you are everywhere little man | advocate for pragnancy and infant loss

Let's just say that since loosing my little man a little over a year ago, my body has been a wreck. Physically a wreck. Between the sudden drop in hormones from an emergency c-section, to the depression and anxiety of loosing our son, to the pain meds as I healed from surgery, from doing way too much planning a memorial, running a household,  healing from loss, and of course pursuing me photography career.... all these things take a toll. My blood pressure has been border-line high since being pregnant with Nevaeh, so, when it was high during my pregnancy with Leo, we weren't too concerned, since we already had a healthy baby girl and a delivery with no complications. Little did we know that my blood pressure is the most likely cause of our tragedy. Since then, I have been to countless doctors trying to figure out the best course of action.

Today after having a steadily rising high blood-pressure all day and struggling with another anxiety attack I checked my blood pressure at home again to see if I should head to the ER. My blood pressure was 155/95.... not horrible, but not good. So, I packed Nevaeh in the car, with my best " oh mommy is fine, we are going to just go talk to the nice doctor". I urgently called my dad and sister to come meet me, since the last I came to this same ER as a "precaution" it ended in tragedy.

Thanks to the FABULOUS Legacy Salmon Creek Hospital, I waited a mere 10 minutes before I was in a gown having yet another EKG. My blood pressure was up to 166/107. After a dose of anxiety meds and monitoring, my pressure came back down to 134/83 within an hour. Luckily in this world of technology, my ER doctor was able to view every aspect of my records from 6 different doctors. After reviewing all my past workups and issues, he said, " You need to be on blood pressure medication, and should have been for awhile now." FYI this has been my theory all along, but what does a dumb mom who went through a placental abruption know (which are only caused by a) trauma b) cocaine use c) smoking or d) HIGH BLOOD PRESSURE.... DING DING DING Winner Winner Chicken Dinner.

Despite what you all might think, I am happy and relieved to have some answers and a medical plan for what I have been struggling with for years now. I am praying that with close monitoring and medication that I can get my body back to a healthy functioning level soon. It has been a tough road, and I am praying that this is the start of a "new day".

Thanks for all your continued prayers and thoughts of comfort! I love you all!!

HOLY CRAP are my thighs THAT big? Note to Self.... slim thighs.... or.. wear spanks at ALL TIMES..

Missing you...

I'm missing you little one.

Why did things turn out this way? 

So many things cross my mind, and yet I know you are still here with me... in my heart and mind.

I love you so much. 

Every breath I breathe, I feel the tug of my heart strings longing to hold you again.

I patiently wait for the day to hold you in my arms again.

To love you, to see you smile, to see you shining for God.

Know that mommy loves you.

More than ever imaginable.

I miss you my precious boy. 

How has it been 8 months since your last heart beats?

It seems like only yesterday that my worst nightmare became reality.

It was but a moment ago that I held you close and kissed your tiny head. 

I close my eyes and can still feel your silken hair on my lips.

The grip of your tiny fingers on mine warms my heart and makes me sigh. 

I miss you my love.

Mommy loves you so so so so so so much.

Kisses and hugs from mommy....

8 months and counting....

As I journey towards the 8 month mark of loosing you, I am just sad. Heartbroken. Realizing all I dreamed for you is no more. No longer our my thoughts on your future. Daily I am reminded you aren't here with me. I gaze upon your images, longing to hold your preciousness once again. How do I move beyond this loss and back to a reality where "dead baby" isn't blazon all over the world around me? I know you are in Heaven. I know you are where there is no pain and where no suffering exists. I also know you aren't here. The room you were meant to share lacks your presence. I search for the next step in remembering you. I hear of memorial tattoos, quilts, paintings. How can I sum you up with something made by human hands?

I long to find the magic answer to my quest in honoring your precious life. Your memory will forever live on in my heart and soul. My words of love for you will never cease. Forever will my heart be imprinted with your tiny footprints. My heart aches for you. I ache for all the moments we had, and the moments we didn't. No one understands. Most don't even try. How can they not realize, I say... they go about their meaningless lives, never really realizing what they have been blessed with. All they see are those things made by human hands. How lucky am I to see beyond the facade of life... to see into the depths of things that go unseen to so many. How alone am I in these realizations, and yet full of peace I cannot explain... other than it is a gift from Christ.

