New World Wired Blue

The electrician told me softly, that inside your fleshy walls, the nervous wires are all jumbled up. The sensory signals sent out, come in upside-down-inside-out. 

I watch your beautiful tip-toe ballet through this new world wired blue. Your flickering bright light, always spinning dizzily out of place. I sense they turned your volume down oh so low, that your body has no choice but to surge back on full blast, as you fly from floor to ceiling trying anything to fill that sensational void.

Come down from there, and take my hand in yours. I’ll learn this new trade, and follow you into to your world. I'm the linesman hoping to memorize the way through your electrical current, and find my way back to you. 

"Your daughter is autistic." 

Everything is so fresh and close to the surface in this 360 shift, and yet it seems we've known all along.  While our sweet girl needs help to overcome many challenges, she doesn't need fixing. Autism is her neurology. It's how her brain is wired and an integral part of how she experiences the world around her. 

Hearing those life changing words meant that we found the key.  We're able to find her, to understand her world. Hopefully we can help her navigate the best we can...we have so much to learn about this new world wired blue. I've never seen her in a more beautiful way. I'm so grateful for finding the key. 

Miracle

That hollowness after my hysterectomy haunted me...the gutting question "What if our chance for a miracle is gone?"

You know what I've realized? How could I ever forget? How!?  Being sick...that was the miracle. Being sick, that lead us to her. From sunup to sundown...she is our miracle. Every single day. Maybe someday we'll be lucky enough to encounter another such miracle...I look at her face and she fills that hollowness of mine full of hope.

Question Marks

“Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books that are now written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.” ― Rainer Maria Rilke

The question everyone asks after is, “How are you doing!?”

My broken heart beats back “I’m-so sad-so sad-so tired-so tired”, but I swallow those broken beats, and grab for my halfhearted “Oh-I’m-ok-thanks-for-asking” masked reply and put that on instead.

It’s just easier.

I had an answer. I had a name for my pain. After years of trying everything to tame the angsty question marks rattling around in my head, I finally got to belong to a club. I found comfort and comradery, I had fellow sisters soldiering on against this pain too.

Then…I got kicked out of the club.

Pathology. Benign. Not malignant. Not harmful in effect.  

The only way to confirm diagnosis of Adenomyosis is by biopsy AFTER a hysterectomy. It’s the only way. I never thought it wouldn’t be there. I had so many of the symptoms. I was confident in my doctor. He was the one to finally give me answers after all these years of question mark pain.

It wasn’t there. Nothing was there.   

I have no path to the pain. I will never have an answer to that question. The welcome back party to the invisible illness club was cold. It’s lonely and empty here. Your companions are more question marks punctuated with anger, guilt, shame and deep aching sadness.

My physical pain is gone. So, look at the bright side, right? What about the dark side…will it come back? And that tiny spark of “what…if…a…miracle…could…happen?” is…extinguished, and I’ve felt that profoundly. All that’s there now is a cavernous hole, with all those question marks still rattling around hollowly.

The End

"It's important that we share our experiences with other people. Your story will heal you and your story will heal somebody else. When you tell your story, you free yourself and give other people permission to acknowledge their own story."  -Iyanla Vanzant

“Wow, so you’ve gained some serious weight since your last physical. Are you just sitting at your desk all day? You need to get you moving!” the physical therapist at my annual work physical blurted out. As if I wasn’t already super conscious about my rapidly changing body…his blunt comments sealed the deal.

“Well, I just got married…maybe it’s the “freshman 15” x 2?” I tried to joke back to lighten the mood, so I wouldn’t start crying.

In all honesty, I had no idea what was going on with my body. I was exhausted, no matter how much sleep I got the night before. I was achy down to my bones and moved like a brittle old woman. I loved to run, but I just simply couldn’t get my body to move that way anymore. I felt stressed all the time. I was gaining weight fast, my body inflamed and swelling up like I was stung by a giant bumblebee. I was pretty sure I was becoming the new poster child for the bearded woman…every woman should rock a 5 o’clock shadow, right?! I hadn’t had a period in 6 months. As much as I wished I were miraculously pregnant…I was left empty and barren month after month.

Doctor, doctor, doctor. Test, test, test. Please, please, please…will someone help figure out what’s wrong with me?

“Well…you’ve got Hypothyroidism. You’re so tired and gaining weight. Here’s a pill to help that.”

“Well…you’ve got a nasty case of Bell’s Palsy. You’re stressed and have so much inflammation, you’ll have permeant facial paralysis. There’s no pill to help that”

“Well…you’ve got Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome. You’re an achy ballooning, barren bearded woman. Here’s a pill to help that.”

