Stormy Octobers

One year ago today, I awoke after what was probably the scariest night of my whole life.  Hurricane Michael had been snaking it's way up the coast, and though it was a tropical storm (or maybe even weaker) by the time it got to us, here's what it did to our home:



Honestly, that was when I knew our time here had run its course.  In the middle of the night, those trees had come crashing down, thundering on top of our roof as my oldest daughter woke up screaming, the deafening smashing coming from directly atop her bedroom.  As you can see, the trees completely blocked our door, and it was only by the grace of God that they didn't smash through the glass storm door and enter our house, where my then-two-year-old had fallen asleep on the couch.

I spent the rest of the night on the couch with her, unable to sleep, wrapping her in my arms and staring out the windows at the tall pines bending back and forth, wincing every time I heard another creak or crack under the howling wind.  We'd been considering moving for a while before that, but for me, this was the final straw.  I didn't feel safe here anymore--how could I?

We were very blessed that we weren't hurt.  A year later, there is still damage to the shingles above our doorway.  The trees have been removed from atop the roof, but they are still cut up and scattered around the yard--both the two that fell directly on our house as well as a third that fell over our driveway, lodging itself against yet another tree at a thirty-degree angle, creating a terrifying limbo-like situation that I had to drive under in order to get to work one year ago today.

My husband spent the day calling around for estimates to clean everything up.  The best one we got was over two and half thousand dollars before a friend from church helped us out for a fraction of the price.  Still, the stumps littering our yard remind me of that horrifying night.  They have every day since then.

When I was home from work that day, after discussing the situation as calmly as I could with Rashieme despite the fact that I felt a desperate need to move that day, we agreed that we would take steps to buy our own home, and if that was going to be too time-consuming or unrealistic for us, we would find a way to rent until we were ready.

Then I went inside and took a pregnancy test.

There was a very, very, very faint positive--one of those lines you could barely see.  I remember staring at it in disbelief, because though we'd been trying for a few months, I couldn't imagine that now, after all the chaos of the day, after my demand that we move, that now  we would find out we were pregnant for the fourth time (our third living child, as we lost our middle daughter to stillbirth in 2007).

I wasn't even sure it was positive, and not just a trick of my eyes--I'd brought it to Rashieme and asked him if he saw a line, and he was as unsure as I was.  In my heart though, I thought I knew--any line was a line.

I was pretty sure I was pregnant.

That night, I remember cleaning up a little in Shay's room, and I found a picture from her Sunday School class of Noah and the ark.  The picture had a rainbow, and it stated that God kept his promises.

I remember looking at that picture, at the rainbow after the storm, at the message, and wondering if God was telling me that the rainbow was coming.  That our prayers had been answered, even if the timing didn't seem ideal.

A couple days later, I took another test, and sure enough, it was a clear, unmistakable positive.

I picked Rashieme up from work that night, parking in the "reserved for parents with children" spot at the grocery store on the way home, asking if he knew what that meant.  Even though he might have suspected it from earlier that week, he seemed totally surprised at the news, and we laughed, and hugged, and it was wonderful.

Ten days later, I remember crying over that picture of Noah and the rainbow.  On October 23, we miscarried early--five weeks along.  I was shocked, because even though we'd kept the news pretty private, knowing that miscarriage is fairly common in the first trimester, I didn't really expect it to happen to us.

Not after we'd already buried one child I'd carried for six months.

It just didn't seem fair.

I wondered what about October was.  October 29 was Jasmine's due date, so every year, when the leaves change, I find myself thinking about what she would have been like.  How different my life would have been had she lived.  What she would want to be for Halloween that year, and if she and Kaliah would be close, or if maybe they'd argue all the time, being only two years apart.

Now we could add a housing disaster and a miscarriage to the list of October misfortunes.

I was struggling spiritually and emotionally, but what choice do you have except to keep moving forward?  I threw myself into my job, my family, Ravens football, church, really, anything I could find to keep myself busy... but I tried to be honest with God about my frustrations, my disappointment, my anger.

We conceived again on New Year's Day.  I'd never thrown out that Noah's ark picture, and I remember having come across it again shortly after that test turned positive.  This is it, I had thought.  This is our rainbow after the storm.  It made sense to me--because, obviously, if the first pregnancy had been viable, we wouldn't have been able to receive this new blessing.  New Year, New child.  This must have been the way it was supposed to be.

And then, on January 24th, on the exact same day as in the October pregnancy (the first day of week five), I miscarried again.