If God is love, then I know God. From every heartbeat, every hair on your head, every moment, and every gaze. I know Him. Because I know love. Love for another that could move mountains and swallow seas.

I gaze into the mirror, making final adjustments to my painted face... more earthly things. I gaze down at my still swollen form. Monday I had a son. Tuesday I held him as he died. Now it is Saturday, and I am preparing for the next passage of the journey. My black dress offers others a glimpse of my inner emotions. I pin flowers in my hair; it is important to still be myself in the midst of this tragic event. I hold my head high as I take my place at church. Those who I would normally stand for are now showing their respects to me. My Sicilian heart knows these rituals as if I have lived them in another life. I am strong. Everyone looks at me for the next move. As I make my way into the sanctuary, I am comforted with the familiar surroundings. The service is touching, written by myself and our pastor. I ponder how many new roles I have filled in the last 6 short days. Mother, wife, support person, decision maker, daughter, leader, consoler, mourner, writer, composer, photographer, coordinator, mediator, comedian, gardner, patient, teacher, lover, peacemaker... so many shoes to fill in a mere 6 days. Now I am the story teller. I am being called to mark this journey, this memory, on paper.

Some say "write a book". Where do I begin? There could be a book hidden between these many pages and my soul. God has a plan for this story. His hands will guide me and He will always be my refuge. His love is my compass. I wait patiently for His commands. He is my strength. Whom shall I fear?

Connected together with the sinews of love, we are all of One. We love because He first loved us. By His grace we are saved and by His grace we are made new, in perfect love. I know that my life is a mere moment in the fog of eternity. I know that the honor of receiving His love and grace is something so beyond my need for fully understanding. I truly know that God is Love.

I miss you my Leo. But I trust and KNOW that you are loved, and with love, and in the arms of Jesus. If you were here I would hold and cuddle you. I would rock you to sleep singing you a lullaby. I would softly kiss your head and tell you "mommy's here". I would hug you tight and never want to let you go. But I know that in this moment, you are in His arms, praising His name, experiencing His love... what more could I ask for? What could be more comforting than knowing you are in the presence of the His true Love?

Mommy loves you my sweet dear boy... so much. You will always hold my heart.

XX,

Mommy

Thoughts to Ponder....

Lately I have had a lot on my mind... pondering getting pregnant again, fears of the unknown, fears about myself, and about things going on in the world around me. In everything, God has blessed me with clarity. The clarity to see truth in so many situations and the strength to do what is RIGHT. I have always been a person of faith, and a person who stands by their convictions. Time and time again, I sacrifice scores of friendships, popularity, and positions of power in my unwillingness to conform into something I didn't believe in. My moral compass has always been steadfast, and for that I am truly thankful. God has blessed me with such strength and endurance. In Him, I can do all things. Whom shall I fear? Where can I go that He isn't there? 


Since the death of our son, I have taken stock of my life and of my decisions. I may have missed out on some opportunities in my youth, but I know that in doing so I have pleased my Father. I can no longer stand back and be subject to behavior against my own moral compass, against what God has commanded of me. Who am I to question His commands? I have dealt with much pain and suffering these past 5 years; but in pain, we are taught so much. It is when we are suffering that we are closest to God and the most receptive to his love and commands for our lives. Despite what I have endured, I see what good has come of it all. I am so strong, through Christ who strengthens me. I am so blessed.


I don't know my whole purpose for my time here on earth. I do know that I am to do what God commands of me. I do know that I am to love and to stand by what I know to be right in Him. I know that I am meant to teach my children the ways of our Lord. I know I am meant to bring His light to the world around me. Through my photography, my writing, my love, my faith and endurance, through my example, I am to be His servant and His hands and feet. I am honored in the ways He has chosen to use me, and I pray that He continues to do so. 


I have been blessed with so many people throughout this journey of mine. The ones who stand out are the ones of faith. I have recently been united with those of my past... all of whom know Him. Isn't it incredible how God places people in our lives years before their impact on your heart will be felt? Time and time again I am astounded by His love and grace and the intricacies of His plans. 


I am so thankful for this love, so thankful that someone as lowly as myself, has been blessed with His grace.


