The Best 2 Years

Today is mine and Ben's 2nd wedding anniversary.

The other night I asked him which were really the "best 2 years" for him, his mission or being married. He laughed as he replied that it was no contest, our marriage easily beat his mission.

This is saying a lot, because my husband loved his mission. He misses the people he served and many of his companions a great deal. But, The experience of being united with and committed to another individual for the rest of eternity is an experience that beats all others, hands down.

These past two years have been, quite frankly, exhausting. We've moved 4 times. We've buried a child. Ben has graduated and started his career. We've spent 105 days in the NICU before finally bringing our beautiful son home. All this and so much more has happened within 24 months. I could not have picked a better person to face it all with.

He has done his best to keep me smiling through it all and been there to hold me when I fell apart.

Benjamin is my angel.

I made this video for him. It tells the story of our past two years in pictures.

I'm a sucker for romances. But of all of the stories I've read of and seen, this love story is my favorite.

The Rogue Organ

So, these past couple of weeks. . . wow.

I don’t even know of any way to preface this whole story, so just pull your safety restraint so it is snug and keep your hands and legs inside the ride at all times. This is going to get bumpy.

So, on May 13th I went to Instacare with a sore throat. They put me on antibiotics for Strep.

We’d been trying to get completely moved out of our Brigham City apartment and into Ben's grandma’s house (She's still in the nursing home, but we're hoping she can come home soon). On about the 15th or 16th, I ended up lifting a box that was too heavy. My stomach tensed, Jack gave a good kick and I kinda panicked that I was hurting him so I twisted weird and hurt my back pretty badly. I'm not sure that I mentioned that I have a fracture in my lower spine that has been causing me grief for years. This just really aggravated it and I had to take it kinda easy for a couple of days.

On Monday, the 20th, our Brigham City landlord called up and was putting pressure on us to get completely moved out of the apartment ASAP. Ben had to work, so I called up my mom and we spent the day cleaning up the apartment. I was trying to be careful so that I didn't further injure my back. Then Ben and I went over again that night and, with some help from his parents, got things completely finished up. I went to bed that night completely exhausted,  knowing I had probably over-done it and anticipating being sore the next day.

I was surprised to wake up at about 5 am with a bad pain in my lower right abdomen. I immediately thought of Jack. We called the hospital, but the on-call doctor was one that I had previously had a very bad experience with, so I just said that I’d wait and call back during normal business hours.

I drove Ben over to work in Millville and then went to my parents’ house in Providence to rest. I called my doctor’s office back around 9 and the nurse thought I may have a bladder infection, so she asked me to come in and give a sample.

I drove over to the hospital, gave a sample and then went to Lee’s to pick up some cranberry juice, because I’d heard that it can help with bladder infections. After just walking straight in to give the test, driving across the street and walking straight in to purchase the juice, I drove back up to Grandma Allred's to take some medication I’d forgotten that morning. I was so exhausted and in so much pain that I couldn't even get out of the car to walk into the house. I called up Ben and he was really worried.

I finally made it inside and called the nurse back to find out that the test came back negative. Now I was really worried that there was something wrong with Jack. I called the nurse back again and she told me to go into Labor and Delivery, just in case.

By this point, Ben had called my mom and asked her to drive him to me. I called him up and told him about the change in plans, so we got straight in the car when he arrived and drove to the hospital.

After admitting me, it didn't take them long to figure out that I was having contractions. They gave me some medicine that got the contractions under control and then focused on figuring out what was causing them. (Apparently, lots of different kinds of illness or stress can cause premature contractions) They ran blood tests and figured out that my white blood cell count was a little high. I had a mild fever, that stayed around 99.6. They thought it might be my appendix or gall bladder, so they ordered a complete ultrasound of my organs.

The ultrasound was painful and took over an hour.  I would have to hold my breath while they pushed very hard right on the spots where I was hurting the most. In the end, they were able to locate all of my organs, besides my appendix. They said that since they couldn't find it, it was likely not a problem, because if it was swollen they should be able to find it. Quick side note: Organs in the lower torso are difficult to locate on pregnant women because the baby just kind of pushes everything to the side haphazardly.

They decided to keep me overnight for observation. After going over my symptoms in the morning, the nurses seemed confident that I just had a really bad stomach bug, because there had been one going around. Dr Horsley (my OB) seemed to agree with this, but he decided (was inspired) to have a general surgeon come and look at me before they released me.

I was feeling pretty silly by this point. What kind of crazy, paranoid pregnant lady rushes to the hospital with a stomach bug? I really just wanted them to release me so I could go home and suffer this out with what was left of my dignity.

Then the general surgeon, Dr Weiss, came in. We liked him immediately. He is so awesome at making you feel completely comfortable while talking to him. He’s very competent and obviously knew what he was talking about and he was quirky enough to keep things from feeling intense.

After just talking, he seemed to agree with the general stomach bug consensus. Once he started pressing on my abdomen, though, he became concerned and said that he couldn't completely rule out appendicitis. So, he did something for what I later found out was only the second time in his long career: He ordered an MRI on a pregnant woman.

I went into the MRI convinced that it was a serious waste of time and money. Why wouldn't they just let me go home and sleep this off? Ben, on the other hand, was excited for the MRI. He's really into electronics and his wife was about to spend some time inside of a giant, complicated robot! Woo-hoo!

His enthusiasm was contagious. By the time they wheeled me over to the machine, I was pretty excited. This might actually be fun!

It turned out not to be fun at all. It was super claustrophobic, I had to hold completely still for a half hour. It was so loud that they put ear plugs on me. Then they would have me hold my breath for 20 seconds at a time. This may not sound like long, but it felt considerably longer when I was feeling slightly panicky and every deep breath hurt. The longer I lay there, the more excruciating the pain in my back became. My first thought was to sing a hymn in my head while I had to hold my breath. Unfortunately, my panic led me to sing the hymns too fast and then I still had time after I was through to keep holding my breath and, with nothing for my mind to focus on, it became nearly impossible to keep from breathing.

I then tried a different method that actually worked really well. During the breaks in between the deep breaths, I would think of a destination, then, while holding my breath, I would imagine Ben and I having the time our lives at that place. I would keep picturing more and more details until they told me I could breathe again. We went hiking. We had a picnic in a beautiful meadow. My favorite was going to Hogle Zoo and eating cotton candy while we rode the train around to look at the animals and then rode the carousel, where I was on a tiger and Ben was on an ostrich. I believe I received inspiration from the Holy Ghost for this. I was inspired in my moment of great need to know what to do to bring me peace.

Fun fact: MRIs actually emit very little radiation because they use giant magnets. This makes them safer for little babies who are trying to grow.

After the MRI, They wheeled me back to my room and I took a shower to prepare to go home. While I was in the shower, Dr Weiss came and told Ben that I did indeed have acute appendicitis and would be having surgery within the hour. It would be too risky for Jack to do the surgery through a scope, so thy would need to open me up and do it the old fashioned way. We were both shocked that I actually was going to need surgery. One of the first things I said to Ben was that I needed a blessing.

Ben's Grandpa Haws and Uncle Nate showed up to help just in time. The orderlies came in to take me to the OR at about the same time. They kindly stepped out for a moment as I received a blessing. It was beautiful and the Spirit was so strong there. During the blessing, the full weight of what was happening began to sink in. I started crying. Dr Weiss had explained that, while he had never had it happen, this procedure did carry a risk of pre-term labor. At only 22 weeks, I knew that Jack would not survive that.

