Soul Searching

Several months ago, a friend of mine commented to me that he thinks I am one of the "most intense people" that he knows. My friend is always kind and gentle, and I think he meant this as a compliment; nonetheless, I was taken aback by his observation and felt mildly slapped in the face. Me, intense? I mentioned to BJ that my friend said this, and BJ basically immediately responded that he thinks my friend's observation is spot-on and he wholeheartedly agrees. My feelings were so hurt, but I wasn't sure why. I had never thought of myself as an intense or exhausting person, but if my partner in life, who knows me better than anyone and sees me everyday, could completely agree with this statement about me, then I knew it must be true. Self-examination was in order. I set out to explore examples of this "intensity," how it plays out in my life specifically, and why I reacted negatively to the comment.

My soul-searching intersected with Adele of course, as do many roads in my emotional and daily life. George is still obsessed with her voice and even her face, and my Adele Live DVD calms even his worst tantrums. The moment he sees her face, he goes into a trance like a man in love. It's hilarious, but that's not where I was actually going with this. We play a lot of Adele in the car since we are a family of Adele fans, and I began hearing with new ears the song "Don't You Remember." One line in particular states, "I know I have a fickle heart and a bitterness, and a wandering eye, and a heaviness in my head." That last part is what really stands out to me: a heaviness in my head. Since Adele is not actually a personal acquaintance of mine (shocking, I know), I have no access to pick her brain on what exactly she meant when she wrote this line. The line really resonates with me though because I see within me a personality characteristic of getting easily emotionally involved in circumstances, which oftentimes gets me in trouble. Most of the time I feel joy and utter contentment with my life, but there are times when things aren't going so well and I find myself consumed with grief---sometimes grief that doesn't even really feel like my own except that I have made it so. A heaviness in my head. BJ has been witness to this tendency in me since we first met, and over the years I have become wise to it as well. I find myself having to safeguard myself against it these days.

A perfect example of the heaviness in my head is the last nearly-two years of my life. Granted, during these two years I have been pregnant with two different babies and nursed one for a solid year. In short, my life hasn't been hormonally normal in four years. I'm about to give birth to my third child and my oldest one will still be only 3-1/2 years old when I do, so I'm no stranger to ups and downs these past few years. But that aside, I can see where my personal tendencies have not helped to buffer me against the downs in life that have occurred. The news of my best friend's baby Owen and his terminal brain disease rocked our world. BJ and I were visibly depressed for over a month, often tearful and despondent, but surely that is normal under the circumstances. Months went by, my own George was born, fatigue set in, and I found myself daily in tears while simultaneously feeling joyful and giddy about my own little family. As is usual, I talked with Sommer (Owen's mommy) every day, and I began feeling some relief as I knew that she was going to be okay. I found Adele's music during this time and I started listening to it almost every day and feeling relief as I did. Here, I thought, is a woman who also clearly feels heartache just like me, so I am understood by another. I could sing it out like she does, and I was learning that I was going to be alright. I wasn't quite emotionally back on my feet before my friend Laurie told me about her friend's son Aiden, who was tragically ill with whooping cough and was fighting an uphill battle. And here is where the heaviness in my head comes into play: I could have been there for Laurie but never allowed myself to get emotionally involved with Aiden. I didn't know Aiden or his family, and I didn't have to follow their "50 for Aiden" Facebook page with progress and updates, but I did. I chose to love a boy and fell in love deeply with him. He passed away three and a half weeks after I first learned of his situation, and my grief at his passing was every bit as deep as the grief of my grandparents' deaths---a child I had never met. I couldn't shake his loss, and a couple of close friends expressed their concern about my well-being in that first week, taking me under their wings, feeding me and my boys dinner because BJ was out of town, and just being there for me when I couldn't stop crying. I cried for almost a year. As I began pulling myself out of it and was finally feeling better, the May 20 tornado missed our house by 600 feet, devastated our community, killed more babies, and made fresh loss all around. This set me back a couple more months, but I can say today that the daily tears are gone and I am out of the tunnel.

