A New New

Its been a while since my last post, but there has been so much healing since then. I posted on my FB status that I am amazed at how quickly God works when He sets out to heal his beloved. I have learned that I have to really and truly allow Him to search my heart and break some stuff off. Sometimes the "breaking of the stuff" hurts so much it seems as though crazy comes knocking, but oh the joy when its finally off! I have spent the last few months feeling very detached from Him. At the worse possible time, too. As I look back tho, I see Him in every step. I want to say this... at the end of this post I have included just a very short snapshot of the morning of Ike's death for one purpose only. Until now, except to just a few people, the details of that morning have remained under wraps. I am only revealing some of them now to give you an idea of what I mean when I say that God really and truly does heal people's minds of horrific events and images. There is nothing too big for Him.
I am not sure what is different from now and even a week and a half ago, but something has drastically changed. So drastically in fact, that I have asked myself, my therapist and the Lord whether this is difference is real or just an illusion. I am nearly off of all anti-anxiety meds and have found this feeling of hope unlike anything I have ever experienced. I know what I am made of now. I know for certain that NOTHING can seperate me from the love of God. Not even the most devastating of circumstances. I am truly my Father's beloved child.
I won't lie, there were times that I thought I was surely going to die of despair and sorrow. That God had somehow forgotten me in my most desperate hour. I was angry- no, I was pissed off- at Him. I beat on His chest and demanded that He tell me why. I even thought that maybe He was purposely leaving me, just to see if I would chase Him down. But the truth is, He never left. He held me while I cried. He stood like a rock while I beat Him up and comforted me when I was so weak from the rage I could barely breathe. And He has taught me so much.
The reason there are certain Scripture that is considered to be cliche by some is because they are true. Romans 8:38-40 says: "For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels nor principalities nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, nor height nor depth, nor any other created thing, shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord." Y'all, I'm here to say its true. I have experienced all of these. Life, death, hell, the unknown, the highest of highs and lowest of lows and everything in between, and guess what; God is STILL awesomer. He loves me no matter where I am. His passion for me superceded the life of His Son. I know what it is like to lose a son. It sucks. Out of all the things I have had to deal with, the death of Ike is easily the most torn up I have ever been. And the closest to crazy I have ever been driven. I think about that and then think, I let my son go because I had to. God gave His, willingly, for me. A sinner. A person who beats on his chest and spat on Him. Someone who questions his authority when things get hard. Jesus never did those things, and yet God still traded Him for me. Grief is hard, and yet God is still there. He is still there. Even when I wanted to push Him so far away from me, I couldn't do it. NOTHING, not the death of my son, or the circumstances surrounding  it, can seperate me from my Father. Nothing. Period. End of story. No matter what my emotions said, He is still here.
There is still so much to say, but I really have to go. I think I will have to break this up into parts. I want to share with you all I've learned because I have determined that that is the purpose for my life. To share with others the truth of God's character and the power of His Word.
So I really don't want to end this post, but I must... just for now.
Be blessed.

I found Ike dead in his crib at five am on June 7th. I went in to wake him up while his bottle was warming. Before he died, he had somehow rolled himself over then passed in his sleep. By the time I went in and rolled him back over, he had been gone for some time. His body had gone into rigor mortis and was swollen and cold. His eyes were closed and his lips were not blue. It took me a couple of days to remember that, but once I did, I  knew he had not suffocated (an autopsy later confirmed that it was SIDS). I was by myself. Josh was out of town and when I went to call 911, my phone battery was dead as well. I spent approximately 15 - 20 minutes giving him CPR while I waited for my phone to charge and then continued with the operator's instructions once I was able to call them. It took them about 10 minutes or so to get to my house.

