Honoring Mia

Dear Family and Friends,

At the anniversary of her passing, we thank God for Mia Caroline, a precious girl we were blessed to hold for a brief time.  In honor of Mia, we invite you to participate with us in one or two ways:

First, I will wear pink on Tuesday, June 4, to remember our daughter.  Please join me in doing so as well.

Second, some of you may want to honor her by giving.  This year, many of you stepped in to help us in our crisis.  Thank you for your faithfulness. We feel strongly that the people most in need of our help are women and babies. 

Therefore, we invite you to give in her name, Mia Caroline Stel, to your local crisis pregnancy center.  Mia lived a brief life, but many mothers and babies are still in need of our help.  Pregnancy centers give mothers loving treatment to provide them the opportunities they and their child need to thrive.

By donating to a pregnancy center, we feel that you are helping to spread Mia’s message:  No matter how brief a life, each one is profoundly important.

Thank you deeply in advance for honoring her with your support.  Your love has helped breathe renewed life into our hearts.

Love,

Derrick and Ruth

PS- Our local pregnancy center is Modesto Pregnancy Center.  If you are curious about the services they offer or would like to give to this center, you can visit Modesto Pregnancy Center.

Introducing: Baker Samuel Stel

"The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.” Job 1:21

 We are pleased to announce the birth of our fourth child, Baker Samuel Stel.

He was meant to enter this big world the same birthday as his older sister, Mia.  And so it was that on April 8th, 2013 at 1:19 AM he made his debut at 22 inches long and 8 pounds 6 ounces.

 We are in love.  It is sheer joy to care for his needs and to watch him respond and grow.  He reminds me of his siblings but he is distinctively himself.  What a joy it is to be his mom!

 There has been new grief that has surfaced, and caring for him has brought clarity about my connection to his sister.  Baker has helped keep memories realistic and brought certain things full circle.  Caring for him has made me long for his sister more intensely than ever.  But, and I never thought I would say this, being with him has brought a measure of healing to my heart.

 It doesn't hurt that this guy is gorgeous and pure sweetness.  I have so many stories to share IF I ever seem to find the time or the focus.

Special thanks to friend Carole Buwalda for taking these beautiful pictures.  She was exceptional.  And when faced with the choice of taking her expensive camera out of sprinklers and let the nearby mom carry her own baby OR the other way around, she dropped that camera without a thought and scooped up my precious boy.  I love her even more for that(by the way, I did grab the camera for her!).

Thank you also to Amy Wohlgemuth of Buttons Diaper Co. for the beautiful diapers(can you call diapers "beautiful"?).

Pregnant and Grieving

Taken 2-27-13.

My Mia Wreath.

As the days dwindle before Mia's 1st Birthday on Monday and before my due date on Tuesday, I feel the need to get one last post in during what has been a unique season of my life- being pregnant and grieving.

My husband now mocks me for frequently telling people, "I have been pregnant for 18 of the last 20 months!" Please don't give him more material by telling him that I just learned that elephants have the longest gestation of any land animal at about 19-22 months.  Not quite the same, I know; I just never thought I could be pregnant so long and still feel alright.  I have to laugh and be thankful at the blessing of having had two babies grow within my stretchy abdomen over the past two years.  And for a woman who once thought children would never enter the picture, I am so very thankful.

Although these two back-to-back pregnancies have taken me by surprise, Mia and this boy have been part of God's plan.  I wonder if some people get tired of me referring to God- His plan, His goodness, His grace... but I've come to see so clearly how every day, every little occurrence is under His tender control.  When I'm more aware of His merciful control over life, I can relax and feel peaceful.  He already sees the entire picture of my life, and I get to find out along the way.

I feel like I need to let you in on some of the really honest truth of what it's like to be pregnant and grieving.  It has been very good, but it has not been easy.

I feel like I've made it through this pregnancy by the skin of my teeth at times.  I wandered around in a fog for much of it.  It's all been too much for me.  Did pregnancy hormones make my pain feel deeper?  Grieving a child has felt a lot like my life was ending- like I could hardly continue living.  I'm not sure it would have been easier if I had not been pregnant, and it may have been even harder.  I'll never know for sure.

Many strong emotions have surfaced lately, and I haven't slept much for the past few weeks.  I have felt like this baby is going to be Mia.  I have felt like the same thing is going to happen again to this child.  I have not felt the sheer joy and excitement of having a new baby that can carry you through a lot of the sleeplessness.  I have felt a lot of dread.  I fight anxiety.  I have been actively battling lies that my mind tries to entertain.

