LIFE IN FOCUS

One of the things that fills me up is taking pictures of my family.  My heart swells at the chance to catch super special moments, candid belly laughs and big [and little] firsts on camera.  My hope from the beginning was that my boys would look back many years from now and be grateful that they have snapshots of their childhood.  I was anxious to have pictures that would help us both remember what made them tick, what made them excited and what filled them up as they grew.  

Here's the thing, though: my little boys miss out on having their mama be a PART of those memories, rather than just standing by with her trusty Canon ready to capture as they experience it all.  It makes them sad, which in turn, makes this mama's heart hurt, too. 

Behind the camera is right there in my comfort zone, so as Adam says, "Hop on in this shot!" I usually come back with, "Well, I didn't really do my hair today . . ." or "I don't have any make-up on" or "Catch me when I'm 5-10 pounds down--I don't want to remember me like THIS."  As I was wading through the piles of pictures on my computer one night, my heart sank at the idea of my boys looking back at all of these pictures--these memories--and thinking,

"I WONDER WHERE MOM WAS FOR ALL OF THIS?"

 As much as I love documenting the everyday stuff, most days my little men are SO over mom taking yet another picture.  The saddest part?  I lost count of the times I reached for my camera and thought, "Well, this would make a really sweet blog post."   Often times, behind the scenes, those smiles from my little men came with much too much pleading and prompting from this mama.  Kind of sucked the fun right out of whatever we were doing in the first place.  

I am on year three of writing and posting to my little space here, and I'm embarrassed to admit that for a while, I lost sight of why I was taking pictures and sharing stories in the first place.   When other women's families, homes and photos are at your fingertips, it's easy to spend more time reading about (and comparing to) other people's lives than being present in your own.  I am certainly guilty of giving in to the tug on my attention and the allure of the "really cool photo/post op."  But my children . . . well, they deserve SO much better from their mama.   

WHAT DOES IT MATTER IF I DOCUMENTED OUR LIVES TOGETHER IF THOSE MOMENTS WERE CAPTURED BUT NOT FULLY LIVED?

After taking a look at where I was placing my attention, joy and time, I ended up taking a little impromptu writing and photo fast.  I jotted down precious moments and quotes that I wanted to be sure to remember, and grabbed my camera on some of the big days (like Noah and Mason's first day of school, harvest time for our little garden and my hubby's 10 year high school reunion), but I made sure that when I picked up my camera, my intentions were in order.  And while I didn't photograph every little thing, I think I got a more focused shot of the bigger picture.

Tonight

Feeling sick tonight.  

Heartsick.  

Homesick.  

I MISS HER.

Oh, Maggie, mommy misses you, sweet girl. 

I miss that overflowing joy that came with preparing for and dreaming of our life with her.  I drive myself mad wondering what she might have looked like at 1 month old, 6 months old, 1 year, 10 years . . . . . 16 . . . . . 20.  Her wedding day.

Lord, I don't get it . . . and it hurts. SO. BADLY.

It feels a little bit hopeless sometimes.  A little bit frantic.  A little bit lonely.   A whole lot broken and incomplete.

THE ONLY OTHER SHE IN "US" WAS HER.

I don't know if that part will ever get any easier to take.  Two years and I am still appalled that she won't ever be here with us.  Sleep eludes me.  I miss snuggling next to Emmitt each night as I turn in for bed.  He sleeps a few feet away in a room and bed of his own now.  When Noah was born, we were new, unsure and learned as we went.  By the time Mason arrived, we settled quickly into the comfort and familiarity of having been there and done that once.

Then our Maggie died.

On my watch.

Inside of me.

And everything changed.  

Emmitt was born and things that once seemed so important no longer held any weight.  The thought of losing another child sent me into a tailspin of panic and fear.  I could not bear to lay him down as he slept, the image of Maggie etched in the forefront of my mind.

Eyes closed. Tiny lips parted. So, so still.  As if she were just sleeping.

For eight months, Emmitt spent his nights sleeping soundly in the crook of my arm, breathing in and out alongside of me as I soaked up his warmth and sweet heart beating.  My arms ache for him in a sad, unsettling kind of way.  He is thriving and learning so much as he conquers small but important victories of independence.  Each day, he is growing a little more . . . needing me a little less.  It kind of fills and breaks my heart all at the same time.

Feeling sick in the pit of my stomach tonight.  A lost, frantic she-is-There-and-I-am-here, time marching on and taking my boys with it, world spinning faster than I can catch my breath sort of sick.

God is still working on this heart of mine.  There is still much mending to be done.  Life-long mending.  Stitching and re-stitching of places that continue to unravel in me.  Waiting for the careful Tailor to repair what has come undone and fashion this life for the purpose He has created it for.