7 different doctors. 3 different diagnoses. 5 years. 100’s of pills. 1 body…continuing to fail. 

“Well, well, well…you’ve got Adenomyosis. You’re crampy, clotting, bloated, nauseous, anemic, and hormonally imbalance.  Your hair is falling out in clumps. You’ve gained 70 lbs. You’re depressed, anxious and you have pain everywhere. There’s no pill to help that. You’re getting worse. At this point we can do a hysterectomy.”

32 years old. 0 pregnancies. 0 miscarriages. 1 broken body. 1 broken womb. 

So…The End has finally come. Hysterectomy. It's a sad and happy grief at the same time. While glowing women around me are in their prime of birthing babies, I will lose that part of me to a hysterectomy. My miracle babies will hopefully still come to me in a different way. Hopefully The End means a new beginning, with a less broken body.

This story of ours, the heartbreak and healing, trials and triumph, mourning and miracles, grief and gratitude, pain and pure joy, has taken the blinders from my eyes. All of our stories are intertwined. Loss, grief and sadness seeps into all of our lives, in one way or another. And we all have experiences that leave our shoulders pinned beneath heavy boulders. Some loads last only days, others last months to years and some last a lifetime. Some loads simply titter off, while some threatening to come crashing down on us. Despite these rockfalls of life, these burdens don't have to render you worthless. You have worth, no matter what load you are carrying. You are always enough. You are always loved. Someday you will be stronger...because of these loads. Be gentle with yourself and love yourself...because so many others do.  

We'll make it through. 

Yoked

For almost a year and a half, I used to write letters to Loo's birth mom before I even knew her. That was the story of this blog...this blog was for her. Looking back, my words are morphing into a time capsule...to me. I realize now, I was writing to myself too. 

It's something I didn't quite understand then, but I do now. Her and I will always be yoked together. We are both mammas to a sweet little girl.

Even though we aren't physically together, I feel her, everyday. How I wish more than anything I could swoop in, wrap up my other half in a big hug, and keep her safe from the hurts she has known. My wish, sadly, feels as improbably as stumbling across a genie filled lamp. So, I'll do the only thing I know how to do...keep cheering her on from afar.

Dear Birthmom, 

Wherever you go, I hope you always know these things...

Know oh how loved you are. You are never alone, or forgotten. You aren't invisible. Know that our little lady knows your face from the pictures I show her. She knows your name. She prays for you. You are a part of her, and she is a part of you.

Know that I remember you. I remember you! I see your pain. You are tremendous for carrying on. I pray for you. You are a part of me, and I am a part of you.

Love, 

Us

Our Love

I'm learning now that there's a void in my chest like never before. Instead of being tucked safely away in a cage of bones...my heart now runs around freely outside of my body, in the form of a blue-eyed bouncing babe. Every bit of that tiny girl, and her story, has my heart. 

Sometimes I get lost in the stormy parts of the story. And as I've tried fervently to protect that precious heart of mine from the pain...I've let my fear and grief sweep me out to the swelling sea. 

As we had a peaceful moment the other day, a wave of emotion washed over me. Love. Love. Love. Oh how I love this little girl. Just like the moon pulls the tide back to land, my love for her pulls me back from the swallowing swells. 

Love. That is some powerful stuff right there! I would do anything for her because of the love I have for her. Anything. All the hard hits. All the painful parts. I fight the swelling sea because I love her. 

And that's where I'm realizing we'll find the courage to do this all over again, to find our next missing piece...we'll find strength in our love.

Our Love

Oh, I've been walking down this road, and on my own, and on my own. 

And on my own I've been searching to find my way, to find the path that you've been traveling on.

Like the trees wait for the rain to come, I feel hope in the strength of our love.

And I'm going crazy, 'cause you're moving slow. Your train ain't running like I want it to go.

Like the seas wait for the dawn to come, I feel hope in the strength of our love.

So wait for me, as I wait for you. And we'll find the love we've wanted so.

And all come true. 

-Judah and the Lion

Emptiness and Broken Parts: Part 2

Emptiness and broken parts. I'm still trying to make peace with this broken body of mine...the rippling causes and effects. The pain of it all, it still ebbs and flows. Looking back on my journal, 3 years later today I've realized that those feelings have never really left me, and I still ache just as strongly.

We get asked all the time now..."Are you going to adopt again?" "When are you going to adopt again?" "Isn't it about time that you adopted again?" The short answer is...yes.

