And here's the rest of the story....

This is the best place to tell this story.

Many of you know my husband. And those that don't, just pretend you do. He is hilarious on most days. He provides hours of endless entertainment for myself and our children.

We live on a spacious piece of land where my hubby has no less than 6 tree stands, two feeders and two game cameras. He's an avid deer hunter, if you get my point. He relishes in the hours he spends sitting this stuff up throughout the year on the hunt for the big buck. Big Daddy. Now, he didn't get the buck of all bucks. That's not my point. He has spent countless hours, sitting and sleeping, in his tree stands. Countless. This particular morning, last Saturday, he had spent about 4 hours. The hours are too many to count that he spends scanning through his some 500+ pictures tracking the exact hour that a big buck comes across his feeder. It never happens. Never. Last Saturday, he came home with his cousin, Matt. I knew by their expressions, it had not went well. Their heads were hung in shame. No buck. No doe. Not even a raccoon. It was horrible. Opening day of deer season was an epic fail for these two. I thought tears were going to fall. Gunshots were heard all morning throughout the valley, I thought it was one of them. I had hoped, anyway. Matt soon left to wallow in his own self pity, while Jason stood beside his truck, his trusty gun in his hands. Jason held the gun, wondering where they had went wrong. They had a plan and the plan was perfect. His buddy, Rocky, pulled in to ask directions to another deer camp. Jason looked up, across our backyard, in deep thought. His eyes widened in amazement - a buck was running, slowly, toward the creek. He saw horns. His trusty gun was in his hands already. His plan had aligned. He fired one shot and the buck was down! I thought him and Rocky were going to leap across the pasture. They found the buck only a few yards from where it fell and put the last final bullet in him.

Peace has been restored in my house.

 

 

 

There's something insanely hysterical about life....

Life isn't easy. Life is never going to be easy. I don't care who you are, how much money you have, what kind of education you've received, who you married....as some point in your life, it has been hard. Difficult. Utterly painful. We all struggle. We all face problems. We all have hurdles to overcome. It's what you do in the wake of that hurdle that makes or breaks you.

My defining moment was obviously Jonah. He continues to define me. I was Elijah's mom for 6 years prior to ever meeting Jonah. Elijah shaped and formed me into the kind of mother I thought I always wanted to be. Maybe. I failed. I failed in many areas on Elijah. But when I became Jonah's mother and people stared at me - I like to think, in amazement - but I really think everyone was waiting for me to fall apart. Jonah defined me. When I held him, watching him take his meager last breath, I could have curled up on that hospital floor and died, in that instant. I didn't care about anything past that moment. Jonah was gone and I was still here.

I've talked about those moments until I'm blue in the face. Everyone has heard our story a billion times and yet, I continue to tell it. Jonah's presence in my life solidified it. I can't even put it into words. Miracles happen everyday. I know this. We've all been told this. But when a surgeon tells you that your son should have never been born - you know a miracle has happened. When he shakes his head, not understanding how his heart was beating, you just brace yourself.

We all defy odds. Every life is a miracle. Every moment is something to be grateful for. In an instant, it can all change. The life you knew five minutes ago could vanish. I didn't live to watch Jonah die. Jonah didn't die so that I could live. It was the never ending cycle of a difficult life. It wasn't just something that "happened." He was given to us, to meet us, to see us and to be a part of our lives. My husband changed on that day. The people that are the closest to him know this. He struggled for several years afterwards. He wanted to forget, to soften the blow, and sometimes, just pretend he never buried a son.

Yes, it's easier to forget than to face our problems. But in that, there is no lesson learned.

Tonight, as I was sitting in my living room, my dogs alerted me that something was amiss in my front yard. I hurried outside, expecting to find a snake. I didn’t. It was a tarantula the size of Godzilla. For a moment, I thought I was in a bad sci-fi movie. I ran inside and in my true Southern manner, yelled for Elijah to grab a gun and come on. I showed him the beast, which had apparently lost a few pounds by the time Elijah arrived on the scene (Elijah was not impressed.) Elijah debated on killing it while I’m yelling “shoot it” from the safety of my front porch. One shot did not satisfy me, while I cheered Elijah on to shoot it more than five times. 8 BB’s later, a curled up dead tarantula and a psycho mother, my children learned that at times, I may need medication. The tarantula learned that he picked the wrong land to crawl across.

My point is this: I am a different mother to Elijah. I'm a different wife to Jason. And I'm becoming a new mom to Elizabeth, after the adoption. (Dec 6th! It's a girl!) 

