Wishful thinking.

I have a lot of anxiety these days. Anxiety over my dreams to become pregnant again and to bare another child. I think about it ALL of the time. The fear I feel takes my breath away. It’s almost paralyzing. Almost like I should be breathing into a brown paper bag every time it crosses my mind.

I know there are more children for us. Some times moments pass that I would rather think there are no more, that I can find peace with the children I have now. I’d like to think that, but these sweet spirits still whisper to me that they are still waiting. Some times I think if I could just birth one more healthy baby, then if something happened during a pregnancy after that, I would be willing to make this same sacrifice again. When in all reality I think it would kill me to bury another one of my children. No more. Not again. I can’t be asked twice, right?? I find myself bartering with the Lord, almost begging and pleading with him every moment of every day. Just one more chance... just... one....more... chance........

Some how women push through and make their dreams come true. Some how women silence their own fears enough to become pregnant again and trust the fate of their little one to God again. I remember that when I am afraid. I remember the promises that have been made to me. I dream of buying a new crib and clothes and bottles and formula and baby shampoo and a new car seat. I dream of lieing there listening to my baby scream after he’s born and knowing he’s mine to take home and love and raise. I won’t leave empty handed again. I won’t be wheeled out by a nursery full of newborns while I stare ahead at the wall as hard as I can, so I won’t see. I won’t be listening to other newborn babies cry for their Mamas while I hold my baby that never made a sound. I won’t dressing my newborn in burial clothing and placing him in a casket. I won’t bleed for no reason and count every day as is passes, wishing my milk would dry up. I won’t be sitting at a computer thinking I need to get back into the world again, but knowing I’m just not ready. Life a year from now can be SO different. Let’s count on that.

Picture Perfect.

Flash Back.

I wrote this back in January. Wanted to share. Wanted to start at the beginning.....

It’s an interesting thing when crisis strikes, you have the opportunity to find out what you’re made up of. I haven’t felt made of much the last few days.

Meet Isaac Brigham Nielson. This is my baby boy, still living in womb, perfect to us in every way, but not so much to the doctors. We found out he has a neural tube defect called Anencephaly, which means he will be born with little or no brain and scull. His prognosis is death, shortly after birth.

I cannot even express what it meant to my world to hear this news. I felt dazed. Shocked. I cried, and couldn’t stop. I sobbed. I drove to pick up my husband from work and couldn’t remember street names and numbers, where I had driven hundreds of times. And the children. WHAT would I tell my children?

After thinking for the last couple days, I’ve decided to write. And write in such a way that is healing to me. I’ll have this record not only for myself, but for my family, so we can look back some day and realize then we are strong enough now to get through this battle now.

After receiving the news Thursday, I didn’t sleep that night. I stayed up all night researching on the internet about my boy’s condition. I read, I looked at photographs, I laid my head down on my desk and sobbed. Friday night? I decided to stay off of the internet. The kids and I made a huge bed in the living room, and we slept together. I think I was able to sleep last night for 4 or 5 hours, forcing myself to push thoughts out of my head, trying not to weep. Weep over silly things. Things that haven’t even happened yet. Like. Who of my family could be there for me when I have the baby? What happens if I cry too much when Isaac is born? How will I be able to dress my child for burial. I weep because I can’t stand to see my children is such pain, grieving. I weep because it isn’t fair. I weep because I don’t know how I am going to come home from the hospital with empty arms. I weep because my husband is in pain, and I sob because I feel so devastated and heartbroken.

God is good. I am not being punished. For some reason, Andrew, the children and I have been given this trial and blessing in our lives, and I can only cling to the knowledge that we, as a family, some how are strong enough to survive this. Not only survive, but be better for it.

I’m beginning to hate the night. It’s now Saturday evening, around 8:00 pm. Right around 6:00, it started again. The horrible sorrow. My heart aches so badly, it makes my chest hurt. Tonight I keep thinking of all the things I feel cheated out of. I keep thinking “The last time I ran the vacuum, I thought my baby was alive” or “The last time I cooked a decent meal for my family I thought I was a mother of three, preparing lovingly for her fourth child”. My husband took the crib down this afternoon, and I couldn’t watch. Each time I gaze into Ian’s room, there is a huge hole where my baby should be sleeping in May. I walked into the bathroom, and I remember last giving the children a bath and thinking I needed to buy my Johnson’s and Johnson’s shampoo for the baby. I thought today about how I wouldn’t be happily exhausted feeding a baby into the wee hours of the morning. Instead I get to come home - bleed like I’ve had my healthy newborn, feel my milk come in, and get to lay there at night, alone, and wishing for my child to be with me. I weep with sadness as I think of these things.