With that being said, God has been extremely good.  When I feel like I'm overwhelmed, it forces me to be quiet before the Lord.  I can fall apart when I'm alone and plead with the Lord.  I have no choice but to fall headlong into His strength.  It's a very hard and very sweet place to reside- in dependence upon God.  I'm falling short in many areas and I trust Him that He'll make my efforts right somehow.

Loved ones have been extremely good.  Family and friends continue to show us their love and support in personal ways.  I can't wait to have this new little guy in my arms.  I imagine that I'm going to fall deeply in love with him.

It will be hard, and he won't take away missing Mia.

For now, I'm humbly thanking God for His goodness through it all.

New Life

We celebrated Easter today by going to church this morning, surrounded by the people who have supported us with their kindness this year.  Our church has a special praise service, followed by a breakfast, followed by a traditional Easter service.  People can order flowers to remember someone who has passed away; these flowers decorate the front of the sanctuary and surround the cross in the front.  Being with our church family is exactly how I love to spend Easter morning.

I had to swallow hard as we passed the Ripon Cemetery on the way to church.  I wanted to remember that last year on Easter morning, we met little Mia for the first time.  Last year, I was induced into labor with Mia early on Easter morning.  We were relieved when none of the complications for which we had been prepared occurred.  The doctor quickly slipped her cord from around her neck and delivered our slightly over eight pound baby.  We had her around 9:30 AM, and a friend delivered the news to be announced during the Easter service at church.  After lunch, Noah and Gavin came with my parents to meet their baby sister for the first time.

As we drove past her grave on the way to church, I had to push away the sadness for a few hours to celebrate the hope that we have for new life.  On Easter, Jesus rose again.  And on Easter last year, we began our eight sweet weeks with our daughter.

Today special friends bought flowers for the front of the church, wore Mia's pink funeral ribbon, mentioned her name while remembering her with us, talked about how she affected their families, wrote Mia a letter... and my mom and I both wore her pink crocheted flower.  Loved ones e-mailed and texted to let us know that they were remembering Mia and praying for us this last week before our son's due date.

Derrick's cousin attended our church service with us today and had lunch with the four of us at my parents' house- it was sweet to have her company.  When she helped us load Mia's flowers into our car she asked Noah where we should put the flowers.  Instead of answering with "the trunk" or "the back seat", he said, "On Mia's grave."  So we went together to place Easter lilies from a dear friend by her memorial stone.

These sweet gifts from friends and family that help remember our daughter are healing for us.  God has enriched our lives with kind people and He has blessed us with deeper friendships as a result of Mia's death.  He has given new life to Mia, who is worshiping the risen Savior like the women at the tomb.

Jesus died on Friday to pay our penalty and rose on Sunday to conquer death.  He also experienced Saturday, when He was forsaken by God and was grieved by those dear to Him.  He understands sorrow.  I am so happy that we don't have to live everyday in mourning.  Today I remember that new life that He gave to Mia and that He gives to me.  One day, I will see my daughter in the presence of my dear, sweet Jesus.  Until then, I cherish the smaller miracles and kindnesses hidden within the sadness.

Springtime and Noticing Miracles

Dear Friends,

This has been the hardest year of our lives; we were devastated when Mia died.  Deep sadness still occasionally engulfs me.  It creeps up on me at the worst possible times.  I am thankful that with the New Year, the rawness of my constant grief mostly wore off.  That’s why it takes me unaware when it does sneak back up on me, leaving me ill or temporarily frozen for a couple days.

Grief ambushed me when we recently needed to drive seven hours to pick up Mia’s memorial stone… I thought I would be fine.  I was happy to do something major for our daughter.  I thought I would be happy to finally have her grave marked for family and friends to visit.  For months, Derrick and I talked about what we wanted to put on her memorial stone.  So why did I melt down the Friday night before we needed to make the trip?  I rocked in the glider in our nursery and cried for hours.  It felt exactly like we were burying her again.  Except that, on June 12, 2012, I was in major shock and felt almost nothing.  I guess the trauma had merely been delayed until eight months after her death.  Times like these remind me that I will never be rid of the crushing sadness that my daughter is not here. 

With this lingering grief, I have a very real need to open my eyes to the miracles within the tragedy.  I cannot miss the beautiful things that God is doing to bless me and to teach my heart during this time.  Uncontrollable grief will likely always be a reality, but self-pity is in my control.  (A friend just wrote about this on her blog; you can find this excellent entry here.)   