They just wheeled me down in my hospital bed. Ben came with to meet with the anesthesiologist before the surgery. He explained to us that I would not be going completely under for the surgery. It was safer for Jack if I received a spinal block and remained awake throughout the procedure.

I was near sobs as I hugged Ben tightly one last time and told him that I loved him.

Then it was off to the operating table.

The spinal block is given by a huge shot right in the lower spine. It was quite painful, but it began to work immediately. It completely deadened me from my torso to my toes. I could not feel or control anything. I was paralyzed. They had to put my legs up on the table for me and situate me as I lay down. They hung a blue sheet thing in front of my face so that I could not see what was going on.

The most terrifying thing for me was that they weren't even monitoring Jack throughout the surgery, just once at the beginning and again at the end. The fact was that if anything happened to him, there would be nothing to be done. I never stopped praying for him the entire time.

If you ever are given the option of staying awake through your own surgery, I recommend that you decline. Although I couldn't feel any pain, I could feel a whole lot of strange pulling and tugging. There was even one point where a nurse said, “Oops.”

I’m not even joking.

I had full confidence in Dr Weiss, though, and he didn't seem concerned, so I decided not to be either.

Dr Weiss asked me if I wanted to see my appendix. I hesitantly said, “Sure.” He quickly brought it over the sheet blocking my view.

It was ugly.

One of the nurses told me that she’d seen a lot of appendixes in her day, but that mine was definitely a very bad one.

At one point, the spinal block began to wear off. I could feel some strong pinching near the top of my torso, and Dr Weiss said that my muscles were pushing back. Then they put something in my IV and I transformed into the best patient ever.

I was telling everyone how awesome they are. I was thanking them for doing this for me. I was telling them how wonderfully kind they’d been. At one point, Dr Weiss replied, “Well, we couldn't have done it without you.”

All of this before they’d even stitched me up.

After surgery and a little time in recovery, they took me up to the Women and Baby floor and my parents had showed up to check on me.

The rest of that night and Thursday was a blur of blood samples and doctors and nurses and vitals and IVs and random alarms going off when I got in a deep enough sleep that my breathing slowed.

It was also filled with my favorite noise of all time: My little Jack’s healthy heartbeat.

There was some very scary stuff on Thursday, when they were concerned that I may have blood clots in my lungs, but it doesn't look like I do, so I won’t go into that.

Suffice it to say that Friday morning was my birthday and I woke up bright and happy and ready to be released. I’d been going over the list of what was required for release and trying to show off for the nurses.

“Look at me, I’m keeping real food down now!”

“Look at me, I’m walking unassisted down the hall!”

“Look at me, I’m smiling and happy and obviously doing better than I was before!”

Finally, my doctors okayed me to go home.

Since then, there has been a whole lot of sitting around and popping pills (all of which are approved for taking while pregnant).

For the rest of my pregnancy, I’m not allowed to lift more than 10 lbs, do any sort of repetitive movements involving my torso (like loading the dishwasher) or anything else that requires any kind of exertion. I’m at a much higher risk of having a hernia, so I've got to be very careful, because, c’mon, a hernia AND childbirth? Not even cool.

It’s going to be a long 4 months, but I am just overwhelmed by the miracles that I've experienced.

If they had released me, believing that I just had a stomach virus, I would have gone home and not gone back to the hospital until the pain was bad enough that I was physically incapable of walking. By that point, the consequences would have been devastating for me and especially for Jack. The contractions would have continued, as well.

I can’t even bring myself to think of the “what ifs” of this situation. I am certain that there were angels surrounding us throughout this experience. My doctors were guided and Jack and I were protected.

Whenever I start to be weighed down by these current trials, I find hope again in the Gospel. The eternal perspective it provides means that you are never without hope and reason to rejoice, no matter the circumstance.

I think Elder Jeffrey R. Holland  puts it very well in this video:

Godspeed

For those of you who haven't heard yet, we are expecting again!

It's been an emotional roller-coaster, but this is truly a different child and a different pregnancy. My morning sickness was much more mild and has gone away almost completely now.

I am so in love with this beautiful child.

I've been blessed with a compassionate doctor who has been very sensitive to my situation this time around. I've had 3 ultrasounds so far, the first one at 6 weeks, and they checked on everything. For reals. They were checking blood flow to me and the baby and the angle the baby was at and so much more.

Both me and the baby are perfectly healthy.

Here's the thing: This is week 16. This is the point where I lost my Joseph.

This alone would be very difficult, but we are also in the process of saying goodbye to Ben's grandpa, who we both love very much. I keep thinking about him seeing Joseph and I just fall apart.

I am so grateful to know that he will see our Joseph. He will be able to talk to him face to face and tell him how much his mom and dad love him.

This is something that I know that Joseph already knows, but which I would give anything to be able to say directly to him. The thought of someone who I know being able to bring that message to him for us is so beautiful and comforting that it hurts.

I know that Grandpa Allred understands this love very well. He and grandma lost a newborn son many years ago, and he still tears up talking about it. They have three living sons, but lately when asked how many children he has, he has been saying, "Four sons." He knows that he's about to be reunited with the son he's missed for about half of a century.

I long for the day when I will get to see grandpa again. I know that he will be healthy and happy and no longer struggle to remember things.

Considering that he dedicated his life to working as an elementary teacher, principal, and an incredible grandfather, I don't think it's much of a stretch to assume that he will also be surrounded by those pure souls who are on the other side of the veil, my Joseph and his son, Kent, being two of them.

I am grateful beyond words for my Savior, who broke the bonds of death.

This life is just a beautiful, but finite, portion of an infinite plan for each of us.

But, even knowing this, missing those who we are parted from is the most difficult part of mortality.

So, I dedicate this song to my Joseph. It's one that I've sung to him many times since sending him on his next journey.


My love will fly to you each night on angels' wings. I know that one of those angels will soon be Grandpa Allred.

As far as anyone who knows him is concerned, he has already been an angel here on earth for years.

I'm also grateful for the example of his loving, eternal companion. She's made it obvious that she understands this is just a temporary separation from the man that treats her like his queen.

Love is eternal.

Balm in Gilead

I've gotten into a routine. It's a rather monotonous one, but routine is good. It makes the days go by faster.

It is especially important to have a routine while Ben is gone for about ten hours every week day.

These last few weeks I just haven't been myself. I totally snapped at Ben yesterday. This is not like me. I'll elbow him a bit and suggest things here and there, but I always try to be respectful when I do so. Yesterday, the dragon came out. The worst part is, he was only trying to help.

I knew that part of the problem was that I'd been less diligent with my scripture studies. So these past couple of days I've put a special emphasis on that.

Then today, an answer came in the most unexpected of ways.

I started really thinking about my little Joseph and full on sobbed for over an hour. I got out his memory box and went through his things. As I did so, I just talked to him through my tears. I told him how much I love him. How I miss him. How empty my arms are without him. How perfect he is and always will be. How grateful I am for him.

As I tried not to get any tears on his ultrasounds, the peace finally came.

I didn't even realize all of this was building up in me until I released it.

Once I showed my wounds, my Healer could apply the balm again.

