowing God allowed your death does not change my need to question.

And I think He understands that.

Your Sissy had her first swimming lesson today. She has always been a "water baby", and you made it clear the two times you got to go in the pool you were going to be one, too.

Her first baseball game of the season is tomorrow night, and we can tell she is going to do more than just sit in the grass and pick her nose this year (like she did when she was three!). She and her coach's daughter are the only two girls on the team, and we think it's really cute. Daddy was going to coach your team one day. All those baseball outfits you wore were his idea!

Oh, Ethan, there are so many things I want to tell you...

But, most of all, I want to tell you what I told you as Daddy, Sissy and I walked you to the Cath Lab that morning--- the last thing I said to you, and I repeated it over and over again:

I love you and it is a privilege to be your Mama.

I Should Be...

As I told a sweet friend recently, one of the hardest things I do is wake up and get out of bed every morning, knowing it is another day without my son.

Today was no exception.

I assume the 4th of every month will carry even more pain than some other days do (although it doesn't feel like any day is ever any "easier"), just as every Friday does.

But, today is Independence Day...

I should be dressing my children in cooridinating red, white and blue outfits for the city's celebration tonight... Ethan should be being bounced on the laps of his church family, smiling that smile that melts us... he should be enjoying the sun on his face as Mama frets about keeping him under the shade... Daddy and I should be cuddling with him and his sister under a beautiful sky of exploding light... covering Ethan's ears and worrying the fireworks might scare him as his sister revels in each one...

But, today will unfold far differently than this... and I need God's peace...

I need His peace so I can dress Emily in red, white and blue... so I can watch her delight in our church family... so I can appreciate her smile that melts us... so I can see her enjoy the sun on her face while I fret about her getting sunburned... so Daddy and I can cuddle with her under a beautiful sky of exploding light... so I can watch her revel in each firework...

God, help me enjoy my daughter today as my heart aches inconsolably for my 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!):

A Month of Fridays

It was four weeks ago today our sweet Ethan went to be with Jesus. Honestly, I can't believe we've made it this far.

Every day, we stand at his grave and hold each other, asking God to help us make it through another one. The fact that we are still breathing proves He is faithful.

This has been, without a doubt, the longest four weeks of our lives... it feels like we have already had to live without our son for so, so long. It is impossible to explain how much we miss him.

Yet at the same time, it really does seem like just yesterday that Ethan was still in our arms... that we were living life as a grateful family of four.

I know that will be the case until we see him again in Heaven... the wait will seem unbearably long, while the memories will remain incredibly fresh and tender.

He is one special little boy.