Dear Lord,


Your love is enough. You know. I believe, help my unbelief. Help me to trust in You always, and in all things. Help me to keep my eyes on You. Help me to love you with a purer, deeper, all encompassing love. Help me Lord to prepare, for what You've already prepared for me. Lord, make me a blessing to others. Use me for Your works... May Your will be done. Help me to see my life as you see it. Thank you for your un-ending love and grace. Thank you for all the blessings you have bestowed on me. You know my heart... it is enough. Thank you...


In Jesus name, Amen.

February 3, 2010

Everywhere I turn, I am reminded of you.
This trip is hard.... harder than I thought it would be.
I miss you dearly my little Leo.
I watch as little boys tottle around, grasping their mommy's hand.
I watch new baby boys clutching to their mother's chest in front packs of all kinds.
I miss you.
You were supposed to be here with me, with us, on this trip to Disneyland.
Our first family trip... and yet you aren't here.
I am drawn to all the infant clothing in all the shops.
I pick up a tiny blue knit hat that features little Mickey ears.
Tears start to fall.
I want you here.
I want to bring this hat home.
But it won't change anything.
I miss my precious son... it is almost more than I can bear this week.
I see Nevaeh's eyes dance with delight at the wonder around her.
I wish I could have seen it in you too.
So many things I long to have witnessed with you.

I. Miss. You.
I long to hold you close... I just wish things were different.
I know God has bigger plans.
My trust is in Him.
He is my Refuge and my Strength.
My faith has pulled me through.... my faith is the only thing keeping me afloat this week.

I miss my son.
Why did it have to be like this?
How do I move forward from this?

Lord, strengthen and comfort me. Guide me and use me for Your glory. Your unending love is enough. Your love and peace keep me going. By your grace, I will see my son again one day and we will live together in the midst of Your glory forever and ever. In Jesus Name, Amen.

January 18th, 2010

I miss you today little one. I look at your sister, and all I see is you. Her peaceful slumber gives me glimpses of your beautiful face. Time stands still as I gaze upon these glimpses of you, and I thank the Lord for this awesome gift. I know that I will be with you again one day, but until then, I will always be able to see you in her. Thank you for this gift Lord. What a special and amazing blessing. It could easily be missed. I remember back to when I would rock Nevaeh to sleep her fist few weeks of life. Her peaceful, sleeping face always surprised me, as I always thought... you look like someone else at times. Now, I know why God blessed me with this realization years before I would understand. I have gazed upon Leo's face for years now. How incredible is that? His grace and love is so incredible, so unfathomable and yet, so real. I am so blessed. I miss my son and my heart aches, but I see him daily and I couldn't ask for a better way than through my beautiful daughters face. 

Thank you for your love Lord, and above all, for the blessings and unending strength. In Jesus Name, Amen.

Nevaeh 2 weeks old

Nevaeh 4 weeks old

Nevaeh almost 3 years old... taken 2 days ago.

Leo... July 21st, 2009

 

Leo... July 21st, 2009

The Long Walk....

The Long Walk…

“We need to deliver your baby NOW”…. The words hit me like a mortar shell against a concrete wall.

I am crying, holding back sobs. “No Lord, No!” keeps resonating in my ears. I tell the nurse I have to use the bathroom. She reluctantly allows me this one last piece of freedom before my body is cut open and my baby is torn from my womb months too early. I gaze into the mirror. I am shaking. Tears are already staining my hospital gown. I grasp the sink and breathe. “Lord, please stay with me” I utter in the midst of my fear. A peace washes over me and greets my anxious body. The shuddering begins and I have to hold the wall as I make my way back to the nurse who worriedly waits with a wheelchair; tears are in her eyes, tempted to spill over.

Running, the nurse is running as she pushes my wheel chair around the corner. We enter the elevator and the nurse hurriedly presses the button for the next floor up. Outside the sun is shining down, sending shimmering sparkles across the water in the 4-tiered fountain below. The door opens and we are running again. I look back at the elevator, to see its final seconds of the doors closing with a small thump and I watch as the lights above count down to the floors below. Then I see it… the glass walk into a reality I am not ready to accept.  Sharp sunlight floods the threshold in blinding light. I look around the empty lobby. The sunlight dances against this marble floor, sparkling and shimmering in a wave of methodical color.  And then we are inside this glass tunnel of beauty. I glance left and then right. There are people in the sky bridge across from us, slowly making their way back to the parking garage. The tunnel is hot, at least 10 degrees warmer than the lobby had been. The sunlight beats in strong, warming my shaking body. Its warmth wraps around me, enveloping me in a safe cocoon… as if God himself is carrying me down this sunlit path.