Owen and Aiden will always be wholly entrenched in my soul because of the depth of their impacts on me as a person. The closure on my grief with Aiden comes because of several wonderful reasons: I have become friends with his mom Kristen, which was tangible reassurance for me that God works with peace in our lives. Secondly, my involvement with breast milk donation began because of Aiden, and that has become a passion of mine that has helped to benefit others and give me a purpose in Aiden's name. Also, I found and purchased a look-alike of Aiden's delicious little star blanket as a present from me to my next baby, little Van, so that Aiden can physically continue to be part of us and can help spread positive blessings to his little buddy Van. Having these positives in my life is inexpressibly important to me. Though these positives have come at the price of pain, I view it as a pain that has been well worth it because it has led to deeper, intense (there's that word again) relationships with others, the re-prioritizing of what is important in my life, a search into my own blessings, a proving of my own resilience, and a journey to the dark and back that has made me a more self-aware and loving person. I'm smart enough to realize that some of the grief I attributed to Aiden is really for Owen. Owen is still living, but the reality of what his life holds for him is painful to think about. He is a wonderful gift most especially to his family, but also to those of us who love him and want what is best for him. Van's middle name will be Owen, again a tangible connection to his buddy that illustrates that we are all in this together, just as with Aiden's blanket.

I do not intend for this to sound like a poor-me post. I am keenly aware that other people have suffered unimaginable losses in each of these circumstances, losses that far trump my own and produce grief beyond my capability of understanding. I have shared these stories as potential examples of the "intensity" that my friend mentioned---and my own characteristic of allowing my head to get 'heavy' during complex circumstances that are emotionally-charged but removed enough from me that I don't have to get involved. Sometimes I don't get involved. You know, hardhearted as it sounds, I barely looked at the news for a week when the Newtown school shooting happened in December because I knew for sure that I didn't have the emotional resources left to deal with anything like it. Numerous friends and family who knew my vulnerability at that time called me on that day to see how I was handling the news, and I had to admit to them that I had heard it happened but didn't want too many details because I just can't right now, I just can't. Thankfully, they seemed to understand. Perhaps that is proof of "intensity" in me...that a news story could potentially send someone over the edge and her friends know it and call her and check on her...even though she isn't remotely involved in the situation 2,000 miles away and has no greater claim to its grief than any other random Oklahoman who didn't know any of those people. It's also perhaps a testament to the awesomeness of my friends. =)

So after all of these months of soul-searching, do I agree that I am intense? Yes, I suppose so. Do I like it about myself? Yes. Yes, in fact, I do now. I think it helps me to organize my life with appropriate priorities and feel ups and downs that enrich me as a person and teach me new ways of being. I have to be careful though, I know, and keep myself from getting wrapped up in too much because I don't know how to get out of it once I'm in. As long as I know this about myself and can depend on my family and friends to keep an eye out for me, I can fuel intensity and make it a blessing rather than a curse. All of our personality characteristics reside on a continuum from good to bad; although growth is always a process, I encourage each of us to examine our own personal traits and use them for the mobilization of good in our lives. Enough about me though! Check out this picture of Owen, on the right in the green, at his second birthday party. He's so obviously surrounded by love, and I am so proud that he has reached his second birthday--previously thought to be unattainable. His stubbornness shows through every day. =)

 The black-eyed Susans that we planted last year in honor of Owen are thriving! A special flower for a special little guy!

Lovely Aiden

The Dropoff: Modern Day Wet Nurses

Keri and me:  a couple of modern-day wet nurses!

Today was the day!  Keri and I have been working hard, and now our hard work got to pay off.  She and I agreed to meet at OU Children's Hospital this morning to drop off our breast milk stores, and we scheduled a celebratory lunch afterwards.  I was definitely emotional about today; I found myself crying as we neared the hospital, the same one into which Kristen Smith walked with her baby Aiden all those months ago, and walked out four weeks later without him. He was the reason for all of this work, after all. It began with him, he has lived on in our efforts, and his life was not in vain. I cried again later when I posted a picture on Facebook of George and me handing over the milk, and then I cried again when I checked Facebook later and saw the outpouring of support from friends and strangers.  Having Keri there today was extremely important to me;  this decision has been meaningful for me all along, and Keri's addition has helped to make it fun as well. I was very much anticipating our trip to the hospital together with our three boys.