Mourning someone you really love is like receiving a very serious wound yourself. It takes awhile to initially heal, and that's some of the most visible, difficult pain. But then you have to continue on with your bandage changes and physical therapy. If you get lazy, it will be fine for awhile, but then it will all be a whole lot worse. If you try to ignore signs of re-injury, you may end up with an infection.

Sometimes I forget to talk to God about how I'm feeling. I forget that I still need him to walk me through this, daily. I'm still healing.

My Savior felt my pain. He has never stopped reaching out to me through all of this.



If I let Him, He will hold me through it all.

IKEA Dreams

This is not going to be an exciting post.

I am a very different person than I was a little over a year ago when I got married.

I am definitely happier, but also undeniably more boring.

Once upon a time I traveled the western U.S. In my time I've done everything from a midnight hike through grizzly bear country to going on a date with someone off of E Harmony. (Out of the two options, I strongly recommend the hike.) 

Now I work full-time from home as a small business Workers Compensation auditor. The most exciting things in my life right now are going to Zumba and watching Downton Abbey with Ben. 

Well, I guess that's not completely true. We are also in charge of Sunday School for a very lively and diverse group of 14-year-olds. That will sure keep you on your toes.  

The most exciting event this month, by far, has been the purchase of an antiquated washer and ancient dryer. I smile every time I take a short break from work to go start a load of laundry, without having to journey into the arctic outdoors or pay money that should be going towards buying my new clothes instead of cleaning the ones that I already own. We have a top loading washer and I secretly love when I have time to load it and observe as it finishes filling up with water, and then be hypnotized as the clothes are pulled down into the sudsy, dingy water, only to watch new ones come up in their place, all while being transported by the smell of the detergent to somewhere very clean and . . .

Whoa. Sorry about that. I kind of got carried away for a second there.

Speaking of being transported, Ben and I have been longing for a vacation. Between my job and his student teaching right now, the time is hard to come by. 

I'd been day-dreaming all day about being somewhere with real sunshine, not the cold, dead kind we have here, when Ben came home and we started looking up vacation ideas. I've been thinking of Denver for awhile, because its close and I want to show Ben the mountains there. 

Then Ben said the words that I've been hoping to hear since we were engaged: Disney World.

"Really?!" I exclaimed.

"Sure!" said Ben, "It would be fun to go before we have kids with us."

I immediately started looking up planes and hotels and looking at dates that we could make it happen.

I was on the edge of my seat when the inevitable happened.

"WHOA. A ticket for one day in Disney World costs HOW much? Um, dear, I don't think we can do that." Ben said, pulling me back down to earth.

With slumped shoulders, I sighed and said, "Yeah."

"Maybe we could do a smaller trip," Ben went on, trying to cheer me up, "We could go down to Salt Lake or IKEA or something."

Friends, IKEA is my new Disney World. 

Who knows? Maybe, if I save up enough money, I could even buy a really complicated shelf!

Is it practical? No. But my Swedish blood just cries out for it.

Yessss.

This is the life.

Seriously, though, life is good right now. It's all pretty cut and dry.

Simple.

One day, when we're paying a month of school teacher salary to get us and our five children into Disney World, and they take turns crying or whining the whole time, I'm going to turn to Ben, smile, and say, "Remember when we went to IKEA for our vacation?" 

I imagine he'll get a wistful look in his eyes and reply, "Yeah. That was a great day."

Then we'll hold hands as we herd our children through the happiest place on earth, all the while knowing that true happiness is more likely to be found in things that are far more simple.

Along that same train of thought . . .

Random Acts of Kindness for Joseph

I am super excited about this post.

Joseph's due date is coming up next Thursday, the 29th. This is a date that I've been trying to ignore, but which keeps creeping into my thoughts. I've been feeling very apprehensive about it. Ben and I are going to go to a Brian Regan show in our town two days later to cheer us up, but the day itself is one that I've been dreading. I had no idea what to do with it. My basic plan was just to put my helmet on and brace for emotional impact.

Then someone recommended that Ben take the day off and we do something in honor of Joseph that day and just spend it together. As I tried to decide what we could do, nothing really clicked.

Then it dawned on me: Service!

Specifically, I started thinking about the small acts of service my son, Joseph, would have done throughout his life on earth. I decided that we are going to spend this one day dedicated to doing random acts of kindness in Joseph's memory.

Here's where YOU, Mr./Miss/Ms./Mrs. Blog Reader come in.

I would like to invite you to join us. You don't have to dedicate your entire day to it, but if on Thursday, November 29th you could keep Joseph in your thoughts and look for some way to serve others as you go about your day, in honor of Joseph, it would mean so much to us. Then, if you could either post on here, or on Facebook or send me a private message containing what you did, I will compile all of it together for our own safe keeping in Joseph's memory box.

My reason for this is really quite simple. Every parent wants their child's life to have purpose and meaning and to be a positive force for good in the world. Ben and I have the same wishes for Joseph. This is the closest I can come right now to hugging my son and the best way I can think of telling him how proud I am to be his mom.

As I said, your act/s of kindness can be as big or small as you please. Some ideas we've had to get you started thinking are:

• Tape quarters to a vending machine or parking meter with a note for people to take them if they need them
• Scatter spare change around a local playground 
• Slow down to let that person merge into your lane
• Help someone load their groceries into their car and then take the cart back into the store
• Go visit a widow
• Bake something to take over to those neighbors you don't know and then take a few minutes to get to know them
• Call your mom
• Buy a gift card for a store and then turn around and give it to the next person in line
• Go through a drive-thru and pay for the meal of the person behind you

The possibilities are endless! Just keep your eyes open throughout the day and opportunities will pop up. 

Thank you in advance. This idea is one that has brought me not only comfort but real happiness. If I could just ask one more favor of you, please share this idea with others. I want to see how many people I can get involved. Feel free to pin this or share it on Facebook.

Thank you guys for your love and support through all of this.

So many of you are angels in my life.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Sincerely,

Ben and Steph

and

Beautiful Heartbreaks and New Beginnings

Today is the 5 month anniversary of when we held our son for the only time in this life. His due date is next week.
It has been long and difficult and there were times that were so dark.

But I think I'm finally beginning to see light again.

Ben called me up on his lunch break the other day, like he always does, and after just a few seconds he started laughing. When I asked why he said, "You just sound like you. Your voice sounds like you do when there's nothing wrong."

My squinty smile has returned.

I'm not quite there, but I'm almost "me" again.

I won't go into details, but suffice it to say that these last 5 months have been very rough. I was a different woman. I didn't laugh at things that would have cracked me up before. I was super irritable. I had no desire to be social. I even stopped cleaning our home.

Finally, I recognized that I needed help.

There's a stigma around seeking help that shouldn't be there. I know the scriptures say, "Be thou perfect", but no where does it say, "Become perfect completely of your own accord and don't you dare admit that you might have some issues that are too big for you to tackle by yourself. Thou shalt man up and shut up."

So, I'm going to do the unthinkable
.
I'm going to admit that I went to therapy.

I know, I know, try not to avert your eyes from the unashamed crazy chick here.

I went to LDS Family Services and they paired me up with a therapist who helped me understand that I was experiencing what is known as "complicated grief", which is not a permanent condition, but it can lead to much more serious things. She respected my desire to avoid "happy pills" at all costs. She gives me advice on things to do to work through my feelings regarding losing Joseph. Best of all, it helps me feel like I am actively doing something to fight the darkness that wants to take me down.