God continually surprises me- like when Mia’s tulips bloomed red on my dining room table for Valentine’s Day.  Or how her outdoor tulips fully bloomed for Noah’s birthday.  Or how they stayed gorgeous all the way until her memorial stone was set on her grave.  I had expected them to bloom a light pink, so it was almost like God was tangibly reminding me that His ways are better than mine.

I continue to have a very difficult time without Mia; there are hundreds of ways that losing her will always feel very cruel.  But I lift my eyes to My Helper who has all things in His very good control.  He is filling me up, healing me, and is daily renewing me.

Thank You, Precious Savior, for the tender ways that You show me Your loving care.  There is none more gentle and persistent in loving me.  I don’t really understand what has happened or what continues to happen to me, Lord.  I trust whatever You will bring in the future.  You hold and sustain me through it all.  I love You and need You.

Mia's memorial stone s

The boys and I planted bulbs on her grave in the shape of a heart.  Further below are the tulips we planted in our backyard.  Here is what they chose to write on her grave when we were finished:

A Wonderful Christmas... and the Aftermath

I usually find that my pain is the best impetus for expression in writing.  I had a wonderful Christmas that was truly joyful, although it was preceded by weeks of dread.  It gave me the rare opportunity to spend the entire time home with my little family.  During that time, my hope in God was peace-filled and was a great relief.  I had been told that expecting Christmas for weeks would be harder than the actual day, and that was definitely true for me.  Here is my prayer days afterwards as my heart struggled with sadness again:

December 29, 2012

Dear Lord,

I'm so glad that I made it through Christmas, and I even had a wonderful time at home with Derrick and our two boys.  And now the baby boy inside me is joyfully kicking at my insides.  He is blissfully unaware of his mommy's unpredictable sadness.  This year without Mia, Christmas was quiet, stress-free, and surprisingly joyful.

I think You want me to do my best to be joyful despite the deep pain that, although it may lesson over time, will never completely go away.  Rebelliously joyful.  My lingering question is: How do I balance rebellious joy with this pain?  How do I keep this joy real and keep it from becoming surface-y and fake?

Strangely, it can be tempting to choose to be only joyful and to slip back into denial.  Choosing joy is easier for me and for others around me.  Grief is not a comfortable place.  When I'm joyful and "doing fine", I'm protected from being misunderstood or avoided.  A couple days of feeling that the weight of Mia's absence has lifted can lead to a week of taking comfort in earthly means.  Earthly comforts, however, just don't fill my heart, and it's time to come before You in my broken state again.  Then it's time to be honest with You about how I'm doing and to ask You to help healthy tears to come.

Healthy tears express my sadness- the emptiness where Mia is.  Healthy tears open my wounded heart to Your comfort.  They don't wallow in hopelessness or sink into self-pity.  They don't entertain lies meant to discourage me.

I can go on in my own strength with a heart that seems strong.  Sometimes I can ignore the desire to hold and admire my sweet Mia.  Oh, to feel her vulnerable body in my arms and to put my face in her neck.  That would be a dream.  To have stroked her smooth belly while dressing her for church on Christmas... maybe one day.

I miss so much.  It can be easier to shut off this part of me that feels too much.  It isn't healthy for me to go on for too long pretending that I'm healed-like I'm ready to move on.  Like all these missing things don't bother me.

This week I started to feel truly joyful but then inexplicably sick.  I had a lingering headache and my stomach was not at ease.  I ground my teeth so hard the other night that I woke myself up with a start.  My dreams became scary and filled with stories of death.  Is this my body's way of telling me that I'm out-of-balance?  Being too strong for too long becomes unhealthy.

Thank You, God, that I know now that Your comfort is readily available.  You have taught me over the past six months of disorienting pain that I can rest in Your familiar comfort.  I can open my emotions and thoughts to You.  After waiting quietly, You have always been faithful to give the only deep calm that satisfies my weary heart.  You inject me with new hope.  You sing Your steadfast love over me.  You strengthen my legs for my journey.  You alone bring this brand of comfort.

I haven't yet figured out how to balance the sadness and joy, Lord.  Please remind me, as You have been, when I am trudging along again in my own strength.  Bring me close to You when my heart tries too hard to deny the pain and it becomes too hard to continue.  Staying open before myself and before You can be a vulnerable place... It's the only place that works.  Please help me to stay away from denial and to store up this love for Mia in my heart.  Bring healthy tears when I need them.

How I love her!  I smile and ache at her memory.  I won't ignore the precious gift she was and continues to be to me.  Mia has driven me closer to You, Lord, like no other person or circumstance ever has.  I bless Your Name for showing me such deep and thorough and real love through having her and through not having her.  You have crowned me with Your faithful mercies. 