Before the boys and I left for the hospital today, I contacted the Lactation Center where we would be dropping off our milk.  A lady named Samantha kindly assured me over the phone that I could stay in the parking lot and she would come to get the milk so I wouldn't have to get out of the car.  For Milk Mama's like Keri and me though, staying in the parking lot would surely not work! We wanted to make the trek up to the lactation center, and we wanted to see where our milk was going. We wanted to put it in the freezer ourselves, and spend time talking to consultants who work with these babies.  Of course we got lost about six times on the way up to the lactation department, because that is always how things seem to work when you have two gallons of frozen breast milk, two babies, a toddler and a giant arm cast (not to mention a  somewhat disgruntled and misinformed hospital employee who is serving as the information booth attendant).  :)  The wonderful ladies of the Lactation Center were there to greet us when we did finally arrive however, and these included my dear high school friend Kellie whom I had not seen in years and who was spending the day working as a nurse on the unit. These ladies patiently answered our questions and were quite kind to tolerate our excitement on what must have been a routine day for them. It was clearly anything but for us.

  I couldn't believe that Kellie was there!  Never mind the blurriness of my inept phone.

Keri and I were able to see the breast milk storage room, and we got the satisfaction of seeing our milk go straight into the lovely freezers. We also got to meet with Keri's lactation consultant and ask questions to our hearts' content. And finally after having been greeted so warmly, we left with hearts full and arms empty. Keri donated a solid gallon, 128 ounces. She intends to donate more as she continues to pump for her son since she works full-time. I donated 116 ounces, which was 16 ounces higher than my original goal, but is now short of my final goal of a full gallon. Twelve ounces to go, and then I will call my body my own for a bit again before we try to have a third child. There is no doubt that I will donate milk again with the third child if I can, and this time for much longer. Can you tell that I am gladly embracing the role of a modern day wet nurse?

 George isn't sure about letting all of this go!

If this post can help others to consider the possibility of donating breast milk, time, money or anything that might be within their power to give to help critically ill babies, I would be grateful forever. Thank you, dearest family and friends, who encouraged me in this goal when I first set it in November.  You have truly blessed me. And while I have your attention, I will slip in a kind reminder that the CDC is now recommending pertussis boosters regularly, particularly for pregnant women, who are now encouraged to obtain the vaccination with every single pregnancy they have (article here). Much love to you all, and particularly to Aiden.

A Milk Donor

It has been no secret that baby Aiden Smith had a significant impact on me during his short life. If you're new to this blog or somehow missed the bajillion posts about him, you can read about his life and his battle with pertussis here and here. My love for this child did not end with his passing; instead, I have carried him with me in the forefront of my heart for the past six months. What I am finding in time is similar to what all kinds of people no doubt experience in the grief cycle, which is an eventual turning from inwardly-focused sorrow to an outwardly-focused promotion of legacy. This baby will not be forgotten by his friends and family, and he won't be forgotten by me either. In a sort of meandering search for ways in which to honor Aiden, I stumbled across an opportunity posted by my friend Keri on Facebook: the Oklahoma Mothers' Milk Bank. 

The OMMB is an organization with a mission of providing human breast milk to hospitalized critically-ill and premature babies. These particularly vulnerable little ones are often in dire need of breast milk as a means of survival, as they might be adversely impacted by other "nutritional methods" (i.e. formula). Each of these little babies is a deserving life, just like Aiden, only for many of them there is still a chance. And guess what? Much to my glee, I'm still a milk-producing mother, so I can be a donor! =)

The process of becoming a donor has been an involved one, with good reason. After all, these critically-ill babies are exposed to everything a donor has consumed. Once you pass a phone screen, in which you are asked about everything from countries in which you have lived, diseases you might have, and daily intakes of everything from coffee to herbs to prescription medicines, then you move on to the blood work (paid for by the milk bank) and the paperwork. The OMMB goes to some cost for all of this, especially the blood work, so they ask in return that you commit to a 100-ounce minimum donation of milk. Let the countdown begin!