And you know what?
It's working.
I'm gaining new perspective.

I'm still me, only better than I ever was. It's after we climb the steepest mountains that we are the strongest people.

I can honestly say that right now, this minute my life is really beautiful.

I hope you'll watch the video at the end of this post and recognize the strength that you've gained from your mountains. Maybe you're climbing your steepest mountain right now. If that's the case, keep climbing. Keep praying. Keep loving.
And ask for help.
Ask Heavenly Father.
Ask your friends. (My best friend/husband has been by my side constantly)
Ask anyone you need to.

Because, why on earth would you try to climb Mount Everest without anyone to help along the way?

Releasing the Balloon

We've officially passed the three month mark.

Some days are completely wonderful. It's as if, now that I've known the depths of sorrow, I can more keenly feel the greatest joys. 

As usual, many of these joyful moments have involved children. I've picked up my nanny job and occasional baby-sitting jobs again. I was worried at first that this would be challenging for me. I've found that it's actually as natural as it's ever been. One of these jobs was with a four-year-old girl. We had a princess day, where I dressed her up and we danced around the room. There was a whole lot of happy going on there.

Now I just find myself avoiding very new babies and baby blessings. Those still hit a raw nerve for me.

Of course, there are still other days. Those are the days where it feels as though all hope and motivation have left me. All it takes is the slightest provocation for me to turn into ranting, angry woman, which is usually followed by the sobbing, self-deprecating, phase, which then digresses into the blank phase, where I just lie in bed and ignore my life. 

Those are the days where I have to remind myself to be patient with that bloodshot eyed woman in the mirror because she's still recovering. So I read my scriptures, poor my heart out to my Heavenly Father, let my husBen hold me and try to remember that it won't always be this way and how much progress I've already made.

Share Parents put together their annual balloon release earlier this month. Everyone who has lost a child can come and release a balloon in memory of their child. It was an amazing and emotional experience. 

We thought at first that we only were supposed to take one balloon, so we took turns writing our messages to Joseph on it.

This was when things started to get difficult. I was really holding together well right up until I started to write, "I miss you", and then I felt how strongly I missed him and it was all over after that. 

We found out that we could have another balloon, one for each of us to release. I went and picked out another one and I just filled it up with "I love you", because I often find myself thinking about how many times I would have told him that if he were here.

Everyone also made a flower with their child's name on it to put next to a path we would walk down to where we released the balloons. 

It's amazing how attached we got to those two balloons. After we wrote our letters on them, they suddenly became symbolic of our son. We stood quietly in the field as all the families gathered. 

I began to wonder if I would be ready to let go when the time came. They had a list of the children's names and each family was supposed to let go of their balloons as their child's name was read. I felt my heart rate climb as I thought of releasing this balloon. I'd let go of my son once, could I do it again? I began to sob as I watched all the balloons floating up towards the sun, knowing that once you let go, it would be out of your grasp forever. My stomach was in knots. 

Then the time came.

"Joseph Gordon Allred".

Without thinking I let go. I gasped out loud as I watched our balloons float straight up. 

But it was alright.

Just like the first time, we received the strength we needed, right when we needed it. 

Then there was peace.

Because, unlike with the balloons, I let go of Joseph knowing that I would see him again. 

If any of you are looking for ideas for service projects, Share Parents can always use help with making baby clothes and blankets and buying other things to help grieving parents. They provide an incredible free service for people in their darkest hours, but it isn't free for them. It is impossible for me to explain just how much they've helped us through this process. To contact them go here or here.

Time For Change -or- Bring It On part 2

My relapse into my fat clothes started long before I ended up shopping in the maternity section.

Last fall I wasn't running anymore, I was finally in a wonderful relationship with someone who loved me for exactly how I already looked, I started a somewhat stressful job, and I began the, er-hem, relaxing task of planning my wedding and post-wedding life.

Then there was the holiday season.

And the honeymoon period.

Around March it dawned on me that my body was past the point where I was comfortable with it, and I should probably try to be healthier. I was just getting back into healthy meal planning when I took a pregnancy test that came back positive. Immediately I decided that I was going to really get healthy, for my baby's sake.

Then came severe morning sickness.

Now I know that part of this was from an increasingly severe infection developing in my body. All I knew at the time was that if it stayed down, it was fair game. And, oh yeah, bouncing around exercising? Not likely. This resulted in me not losing all that much weight during this time.

Then I started gaining weight and inches in earnest because, well, I was pregnant, and that's what pregnant ladies do: they grow.

Then I became even more sick.

Then I delivered Joseph.

Then I buried Joseph.

These past few weeks I've just been eating whatever the heck I feel like eating. I figure it's yet another manifestation of, "I have no control over the fact that I can't have what I really want, so I'm going to take everything else that I kind of want, because I can."

Then I realized that none of my pants fit me. The logical next step was to go shopping. But none of those fit me either.

Then I cried.

Then I started making changes.

We are now the proud owners of 3/4 of the produce section at Macey's, and I've incorporated all of it into our meals that I've actually been making from scratch. I've been eating on smaller plates with smaller forks, because that makes my brain think I'm eating more. Snacks have leaned more towards fruit and less towards junk.

Then I went out and bought this DVD:

I did the beginner workout and loved it! The only problem is that, in the two days since then, my body has been so ridiculously sore in those exact areas that the DVD focused on that I'm not capable of doing the routine again, although I tried this morning. Other than being a really awesome workout, some other things I love about the DVD are:

1) Like most workout DVDs they have the trainer with the unattainable body doing the workout. Unlike other DVDs, they have people like me working out behind them. This is great because, not only does it make me feel less self conscious, it also has the psychological, "Well, if HE can do it..." effect. 

2) Ben will wake up early to do the workout with me before he goes to work. And it challenges him, too. So, unlike when we go for a run, he is not my cheerleader, he is a fellow struggler and fighter.

While I will definitely be using that DVD, I've also renewed my gym membership. Now there is no excuse when I'm too sore from one specific workout, or it's too hot outside, or whatever else I can come up with. The gym is air conditioned and has a large variety of equipment, so I just look in the mirror, tell myself to man up, and go get my sweat dripping.

I found an elliptical machine today that lets me monitor my heart rate. This meant that I could check throughout my workout to make sure I wasn't wimping out. I kept my heart rate in the neighborhood of 150 for a solid half hour.

Basically, what it comes down to is this: It's back on, baby.

My body was given to me as a gift. It stands as a temple, honoring the One who made it. I'm in charge of the maintenance of this temple, and I will be accountable for everything that is done with it. 

My body is still capable of so much, I just need to keep working for it. 

Right now I'm not weighing myself, Honestly, I don't even want to know how far I've strayed. It doesn't matter. This body is going to be healthy and capable. I'm focusing on losing fat, and building muscle, including my heart.

I owe it to my Father.

I owe it to my husband.

I owe it to my future children.

I owe it to myself.

I owe it to Joseph not to completely fall apart.

Once again I say, Bring It On.

New Adventures Await

The mother of my first best friend made this wonderful collage for me, that I really like, so I thought I'd share it with ya'll.