And now, now it’s time for movie night. The kids want to sleep together in the living room again, and right now, anything seems better then being alone in the night with my tears, grief, and thoughts I cannot quiet.

Walking through it.

Isaac's stone went in the day after Father's Day. As I was driving to go visit him and to see his marker, my mind drifted back to the day we placed him in the ground. Our service was small, only my closest friends and family were there. I remember feeling so proud of my baby and so happy to have in my arms again. He looked like a baby doll. I don't know if it was because I was doped up on Xanax, or if it was because I wasn't familiar with funerals, but I was expecting to hold Isaac through out the service. I wasn't prepared at all for when I was instructed to lay Isaac in his casket. I remember the children starting to sob and I remember the tears blinding my eyes. I remember thinking "Oh God... Father... Do I really have to say goodbye?". "Do I really have to put my child down?". I remember kissing him over and over again, like mad, laying him down, tucking him in, kissing him again, and stumbling to my chair. I really didn't want to make a scene, but I remember thinking to myself... this is why mothers fall to their knees and wail when their children die. The pain could kill you, I swear it would, I thought in that moment. Andrew was the only listed palbearer. Ian was the only listed honorary palbearer. Andrew carried the baby out. We drove Isaac, in his casket, to the grave site, on my lap. My poor baby, dead, in a box, on my lap. I was proud to do it. But I was mad as hell. I remember thinking who the hell made this decision for me. Did I really agree to this? To carry my child, only to later bury him?

It's almost been three months now. I've struggled with blogging, because there are some people that read my blog that I have decided (peacefully and confidently) that I did not want them in my life. It bothers me to have made that decision, still knowing that they can be a part of my life this way. I've thought back and forth about setting my blog to private, but I decided it was more important to keep the avenues of communication open. Not for them, but for me, and for you. I need to be able to share my story in an open forum. I cherish meeting new people, and reaching out and touching those back, that have touched my life so deeply. If another has to read my blog to keep tabs on me, then so-be-it, I wouldn't have shared with them otherwise.

Summer rolls on here. The children are happy and my days are mad busy with work and play and housework and cleaning. I have a few people I keep in touch with personally - - those would be my nearest and dearest. Othen than that, I stay home, in my "hole" as I refer to it. I keep to myself, avoiding most communication with the outside world. I like being in my own space. I like being alone. I'm different. I can't fix or change it, and don't necessarily think I should have to. We're planning ahead for our next baby. Making plans for the days, weeks, and months ahead. But for now, for now I try to make it through my days, being present in motherhood and as a wife and friend the best I know how, inspite of this huge sorrow I feel and burden I carry. Heart ache is really over rated. I'm beginning to think growth is, too. Some days I wish I could go back to how it was before. No such luck, friends. No such luck.

Child of mine.

Friends, it has now been two months since Isaac joined our family. Two months of a different kind of hell and joy, that I have never experienced before.

God lives. Jesus is the Christ. I believe with my whole heart that my sweet Isaac lived in the pre-existence, just as you and I did before he was born. I believe we, together, chose the right, and those of us that chose Heavenly Father's plan, also chose to usher Satan and his followers from the heavens. I believe Isaac waited to be apart of our family. I believe Isaac waited, knowing that his Father would create a body for him that would ensure his quick return back to him. I knew, and felt in every bone of my body, that this child I was asked to carry was perfect. I knew that his soul was so mighty that he would not have to live on this earth through the trials and heartache and schooling that you and I need. This child would kiss us with his holy presence and return back to God and Christ's arms and ask what he was needed to do next. When sweet Isaac was born, and for the hours to follow, the precence of God and His love, not only for Isaac, but for me, was felt time and time again. I had completed the task I had set out to do. I had delivered my child safely back into his Heavenly Father's arms. Friends, Isaac still lives, just as Jesus and God does. I feel this in my most quiet moments, and in my most sorrowful moments, my most joyous moments. I miss him, my heart aches for him, my mind searches for the right ways in which to continue to live again.