Ike's Story

I think its time for Ike's back story. I don't know why, but I sense as if the enemy is trying to torture me with for a few days now. I think its time to bring it to the light so that it cannot be used against me anymore...Here we go... You see, I struggled each pregnancy with a very deadly, very rare disease called HELLP Syndrome. In each of my pregnancies I became very very sick and really and truly came within an inch of death with my Jerahmiah (my first born). But even though perhaps we should have been, we were not scared of this dreadful disease returning when we found out Ike was on the way. With all of my other children my life was very stressful. As many of you know, my exusband was not the nicest of men, to say the least and made life very difficult for me even when I was pregnant with Madeline. (My boys are from my first marriage, but Josh and I had Madeline together). So anyway life had finally sttled down when Ike came a long and I just knew things were going to be different. Not only because outside circumstances had changed, but also because I knew the healing power of God and when I felt symptoms coming on I would cast them down and confess healing to my body. Then February 1st I woke up from a nap feeling awful. I had a fever and was throwing up. Although I remained sick for two weeks I refused to concede to the notion that HELLP was once again taking over my body. Finally on February 16, after three days of nonstop vomiting and a headache so painful it surpassed any migraine, I received a phone call from my doctor. My sugars were high and they wanted me to come in and take another glucose test. I told them tht I probably would not be able to keep it down as I had been vomitting for nonstop for three days. They told me to go straiht to the ER, do not pass go, do not collect 200 hundred dollars... Straight there and in a hurry. I needed fluids. My body was in severe dehydration. Now those of you who are reading this and are thinking, "You silly girl... A history of HELLP and two weeks of severe ilnness, why didn't you go?" Well, looking back, I agree with you. But at the time, I just thought it was the flu, and what could they do for me that I couldn't do for myself at home? When I arrived at the hospital, I was still in the thought process of flu. I would get fluids, maybe some phenergren (sp?), something for my head and then be sent home to rest and wait it out. As soon as I got back to a room, and saw the look on the nurse's face, I knew something was really really wrong. She tried to start an IV, but could not. My veins were so weak they could not support even the smallest of "tubes". I was given a pretty strong dose of phenergren and after about 45 minutes, they found a vein and began to pump fluid into my body as quickly as they could. Even that made me dry heave. They tried Tylenol 4 for my head, but ended up having to give me morphine because the pain just became unbearable. I was admitted almost instantly for observation. I don't remember much about that first day. I know my doctor came in with two other doctors and they told me I was sick. The sickest they'd ever seen. They were shocked to know that I drove myself to the hospital earlier that day. But the biggest thing I remember is they could not tell me what was wrong with me. I did not test positive for the flu. All of my organs were functioning properly, well accpet my liver. But not even my liver was functioning badly enough to make me as sick as I was. My billirubin count was up, but that was the only concrete thing. My bloodwork was a mess, but did not point to anything specific. Medically speaking there was no reason for me to be in the state that I was in, yet when one of those doctors would look at me I could see the worry and fear in their eyes. I woke up the next morning and my OB decided that it was vital that I begin a series of steroid treatments to mature Ike's lungs quickly. I was four or five days shy of 30 weeks. A babys lungs are present, but do not begin to mature until the last four weeks of pregnancy. We needed to do the shots and buy as much time as possible for Ike. We were literally taking things one day at a time. Always prepared for that day to be the day of his birth. We spoke to specialist after specialist. All of them said there was nothing they could do to help. A few days after my admission, we spoke to the head of the NICU. She said that despite my health, Ike was fine and if he needed to come he would start out having to fight but by the time he was in Kindergarten, you would not be able to tell him apart from any other child. -----That was a difficult thing to type. I forgot about that statement and now it seems so.... so.... stupid.