This time, "rage" is the term that most accurately describes the way I experienced the loss.  It happened at work, and I remember driving home and just sobbing and yelling.  I was done trying to rationalize.  I didn't have it in me then to be consoled by anything.  I just cried all the way home, and when I burst through the door and collapsed in my husband's arms, that was when I had told him we had lost another baby.  He didn't know we were pregnant for the fifth time--I'd ordered a onesie to surprise him with the announcement--it arrived a couple days later.

We went to see a specialist soon after that--more than anything else, it was because I didn't think I could withstand continuing to go through losses.  We wanted to make sure there wasn't a medical reason that should keep us from trying, something putting us at risk for abnormal pregnancies.

Thankfully, there was nothing terribly wrong.  Most of you know that we're now pregnant yet again--and that this time, I'm 25 weeks along (one more week than when we lost Jasmine), and everything looks good.

Here's something that's truly amazing--at least, I think it is.  Our due date?

January 24th.  The exact same day we miscarried most recently.

Some people would say that's just a coincidence.  Maybe they're right, but I don't see it that way.  One of the ways that I have consistently seen God show up for me throughout my life is in dates and numbers.  Case in point--out of all the possible days Shay could have been born, she shares a birthday with my late father.  The very first time it snowed after she was born?  That was the date my father passed away (or as I prefer to think of it, the anniversary of the day he entered heaven).  Here's another one--for a long time, running was a big part of my life.  The first time I ever entered a race (which I was very nervous about doing), my bib number was 316.  John 3:16 is the most well-known verse in the entire Bible:  "For God so loved the world, He gave his only begotten son, so that any who believe in Him would not perish, but would have ever lasting life."  As I was wondering what I was doing as a non-athlete who had somehow arrived at the questionable decision to show up and pay money to run against actual athletes, that number was confirmation for me that God approved of what I was doing.  I went on to run dozens of races after that, placing in the top three in my age group in many of them--I even ran a full-marathon the year I turned thirty.

Those little signs in the numbers and dates have always been confirmation to me that there is a God who loves me, that He has not forsaken me, that I am not forgotten.

Some people see that as naive.  Some people see that as weak, as needing to believe in something greater than one's self.

I agree with that second part--but given the choice, that's the kind of world I'd rather live in.  I don't want to live somewhere where I'm in control, even when I think it's obvious I know best.  I've messed it up too many times on my own to see that my track record is not enough to inspire confidence that I would run things better than God can and does--even the stuff I don't understand.  There are heartbreaks in this world, ones I've experienced and ones I thank God that I've been protected from, that I can't explain away.  But I don't think God calls us to do that.  I think He just calls us to trust Him in spite of them, to love Him in good times and bad, even when we're honest enough to admit that we're really hurt, truly angry, or hopelessly confused.

So as I sit here writing this, one year after waking up to the aftermath of a huge storm, and a metaphorical one that kept on raging for quite a while after--I'm choosing to be thankful.  Thankful for all the parts of that story, even the painful ones that I'd rather not have gone through.

We're buying our first home together.  There are still times when I wish it could have been different with Dad's house--when I wish I had the talent, the resources, the time to tame this forest and restore this home to something beautiful.  But the thing is, I tried.  I put in thousands over the years, and it was always one step forward, two steps back.  I'll miss the memories--sitting and looking out at the trees, remembering how my neighbors and brothers and I ran through the woods and jumped on the trampoline and played in the tree house.  I remember swinging on the porch on the rope swing Daddy built us, swinging in the yard in the tire swing.

But the thing is, I'm not my dad.  I tried my best, and it's just too much property for my family.  Sometimes things don't go the way you think they will.

But sometimes that's because there's something even better around the corner.

Here's a photo of Shay in her brand new bedroom:



And here's to making new October memories:  we close on the 25th of this month, and I'm looking forward to a future where Octobers are less stormy... but whatever is in store for us, I'm hoping to remain grateful.

By the way, we decided on Ivy's middle name:  Faith.

Ivy Faith McFadden.

Still

I'm no poet, but every once in a while, I like to try my hand at poetry.  This topic's been tugging at my heart lately, even though it happened nearly twelve years ago.  I call this one, "Still."

Still
You were still
No moving
No crying
Still

Still
Still I held you
Still I loved you
Still I wept
Still

Still I wonder
Still I miss you
Still I imagine your face
Your eyes, your smile, your nose
I see you in my dreams
Your curls, your hands, your toes
I remember the butterfly kicks
Would you be short, like your older sister?
Tall, like your younger one?
Maybe in between them--average height?
You were, after all, the middle sister,
My middle child.

