Monday, January 14, 2013

The View From Here

There is so much running through my head and heart right now, so much that wants to overflow onto the page (er, screen).  But with so little time to write I find myself overwhelmed to wordlessness when I finally do have a moment to spill it all out.

What can I say to you, from right here and now?

I can say that I grow more and more in love with our rainbow son each day, even through frustration over sleepless nights and nap-less days, in love to the point of pain.  I did and did not know that a person could love like this.  It is too big for words. 

I can say that grief sneaks up on me still, and hits me hard.  I don't go looking for it, but it finds me anyway and I crumble.  When I stumble across a beautiful dress that would have been perfect for my now one year old curly haired daughter.  When someone sees the three of us, my husband and son and I, and says that it's our whole family.  When I see something on Pinterest about creating a piece of art for your family, and it wrings my heart out to know our family will forever be incomplete. 

I can say that the tears still come at night.  And during the day.  I wish she was here with us.

I can say that the time I've been able to snatch in five and ten minutes pieces, pieces filled with art-making, having been glorious and rejuvenating.  Whenever a free moment presents itself, I draw or paint or write without even considering.  I am learning just how important creating is to me -- after from my loved ones, and God, it is everything, it seems.

I can say that I still enjoy my new bangs, thank goodness.  That I try to be bold when I can.  

I can say that I am thinking a lot about God, and about what it means to trust Him.  I didn't do a very good job trusting Him during our son's pregnancy, and while at the time I thought that was okay, that it would get better once he was born, it hasn't -- I still want to control our every waking moment with a white knuckle grip, full of anxiety over the "what ifs."  That is no way to live.

I can say that I am terrified that our son will leave this earth before I do.  Terrified beyond the telling of it.  

I can say that I alternately seem to fall deeper into love with the Best Husband Ever and butt heads with him over parenting issues.  I can say that I expected this, and yet didn't.  I can turn so ugly. 

I can say that I am learning about love, and what it means to die to yourself.  The learning curve is steep, and humbling.

I can say that it is sometimes painful to realize how very little my son looks like me, when our daughter looked a lot like me.  And yet I also realize that this is probably also a blessing, because even with the two of them looking so different, my husband and I still sometimes think that it's Eve in our arms and not her brother.

I can say that I want a daughter, a daughter that stays here on earth with her brother, a daughter to dress in turquoise tutus and rainbow tights and baby gowns.  I can say that this scares me, too -- that I'm afraid if we had a daughter I would try to make her fill her sister's shoes.  That I wouldn't have enough love for three children.

I can say that it is difficult and strange and confusing thinking about what might have been, and what is, and what I hope for, and reconciling the three.  

I can say that I am making new art, and turning it loose into the world.  Here is one new thing.  It makes me think of one of my favorite books, Little Women.

I can say that I am also making more of these, and it is powerful, for me and for the parents with aching hearts who receive them.  (Follow along on Instagram, if you like, to see new creations as they develop).

I can say that it is a joy to daily watch my son slowly and yet not-slowly-enough unfurl new petals of growth and growing up.  He is the delight of my heart.  How is he already three and a half months old?

I can say that I wonder if my child should be the delight of my heart, or if he is taking a space that is God's own. 

I can say that I am tired.  That I am here.  That I am thankful.

That is enough.  That is a lot.  So much, in fact.  I am living in beauty and blessing.

13 weeks 

 digital art play

Love Rains Down


good morning, world!


  1. He's so cute and perfect! Thanks for your honesty. :)

  2. Glad to have on update on what's been going on in your life...much love, hugs, and prayers. What sweet photos! I LOVE your new bangs, btw. They look great on you and frame your face nicely. :)

  3. You both look SO happy in that picture!! I love it!

  4. Found you via creative everyday. My loss can only ever be different to yours (I've had 5 miscarriages now) but in my grief I have also found the need to create and just how important it is to give your heart the space to be nurtured. I pray you will find a peace, that the pain that steals your breath may ease and that you will be free to love who ever god brings into your life

    1. Thanks, Julie. I'm so sorry you've had to go through so many losses. I'm glad that creativity is a comfort.

  5. Oh Wow! You are working a very strong load of extreme emotions ~ Your son is so adorable and so glad you are creating that will help to heal the loss of your daughter and come to grips with Life on your terms ~ Tis life and it can be wonderful and tragic as you know ~ Sending lots of distant healing reiki energy to you and your family ~

    (A Creative Harbor) aka ArtMuseDog and Carol ^_^)

  6. I relate to so much of what you say. Especially about wanting a daughter to stay on earth too. I sometimes feel guilty for thinking that way, as if I'm saying my rainbow son is not enough, I love him so much I burst, but I cannot deny my heart pines for the pink in my life we thought we were getting with Belle.

    Like you it scares me, I'm scared I cannot carry girls and that something terrible would happen to us again, because somebody once said that to me 'maybe you just can't carry girls' I mean what a ridiculous thing to say to a scared grieving mother. I'm scared that a rainbow girl would be even more painful, because I'm scared I would compare her too much to Belle or try and relive the life we hoped through Belle through another girl.

    Such a delicate line between pain and joy this angel/rainbow Mummyhood.

    Caz X

  7. ... your header is simply . striking


    1. Thank you so much! I just put it up. :)

  8. I so feel for your pain. I cannot imagine the loss of a child. I am grateful that God has blessed you with another. I have a dear friend who called me one night in pain. I arrived at her house and she went into the bathroom - seconds later she screamed, the baby. I thought she saw the head, but no, the entire baby and come from her - and she was only about halfway through the pregnancy. I ran in and swooped the baby up out of the toilet and he took his first breath in my arms. He was tiny but perfect. The paramedics came and the ambulances and they whisked him away in one and her away in another. Sadly, he only lived for not even an hour. She and her husband had two other beautiful children prior to this but were not lucky enough to have another. I know they will always love this little life that was here for such a short time but made such an impact in all our lives. Your daughter will always be with you and your husband in your hearts and some day you will all meet up again in eternity. I know that does not fill the empty place you have now but do your best to fill it with God, with love for your new son and with the wonderful art you have been creating. I'm sure this art you are doing is very healing not only for you but for those you are creating for. That is a blessing. To be used by God to help to heal others. God bless you.

    1. Thank you for sharing that beautiful, terrible piece of your life, Paula. And thank you for helping your friend in such a profound way. You must have an incredible heart. <3

  9. i am so sorry for your loss... i will keep you in my prayers. your son is so adorable! and isn't it amazing that He gave us art to heal.

  10. Such an amazingly painful and honest post - and your art work is lovely too.

    Sarah @ A Cat-Like Curiosity

  11. Thank you for sharing, friends of ours had a 6 mo. old (their 2nd son)who they lost to SIDS last January. They had another baby (a girl) the end of July and I wonder if she feels like you do. She won't talk about it. But you help me understand, thanks for being vulnerable.

  12. Oh...your art is gorgeous, came here from Studio JRU and forgot why! May God heal you more and more through your art.

  13. Just perfect, all of it, the art, the honesty, and those precious pictures of your sweet baby boy.
    Visiting from studiojru!

  14. I too swung by from Jennifer's Studio JRU and wow... I love your art. Even more, I love your honesty and willingness to be real. Thank you for the bigger perspective! I also LOVE the photo of you and your boy... precious!

  15. Thank you for sharing your heart, Beth. Honest and raw. Truth. It must help others going through difficult times to hear someone else is feeling things they feel. When I read about the loss of a child, I always think those feelings must be similar to what my mom felt after losing one of her babies. My sister. You are brave to share. Thank you. And I love the new art pieces. Love them!!


"I am glad you are here with me."
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King