The long answer is...yes. The emptiness still aches. There are more missing pieces of our family out there. But as for the nitty gritty details of who-what-when-where-why-how...we simply don't know.  We need to find the courage and strength to start again. If this were an easy journey, we would have jumped right in again in a heartbeat.

But every story has two sides right? We let everyone in on the positivity and hope we felt during our first search. The very private second side of our story isn't so magical and starry-eyed. The aching depression, anxiety, worry and hopelessness we've experienced is downright ugly. I think people are very surprised when they catch slivering glimpses of that. Now just wait a minute...shouldn't we be so grateful and happy!? We are! We are so, so, so grateful and happy to have Loo in our family! She completes us. But...that has come at a very great cost to someone else. Adoption is so incredibly emotionally difficult and complex. It doesn't end after 9 months. It doesn't end after you are placed with. The ache, the heartbreak and sadness you feel for your child's birth family can be so sharp in moments it takes your breath away. Lucy was snuggling Steve the other day, and BAM...it was her birth dad's eyes staring right back at me. His eyes. Or BAM...a simple look on her face, and it's her birth mom smiling at me. Her face.  BAM...when her hair is in a ponytail, it reminds me of her birth sister. BAM...she is so snuggly, just like birth brother. I know they are somewhere hurting, and there is nothing I can do to change that or take that hurt away, it can utterly gut me somedays. There isn't a ache I've known like that. It's a painful love story, filled with a deep empathy few understand and see. It has been one of the hardest things we've ever done. And it still is now...2 years later.

So yes. We will do this all over again. We'll fight on to our next missing piece...it will be worth it. But right now, we're trying to build up our reserve of hope, strength and courage to get us through...

May 15th, 2014: Emptiness and Broken Parts

"I was talking with one of my wonderful new co-workers today, and we were talking about the ups and downs of adoption. I told her that I try and stay as positive as I can...but I have the occasional down days. She smiled at me and said wisely that I wouldn't be human if I didn't...and that she'd be worried if I didn't. I think she's so right. I think that being sad and allowing ourselves to feel those feelings is part of the healing process. 

So, that being said...I was sad this week. The room was warm, cozy and dimly lit. Almost spa-like...but without that cheesy new age'y music they play to lull you into a realm of relaxation. I wonder if they made the room that way on purpose...to calm patients jittery nerves. Because going to the doctor I've found, is nothing like a spa experience. I struggled to make a picture out of the black and white noise on the screen as the very nice ultrasound technician pushed and prodded on my belly. I nervously joked with her..."I'm sure glad you can see something in all that fuzziness...because I sure can't!" "Oh don't you worry...if you'd done my job enough...you'd know what to look for too!" Was her reply. And then the sadness swept over me for the first time. They found what they were looking for in there. And it wasn't the thing I've been longing for. There's nothing but emptiness and broken parts in there."

Recognition

It feels like a whole different lifetime ago when I started opening up and sharing our story. When I think back on everything that has happened in the last three years...I don't even recognize myself anymore. Who was that woman!? Looking back on her, I miss her courage, and I miss her strength. Gosh, she was ready to take on anything. And she did. She jumped feet first right into the stormy sea before her, and didn't even flinch as the waves swallowed her whole. And what a ride it has been...rumbling, tumbling, smashing, gasping for breath, hoping the waves that kept crashing would just spit me out and be done with me.

We've faced a sea full of storms.

We've struggled with our bruised and broken bodies. Infertility is a beast!

We began our adoption journey, and went searching high and low for our missing piece. And then we our missing piece!!! What a miracle she has been!

We've experienced (and still are!) everything that comes with parenthood and growing together as a family. And you know what...being a parent...it's hard stuff! Amazing, miraculous and wonderful...but still hard.

We've mourned (and still are!) the loss of the relationship we wish we could have with Loo's birth family. That is a space in my heart where I think it will always ache. As their story is not my story to tell, it will stay in my heart, and I won't share it here, but it will still ache nonetheless.

All of these storms we've braved...as hard as they were, I'm learning that I need to honor this time in our lives that we've gone through, and give it recognition, and pause to remember where we've been.

I think it's time to start looking forward now...because I am STILL her...even after everything.

Jumping back in

It's been a long time ol' blog...it's been a long time. And I think the time has come for us to jump back in...

Where to jump back in though? So much has changed...in way's I feel like we're in a completely different world than we were before Lucy came. SO. Many. Thoughts. SO. Many. Feelings.

How we've blinked...and our baby is now a little girl? How did that happen!? She is the sweetest little lady, she's kind, and sensitive, silly and sassy, curious and so dang cute. How did we get so lucky to have her in our lives? Sometimes we just lay in bed at night, looking at pictures of her, still in disbelief that she's here in our family. How did we get so lucky?