Still I cry, sometimes.
Still I miss you
Though I never knew you--

But I knew you.

Still remembering
The hope I had
Still wishing
Still wanting
Still

Still I cry
Still I mourn
Still I remember

Still
Still...

Still I smile
Still, I hold your sisters
Still, I love blue skies and sunshine
And sometimes, the feel of raindrops
Still, I celebrate your life
Still, I thank God
For you.

Still.

On April Fool's Day, Blessings, and Hardships...

It's April Fool's Day!

Today, I'm thinking about how far my husband and I have come (no kidding).  On April Fool's Day fourteen years ago, Rashieme called his mom, and despite my frantic protests, he left a message on her home-phone answering machine (yes, we had those back then) that informed her I was pregnant.

I was, by the way.

And due in June.  And we hadn't told her yet, because we were terrified, especially me.  We were young.  We hadn't been a couple very long.  We were living together out of wedlock.  I wasn't confident that his mother liked me very much, because Rashieme had flown down to Florida to visit me for a week the previous spring, and instead of flying back home, he'd ended up staying with me, until we both returned to Maryland that fall when I got into graduate school.  He'd went home for a couple months before moving back in with me when we got our first apartment (after we'd realized I was pregnant).  If the tables had been turned, and I had been Schelita, I probably wouldn't have approved of the woman who lured her son to Florida, then stole him away to another county when he finally came back home.

I remember freaking out as I watched Rashieme record that message, and when he hung up the phone, I was beside myself.  What was she going to do when she figured out this wasn't an April Fool's joke?

Truth is, she responded the way I hope I will, if I'm ever placed in a similar situation:  She didn't judge us at all.  She didn't lecture us, aside from the fact that she scolded us for not telling her earlier.  She was in love with that baby the moment she found out about her, and she immediately got to work buying everything imaginable for Kaliah.  Clothes, toys, a crib for her house so Kaliah could spend the night.  From the day Kaliah entered the world until Madea left us, Schelita loved her unconditionally.  They had an unbreakable bond.

And it all started with an "April Fool's" announcement.

I see some women posting on social media, encouraging others not to participate in any sort of joke pregnancy announcement--and I get it.  Pregnancy is not a joke.  Some women try for years to get pregnant to no avail; others suffer one or more miscarriage.  It makes for a touchy subject, and I ,of all people, would never tell another woman how she should feel about the matter.

Our stillborn Jasmine Celine was born in 2007.  I carried her for six long months, about five of which I knew she was sick.  I held her for one day, when they baptized her in the hospital room.  I picked out one soft, pink blanket to wrap her in.  I chose her shiny pink coffin.

This didn't stop me from participating in a similar April Fool's announcement when we learned we were expecting with Shay.

It was Rashieme's idea, again--he wanted to tell his mom the same way he had the first time, ten years ago.  And I agreed, because for us--it seemed fitting.  So we drove to her house, and this time, instead of panicking that she wouldn't believe us, that she'd resent me for playing games with the truth, we eagerly showed her the photo on the my phone of the positive pregnancy test.  I still remember her smiling suspiciously, checking the rings I always wear, pictured in that photo, with the ones that were and still are on my finger.  It took several minutes of convincing, even though she knew we had been about to start trying.  I think it was a nice full-circle moment, considering how she found out about Kaliah a decade before.

We told the rest of the world that night--I'd already told my mom shortly after I found out, and we'd already informed Kaliah she was going to be a big sister.  We'd sent her on a scavenger hunt, and the last clue was a pair of baby booties, with a sign that said, "Happy Easter!  Baby McFadden December 2015."  We texted a few other people we wanted to know before I posted the photos of Kaliah's search to Facebook--one of Kaliah holding the booties, and one of that sign.  I captioned it, "We're Pregnant!  April Fools?  Or Naw?"  I added a hashtag, "OrNaaaaaw!" (it was also cool, at the time, to say that).

I still stand by the way we told the world.  For us, it was perfect.  We've always been a family who jokes.  (Schelita especially.  When I went past my due date, she wanted me to buy a realistic-looking baby doll, cover it with jelly, get in the shower, and start yelling for Rashieme.  I, of course, said no.  You have to draw the line somewhere).