I trust You with my heart, Great Healer.

Amen

Letting Go

Sometimes grief for Mia feels like an elephant is standing on my chest.  It grips my heart, and I find it hard to breathe.  I wish I had more words to explain the strong emotions that wash over me at unexpected moments.  There has to be many grieving people who wish they could shake those around them who seem to act so casually, like everything is normal.  Like their lives can be controlled... when yours feels like it is just about over.

Before my daughter died- before she was gone from this life forever- I had never really experienced grief.  That's not to say I had never lost anyone I loved: both sets of grandparents died, my aunt died too early from cancer, my "adopted" grandparents died.  Losing Mia, though, that grief has been a hundred-fold harder.  I've been astonished by it.

Before Mia died, I remember a common theme uttered by grieving people.  A common thought is often that everyone else has moved on while they can't.  I used to think this sounded legitimate and lonely, yet I'm ashamed to say that I might have believed this person needed to move on if they milked it a bit too long.  It would make me uncomfortable.  I really didn't know how deep grief could go.  I had been fairly naive to the impact of a deep loss up until now.  I am so sorry for that!

My inexperience with grief has caused me to wonder, Why does this hurt so much??  It even surprises me now to think that it took me about three months to even accept that Mia had died.  I texted a friend that I just can't wrap my heart around it.  Her death was unspeakable.  Unimaginable.

Why does it hurt so much?

A good friend just explained it to me this way: "She was part of you, Ruth. A baby is an extension of her mother."

That statement explained so much of the hurt.  I had to let go at a very unnatural time- at the closest point of my bond with Mia.  I've had three conversations in the past couple weeks that illustrate the "Letting Go" of motherhood:

A friend who had decided to stop nursing her child reminded me of how difficult it is.  When a mother is nursing her baby, she is the only one who can meet that need.  She spends countless hours skin-to-skin with this precious one.  Oxytocin rushes through mother and baby, bonding them together with mutual love.  Her baby watches her every move, knowing from whom its life-giving food comes.  When that stops, anyone can care for your child.  A mother loses her exclusivity.  Baby doesn't wake up as much at night to share those isolated feeding times.  Through her tears, this friend helped remind me how difficult that separation is.  She's had to let go of that close physical bond with her baby.

A few days later, another friend told me that her boys seem to be bonding more with their dad, her husband, lately.  They aren't glued to her side anymore; they're also in school.  She feels like she might have forever lost that influence a mother has over her young child.  Although she's glad they gravitate towards her husband, she was hurt that they care more about what their father thinks than what she does.  She's had to let go of her powerful influence over her children.

Another friend(who also lost her baby to SIDS) told me a similar, yet much different story.  Her child died five years ago.  Every birthday she had planned a loving celebration to remember him with her family.  This year, a loved one told her very honestly that he didn't need to have a special party to remember their son anymore.  When she told me this, my heart broke.  I could imagine how much it must hurt to have to let go of that remaining remembrance of a child with her loved ones.  We talked about having to cherish memories in our mothers' hearts, even when others don't take the time to talk about them.  Years later, she has to let go of memorializing her child with her family in this way.

At some point, mothers need to let go of their close bond with their children.  The bond changes; new ways of bonding occur.  Children become more independent.  Parents watch them grow, achieve, graduate, get married, have their own children.  This process was meant to happen over years- a lifetime.

Mia was ripped away from me when she was closest to me.  It hurts deeply.  One of the most hurtful and raw feelings I have had was that of missing out on raising her.  What if I finally get to see her again, and she's an adult? What if I never get back this time?  Early on, that thought would send me into a near anxiety attack.  Randy Alcorn, author of the book Heaven, says that we might be able to make up missed opportunities in Heaven.  Will I be able to watch Mia grow up and develop?

I have no nice way to wrap up these thoughts on the loss of a child.  It is so nice to hear people talk about Mia and validate the value of her life.  A friend wrote me early on about her tender observations while holding Mia- her skin, one of her legs that wouldn't stay in her blanket.  Those memories are so precious to me.  I'm not ready to let go of her memories.  I will always store them up and love her in my heart.  Oh, I'm not saying I always have to be sad.  But I can imagine a little bit of what the Bible means when it says in Luke 2:51 that Mary "treasured up all these things in her heart."  

From the time a mother carries a life in her body, her bond with her child is deeply formed.  It can hurt so much to let go at any stage.  God gave Mary the strength to watch her son suffer a cruel death.  He will give me the strength to let go while I still treasure up Mia in my heart.