----- Anyhow, after about two and a half weeks things started looking up. I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes, but my liver counts that been rising since I was admitted had now begun to fall. Every vein in my arms had blown out causing massive black bruises, but they had put in what is called a PICC line, basically, a semi-permanent port that went straight into my arm and down into my aorta. With this, they could hook up IVs and draw blood without putting a single needle in my arm. Ike was cooking up beautifully and we were even talking about the possibility of going home. Then, one Saturday, my headache returned with a vengeance. My liver counts shot up higher than they had ever been and with each day I became worse and worse. Eating was impossible. I had eventually lost even the instinct of finding nourishment. Walking from my bed to the chair was exhausting. I tried to smile and laugh, but could not sincerely do so. On the morning of March 12 my doctor came in and said it was time. My liver was showing signs of damage and my bloodwork was awful. We prepared for Ike's arrival. Those who have Csections kn ow that in most cases only a local anesthetic is done, numbing the mom from the waist down. Right as I was being prepped for that, the doctor literally came running down the hallway, calling out "Stop doing the local!!" I could hear his feet hit the floor as he ran into the OR and began to somewhat frantically explain that my so and so count was so low, that if they stuck a needle into my back it would cause a hematoma and I would bleed to death right there on the table before they ever got the baby out. He then starts the process of administering the general and the nurse began to put in a catheter. I was screaming and crying, it hurt so bad. I woke up a few hours later, back in my room. Ike was born at 10:37 am on March 12. I did not get to see him for the first 24 hours of his life because I was hooked up to magnesium and some antibiotics that had to be consitently flowing through my body for 24 hours and I had to sit still while they did so. When I finally did get to see him, he was this tiny little boy. He was also hooked up to the CPAP machine which made him appear even tinier. I could not pick him up. I could not move him. All I could do was hold his tiny tiny hand in mine. This went on for five days. I did not hold my baby until he was 6 days old, and even then it was cumbersome and I could only hold him for a few minutes. He was still on the CPAP, so we had to manuever around the machine. It was one of the most glorious few minutes of my life. On the really really hard days, I close my eyes and think about those few minutes. I imagine that the emotions I experienced in that moment next to his "incubator" are just a taste of what it will be like to when I can hold him once again in heaven. For about a week and a half I watched that brave boy fight back against his circumstances. People call it "wimpy white boy syndrome" as caucasian males have the hardest time being weaned off of the CPAP. I beg to differ. I saw his strength amidst impossible circumstances. I saw each of those babies in that NICU fight like hell to stay alive. It took a little time, but he was off the CPAP and a week or so later he was ready to come home. On his last day I asked the nurses in the NICU how long they had been expecting him to be there. They said at least a month. He was there two weeks and a day and a half. When we got home, he just took off. It usually takes a preemie of his kind to about a month or so gain back their birthweight and up to six months to become a little dot on the growth chart. It took Ike 6 weeks to acheive dot status. He loved his food. When he ate he would coo and grunt and grip the bottle and look at me like "Lady, if you take this bottle out of my mouth, we will not be friends". And when I would have to take it out to burp, oh my the tantrum that would follow. He loved his food. He loved his bubbas and sissy too. He would watch them so intently. Every move they made was the most spectacular thing to him. and I think the jumpy jumpy game may have been a little competetive. Like, he was saying to them "You think you can do cool stuff? Well watch THIS!" I miss that sweet boy. His death still hits me right in the gut sometimes. I even still catch myself wanting to go check on him, as if he is napping. And sometimes, it seems like a lifetime ago that that sweet little boy was fussing at me for burping him. Maybe it seems that way because as I have said before my family and I have been so radically changed by his passing. Thank you for letting me get that off of my chest. My prayer is that now that it is out there, the enemy can no longer use it against me. And that it will help someone else who has difficult choices to make about the next steps of their life. Please know that Ike's prematurity had nothing to do with his death. As I have said before, he was a bouncing healthy baby boy. He blew his pediatrician away at each visit. SIDS is an awful thing. It has no bias, no conscience. It is the work of the enemy. It is the very essence of evil.
Ah geez, I'm sitting here bawling my eyes out. I miss him so much. Typing this was a lot harder than I thought it was going to be. Once again, thank you for reading my random thoughts.
Blessings... Amy

Ramblings....