But Rashieme and I have also grown a lot.  We've suffered two more pregnancy losses--both very shortly after I found out I was expecting.  I get why some women would admonish others for making any type of joke about such a situation.  So for that reason, if our announcement about Shay offended you, and you happen to be reading this--I apologize.

But if we got to do it over again--I'd do it the same way.  It's what Schelita would have wanted.  It was exactly the kind of joke she and her son shared together, often.

I miss her everyday.

I'm sure some people would disagree with that choice.  They have the right to feel that way.  For me, every pregnancy announcement I see is bittersweet--but I don't think I've ever actually had a friend who wasn't pregnant post that they were.  Maybe my friends are just more mature than most people.  Or maybe it really isn't all that common, and all the posts telling people not to do something are addressing an issue that isn't super present.  Every year I see far more posts (several, at least) telling women not to joke about pregnancy than I see actual posts joking about pregnancies (0, by my count--unless you count my own four years ago--then I'm at 1).

Back to the bittersweet part:  I'm always happy for whoever is expecting.  I pray continuously for healthy pregnancies, for healthy babies.  I don't want any other family to go through what we have.  And I am legitimately happy for friends, colleagues, former students, family members.

But every announcement also reminds me of the three announcements I didn't make.  One because we learned our child was sick before you get to "the point" where it's recommended that you tell the outside world.  Two because the pregnancies ended even earlier.

The one child I held in my arms, that I won't get to hold again this side of heaven.  The other two I never got to hold--I never even knew if they were boys or girls.

So the me that types, "congratulations," or the me who shows up smiling, gift-in-hand at your baby shower, is still the me who is triggered by memories, the me who wonders what might have been.  You know how I told Rashieme we were pregnant last October?

I pulled into the parking spot "Reserved for those with children" at the grocery store after picking him up from work one night.  He laughed, and asked me if I was pregnant, and kissed me--we were so happy.

And in January?  I ordered a "Baby Shark" onesie.  It read, "Due due due due due due September 2019."  It arrived in the mail the day after I miscarried--so rather than announcing a pregnancy to my husband, I came home from work early, crying, announcing instead that we were experiencing yet another loss.

More and more, I see women sharing their stories about their losses.  I think that is a really healthy and beautiful thing.  For every woman who does decide to share, there is someone or some couple out there who is more private--and that's okay, too--but maybe even for those who don't want to share, they can benefit from reaching out to the woman who does feel called to tell her story.  I'm encouraged by the frequency with which women have begun writing about miscarriage and infertility. It breaks down the stigma.  It reminds us that we're not alone.  And really, that is why I'm sharing these thoughts here--not because I do or don't want you to joke about pregnancy.  Not because I want you to feel badly for me.

But because there is power in our stories.

I've written about Jasmine a lot; I talk about it some.  I share some of that writing; other pieces are more personal.  Writing about it and talking about it reminds me that I had another daughter.  That her life mattered.  That it changed me (in a really powerful and positive way, actually).

I've written far less about our losses after Shay.  Having had a few months to think about them, I am grateful that God didn't decide I should carry another non-viable pregnancy to delivery--I don't know if I'm strong enough to go through that again.

They are still raw and painful losses, though they both happened even before the heartbeats could be heard.  After the first one, I burst into tears.  It didn't feel fair to me, that I should lose another pregnancy--not after burying a child.  It felt impossibly cruel.

And when it happened again?  I felt, upon discovering I was pregnant again, that I could make peace with that October loss.  That this must be the reason--that I wouldn't have been blessed with that new child, I couldn't have met that child, if not for the earlier loss--

But then, we lost that one, too.  And honestly, I just felt enraged.  I felt that my prayers had been answered and then, that answer had been snatched away.  I was at a loss.

I'm not angry, not anymore.  I still have moments where I feel the weight of those recent losses.  I still haven't made sense of it all--I'm not sure I ever will.  I'm not sure it's my job to.

But I do know that the more I've opened up and shared, the more stories I've heard in return.  We're not alone.  I'm not the only woman to have ever lost a child, and I'm not the only woman who has lost more than one, as gut-wrenching as that is.

I do know that I am blessed to have Kaliah and Shay.

I would like to have one more child, but as time moves on, I am becoming more at peace with whatever God has for me, still praying and believing that we might add to our family once more.  I don't know why we were chosen to go through so many hardships related to conceiving, nor could I guess why so many couples endure similar journeys.

I do know that I am choosing, one day at a time, to try to be better, rather than bitter.  To hold my girls a little tighter.  To take time for the little things.  To be honest about my grief and disappointment--with others, and especially with God.