The OMMB is a brand-new organization, and they will begin accepting milk donations (although they are certainly in need of financial donations currently) within the next couple of months. In the meantime, I am supposed to be dropping off my milk donations to the OU Health Sciences Center, where it is being pasteurized and then carefully shipped to the North Texas Milk Bank in the Dallas area. Not to worry, though: Oklahoma babies in need of milk draw from the North Texas Bank, so donating to there really means my milk can serve Oklahoma babies in need as well. Once the OMMB is officially up and running, my name will be transferred to the donor list there, and my donations will stay at the OUHSC.

My contact at the North Texas Milk Bank, a kind lady named Simone, told me that the ideal donor is a lactating mother with an over-abundant supply for her young infant. I would have been the ideal candidate with Silas! He and I pumped exclusively for six months, and I had such an over-abundant supply that I had milk stashed in four different freezers. This time is different, and my body doesn't seem to respond well to the pump these days, so I draw a lot less from that. With George I have only pumped on the days that I work and have only produced exactly what he needed, and thus I have no stored supply. As I am weaning him in the coming days (he turns one on January 18th), I plan to keep up my supply with pumping, and then donating all of the collected milk to the bank. Simone said there is a need for my milk, but not for long. Apparently, a mother's milk changes to fit her baby's nutritional needs, so the milk that I produce for my 11-month-old does not have the colostrum that a newborn needs; therefore, my milk is helpful for older babies who have become critically-ill, but within just a couple of short months, my milk won't be any good to them anymore. Crazy, huh? So pump I will! I have already begun, since George is nursing less than he used to; in addition, on days that I work I will donate everything I pump to the milk bank because George isn't taking a bottle from his caregivers anymore, and his intake of formula through a sippy is highly questionable at best. Although he drinks water from a sippy with ease, he tends to reject formula and breast milk from it, so I can't waste these precious ounces on George (I only work two days a week, so it isn't like he'll starve).

I am up to 15 saved ounces as of today. BJ has set up a cool little widget on the side of the blog, so if you're interested in following the countdown, it will be available for viewing. Thanks for letting me share this on the blog! Just one little way that I can honor sweet baby Aiden.

Running for Reasons

A couple of years ago I wrote a post about running and the different goals that people have when they go running. At the time, I was committed to losing my Silas-pregnancy weight, and my goal was completion of the Edmond Turkey Trot 5K with no walking breaks. It was so appropriate for me that my first complete 5K was on Thanksgiving Day, and that year above all others I celebrated by crossing the line with utter gratitude for my husband and my new son.

I mentioned in that post that one night in training I ran alongside (okay, trailed miserably behind) a fellow at the same park who clearly seemed to be training for boot camp. He wore a heavy-looking backpack and sprinted intermittently, paused for push-ups (with the backpack still on, mind you), and kneeled before a statue of a fallen soldier in the park. I was humbly reminded that we all have goals while running, and some are much more noble than mine.

Now, I am running for Aiden. I'm signed up for the Moore War 5K at the end of August and, due to repeated sciatic flare-ups, my running has not been consistent so this jog will kick my butt. I'd like to continue by running in the Hot Mamas 5K at the end of September. Just to let everyone else know who I'm running for, I made this fancy-schmancy shirt:

It says "Running for Aiden," in case you can't read it. The back reads, "EVERYONE needs a pertussis booster. Save a life!" Woohoo!

Another worthy goal comes from my friend Paige. Paige just recently married BJ's childhood friend Josh, and together they have committed to running for clean water in Africa. Paige, who has never run further than a mile (per her words!), has committed to the half-marathon because this cause is so dear to her heart. She and Josh already sponsor two girls living in Tanzania, and she is currently raising donations for an organization called World Vision. Paige said that money that she raises will likely go toward putting wells into communities that need clean water. She said that 50 dollars can provide clean water for one person for a lifetime. To read more about Paige and her cause, click here.