This past week I've dedicated myself to moving forward and doing the things that I want to.

The hard part is, all I want in the world is to have my Joseph safe in my belly or in my arms.

But I can't have that for now.

So, I'm doing all these other things that I should want to do, and I'm moving forward, because I have to. I just have to keep away all the irrational, but inevitable feelings of guilt. 

Example of an odd bout guilt: For several years I've played with the idea of going to cosmetology school. I was going to start earlier this year, but then we found out that Joseph was going to be joining us. I'm going to be taking classes for 8 hours a day for a little over a year all the way over in Brigham City. We decided this would have to go on the back burner, because my pregnancy was turning out to be pretty rough, and we really didn't want to have to put Joseph into a daycare right after he was born. I was kind of disappointed about this, but that was greatly overshadowed by how excited I was to be a mom. 

But, now I'm coming to grips with that fact that I won't be welcoming a beautiful new baby into our life within the next year. Ben brought up the idea that maybe now would be the time for me to go to school. So, I've started the process of getting enrolled. I should be excited. This is what I've always wanted. However, every time I start to get excited, a voice in my head reminds me that the only reason I'm in the position to go to school right now is because I lost my Joseph. 

And then I feel guilty for being excited about something that means I don't have my son with me.

That's just one example. Things like that seem to pop up here and there. They make me feel awful. But, through an incredible amount of prayer and answers to those prayers, I've been given the strength and motivation to go forward with my life. I need to keep progressing.

Ben and I have also started being what I have termed "responsibly reckless". 

Other people might refer to it as "enjoying life and love".

We'd already planned a trip with my parents up to Jackson Hole, scheduled for a bit over a week from now. This trip was going to be our only summer adventure. 

Now we're averaging an adventure a week.

Last weekend we decided to celebrate our belated 6 month wedding anniversary/ 1 year from first date-iversary. We had a coupon card that could get us buy one get one free at a lot of different restaurants around the valley. We wanted to go somewhere really special. I saw an add in the coupon book for Belle Monte. I went and looked at their web site (click here) and thought it sounded like it might be nice, so we dressed up all fancy and went over to Sherwood Hills, where Belle Monte is right inside their lobby. We were the only people who appeared to have come there on purpose. Everyone else seemed to be staying at the resort and just was eating there so they didn't have to drive out of the canyon. 

Folks, this was the best restaurant I've ever eaten at. Every bite of food tasted like someone had really put a lot of thought into it. They didn't skimp on the portions, either. We ordered the sushi for the appetizer and then Ben got a shrimp pasta dish and I ordered the beef wellington. 

It was the best food I've ever tasted. Period. For the first time in my existence, I felt that I would be ungrateful if I failed to send my compliments to the chef. 

I highly recommend this restaurant to anyone with taste-buds or a love for ambiance (if you don't count your fellow restaurant attendees into account. Most had just gotten done hiking.). 

The night of the July 3rd was spent at Freedom Fire, the fireworks show in Logan. We were both having a cantankerous evening, because...

the 4th of July was a difficult holiday for me. It might sound silly, but I'd really been looking forward to being pregnant on the 4th. I'd heard that babies will kick when fireworks go off, and I was really looking forward, since I knew my baby was particularly wiggly and responsive to touch, I was excited to see if he reacted to noise, too. I spent that morning feeling really empty.

The distraction for the day of the 4th was Bear Lake. After driving over and getting the obligatory LaBeau's shake (Sidenote: Root beer-marshmallow was the best flavor combo I've come up with so far. Don't judge. Just try it. Also, Ben is prodding me to include his genius combo of orange-peach. It was also good.), we went over to a rocky, free portion of the south shore and went wading. 

I still can't go swimming for a bit longer, but we still put our feet in and then conducted some experiments in physics, namely, figuring out just how big of a rock we could get to skip.

Ben caught this impressive shot of him mid-sneeze.
Apparently, he's allergic to beach related happiness.
Or sand fleas.
There were plenty of both present.

 We spent the rest of the day on a gorgeous drive, before returning home much better off than we'd left it.

I'm not sure yet what this week will hold as far as adventures, but next week will be our trip to Jackson Hole, and then the week after that we'll be taking an overnight trip down to Salt Lake, where we'll stay in a 4-star hotel, that I found an awesome deal on and going to the zoo and City Creek. 

These little spontaneous trips, or trips to places that are more grand than we would normally take are our way of being rebellious. We've just lost our son and walk around with a constant, quiet feeling of being out of control of the most important things in our lives. Having little, controlled outbursts of recklessness helps to keep us sane right now. 

Just don't let me around any explosives or firearms any time soon. 

I have a hard enough time not randomly turning my car into a life size bumper car, demolition derby style.

The other day we were driving home and there were cars parked up and down our street. It looked like one was blocking our driveway, and I had the sudden image in my mind of us plowing into it at full speed. The thought was gratifying, but decidedly disturbing, so I elected not to share it with Ben, and instead silently smiled a malicious grin. As he was putting the car into park, safely in our garage, my husband turned to me and said, "I was hoping that car was parked front of our driveway. I really wanted an excuse to hit it."

An eternal kind of crazy.

My husband and I are, indeed, of one heart and one mind. Unity in marriage is a beautiful thing.

Just keep moving

Hard day so far.

Both Ben and I are feeling it and aren't really sure why.

I woke up early this morning and felt like I really wanted to go for a run. Not really a run like I used to go on, but I needed to be moving and really exerting myself. I took Ben along and he showed an admirable amount of restraint by staying with me at my speed. I just went a mile and I wasn't timing it, but my guess would be about 14 minutes. My knees were acting up again. But it felt good. I had to pause and stretch for a minute about halfway.

I muttered, "I am so out of shape."

Ben replied, "I think it's more like you've been pregnant for several months and then your body has been through a whole lot of trauma since then."

Oh.

Yeah.

I guess there is that.

I know the hospital staff and Share Parents volunteers told my family to watch me closely for signs of depression. I honestly didn't think it would be an issue. I've been feeling a lot of peace and relying heavily on my Savior. But, I experienced depression as a teenager, so I kind of know what to watch myself for, and I have to say that some of the symptoms seem to be popping up.

The thing that a lot of people don't get about depression is that it's not feeling sad, it's just not feeling much at all. It's more like apathy. When things happen that you'd normally be excited about and you just don't feel excited about them anymore. When you start to have the desire to engage in more and more reckless behavior in order to get stronger feelings and emotions back to the surface. That's when you need to start worrying.

It's not like I'm gambling away our savings or jumping off the roof, but I recognize that I'm just not myself right now. So, I'm sorry if I just don't seem "right" when you talk to me. Don't worry, we're watching it. This is just a down time for me.

I'll come back to myself soon.

A wonderful friend of mine sent me a beautiful video as I was typing this. It was what I needed this morning. I needed to cry a bit.





I realized yesterday that my blog has made a lot of people cry.

Sorry about that, guys.

I've decided to try and throw in a little lighter spot at least once every post.

Because sometimes it's good to cry.

But, after you cry, you just need to smile.

So, here's a bit of a lighter story from my experience in the hospital.

I'd always heard that on the 0-10 pain scale, 10 was child birth. It never occurred to me that they couldn't include that as a level of pain in the Labor and Delivery unit, because obviously every woman in there would be at a dang 10 the whole time.