As quickly as it starts, it ends, and we are back in reality. Back in another lobby, running in a race to the next bank of elevators. Fingers jab the buttons on the console as we wait for the doors to open. Eternity seems to fill the walls of this cell, as I am lifted in the sky to my fate. Doors are opening and rushed nurses meet us, as double doors swing open with a bang.

I breathe in deep as I see the entrance of my hospital room. Lord, stay with me….

Journal Entry...

January 8th, 2010


I sit in a wheelchair, blinded by the early morning sun. My tears fall silently in rhythm to the incessant beeping of machines and hiss of the ventilator. Sun rays slice through the open window casting warm blocks of yellow onto the floor. I glance around the room; it appears to all be moving in slow motion. My OB is there, the NICU specialist it there. Tears well in her eyes as she delivers the news we prayed we wouldn't hear.


9:02am, her words sound like a tympani drum, building as they flow from her lips. "This inter-cranial bled is the worst we've ever seen." Everything is silent again, just the humming of machines. Minutes pass, and I pick up my cell phone and dial my dad. I barely get out "We have to take him off life support today." The line is silent; utter deafening silence. I choke back sobs and manage a mangled "Love you" and hang up. What do I do now? My mother is on the first of three legs of her flight here. I'll wait until she arrives... there is no use in telling her before then.


The light is beautiful right now. Like the hands of God gently holding the room. I am handed my son for the first time and I can barely control my convulsing sobs as I clutch the tiniest baby I've ever seen. It takes three people to hand him over to me. The tube from his ventilator is taped to my arm and cords and leads are strung over my chair as I attempt to bond with my dying son.


Soon the room is rattled with the sound of people. My family was there. My daughter cautiously enters the room and gazes at me for reassurance. God grants me the serenity I need in the moment as I introduce her to her baby brother. She is in love already. She hesitantly clutches his tiny hand and tells me, "that's my baby brother, I love him." Tears well up and overflow as I put on my best smile and attempt to soak in the moment. Scott is there talking to her; taking it all in. I hear my camera shutter clicking in the room laden with hissing, beeping, and tears.


I am strong now, I know I have to be. People are coming in. My mother arrives a wreck. She doesn't' know what to say. None of us do. More pictures are being taken as people filter in and out.


Soon there is a harp player in the room, serenading us with soft melodies. I look back into the sun, blinded. "I go to prepare a place for you" comes to my mind. Tears flow as sweet plucking fills the room and drowns out the endless beeping and hissing.


"It is time" I say; the moment strikes me like a bolt of lightning. I watch as one by one, everyone says their goodbyes. I feel as if I have done this before... strange and surreal. Scott and I are left alone now as tubes are removed from Leo's tiny form. The nurse passes him to us as we clutch our son in our hands. We whisper sweet nothings to him; how much we love him and how much we will miss him. I tell him how sorry I am that it has to be this way. Hues of orange and pink fill the sky. Glorious beauty witnessed in our sons final heart beats. I gaze down at his tiny face and kiss his forehead.


What seems like hours pass and we slowly finish the rituals of saying goodbye. I watch as the nurses cast his hands and feet. By now the sun is down and low light fills the large room. I see my son in silhouette against the light, and can't seem to peel my eyes away. I kiss him again and hand him to the nurse, who lovingly cradles him in her arms. She knows the magnitude of what just happened. She has seen it before.


I slowly shuffle to the door, not wanting to leave. I walk with Scott's help down the hallway, clutching the handrail. I stop every few feet, as I am weak in pain and sadness. Scott takes me in his arms as we both cry ourselves to sleep on the daybed in our hospital room. We awaken to tear stained pillows and a depth of sadness I never thought possible. Sobs feel strained, as if I can't reach the depths of their bottom; like being unable to take a deep enough breath.


Numbness starts and I know family will be here soon. My dad walks in and all I hear is the shrill sweet voice of my daughter saying "Grandpa, you're here!". My dad breaks down as he scoops up my darling daughter. I know this moment is one I will remember the rest of my life. I know that the night before, our Leo ran into the arms of Jesus says, "I'm here Father, I'm here."


Peace washes over me as the room settles down. Everyone I love is there. We fall into routine pleasantries, even laughing at times. The room is like a prison cell in my own hell. I want to go home. I want to start picking up the pieces of my life. My OB okays my early leave, just 2 days after an emergency c-section and loosing a child. She knows I will loose my mind if I stay within those walls.