Friends, I hope that you are doing well. I remarked to BJ tonight that this blog is a true mirror of my personality and moods. The last few posts have been so depressing, which is a reflection of the moods I have felt since the end of June. I'm re-emerging now though, different and better, and my posts will no doubt begin taking more positive turns as healing progresses. Thank you for bearing with me; I know that terribly sad stories and plugs for vaccinations are not the only things you want to read about. For most people though, it is simply human nature to talk about what is constantly in one's mind.

A Case for Vaccinations

Credit the following quote to NY Times Magazine writer Susan Dominus:
"Andrew Wakefield has become one of the most reviled doctors of his generation, blamed directly or indirectly, depending on the accuser, for irresponsibly starting a panic with tragic repercussions: vaccination rates so low that childhood diseases once all but eradicated here---whooping cough and measles among them---have re-emerged, endangering young lives."

I can't tell you how many people there have been over the years that BJ and I have heard express fear of vaccinating their babies for the routine diseases. Despite the fact that the advent of vaccinations has been heralded as the greatest medical advancement in history, a number of parents these days choose not to vaccinate their children. For many of them, this decision is borne out of fear.

In the beginning of July, Aiden Smith was still alive and battling pertussis (whooping cough). We were visiting friends in Kansas City and I had a discussion with my friend Heather, who is an emergency room pediatrician. She and I talked about the former physician Andrew Wakefield, who has had a huge hand in falsely invoking public fear about a relationship between the MMR vaccination and autism. As a psychologist, I have debated this point to friends and clients far too many times (not with Heather though; she and I are certainly on the same side!). Since the time that Aiden's battle with pertussis became so desperate and eventually fatal, the debate over the safety of vaccinations has been heavy on my heart.

So let's talk about Andrew Wakefield, shall we? Even though his claims have been debunked and he has been stripped of his medical license in the United Kingdom precisely for the damage he did in all of this mess, people are still afraid that vaccinations will give their kids autism. So what exactly did he do? First, the giant myth that lingers--that Andrew Wakefield proved a cause-effect relationship between the MMR vaccination and autistic disorder. FALSE. Let me make this clear here and in the remainder of this post: THE CLAIM THAT VACCINATIONS MAY CAUSE AUTISM IS LUDICROUS.

Let's talk about what Andrew Wakefield DID do.
He decided to join forces with a pharmaceutical company that had worked to develop an alternative vaccination for measles alone; in doing so, Wakefield stood to make tons of money if he could find a way to discredit the standard measles-mumps-rubella vaccination already in use and substitute his alternative.  In addition, he decided to try to make some money by concocting a colon-related medical problem, encouraging a way to make his new diagnosis mainstream, and then selling specialized "diagnostic kits" to physicians for this specific colon problem. In doing this, Wakefield himself speculated that he could make $43 million annually.

So what did Wakefield do next?
Why, he recruited participants for a study---unethically from the beginning, I might add. First off, he acted without consent from the IRB, which is the agency that grants permission to researchers before they begin working with participants. He recruited 12 participants, which is an absurdly small sample size to try to prove anything. Wakefield claimed that all of these participants, who were children, had developed autism within days of receiving their MMR vaccination (remember, this is the exact vaccination he was TRYING to discredit for financial reasons). Truth is, three of the 12 participants never actually had a diagnosis of autistic disorder. Five of the remaining 12 had been diagnosed with autistic disorder BEFORE they ever received their MMR vaccination, and the remainder of the children (as documented by the hospital and physician records) actually began showing symptoms of autistic disorder months after the MMR vaccination administration, not days as reported by Wakefield.

Then, Wakefield subjected these developmentally-challenged children to repeated invasive procedures, including colonoscopies and lumbar punctures. Ouch! He took the laboratory records from these invasive procedures and changed the "Normal" findings to instead say "Abnormal." He reported that these children showed symptoms of a strange problem that he termed "autistic enterocolitis," which is a bunch of mumbo jumbo. But wait! How convenient! He just happened to have a "diagnostic kit" for this so-called autistic enterocolitis, and here it was, ready for sale! Ugh, you can sense my sarcasm I hope.

