precious.

Rusty's Auntie Marge is a first grade teacher in Dallas, TX. This last week we received a book in the mail of letters from from her first grade class who has been praying for Olive since she was born. On the first  page of the book was a letter from Auntie Marge that read...

"My class of first graders have prayed fervently and faithfully for both of you and Olive Hope. They proudly wore their Olive Hope bracelets. Oh, how they loved seeing pictures of her from you blog! They marveled how tiny she was in the first month. They oohed and aahed at her cute little face and giggled when they saw that little face all scrunched up. 

They were very sad to hear that Olive died. As we talked about it this week, I was amazed at some of their insights. The faith of a child is simple, straight forward. As I sat with them feeling devastated, they beautifully voiced profound thoughts."

Here are some of the notes from children in her class...

This was a card our niece Taryn made for us yesterday...

And this is a drawing from a stranger to me who is friends of Libby. She is an artist living in Michigan...

So many of you have been so thoughtful with the cards you have been sending and e-mails. There is no way I can write about all of them, but i hope that in a few months you will hear back from me. Feeling overwhelmed by the kindness of strangers and the love from close friends and families surrounding us.

Grief Dance-by Heather Spohr

This is a poem written by a mother who lost her 17 month daughter last year due to pneumonia. Her daughter Maddie was also a premie born at 28 weeks.

There is a lot of pressure that comes with grieving.
Every day, we get watched, observed, sized up.
People are constantly looking to us to set the tone.
We can hear them holding their breath,
waiting for us to smile, or laugh, or cry.

We are also holding our breath
waiting to see how people will react to us.
If we laugh, will people think we’re being disrespectful to our daughter?
Because sometimes we laugh.

If we cry, will we make people feel awkward?
Because we cry, a lot.
If we smile, will people think we’re okay?
Because we’re not okay.
We’re not better, or fixed, or over it.

It’s this constant up and down
like a thermometer…rising and falling.

But most of all, we put pressure on ourselves.
We get tired of crying, but we feel guilty if we don’t.
We miss hearing her voice
but just the sound of it can throw us into utter despair.

Our friends invite us to things.
We want to be with them.
But sometimes it’s just too much.
We hope they keep inviting.
We hope one day it won’t be too much.

Grief is a dance we don’t know the steps to
but we shuffle along, trying not to mess up.

why so open?

Often I've had people ask me how I've had time to blog over the last four months...or questions as to why I've chosen to be so open about the mess we have been/are walking through.

For me it has been my way to process. Writing has helped me clear my thoughts-- to work through the confusion between my heart and head.

Other times I felt too tired to pray, and I knew that if I put up a post that many of you would be praying. There were days when I felt like God wasn't answering my prayers and hoped that maybe he would answer the prayers of some of you.

Before Olive was born the only people reading the blog were close friends and family. After learning more people were reading along I remember hesitating to write some things so publicly...and some of those things I chose not to write on the blog, but instead in private e-mails. After a while though, I realized that people who know me well will love me no matter what I write, and if others don't understand...it's okay.

One thing we haven't felt during this journey is lonely. So many of you have been praying, watching, listening, and giving in all different ways...and now grieving with us. We have also met many strangers who have walked down painful roads themselves--who lost a baby, had a premature baby with complications, or who have a child with disabilities.  It seems that as they have read the blog and learned about Olive's journey it has brought up fresh memories for them.

It has even seemed to surface the experience of losing of  loved ones for many of you...parents, siblings, and friends. I know there is a difference between losing a parent from a child, but i think the pain of loss has many similarities.

This last Sunday at church someone came up to me with tears in her eyes and told me that her father died seven years ago. She has craved having him close again in a tangible way, but he has never showed up in her dreams all these years...until last week. She said that grieving the loss of little Olive brought back so much pain in the memories of losing her father and for the first time she dreamt he was close to her. She said the dream felt so real. He pressed his cheek onto hers and she could feel his skin...the acne scars and the warmth of his cheek. Even though our losses are different, there was a connection.

And that same connection I have felt with many of you. People have shared stories from their own lives and pasts that we otherwise would have never heard.

So I guess I just wanted to thank-you for walking this journey with us, and those of you who will continue to.

a quote i came across.

"You will lose someone you can’t live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up. And you come through. It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp." 
— Anne Lamott