I wasn't ready for the pain though. The loss. The pain of the loss of her birth family. It ACHES. Everyday...wondering how they are, if they are okay. Wishing there was someway we could make things better for their family. I'm still trying to process this pain, and work through it...give it words. They're story isn't ours to tell...and the door is always open to them, because they will always be a part of us...and we will always love them.

Yesterday...

Has it really only been 7 months? I remember the day you were born like it was yesterday…and yet it feels like it was forever ago. How our world has changed since that day!  

March left me on pins and needles with anticipation…would you really come be a part of our family? So many unknowns, so many what-if's? The roller-coaster ride of our search left my rattled heart battered and bruised in the cage of my chest, it ached like never before. I knew that however this would end...there would still be pain on either side. This pain of longing for a child was a double-edged sword. I knew that the end of my heartache would mean another woman, another family, their heartache would then begin. That thought still haunts my heart with sadness to this day.  

It was the last Monday of March, mid-lunch…my phone rang and it was your birth mom calling...or so I thought. “Hi C!” I excitedly answered. My cheery greeting was met with an almost inaudible reply from your birth father…”C just had the baby…”

C just had the baby. C just had the baby. What?!

My mind couldn’t process the words your birth dad was speaking. C just had the baby. You. You were HERE!!!!

Your birth dad bravely had just minutes before delivered you…at home. You were born at home on a Monday. After the ambulance came to rush you and your birth mom away to the hospital, your birth dad called to let me know that you were HERE.  I was in shock…and I'm sure he was in shock! Either way…my head was spinning and I just couldn’t process the words he was speaking. Was!? Everyone!? Okay!? What!? Do!? We!? Do!? She!? Is!? Here!?

I raced down the hall of work shaking and shouting “she’s here…SHE’S HERE!!!” Frantic phone calls out trying to scramble a plan together...nothing was weren’t ready for you to make your grand entrance! I tried to reach your daddy…and finally was able to get a hold of him! “SHE’S HERE!!!”

I couldn’t even concentrate long enough to get things hastily squared away at work…I had to race up to the hospital to meet you. The drive was a blur…and my phone was a buzz the entire way up…calling everyone to let them know you were here! Your dad ran home to gather up our overnight bags, and he sped up to the hospital to meet us.

I made it to the hospital first. As I flew into the parking lot, I felt so urgent. My legs couldn’t get me to you fast enough! Running into the hospital, it felt so foreign for me to be there…it felt like a dream.  I asked out-of-breath at the information desk…where do I find you!?

On auto-pilot, somehow my legs found the way up to the doors of labor and delivery. "I'm here to see C...?"  and buzzzzzzzz...they let me in. 

I saw your sweet birth mom first. I quietly entered her darkened room, where she laid alone and in pain. Tears sprang to my eyes for this woman as I found my way to her side, stroking her hair, letting her know it was going to be okay. I wish more than anything to this day that I could have taken away the pain from her. 

A nurse quickly came in after me and asked if I was the adoptive mother...and if i'd like to see the baby. You. They whisked me away through the hospital halls, and as we rounded a corner I caught a glimpse of you through a window. My heart burst. Tears ran down my cheeks. A tiny beautiful bundle of a babe with dark hair. I tiptoed into the room, barely aware of all the nurses a buzz around me. It was a reverent place for me...it was the first time I met you. One nurse said..."MOM! You're just in time to pick out a bow for her!" (it was pink, with little white polka dots). Another nurse said..."let me get a picture of you holding her for the first time!" Another told me that she looked perfect, she was healthy as could be.  The nurse let me wheel you to our room...where you met your daddy for the first time. Watching him hold you is something i'll never forget. 

The rest of the day, and the next few days are so fuzzy to me now. Between nurses in-and-out, phones ringing non-stop, a steady stream of visitors, frantically gathering up everything we needed for a baby, worrying if your birth parents were okay, and making sure YOU were okay, I forgot to eat...I forgot to breath!  I just remember many moments where it felt like my head was spinning off. I DO remember how much love we instantly felt for you. So. Much. Love. 

We've settled into our little life with you now...there aren't words to describe how I feel for you. You have my heart little girl. Who knew such a tiny person could light up your world so much? Everyday I am so grateful to your birth parents...they were brave and courageous to share such a miracle with us. You are such a miracle sweet girl!  

We found our missing piece...