As my dad jokes, "you have a heart bigger than Texas." (Which more often than not, gets me in trouble.) I like to think I have a little bit of Jonah's heart living in me.

Opening Our Hearts....

I think of how drastically our lives have changed in one short year.  Some days, I can't remember it.  Other days, it feels like yesterday, hours away, in my memory.  We are coming upon almost four years without Jonah.  Four long years. I talk to older ladies at the nursing home as they recall the horrors of losing their children, burying infants or toddlers.  Seventy to eighty years may have passed, they'll still hang their heads and whisper, "I was never the same afterwards." It's true.  We are never the same. But as I tell everyone, there is a blessing in every tragedy, whether or not, you choose to see it or accept it, is completely up to you.  I choose to make Jonah's short life a blessing.  I want to remember our short days together with happiness.  I choose to work toward congenital heart defects awareness.  But it doesn't just stop there.  Without Jonah, we would have never opened our home to the children in our care.  We went from one child - one lonely, only child - to five children.  They each are unique in their own way and they each bring a wonderful dynamic to our family.  They push me to my limit, at times, but they each bring out something different in me.  I learn about myself as I learn about their personalities, their fears, their pasts and what I hope for their future.  With each child, we remind ourselves that we don't care about their past, our only concern is for their future.  We are preserving that each day that they come home to a safe place with a positive environment.  Did we expect things to be this way? Absolutely not.  Two years ago, we said only one child. We'd only bring one child into our home.  With each child we met, we found a new mission.  Some didn't work out the way we had planned, but we did everything, within our power, to protect that child and get them the care they needed to be successful in life.

 

Three and a half years ago, Elijah lay beside me in bed, asking many questions about Jonah.  He cried because he had only wanted a brother. He was a strong six year old but weak in that moment. I whispered that we would give him a sibling, I promised.  He looked at me through teary brown eyes, "You tried that, mom. It didn't work." I laughed.  It was so simple to Elijah.  His mind was innocent, clouded by the harsh reality that baby's do die. Those moments are long gone.  Jonah's memory still prevails in our home, but those conversations aren't present around here.  We're busy, just being a family.  We've very imperfect within these walls, but collectively, with all our pieces, we rarely notice the flaws.  And for that, I am thankful. Thankful that Jonah was with me for 17 days to show me how important life really is....to be appreciative for every given moment with our children, biological or not.

 

With an open home, we have opened our broken hearts.

 

 

 

 

Don't forget to join us on Team Jonah's Heart Walk team! Sign up here: http://heartwalk.kintera.org/faf/search/searchTeamPart.asp?ievent=1026368&lis=0&kntae1026368=6610DC03BC98434E821CC3A948025D01&supId=0&team=5367411&cj=Y

A Hard Truth

No one ever said this journey was easy. Difficult, at times, but well worth every second.

I checked B into an inpatient mental hospital on Friday. I had regret. I worried that we were wrong. Could he just be rebellious? Could we continue trying with him? When I dropped him off, I was told it would take up to four hours to evaluate him and determine if he could be admitted. I left and waited. At almost 7 last night, they called to tell he was admitted to acute rehab. They stopped just shy of calling him a sociopath. You did the right thing, was the last thing I was told.

What some people may have thought they knew about B, you never knew.

B is tormented by things beyond our control. He just turned 9. I think it's unfair to simply label him and toss him to the wolves. He needs help and I'm making certain that he gets it. Love and stability could not save B. He is a master at his illness. We've struggled with it. We've ignored the warning signs. We've disciplined him accordingly. We could no longer allow the other 3 children in our home to watch B self-destruct. It is what it is and it had to be done - that phone call confirmed to us that these measures had to be taken. I don't know if B will ever come back to us. I don't know if B can ever function as normal thriving citizen of society. I can't exactly say what his future holds but for now, we have to step away from him.

We have learned a hard truth in this journey: love can't heal everything.

I do know that last night our home was at peace. It was comfortable and we could relax. It was normal. His name wasn't mentioned. In two weeks, he'll move to a permanent facility to complete his rehab. He'll be further away from us, and we'll be asked then to make our decision. Be a part or walk away. We haven't even discussed it yet. B made it very clear to me as he was leaving that he didn't like me, then he turned and told me he loved me. I am allowed to call and speak him to him but have no plans to do that. They said last night that he misses me tremendously. However, he's manipulative. He'll say anything for me to pick him up. I'm standing my ground. This isn't about me or Jason or our family ~ this is only about B getting the help he needs and deserves. I'm angry at the adults that did this to him. Furious. It isn't his fault but it has to be corrected for him to have any chance at normalcy.

Pray for B.