This is the struggle. To know the right balance of joy and sorrow. To know the right balance of including Isaac's memory in our home. To know that I truly have four children, but my youngest was too mighly to be raised by his earthly mother. The struggle is to praise God for this perfect child, but to beg Him to carry me as I crawl through loneliness and heart ache. The struggle is to believe with all my heart, that this child will join our family again, some day, and that I can live to be worthy of that greatest blessing.

God is there, my sweet friends. Some of His greatest requirements of us, will truly be our largest sacrifices. Carry on. Run, walk, crawl through each day, knowing He is waiting to bare you up. Christ lives. He loves you, as He love me, also.

Carry on, endure on, and know that I carry and endure on right with you. Isaac's story is the light in our life, our hope is that we can share some of that bright light with you, and that together, our lives will be better for it. My prayer is, that God's love, through Isaac's story, will reach hundreds, and that each and every one of us will continue on, to become better, more joyous, and loving people for it. Hold your children and loved ones close tonight, as I do the same.

Love, Misty

A slideshow for our boy.....

Please click on the link below to watch a tribute to our perfect and sweet little boy:

http://animoto.com/play/s6wQYCtgHPxuMz6YSm5SMw

Love, Misty and Family

Finished.....

Lisa, with Isaac, after we had bathed and dressed him.

I finished getting my blog in order. Quotes had been deleted - I fixed them. I had photos up of only Olivia and Isaac on the side bar - I added more. I've gotten things switched around and simplified, just how I want. I found myself sitting here with tears rolling down my cheeks, gazing at Isaac's sweet little face. Many days I drift back to the day he was born, and I find myself wishing to go back, to visit with him, to hug him and to kiss him.

Did you know Isaac had golden blond hair? Of course his hair was wet when he was born, but when I bathed him. I could see the golden shade, as his hair dried. Because of his deformity, I couldn't see a "full head" of hair, but the hair that he had was long - an inch in length. It would have been fuzzy and poofy like Ian's had been. Ian had so much hair that when he was first brought to me after he was born, the nurse had parted his hair. I immediately messed that part right up, but when I think of it now, it makes me chuckle.

I enjoyed bathing Isaac. Holy crap was it hard to clean the vernex off of his skin. Liken it to trying to clean diaper ointment off with water - - doesn't work. Lisa was there with me, as was Andrew. The children had left with Grandma, and I was left to do what mothers do - - fuss over their babies. This time I inspected Isaac from head to toe. I asked about his head and was told it looked pretty bad. I looked anyway, and my heart skipped a beat. It was bad. Much worse than I had seen online. But. I quickly snapped into mama mode, and I asked for clean gauze and ointment, and I took care of my child's wound no different than I had taken care of my other children's wounds before. Lisa and I washed Isaac and laughed and giggled over him. He was a thick little boy. Wide shoulders like Ian's. Burly and sweet. I had my Johnsons and Johnsons baby lotion with me - the pink, origional kind, which is my favorite. I've used it on all of my babies, just like my grandmother had used it on me when I was a child. I rubbed lotion onto Isaac and loved him and kissed him. Lisa helped me dress him and we situated a hat on his sweet little head. I could NOT believe how sweet he looked, perfect in every way. I was amazed at how quickly his body turned cold. I didn't like the feeling. He body was becoming stiff, and I felt better to have his sweet little self wrapped snuggly in a blanket. Soon after we took more pictures, soon after that, they moved me to the Mother Baby floor..........

Did I mention it is summer vacation here? I've got some pictures to post, I'll do that later in the week. It's been a little hectic. It's a little tiresome working out all of the bickering and arguements, but I feel so content that my house is full. I try not to think about Isaac missing. I think about the coming year, and I am looking forward to the fall months. We had the ok to start trying for another baby in October. For a minute today I thought about that, and felt the same excitement I've felt in the past thinking about that possibility.... buying a new crib, new clothes, a car seat, lotions and shampoos, bottles, formula..... It would be a dream come true. A dream come true. And then, I admit, a little panic set in, and I'm snapped back to reality. I can worry about that another day...........

Do me a favor, if I haven't been to your blog yet, comment and let me know. I'm trying harder to visit blogs and trying harder to get to know you better. Let me know where you are, and I'll stop by.... It's important to me.

Till then, I'll be thanking God for your support.