We ask to see Leo before we leave. I lead the group into a "Reflection Room" in the maternity wing. My son awaits us, wrapped in many blankets, with a hat low on his head. His cold body warms in my hands as I cling to him for the last time. Tears are streaming down everyone's cheeks. Outside the sun is starting to set. Blazing orange fills the room with warmth. My father breaks down, kneeling at my feet before our precious son. How rattling this is. How expected and yet unexpected all at once. More layers of reality run over me as I savor these final moments with my son. Goodbyes are said, kisses are stamped on his forehead, prayers are recited.


It is time to go now. I don't want to leave. I hate giving him back to this nurse. She smiles like an idiot; as if I was handing her flowers, instead of my dead son. I knew it was time to leave. I was on the verge of breaking down. With a deep breath, I handed him over to the nurse and walked out the door. I feel like my whole heart was left in that room with my baby. How will I gain it back?


I hurriedly pack my things... I hate being there. I want to go home.


It's 5 am, as I lay looking at the ceiling. A small ray of light gracefully casts its way along the outer edge of our bedroom drapes. Pain throbs through my abdomen. I slowly lift myself out of bed and reach for the pain medication from the doctor. I slowly shuffle into my daughters room. The house is silent in the early morning hours, as I am the only one awake. I kneel on the floor next to my daughters bed watching her sleep. I focus on the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she peacefully slumbers away. I let silent tears fall as I watch the sun slowly rising outside her windows. Soon my dad is up and finds me in her room. He sits down with me as we silently take in the moments and miracles.


It is a new day. We slowly shut her door, and make our way downstairs. My incision throbs in unnerving pain with each step. We head into the kitchen, where coffee is my only refuge. I gaze out the window as the light floods over the fence in the rising ritual. Already it is warm. I go outside and water my plants. The cool concrete feels damp beneath my bare feet. I watch a spider weave a perfect web covered in morning dew. A grasshopper perches near by and follows me fence post to fence post as I make my way down the line of potted plants with the hose. He brings tears to my eyes.  He reminds me of my Leo. I am blessed that morning. God knows my pain. I feel his presence. I close my eyes and feel the sun on my face. "You are there" I say.


I go back inside and sit with my dad. We silently sip coffee. This communion of ours touches me to the core. I don't want this moment to end...

 

Journal Entry...

August 16, 2009

I gaze into a foggy mirror frantically looking for signs of you. This shrouded temple that once beheld your beloved body is no more. How I despise this hourglass figure before me! I long for my swollen form to return. I turn from side to side with critical eyes desperate to find some trace of your existence. This crimson scar reminds me you are no more; cut from this body long before your form was complete. My engorged breast drip with sustenance meant for your nourishment; even my body mourns for you. This endless dripping creates a symphony of pitter-patter, as my tears and milk drop onto the counter endlessly pooling in pain. I pound my fist down and cry out, “This isn’t fair!” Soon this sanctuary that beheld you will be but a memory. The only trace of you will be this battle scar, reminding me that you are no more. I clothe my wounded body and wonder how many days I have left to gaze upon the evidence of your existence. How quickly things have changed. What once was is no more. Left empty handed and broken-hearted I will forever be. How I miss you…

Journal Entry...