I am not a perfect mother, anymore than I am a perfect anything else.  There are no perfect women, perfect wives, perfect teachers.  No perfect friends or daughters.  There are things I would do differently in this life, if I had the opportunity to do them over again.

But I will not live my life believing I am being punished for past mistakes.  Every new day is one that the Lord has made.  There is great adventure awaiting me around every corner, and like any good father, my God knows how to give good gifts to His children.

My losses are not some sort of Karmic punishment.  They do not mean I am undeserving of another child.  And whether or not I am blessed with another baby to call my own, I will live my life in wonder of the blessings I have received.

Whatever yours are, I encourage you to do the same.  Whatever hardships you face, I'd like to remind you that while they shape you, they, alone, do not define you.

Happy April Fool's Day.  Go play a lighthearted joke on somebody.  :)



From Easter, 2015. Top:  Ten-year-old Kaliah. Bottom:  Shaylin's announcment.

24

My apologies for the long hiatus.  This thing called the doc program began, and since then, well, I've found my time for writing endeavors limited, to say the least.

And then this other thing, a full-time summer semester with a full-time job in restaurant management happened, and I found that not only did I have no time for writing, I had no time for anything.

But classes are over now, and I have a special reason for writing today.

Some of you may know that this current pregnancy is actually my third, not my second.  Eight years ago, Rashieme and I lost our middle daughter, Jasmine Celine, to stillbirth.

I was 24 weeks pregnant.

This week, I am 24 weeks pregnant with Shaylin Meadow McFadden.

Shaylin means gift, and she truly lives up to her namesake.  Every day she flips around, kicks me, and reminds me that she is growing and alive.  She only sits still when I am working (and sometimes, not even then!).  All other hours of the day, in moments when I find time to sit or lay down, she is practicing gymnastics, reassuring me that not only is she still thriving--but that she is going to be a PROBLEM when she makes her entrance!

We could not be more happy or excited.

A pregnancy after a loss is still a bittersweet time, though.  It's been years, and I've found myself reliving painful memories.  Jasmine rarely moved, at least not to the point where I could feel it.  Strangers ask is this my first, and I usually answer, no, my second, even though that's not true.

I remember the day they told me her heart stopped beating.  I remember being shocked, even though I'd been told how this was going to end.

I remember the only day I held her.  It was her birthday, Friday the 13th.  That's a day I'm not a fan of, but not for the silly superstitious reasons.  We wrapped her in a soft pink blanket, the only thing I ever bought for her, and we baptized her, and said our goodbyes.

That experience isn't one I talk about or even write about a lot, because it's awkward for other people.  They don't know how to respond.  I respect that, and also, there is no use living in the past.

But Jasmine is also an important part of who I am.  She has strengthened my faith, and shown me how precious life and motherhood are.  She's made me appreciate even the irritating inconveniences of pregnancy.

God is constantly showing me how He hasn't forgotten Jasmine.  We found out, on all days, that we were having another girl on Jasmine's birthday.  I went to her grave that morning and brought her flowers and sat and spent some time missing her and thinking about her and talking to her.  I'd felt Shaylin kick before, but that morning, while I sat next to Jasmine's grave, was the first time I was sure it was more than fluttering.  It was like she was talking to her sister, too.  That afternoon, Rashieme, Kaliah, and I went for the ultrasound and found that we are being blessed with another daughter.

Shaylin will never take the place of Jasmine.  There's no way to know how our lives would be different if Kaliah's eight year old sister were with us now.  I wonder if she would like video games and Pokemon like Kaliah, or if she would be into cheer and gymnastics like I was, or something all together different.  I wonder if they would get along, Kaliah and Jasmine, or if they'd constantly argue like my brothers and I did.  Kaliah is blessed to finally have a sister here with her, but a two year age difference and a ten year gap are not the same.

Everything happens for a reason though, and I don't say that as a trite, one size fits all, look at the glass half-full mentality.  I say it because I believe God is in charge, and that nothing that has happened to us has been outside His control.  I believe Jasmine is in heaven, and I know--know--that I will finally meet her and see her smile one day.

So as I reach the point in this pregnancy where my other one ended, I am nothing but thankful.  Thankful for the new life I have inside me; thankful for my new life in Jesus Christ, and thankful for the new life I will one day share with all my daughters, and, God willing, maybe a son, too.

Pregnant with Shaylin Meadow McFadden.  Picture taken at 22 weeks, on my husband and I's anniversary.