Well, it seems life really and truly does move along, even if some days feel like it does so at a snails pace. I have been struggling with a lot of frustration lately. I realized not too long ago that a year ago today we were just about to find out that Ike was on the way. I remember the posting on Facebook... First it was "Its getting time to buy new jeans, only a size smaller" ( I had lost about 20 pounds) and a few hours later I posted "is due in April!!". The response to that post was overwhelming. I think in fact a friend of mine posted that I had officially received the most posted comments she had ever seen... Now here I am one week away from Ike's 6 month birthday and all I have left of him are pictures and a blanket that we call his "friend".  I think back to that girl that was so excited about a new baby on the way and long to hold onto her. To even be her again, sometimes. In reality tho, I can no longer identify with her anymore. Not even remotely.  Thats the hardest part of all of this. I feel as tho I will never be that carefree, silly girl ever again. I have grown up; in ways I never wanted to. Someone said to me not too long ago that there seems to be an ever present sadness to my eyes now. I never wanted to be that person. Those of you who have known me for a long time, know that I can be so bubbly that I'm almost too much to take in sometimes (yes, its okay to agree. I can own that part of me :) ). Those of you who have only seen the last five years of me, and think differently, well all I can say to that is ask the ones who have known me for a long long time and they will tell you. the Lord had healed so many wounds that covered over with a smile in the last five years and that can get really ugly sometimes. Anyhow, I never wanted to be that girl. the girl that has the sadness to her countenance. The girl that cries at the drop of a hat. The girl that emanates a broken heart. I never wanted to be her. The reality is tho, my heart is broken. My eyes do reflect a deep deep sadness. And honestly, it sucks. But its real. I know that joy comes in the morning. I know that God gives beauty for ashes. I know that He can do more than I can ever even imagine and trust I am expecting those things. For now, tho, I feel like I am that girl. I guess thats part of it. Even the Word says that the Lord shows favor upon a contrite spirit and a broken heart. So, it is what it is, I guess.
There are some things that I am coming to appreciate about who I am now. There is an urgency that I have never experienced. An urgency of life. That it slips away so quickly and yet it is wasted so easily. I don't feel the need to have people in my life who either waste my time or theirs. I want only positivity. That is something I have always wanted, but I always thought that it was "Christianly" to have people who are consistently complaining or cynical around and be patient with them. That that was what having grace with others meant. I know now that that was totally wrong thinking. I am free to pick those who are in my circle, not just let anyone and everyone in. And I'm not a bad person if I don't include everyone all of the time. I like that. Its liberating.  Its okay to let the dishes go while I play video games or have a tea party or be silly with my children. If someone comes over unaanounced and sees dirty dishes and gets offended, well they should have called first. Its okay to rest. Its okay to put down the facade and be real.
I have seen, up close and personal, the very essence of life. The vulnerability of it. Its fragility.
I have seen the absolute worst of it. I have tried to breathe life back into existence with my own breath. I have wept my guts out because I could not. And I have buried one of my children and sent him back to Heaven even though he showed no sign before or after his death that his journey here on earth would come to such an abrupt end. I have also seen the beauty of Life. The strength that can be found there. And, even now I can say with all certainty that nothing else matters. I have held my sweet sweet children as they have mourned their brother. I have watched them take care of each other and me in the midst of their grief. I wake up every day and hear them laugh. I hear them minister to other little guys their age. I listen to their stories and watch their faces light up when they make a new friend. I am in awe of life now. I like that too.
Perhaps it is so difficult for those who mourn to say what they need/want to say because there is so much to say. There are so many emotions and they change so rapidly. One minute I'm pissed, then the next I'm content. Contentment can turn into utter despair and utter despair can lead to joy. Sometimes all of these can happen in about five minutes, yet sometimes just one of these can last for days or weeks. Perhaps that is why the friends and families of the mourners don't know what to do or say; so many many times, they don't do or say anything.
Well, I sense that tonight's blog has come to its end. I should probably go to bed. Good night y'all. Be blessed.