Wakefield continued the ruse by falsifying parent reports, plugging in numbers and other "abnormal" reports when it benefited him to do so, and otherwise blatantly lying to both discredit the MMR vaccination and plug his new "diagnostic kit" for sale. Then, he wrote up a journal article about it and The Lancet stupidly published it in 1998. They have since retracted it. Despite the onslaught of attempts, no one has ever been able to replicate his 'findings.'

So where is Wakefield now? Well, the United Kingdom nailed him, charged him with scientific fraud and the abuse of developmentally-challenged children, and stripped him of his ability to practice medicine in the UK. He now lives in Austin, Texas, where he continues to stir up trouble, claim innocence, and attempt to sue truth-tellers for defamation (his most recent defamation suit was dismissed by a Texas judge only two days ago).

Wakefield's incompetence and flat-out maliciousness has had far-reaching effects, beyond what these poor 12 children had to endure. The quote that leads off this post refers to the number of diseases that have resurged recently, likely in part due to the anti-vaccination movement that was strengthened by Wakefield. And if all of this isn't absurd enough, consider this statement by J.B. Handley, co-founder of an anti-vaccination group: "To our community, Andrew Wakefield is Nelson Mandela and Jesus Christ rolled up into one."

It's ridiculous and heart-breaking that babies like Aiden have lost their lives to diseases that should have been eradicated. People often look to physicians for their expertise, and I find it particularly egregious when physicians abuse that power. Another point for people to be aware of is the importance of adults knowing their own vaccine status. Some vaccinations require that adults receive boosters for them years later in order for them to remain effective throughout the lifespan; pertussis is an excellent example of this type of vaccination. For references and additional information on this topic, check out these links:

http://www.sciencebasedmedicine.org/reference/?p=1

http://www.theinconvenienttruth.org/2011/11/18/common-vaccination-questions-answers-and-myths/

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/24/magazine/mag-24Autism-t.html?pagewanted=all

Picking Up the Pieces

Well, in good news, George smiles at just about everything. Seriously.

Silas has begun singing along to his "Truck Tunes" songs in a falsetto voice in the backseat, all while wearing his superfly shades. Because he hasn't mastered long sentences though, he simply mumbles jargon in a really high pitch with an occasional emphasized "BACKHOE TODAY!" or "FORKLIFT BOOGIE!"

 I somehow can't believe it has been a whole week since Aiden passed away. Only now do I feel as though I have stepped out of my 'fraidy hole and am looking up to the warm sun through tear-dried eyes.  Aiden's death filled me with anguish, if you couldn't tell by the last two posts. I grieved more deeply and intensely for Aiden than I have for most of the deaths of people I have actually known. Over the past few days though, my grief has transformed from feelings of hopelessness and tears to mobilization, to a sense of "how can I help? How can I keep this from happening again?" Aiden's aunt Sarah, who runs both the 50 for Aiden and Pertussis: One is Enough pages, seems to have processed her grief through action all along, and finally I am at the stage where I can join her in this effort. Raising awareness about pertussis vaccinations will take a few different approaches in my life, at least two of which you will have to wait for. One will be a post co-authored by BJ and me in which we discuss the debunking of the vaccination-autism myth, which continues to be a reason why parents do not vaccinate their children. We're currently working on this piece and I would like to have it up by the weekend. I've also begun the word-of-mouth education to parents and grandparents I know, asking them if they are aware that they need to get themselves vaccinated for pertussis. Somehow this isn't common knowledge in Oklahoma, or in lots of places in the United States, which is why the CDC estimates that 92% of adults have not received their pertussis boosters. Unfortunately, it is believed that Aiden was infected with whooping cough by an unvaccinated adult.