August 13, 2009

I am loosing it today. I am so numb. I never really woke up this morning; my mind is in such a fog. What a crummy day! What really happened… nothing, nothing except I lost my son; my son who looked like my dad and me. Who had my dads’ chin and mouth and ears.  Why did this happen? I found a white crocheted blanket today. It made me mad. Why didn’t I think of this when I was in the hospital? I could have wrapped Leo in this blanket. UGH! I am so pissed at myself today. Anger fills me quickly these days… worse than normal. And what the fuck is with my so-called friend? What a joke our friendship is. The disappointment smacked me in the face this afternoon like a soccer cleat to the groin. Why do people pretend to give a shit? PS people, my son is dead!  So when you say, “I didn’t want to be in the way” or some other bullshit, just spare me. When did being supportive cross the line of “being in the way”. Let’s face it, what you are REALLY trying to say is you don’t want to have to deal with it, that YOU have your own issues on the subject, and that really you don’t have time to care. I am SO sick of the cop-out of “I just don’t know what to say”…funny, NEITHER DO I! What do I expect from someone who doesn’t have any faith? shame on me for expecting more from a friend of 6 years.  And oh, how I am NOT looking forward to this weekend away with Scott. He hasn’t said more than 10 words to me all week. Why are we in a funk? We need to talk more now than ever and yet he comes home, is quite, and I just get more angry and hurt. Tears are threatening to spill over tonight and really I have no clue why. I am so tired and so freaked out about photographing this wedding this weekend. I hope I can find my artistic center. God is my only hope at this point. I am so freaked out about this wedding. Why? I know what I am doing, for the most part that is. I don’t want to go to the beach; it will just make me think about how I’ll never bring my Leo to the beach. Man this sucks. Everything in my life will always be, “I wish Leo were here with us.” What a revelation that is! I will always be suffocating on my own sorrow. My heart will forever be scarred. I hold back tears because if I let go, the force of Niagara Falls will flow from my eyes and never end. How do you come back from this type of thing? I read blogs from other women who share in my misery and 3+ years later they are still angry and hurting and longing for their lost ones. Will this loss always define me? Should I feel guilty for not wanting it to define me? Or guilty because I want it too? Oh how to navigate this new part of my life.

 

The rain pounds my windowsill. Each drop reminds me of the soft plucking of harp strings. Harp strings, like the harpist who played during Leo’s final hours. Her soft melodies blotted out the never-ending bleeping of life support machines. What a blur those final hours were. Red eyed family members with tear stained cheeks filter in and out of the room; everyone clinging to the person next to them, hoping to be roused from this nightmare.  I am handed Leo for the first time and I fall apart. My sobs jerk me back to reality and I struggle to control myself as my tiny son barely fills my palms. I lay him skin to skin on my chest and I feel my heart swell to double its size. My tears threaten to drench his tiny head as I struggle to get a hold of myself. His hair, oh my gosh he already has hair, hair with curl, dark hair, like mine. He grips my finger, how can this be? How can I be holding my son already? He should still be inside me. I try to hold on to this moment for as long as I can, but it is no use. My mind is 100 different places other than where it should be. I need to focus but I can’t. I look down at my beautiful son and imagine him healthy. I don’t want to you to be here yet. I want more time dammit, I want more time.

 

Journal Entry...

August 12, 2009

My anxiety-ridden body shudders over and over like waves pounding a rocky shore. “What do you mean that means we’re having a baby today?” I ask the doctor. How could this be? I am only 27 weeks and 6 days pregnant. It isn’t time yet… he won’t live.

I lay flat on my back looking up into lights as bright as 3 suns. Tears cloud my eyes and blue hospital drape grazes my lips. My nose twitches as oxygen is forced through my upturned nostrils and tubes graze the back of my ears. My out stretched arms resemble those of Christ’s on the cross; strapped down unable to move leaving my body to its full vulnerability. My body shudders in the silent clanging of metal surgical instruments and I awaken from my sea of pain to my own gut wrenching cries as my son is plucked from my womb behind my shrouded eyes. Each sob is a nail driven through my hands as I lay suffering my own cross. I am left for the whole world to see, arms outstretched and my gut open and bleeding on the table. Is this how Our Father felt as he witnessed his son suffering on the cross?

My poor son, my little Leo, how my heart aches for you! To think you gave your life so I could live! In less than 20 minutes I could have been dead. I would have left a husband, daughter, and son. I would have left a mother and father, sisters, and grandparents. I would have given my life for you in a second my dear son. My heart aches to know you more, to hear your cries, to hear your laughs. I am left here to mourn your short life and to celebrate its gifts and praise the gift of life I have been blessed with. How things have changed in such a short time. How my heart is full and empty at the same time. When I close my eyes all I hear is the beat of my own heart, the utter silence of what I’ve lost. Your phantom movements haunt my womb; they seem to say, “I am still with you”. I clutch the velvet pouch of your tiny remains to my chest clinging to your memory. How empty are my arms! How I long to hold your beloved body in my hands. My love for you is like the depths of the ocean, never-ending and vast, dark and mysterious, loudly trembling and deafening. Oh my heart aches for you my sweet son.

Dear Lord,

It is enough; you know what my heart feels. Give me the strength and understanding I long for. Grant me the peace that only you can give…. In Jesus name, Amen.