SHE'S HERE! We're home...and we are in love with this little lady! What a miracle she is! We met the newest member of our family this last Monday! What a whirlwind week...her birth dad delivered her at home...he called 911 and they walked him though the delivery! What heroes her birth parents are! She is a 5lb 8oz bundle of pure joy...and we are so grateful she is here. We are so grateful to her sweet birth family for sharing her with us...she's a miracle to us! They gave us the greatest gift ever...the missing piece of our family! Welcome baby Lucy!! 

Thank you everyone for all your thoughts and prayers! My goodness, we couldn't have gotten here without them! Please keep the prayers up for our sweet Lucy's birth family...we love them!

The Plan

Dear Birthmom,

I'm a person who loves a good plan...(yeah, I'm that freak who gets a kick out of planning out the day to the t). Throughout our adoption adventure...I've pushed, pushed, and pushed for a plan. What's the plan? How are we going to accomplish it? What are the next steps?

But you know what i've learned...NOTHING HAS GONE ACCORDING TO "THE PLAN". Nothing. Shouldn't that freak me out? I'm learning...NO...it hasn't. I've felt oddly still as of late. I have no idea what that means...but I've just felt the need to be still, not to worry, breath, trust and let go.  Have faith...it's all going to be okay.

Love,
Jamie

ReMoved

We've started something big...

We've started getting things in order to become foster parents to babies. This has been something we've approached with wondering and searching hearts...is this the path we need to be on in our adoption journey? We don't know yet...

What we do know is that our hearts hurt learning about the hell these little survivors have been through. Imagine being taken out of your house, with your belongings in a trash bag, not knowing when you'd see your family again, and suddenly being in a place completely foreign to you. You can't help but to put all your worries and fears aside when you really and truely begin to grasp the magnitude of what these children have been through.

Hannah's Story

I loved this brave birth momma's story...

Hannah's Story from BraveLove on Vimeo.

Getting to know you...

I've always looooooooved pictures...photography has been my hobby for years. For the next 60 day's we're doing a fun Instagram challenge (check-out the hastag #hopingtoadopt60days) with other hopeful adoptive couples. Each day we're posting a different "getting-to-know-us" picture. #awesome #weloveadoption #hopingtoadopt Come follow along and get to know us better! Our instagram user name is: @amissingpieceofus 

What I choose to become...

Dear Birth mom, 

I wonder how 2014 was for you...? I'm not going to lie...2014 was a kinda hard year around here. It came roaring in like a beast, and brought us crashing to our knees. My body decided to rebel against me. Half my face suddenly over night was paralyzed with a nasty case of Bell's Palsy. I lost my confidence because of that silly illness...it took half of my smile. I also discovered I had low thyroid and PCOS (Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome), and that derailed us off our path of growing our family through embryo adoption. I had always been healthy...why all of a sudden was my body going crazy?  So many times I wondered, asking God "WHY"?!?!

Looking back, and thinking where we were at this time last year, I can see what a blessing in disguise those trials I had have been. I'm realizing that those trials helped put us on this path to find our family. We started learning as much as we could about adoption. And we had time to start this here blog. We have absolutely loved writing to you, someday birth mom, and hope our words can be a help and comfort to you someday. 

Good-bye 2014, bring it on 2015! I'm so glad for what I am becoming because of those trials. I'm glad I didn't let all of those perceived setbacks get me down, but instead I let them take me where I needed to be!

Love you! Happy New Year!

Jamie

What do we do now?

As the dust of 2014 settles, we're staring at the complete unknowns of the new year, and we're slightly paralyzed at the prospect. What does the new year hold for us in our adoption adventure? Well...we'll fill ya in!

We were so grateful to have an agency to help us navigating the world of adoption during this past year.  2015 is bringing some big changes though...hopeful adoptive couples (like us!) will no longer be able to adopt through LDS Family Services. That means...we're on our own now to find our family. And that is scary.

We have so many questions. Do we try this on our own? Do we find a new agency? Which one? Financing? Fundraising? (Did you know that going with an agency costs on average about $30,000? Yeah...quite the sticker shock!). Questions, questions, questions. What do we do now? What do we do now...

The unknown is scary. But both fear and faith demand you believe in something you cannot see. You choose! I know deep down that something is going to work. We WILL find our family. I have no idea how...but I have faith that we'll find our way. We're so grateful for the countless friends, family and even strangers out there sharing our story, and cheering us on. We don't feel so alone because of you. Thank you SO much! Will you keep cheering us on as we keep figuring this out? Will you keep reading our story, and sharing our story as we keep figuring this out? Who knows...maybe through you...we'll find the path to our family?