My love for Aiden is complicated and difficult to explain. No one has actually pointed a finger at me and said, "You didn't even know this baby! He was only the friend of a friend! What's your problem?" Still, I find myself rationalizing why his illness and death impacted me to the point that it did, and honestly I have no answer. I'm a mother, I have a young child and an infant, and when I look at them I know how much I have to lose. But it's something more than that. I know that Aiden and his situation brought me to my knees in prayer far more often than I have been known to pray in recent years...and yet, it was a different kind of prayer. As my friend Cyndi eloquently stated, "...Mainly we Christians tend to pray...for the circumstances in our life to change. Whether it's about a health problem, financial, relational, etc. We're suffering, afraid, worried, and we want God to change our circumstances. But I think God is mainly interested in changing US." I've thought a lot about the prayers that I lifted for Aiden and what kind of effect these prayers may have had on ME; my soul-searching has led me to the notion that I cannot pray for someone so passionately and relentlessly without coming to love (and miss) that person so passionately and relentlessly.  Somehow, I have profoundly felt the void that his tiny little body created when he left this Earth.  I have learned other lessons this past week as well:

Be grateful for what and who you have in your life. Life can be ridiculously unfair. God provides peace. There is nothing as awful as a broken heart. Thousands of people (especially Oklahomans, I'm convinced!) can truly come together in the wake of tragedy.  And last but certainly not least, your best friends and family can blow your mind with their amazing generosity during your grief. I can't tell you how many wonderful phone calls I got from my best friends, which helped since BJ was out of town all week. My mother-in-law strategically kept me busy on fun errands out of the house with the boys and her. My mom cooked for us dinner one night, and Chanda and Landon cooked for us on another. People close to me let me vent and cry, accepting no apology for the out-of-place tears at work or in public, and people asked me directly about Aiden rather than sweeping the issue under the rug like something to avoid. For all of these things, I am thankful. Also, a thank you for those who pitched in for support on Silas' cut tongue, which was a real doozy and required round the clock Tylenol and pureed foods for a few days. (In this picture, the coloration makes it look infected but it's really not.)

Thank you, friends, for hanging in there with me during hard times.

Goodbye, Aiden

It's amazing how the lapse of time begins healing a grieving heart. Yesterday was one of the more miserable days of my life; I could hardly stop crying. Yet today I am able to type these words without tears. Almost. Last night by the time I put my babies to bed I was simply going through the motions numbly; it seemed even experiencing positive emotions somehow doubled back on itself to anguish.

Yesterday Baby Aiden passed into Heaven as he was removed from life support.

There were solitary moments yesterday when my heart wanted to stop with his. Somehow, though, the world keeps moving and we keep on living, even though a seven-week-old baby has been taken from us by a disease that should have been eradicated. I have never lost a child, but to a small extent I can imagine the pain of his mother Kristen, and that is part of what makes this all so awful. Years ago I thought I knew what grief was, but I was naive. These last three years of life have introduced me to grief associated with the sudden tragic death of an 18-year-old cousin, the diagnosis and course of illness with Owen, a friend's repeated miscarriages, the loss of the Hamill boys in the Piedmont tornado last year, and now this. I am a mother, and mothers as well as mothers-at-heart understand this: I have experienced each of these more profoundly than I personally could have experienced them before. Children suffering and being lost is something else. THIS is grief.  Aiden's family seems to be handling this beautifully, relying on their faith and their interpersonal support network to make it through, and for that I admire them.

The loss of Aiden resonates with me deeply and inspires me to say a few things:
To my family and friends, I love you. Loss renews the need for me to say that all over again, although I like to think that I say it frequently as it is. To my three boys, I love you the most. You have the best of me, and I pledge that now and for always. To the world, please get your pertussis vaccination and save a life; adults need boosters too! Young babies like Aiden depend on you to be healthy as they have no immune system themselves. And to Aiden, I love you and I somehow feel your absence already, even though I never held you. You make me want to be a better person so that I can make it to Heaven with you and meet you there. BJ and I have decided to plant a tree in our backyard, and we'll call it the Aiden Tree, and we'll tell our kids all about you as they grow. You have been part of Silas' prayers at bedtime and will continue to be, dear baby. And finally, I'm sorry that life here on Earth wasn't better for you.