So when they asked me where my pain was on the scale, I was prepared to tell them 6 or 7 at first. Then they put it in perspective.

The nurse's exact wording was, "Where is your pain on a scale from 0-10, with 0 being no pain and 10 being having surgery with no medication whatsoever."

This gave me pause.

That was a level of pain I had never considered before.

And just what kind of surgery are we talking about here?

There is a huge difference between an out-patient surgery for an in-grown toe-nail and, say, a heart transplant.

But, as I lay there, pondering scalpels and such, I realized that, at that point, my pain really wasn't a big deal.

"I think it's around a 2." I finally said.

This experience, and several other things that happened, reminded me of a Brian Regan bit that my dad quickly pulled up on his iPad so we could listen to it.

That was, by far, the best laugh I had those few days.

Joseph's story - Pictures

I have been overwhelmed by the response to Joseph's Story. 

The responses have been so tender. Benjamin and I have truly been surrounded by love. 

We've gone back and visited Joseph's grave a couple of times now. It never gets easier for me to leave there. It's a place of serene peace and deep sorrow. I lay down next to all the flowers and the turtle wind chime we put there and place my hand on the freshly placed ground. I close my eyes and send a silent prayer to my Heavenly Father. 

I miss my son.

I hit the anger stage of grief Friday night. I found out that I'd lost my son because of a terrible infection in me. This awoke such a disturbing train of thought in myself that I suddenly felt anger and hatred encompass me. I was hurting and I wanted to hurt everything around me. I screamed and pounded the ground and demanded, "Why?" until, with my mom and Ben at my side, I finally gave way to sobbing tears and, eventually, prayer, which brought me back to peace. 

We haven't cried as much lately. I was concerned that maybe we were forgetting how to feel. Then we opened up the latest Ensign today and turned right to a piece about tender moments in the life of Emma and Joseph Smith. The first picture we saw was such a painful and familiar sight to us that the tears came back.

Joseph and Emma Smith lost their firstborn, Alvin, on June 15th, 1828.

But For a Small Moment, © Liz Lemon Swindle

Benjamin and I bid farewell to our firstborn, Joseph, on June 18th, 2012.

 I was going to go back in and add these pictures to the previous post, but then I figured that most of the people who have already read it, would not see them. The above image is one of my most cherished. It's a moment from my short time with Joseph. I've also got some scenes from his funeral.
One thing I would like to pass on to you that I've learned recently is never to be afraid to feel something. Be afraid to turn away from your feelings. Please, whatever emotions our story and these images awake in you, don't look away. You just might find that hidden in your darkest feelings is the brightest faith and hope.

The tiny white things on the blanket next to the small statue on the table are porcelain molds of Joseph's hands and feet. The painting was given to us by some friends of my mom's, one of whom has had a similar experience to our own. The blanket serving as a table cloth is Ben's baby blanket. We put Joseph on it after he was born.

Ben and I each have grandparents who experienced the early loss of a child. Through talking to them I have come to realize that this will never be something that we "get over". Our grandparents still tear up when they talk about their children that they have spent a half century missing. Joseph will never be too far from our thoughts. We may each live to be 98 years old. That's another 74 years from where I'm at now. Ben and I have missions of our own that are yet to be accomplished before we part. Apparently, Joseph's mission on the other side of the veil was one so very important that he was not able to stay with his parents for long. 

Since Ben and I married, it often pained me to think that one of us would have to leave the other at some point. I still never wish to leave my best friend, my Benjamin, for any length of time. But, it does bring me great comfort now to think that which ever of us parts this life first, will just be the first one with the opportunity to meet our beautiful Joseph face to face and tell him how proud we are to call him "son". The one who stays behind will have to stay busy with our posterity that is yet to come. Thanks to Joseph, I now realize just how thin the veil between this life and the next truly is. Those who have left and those left behind are never really all that far apart.

Joseph's Story

There are truly no words to describe what Ben and I have seen and experienced in this past week.
It has been easily both the most sacred and the most painful thing I have ever experienced in my life.
I've prayed for strength as I've prepared to record an account of my experiences. I'm at a place in the grieving process where there are just so many emotions all competing for my attention, so for the most part I just don't feel most of them. It feels like sometimes I go from laughing and peaceful to crying and feeling my heart break anew instantaneously, however, I've come to realize that all of these emotions are there all the time, I just am not capable of feeling everything at the same time.
I've decided to record and share Joseph's story because, frankly, prior to Sunday I had no idea what to think when I heard that someone had a miscarriage or a stillborn. It is such a deeply heartbreaking, personal experience that most women, understandably, do not wish to share their story. While my heart is no less broken than any other woman who has been through this, and while I cannot claim to speak for anyone else's experience, I have decided to share this because I want others to be able to understand and have a new perspective on this subject so that they will have a better idea of what couples may be experiencing.
Another large factor in me sharing this is that we find so much joy in Joseph. We are so proud of our son and wish to share what an immeasurable blessing he is with the world.

- - - - -

Sunday morning I woke up bright and early and ordered Ben to stay in bed. I ran into our spare room and pulled out a broom, a pillow, some work gloves and a bright green t-shirt that said, "What a dad!" in Spanish. I eagerly placed them on the bed in front of Ben, threw my arms around him and said, "Happy Father's Day!" All the gifts were things that my practical husband had requested for gifts, with the exception of the shirt, which turned out to be his favorite gift. He served his mission in Bolivia and likes to jokingly speak with me and my broken Spanish occasionally. As we ate breakfast, I started to feel a familiar migraine coming on. I told Ben I didn't think I'd be able to make it to sacrament meeting today and to come back and get me after that part was over so I could teach my primary class. He agreed and I went back to bed, woke up feeling better, and the rest of the morning went as planned. 

After church we came home and started making a banana cream pie to bring over to my dad for his Father's Day barbecue. Right as I was about to finish up with the filling at about 1:40pm, I felt the need to use the restroom, so I asked Ben to take over for me. After I sat down, an enormous gush of liquid left me all at once. 

I immediately knew what had happened.

Trying not to panic, I yelled for Ben to come quickly. I told him that I thought my water had just broke. Both of us were in shock and the first thought was to call the doctor's office. They let us talk to the on-call doctor, because my doctor, Dr Horsley, was out of town. The doctor told us we needed to go immediately to the ER. We quickly made our way to the hospital. On the way I called 911, because I didn't have the number for the hospital. I explained what had just happened and asked that they tell the ER to have a wheelchair ready for me when we pulled up to the doors, because I didn't think walking was a good idea right then. A moment later we pulled up and, sure enough, a nurse rushed to my door and whisked me away. Ben parked the car, ran as fast as he could and caught up to us at the end of the hall, just as she was finishing explaining that she was supposed to take us straight to Labor and Delivery. We took some secret back-ways to the other side of the hospital, where a L&D nurse took over and wheeled me to the furthest corner room in the wing. I later found out that this room is specially situated to provide families who are going through a very difficult time with privacy from the rest of the wing, which is filled with happy, new parents.