"Answer me quickly, O LORD; my spirit fails;
Do not hide your face from me or I will be like those who go down to the pit.
Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in you.
Show me the way I should go, for to you I lift up my soul.
Rescue me from my enemies, O LORD, for I hide myself in you.
Teach me to do your will, for you are my God; may your good Spirit lead me on level ground.

For your name’s sake, O LORD, preserve my life; in your righteousness, bring me out of trouble.
In your unfailing love, silence my enemies; destroy all my foes, for I am your servant."

-Psalm 143:7-12

Happy Birthday, Maggie.

Maggie Olivia Miller

April 9, 2009

1:30 a.m.

2 pounds 13 ounces

15 inches

"If you know someone who has lost a child

or lost anybody who's important to them,

and you're afraid to mention them because you think you

 might make them sad by reminding them that they died,

they didn't forget they died.

You're not reminding them.

What you're reminding them of is that

 you remember that they lived,

and that's a great, great gift."

-Elizabeth Edwards

Missing our girl.

The details of her birthday wash over me and in a moment, I am right back in that room--meeting my daughter, saying goodbye before hello.  I didn't know how we would make it through that first year, but we did.  The Lord has given us the strength to endure another.  So hard to believe that two years have passed since we held her in our arms.  Today hurts.

Maggie girl, we love you so.

Celebrating you today, sweet daughter. 

We'll meet you there . . .

Party of Five, Family of Six

A few weeks back while the boys and I were making a grocery run, the lady at the check out began talking to Noah about all of our boys.  "Good thing you guys don't have a sister," the lady said to him, "She'd be in trouble with all you boys." Without skipping a beat Noah replied with a quiet smile, "We have a sister.  She's in Heaven."  The lady smiled, we gathered up our things and went on our way. 

On another occasion while out to dinner one Saturday, a lady at the restaurant stood near our table studying our busy little family as we got settled in our booth.   "Is your baby a boy or a girl?" she asked, pointing to Emmitt in his carrier. "A little boy," I replied with a smile as I rocked Emmitt a bit back and forth and attempted to distract Noah and Mason while we waited for our meal to arrive.  I braced myself for more to come.  The lady looked around the table at our boys, the two older ones now playing in their ketchup. With her arms crossed she leaned over to me and whispered with a grin,

"CAN'T MAKE GIRLS???"

I closed my eyes for a moment, responded with a sideways smile and begin wiping off little ketchup fingers with a napkin. It was all I could do to keep the tears that were stinging at bay.

I have lost track of the number of similar conversations I have had with people since we knew Emmitt would be joining our family.  They began when he was still growing in my tummy.  Gender and size were always popular subjects.  There was the "Three boys, huh?  You've got your work cut out for you!" and the "Are you sure it's not twins?" and "Wow, you're HUGE!"  One woman even argued with me in the middle of the toothpaste aisle one day, just convinced I was having a girl by the way I was carrying Emmitt in my tummy (and even more convinced that I was MUCH further along than I was claiming).  She went as far as calling her husband over, yelling down the aisle passed a number of other customers, just to take a look and give his two cents.  It always amazes me how freely people use their words upon seeing a perfect stranger with a round, pregnant belly, or a mom just doing life with her three little boys.  You would think that we walk through public places making a scene like a three-ring circus, complete with a big bullseye permanently painted to the front of us.  I know that people don't mean any harm by their comments, but I always walk away from conversations like these so disheartened and discouraged.  It is one of those hard things I have yet to learn how to handle without it affecting the rest of my day.  Maybe it will become easier to hear as the boys get older, or maybe it will always sting. 

The most hurtful part, though, comes when people offer their condolences instead of congratulations upon seeing our all-boy family.  A parent in Noah's class is always asking me when we're going to try for a girl (expressing how badly she wanted her third little boy to be a girl, and how blatantly DISAPPOINTED she was when her son did not turn out to be a daughter).  It would just break my heart for any one of my sons to feel undesired or second best.  My boys, although rambunctious and wild at times, are wonderful little people. I have watched the responses that all-girl families elicit from onlookers and just wonder why boys are not doted upon in the same manner.  My sons' hearts are tender and just as capable of being hurt.  They are loving and kind and compassionate. Their baseball caps and fistfuls of Lego men are no indication that they are rude or rough or undeserving of accolades.  Perhaps I am overly sensitive and aware of it all.  It's hard for this mama's heart to process.  And then to have the comments come--the ones about not being able to make girls--that make me wish that people knew how very GRATEFUL we are for each one of our sons, that our new baby boy is a celebrated and welcomed gift, that it is our privilege to raise three princes, that our princes have a precious sister, and that we are a party of five, but a family of SIX.