Baby Aiden and a Crisis of Faith

 This sleeping little beauty is named Aiden Smith. He is only weeks old and has been diagnosed with Pertussis, which is commonly known as whooping cough. Aiden is too young to have received the vaccine. He is hospitalized here in Oklahoma City and has been on Ecmo life support for the past three weeks. The situation is becoming increasingly dire as he must be off of the life support machine and able to maintain his own functions very soon, as there is an infection in an Ecmo tube that is planted in his body, and this infection must not reach him. Efforts recently have focused on decreasing Ecmo flows so that Aiden has a shot of breathing and maintaining his own heart rate once they must shut off the machine.
 
We were first introduced to Aiden's situation by our friend Laurie, who is a family friend of the Smiths. The story is heartbreaking, and I can really sympathize with Laurie on what it feels like to have a great friend with a very ill baby. As Laurie told me more about Aiden over that first week, I gradually became more invested in this sick little baby. The family maintains a Facebook page named "50 for Aiden," and it thus makes it even easier to get oneself wrapped up in this child and his story through daily updates and pictures.

I cannot tell you how close to my heart this situation is. I have never kissed or held this boy, and I have never shaken his mother's (Kristen's) hand. The closest person that I know who personally knows this family is Laurie. And yet, I can honestly say that I think about this boy a thousand times a day. I have shed countless tears for him and his family. As he failed to go longer than 3.5 minutes today off the Ecmo, I openly sobbed as I processed the information that time is now running that much shorter. My heart has felt gripped in sadness for three long weeks. I find myself asking, how can this be? Why does this happen to children? Why do babies like Owen and Aiden suffer, and why do they potentially not get chances to live like I have, like most people get to? It is patently unfair.

It seems to me that the older I get and the more tragedy I see, the more my faith begins taking different forms. Please understand me here: when I use the word "tragedy," I am specifically referring to the fatal accidents and illnesses that have afflicted children in my life...I'm not even accounting for the adults. People call me a compassionate person, and I know that I have been created by One who is far more compassionate than me, One who has created compassion itself. So I just have to wonder, why this? Why does this happen? If my heart hurts beyond belief for this young child, then imagine the pain in God's heart, and why isn't He doing anything about it? What I have come to believe recently is that He can't do anything about it.

Some of you might remember my post in which I called myself blasphemous (indeed a former friend believed that of me as well and she has since sadly terminated our friendship because of my post). In that post, I iterated that I love God and believe Him capable of intervening in our lives, but have come to believe that He won't intervene for reasons that I cannot question. Well, my soul-searching has evolved from that point to a place that I feel fairly comfortable with; what I am concluding (based on my own experiences, not yours) is that God has created a world in which He has given us control and has put Himself into the passenger seat. He attempts to guide us with His love, His beautiful creation with all of its amazing qualities, and His promise of Heaven, but ultimately He does not control what we do or what happens to us. I cannot tell you how refreshing this idea, called the Arminian viewpoint, is to me. I was beginning to struggle from a real crisis of faith as I wondered constantly about the intersection between God's mercy and His almightiness. I wondered, is a God that controls every little detail and causes every affliction actually a merciful God? My last post made no secret of the fact that I do NOT believe that God plans for accidents, illness, or natural disasters. But why isn't He stopping them, regardless? I tell you, I feel so much better about my God and His beauty when I pause to consider that He put a world into creation without imposing Himself upon it, and now these accidents are not His doing, nor can He stop them (which is why He doesn't often seem to). He has completely relinquished His control. Lamentations 3:33 says, "For he does not willingly bring affliction or grief to the children of men."  Amen that He doesn't. And if He could stop the heartache, He would.

God offers me love, support, peace, and an eternal place to rest. He offers me wisdom and mercy. All of these I accept gladly from Him, and I believe it pleases Him when I act in accordance to goodness and peacefulness; after all, these very qualities come from Him. As a friend of mine said, He is there for us to help us through problems, but He cannot fix them for us. He has simply relinquished that control.

Please join me in praying for peace for Aiden and his family. If it was me, I would desperately be in need of it.