My first nurse, Dawn, came in and started going through the routine procedure for when an expectant mother believes her water has broken. The amazing thing about Dawn, though, was that she managed to do everything she needed to do, without ever letting me feel like I was just another patient. She explained everything that was happening in detail, while still being very sensitive and compassionate. We love Dawn. She started by putting some PH strips in me and checking them to see if they were right for amniotic fluid. She did a few and they all came back negative. Then she listened for Joseph's heartbeat, and found it beating along at an unstressed 140/ bpm. While she was doing this she was explaining to me that these were both great signs and that I had probably just experienced a weird side effect from a bladder infection or something. Then she went to do another examination and said that she was starting to double guess herself, because she thought she saw a little bit of amniotic fluid now. The PH test still came back negative, but she decided to order an ultrasound, just to check how much fluid I had lost. She was explaining that if I had just lost a bit of fluid, then they could do things to keep our baby in the right position, to stay in the fluid that was left, until the age of viability, which was 24 weeks, at which point they would transfer me to Mckay-Dee hospital, which specializes in premature births. I was at 16 weeks in my pregnancy, and not thrilled at the prospect of spending two months in the hospital, on constant medication and bed rest, but I braced myself to do whatever I had to, to keep my baby safe. 

When the ultrasound tech finally showed up, he apologetically informed me that he wasn't allowed to talk about what he was seeing on the screen. He did let me look, though. I could see my precious baby, squirming a bit. His heart rate was still around a healthy 140. He wasn't under stress or in pain. I didn't realize that this would be the last time I would see my beautiful child while he was alive. Had I known, I wouldn't have let the man with the ultrasound leave so fast. 

Dr Craig was on call that night and she came in to talk to me about what they had found out from the ultrasound. I can't remember exact words, but what they had found out is that I had lost almost all of the amniotic fluid all at once when my water broke. I was still having a difficult time processing what they were saying. My baby was still perfectly healthy. I wanted to know what the next step was. What were they going to do to fix it? After the doctor had left, I turned to Dawn and asked, "So, without amniotic fluid, what will happen?" She was still for a moment before she gently explained, "Amniotic fluid is crucial for the baby. The baby uses it to breathe and do other important things." 

"Won't me or the baby make more?" I asked.

"You won't be able to make enough in time. I am so sorry." She whispered.

Then it hit me.

My body had failed. As a result, my perfectly healthy child was going to leave me.

I have never known such pain as the pain that knowledge left me with.

Dr Craig wanted to immediately induce labor. Through my sobs, I agreed. 

Dr Horsley is an old friend of mine. I baby-sat his five wonderful children for several years and just fell in love with his entire family. There was no one else I trusted with the care of me and my child. That's why, after failed attempts to reach him by phone, my mom drove over to their house and explained to his wife what was happening. His wife got a hold of him and he called me right after calling and talking to Dr Craig. He expressed his sincere sorrow for our situation, and gave some advice. He explained that he highly recommended we wait for our baby's heartbeat to stop before we induce labor. This would make it a lot easier for me to accept. I am so grateful for this advice. I can see now that it saved me from additional heartache.

The next several hours were torture. My child was inside of me, dying, and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. I just had to wait for his perfect heart to stop beating. This entire time is a blur in my mind. Both of our parents came and went. We watched a movie. We prayed endlessly, read scriptures and found peace in General Conference talks. One talk in particular, Elder Scott's from the most recent conference, touched us. It spoke of how those spirits who have left their body are closer to us than we know. 

That evening I had a sacred experience that let me know that my Joseph had passed on and that he was alright. 

I called for the nurses and requested that they look for a heartbeat. By now, Tiffany was my nurse. She couldn't find a heartbeat on Doppler and called in a more experienced nurse, Dee, for a second opinion. Dee couldn't find anything either, so she got an ultrasound machine. When she finally found Joseph, she explained what was on the screen. She said, "Here is his head, looking over on this side you can see his chest, and right here is where there would be a heartbeat." 

I stared at the screen. His little chest was still. He was lying on his side, his back towards us. My Joseph was peacefully sleeping.

Dee began to cry as she expressed her sympathy for us and then hurried out of the room. Ben held me and we were both racked with sobs. For the first time we truly mourned.

I mourned for all the things this meant I would not experience in this life. I would not see what color his bright eyes were. I would not hear his first words. I would not feel his little hand on my chin as I nurse him. I would not watch him nod off in my arms as I sing him to sleep. I would not hear his laughter as we play yet another game of peek-a-boo. I would not get to set a cake in front of him on his first birthday and watch as he gleefully digs in. The list went on and on without end.

Most of all, I would not get to hold him in my arms for the rest of my life.

I immediately missed my son. I realized just how deep my love for this child I'd never met was. I would have done anything at all in this universe, to get him back, even just for long enough to whisper, "I love you, " into his mortal ear. 

This was one of countless times throughout this experience when an unexpected wave of peace came over me. I determined that I was too exhausted at that moment to induce labor, so I decided to try and rest until morning. I drifted in and out of fitful sleep for a few hours, alternating between weeping, silence, and whispered conversations with Benjamin. There was a chair in the room that transformed into a bed. Ben moved it over next to my bed and slept there, holding my hand. When I would start crying, he would crawl up into my bed and hold me until it passed. Around 3am, we called Ben's dad, Gordon, to come and give me a priesthood blessing with oil. Ben had given me two blessings already, but he had forgotten his consecrated oil, and I felt strongly that I needed it. Gordon showed up and helped Ben administer a blessing to me, granting me strength to do what I needed to do right then and peace and comfort. After that I was able to sleep until just after 6am. Around 7am, I decided that I was going to eat breakfast and then ask them to induce labor. 

I ate, not because I was hungry, but because I knew that I needed to. I was going to be on liquids or ice chips until after labor, and I needed whatever strength I could get. 

At about 8:30am, they gave me the first dose of the pills to start me.

Then it was back to waiting.

The next few hours are also a blur. Parents came and went again. We were briefed on what we needed to decide as far as what to do with our son's body. We decided we'd have a small, private funeral and bury him in the Logan Cemetery on Wednesday morning.

Most people were very, very kind. Some people seemed to forget that even though they had no emotional attachment to this "fetus", we did. He meant everything to us. He was and is our son. We had been looking forward to meeting him more than we had looked forward to anything, ever. 

Then, around 11, the contractions started. I asked for some pain medication and what they gave me immediately went to my head. I would close my eyes and see kaleidoscope shapes and colors. I did not feel anything, emotionally, or physically. Suddenly, I understood why people get addicted to drugs. It makes it so you really don't have to face reality when it's painful.

It was not what I wanted.

I decided not to ask for another dose until I really needed it. The pills wear off after about a 1/2 hour to an hour. Coming back down was awful. Suddenly I felt everything again. All the thoughts, emotions and physical pain came rushing back. I reminded myself that I didn't want anymore yet. I had to be mentally present for every second I would get with my son.

I threw up, I think just once, but I can't really remember. A couple of times I felt sharp, deep pains in my chest. When I told the nurses about it, they informed me that it was from extreme emotional stress. I believe it was the feeling of my heart breaking again and again, so it could grow big enough to fit in the enormous feelings of love I was being flooded with. Love for my Heavenly Father, love for my Benjamin, and, of course, an enormous amount of love for my Joseph Gordon. 

At some point we decided on a name for him. We decided on Joseph Gordon Allred. Joseph, because it was a name that I had picked out in my sleep awhile back and we both ended up really liking it. Gordon because we have numerous wonderful men on both sides of the family with the name Gordon, and we wanted to honor them all. 

The pain began to increase in frequency and intensity. I got another dose of pain medication, expecting to be carried away again. This time it barely even took the edge off the pain. The only reason I knew it had really even entered my system was because between the contractions, my head would get extremely fuzzy. I could not stop myself from crying out in pain.

Whenever I had imagined going through labor before, the only comfort that I had was knowing that at the end I would have a baby in my arms and would be flooded with such a level of ecstasy that all that pain would all be worth it. I always counted on that knowledge to get me through labor.

Now I was going through labor with the sole purpose of bringing my son's body into the world, after he had already left it. Words fail me here. I cannot describe the emotional and physical anguish I experienced. They could not keep my mom out in the hallway during the worst of it and she would come in and hold the hand that Ben wasn't holding. 

Then the nurses were back to check on how things were progressing. As they had been that entire shift, they were idly chit-chatting back and forth. They realized that Joseph was waiting just inside and ready to come out, so they called up Dr Horsley. While they were waiting for him, they continued to ignore us and talk to each other. I did not know how they could not feel it. How couldn't they feel the Spirit in that room? It was filled with angels. It had been sanctified by the sacrifice that Ben and I had laid at the altar of the Lord that day. We had come to accept that this was what Heavenly Father had planned for us. He had strengthened us for it. He had held all of us in His hands through the entire experience. We knew that this was right. It was okay. We were still in deep mourning for our precious son, because we missed him and loved him. But we knew that Joseph was all right and we knew that, although we would always miss him, we would be able to accept this as well. And yet these women talked away as if this was just another routine experience in another routine day.

How did they not feel it?

I didn't have the energy to yell at them for how careless they had been that entire day, so instead I whispered, "Please, use quiet voices." They quieted down a bit and soon Dr Horsley came into the room and helped to better set the tone for these women.

He understood that the ground he was walking on was sacred. 

Dr Horsley asked Ben to step up more towards my head and focus on my face while he delivered Joseph. They had been very concerned that Joseph might not be in very good shape, or that the placenta might not come out immediately, which would require surgery. 

They needn't have worried. There were no further complications. After cleaning Joseph up a little, Dr Horsley explained to us that he was perfectly developed for his 16 weeks. His skin was still very red, because he was so young, and there was bruising on one side from where he was resting when he passed on, but they weren't anything that had caused him pain. His head was just a bit bigger than we're used to, again because he was so young, but all his features and everything was as it should be. Then the nurses handed him to us.

And I suddenly understood beauty. Joseph was the most beautiful child I have ever seen. He really was perfect. Perfect ears, perfect closed eyes, perfect lips that were turned up in a small smile, perfect nose that looked just like mine, perfect collarbone, perfect tiny hands, with fingernails and all the knuckles, perfect feet that were exact miniature versions of Ben's.

He was our child. 

Ben went and put on his Father's Day shirt. 

"I'm a daddy." He said

We held Joseph in our arms and wept and prayed.  Then an amazing thing happened. We stopped crying and started just talking. Talking about how wonderful and amazing our son is. As we talked, we began to be filled with more and more true joy, until we were even laughing a little. Our son was just so perfect! 

I learned a lesson about joy that night. I learned that it is possible to be experiencing the most heart rending emotions humanly possible, and yet still have joy. Joy is deeper than happiness. It is possible to have joy in your children in any circumstance, simply because their very existence is a miracle and a blessing to you.

Then the volunteers from Share Parents arrived. These women are angels. They volunteer countless hours serving women with stillborn children, and each of them have been through the same thing. They brought tiny outfits we could pick from that would fit our Joseph. They helped us to dress him, including putting a miniature diaper on him. We picked a white blessing gown for him, with a white knitted cap, and tiny blue booties. They gave him a little teddy bear to tuck under his arm. There were also tiny sets of identical bracelets to choose from. One would go on Joseph's wrist, the other would go on a necklace for me. There was a gold ring, the right size for a newborn's finger, which fit over Joseph's whole hand that we set with him while  the volunteers took pictures of him with and without us. The ring also was mine to put on a necklace. They put all the pictures on a CD and printed out a couple for us to take home with us right then. They provided us with a little blue blanket to wrap him in. They also gave us an extra of the diaper, gown and blanket to keep for ourselves. They left us with their names and phone numbers and the instructions to call them absolutely anytime we wanted to talk or needed anything at all. They put all of these things in a special memory box for us to keep. As I said, these women were truly angels.  Then they left us alone so our parents could come in and meet Joseph, the first grandchild on both sides.

Our parents' visit in the room was very short. There wasn't much to say. There were many tears and whispers of, "He's so precious," and "He's such a blessing."

Ben and I spent some more time alone with our first born son. We held our Joseph. We sang to him. We laughed. We cried. I spent most of my time repeating the words, "I love you," again and again. I knew if he had been able to stay around longer, I would have said those words to him countless times, so I wanted to say it as many times as I could while I held his mortal body. I also explained to him that I knew he was no longer in his little body, but I knew he was with us and could hear me anyway.

After a couple hours had passed, we finally decided that we were ready to tell our sweet Joseph goodbye, and hand him over to Dee, who was once again our nurse. We called her in and then each held him and kissed him one last time.

Then I had to turn away as she walked out with him. 

The feelings were overpowering.

And then, once again, so was the peace.

Share Parents had given me a teddy bear. They recognized that it was in no way a replacement for a baby, but it would give me something to hold as I left the hospital. I cannot tell you how much that bear means to me. I call it my Joseph Bear. When I get really sad and am having a hard time, missing my son, I hold the bear close to me, and somehow, it makes me feel better.

We left that hospital much different than we entered it.

We entered it scared, but still with all the lovely hopes and dreams of a newlywed couple expecting their first child.

We left that hospital with a solemn knowledge that we were, are, and will always be Joseph's parents. We left with a greater capacity for joy and love.

I've had a quote in my head through this whole experience. It's a quote from a man by the name of Francis Webster who crossed the plains with the ill-fated Willie and Martin Handcart companies. He was in a meeting where people were criticizing the trek. Francis stood up and said, "Every one of us came through with the absolute knowledge that God lives for we became acquainted with Him in our extremities!... I knew then that the Angels of God were there. Was I sorry that I chose to come by handcart? No! Neither then nor any minute of my life since. The price we paid to become acquainted with God was a privilege to pay and I am thankful that I was privileged to come in the Martin Handcart Company.” "

Throughout my remaining time on Earth, there will be an empty spot in my heart and my arms, where my son Joseph belongs. But, I will never look back on this experience with any regret. I am so blessed to have Joseph. He has been nothing but a blessing in my life. Through my experiences with him, I have come to know my Savior and my Father. I have felt the hand of God and I will forever be changed by it. I've learned more about all of life's most important lessons in these past four days than I learned in the previous 24 years combined. 

I have also come to know and understand my Benjamin better. I have never felt more blessed in my choice of a husband. He's been my best friend since I met him, and he's been the best husband anyone could ask for. But now, he's so much more than that. He is the other half to my soul. I could not have gotten through this without his strength and tears at my side. Even when he doesn't feel the same way as me in the grieving process, he respects my needs and I try to do the same for him. He listens and cries with me and holds me.

I'm so blessed to have two angels by my side. One on this side of the veil, one on the other.

More than anything, I am forever grateful for Joseph.