Our story of Clayton

This is what it means to be held,
How it feels when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive.
This is what it is to be loved,
And to know that the promise was
When everything fell we’d be held.

- the chorus from Held by Natalie Grant
(to hear this song, scroll down to the bottom of this page and click it...it’s the last one on the playlist)

Today is the seventh birthday of our firstborn son, Clayton Wyatt. Clayton was stillborn prematurely on July 29, 2001. For those of you unfamiliar with the story of Clayton’s short life on this earth, I’ll give a brief recap. The year before, in 2000, we had a miscarriage at only 5-1/2 weeks. I’d only known I was pregnant for a couple of days before we found out I was miscarrying, but it was still a rough time. We decided to name that baby Sam, for Samuel or Samantha, so we could refer to him/her by name, as a real person. Then about six months later, we found out we were expecting Clayton!

Clayton’s pregnancy was riddled with problems from the beginning, and we were told on several occasions that the baby would not survive. But then, the next ultrasound or blood test would always indicate that all was well. (There were a lot of ultrasounds and blood tests.) At 21 weeks, a routine ultrasound revealed a much smaller baby than expected for his gestational age, with almost no amniotic fluid. I was scheduled to be flown across the country to see a military perinatologist (high-risk pregnancy doctor), but the day we were to leave, the MedEvac plane broke down and could not leave the base. That evening, I had a very strong feeling that something was really not right, and so I called my doctor and he reluctantly agreed to meet us at the hospital. Once at Labor and Delivery, an ultrasound confirmed that our little one’s heart had stopped beating. My labor was induced that evening, and at 2:10 in the morning on Sunday, July 29th, little Clayton was born still, weighing only 3 ounces and measuring 17 centimeters (about 7 inches long). Then began our winding road out of grief.

Through the experience of losing my only child - and living with the lonely dichotomy of being a mother, but having no child - God was working. One week after Clayton’s stillbirth, we attended church at the base chapel. Now, Adam and I had not been going to church all that often at that point. (Church attendance isn’t the issue, of course, but for us, it was an indication of our priorities at that time.) So we were at the base chapel that day only because our hearts were broken. And that very day, I met another woman named Melanie who had also experienced a stillbirth. Because she knew exactly what I was going through, she was able to reach inside me somehow and help the very slow healing process to begin. Melanie invited me to come to a ladies’ Bible study that she was about to start at the chapel, Beth Moore’s Jesus, the One and Only. It had been years since I’d done any kind of studying the Bible, but I was suddenly hungry for the Word of God and also just lonely beyond anything I’d ever felt before. So I went. And it was absolutely out of my comfort zone, by the way. But I loved it. And they put up with me too. I remember how my poor little small group had to hear the story of my loss so many times, and how I connected it to everything, and how I saw the world through that experience. Seeing the world through the tragedy is how people going through grief begin, I think. And that can last a long time.

But the Lord was drawing us out...out of a long spiritual sleep, and out of the crushing pain of losing a baby. Shortly after Clayton’s death, Adam met a civilian at work who introduced us to his family and his church. The more time we spent with these people, the more we loved them, and the more we learned about the love of Jesus. Sunday became my favorite day of the week, just for the joy of hearing teachings about God and getting to hang out with the loving people of our new church fellowship. I kept going to the Bible studies at the base chapel and learning more.

The Lord took something terrible and used it for good - for teaching and correcting us, so we could truly know Him and feel His goodness and love and forgiveness. When I think of Clayton, I feel a deep sadness at never getting to know him. But no longer do I wish to change something that fell within the will of God. We have not been promised an easy road. But for those who are in Christ, He will never leave us nor forsake us...and He does truly want to bless us and grow us through the pain. God is always good, even when circumstances are not. Now, years after our loss, I can see clearly how this is the case, even in the death of our son. I hope and pray that someday my first response will consistently be thankfulness and the recognition of God's goodness - in everything, not just when things go the way I want them to. May He be glorified in all things.

Romans 8:28: "And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose."

Our sweet Clayton, we love you always. You are remembered and dearly missed.

Feeling the loss

I've been missing Heidi a lot. If you're not a "cat person," you probably won't understand quite how I'm feeling. I'm not truly a hard-core cat person either; I only really like some cats. Heidi is certainly one of those cats. Adam and I have always said she's the perfect cat - playful sometimes, but more cuddly than anything else. I could hardly ever sit down without her jumping up to claim my lap. I miss that. I can actually type better, but it's lonely - and worse than that, worrisome, not knowing what has happened to her. She has such a personality, and is so laid back and gentle with the kids, even Levi (who made a habit of pulling her hair and tail). She was "my girl." I don't have human girls, but Heidi has a collar with flowers on it because I can't put anything floral on my boys! I was her favorite person, always have been, and she and I used to have "conversations" by meowing back and forth. She could tell when I was upset. She always chose my lap and my side of the bed. We got Heidi before I was pregnant with any of the boys, over 7 years ago! I can't believe she's gone, and I can't believe we made it through almost the entire day yesterday without noticing she was missing. Sometimes she does "lay low" for a good portion of the day, but still...

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(I notice that I am wavering between present and past tense...the not knowing is the worst.)

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I pray that she will return! I had a dream just before waking this morning that we found her on a walk outside. Last night between 10pm and midnight I walked around our loop and also the inner loop in our housing area, posting signs on all the banks of mailboxes (there are 22 of them - now I know) and calling for her. Drake, Levi, and I made the same trek again this morning, and added looking and calling in the storm drains. (It's HOT here, even at 8am! Very hot.) I don't know what else we can do. I called the Law Enforcement desk on base, and the Animal Welfare Society which is right near our housing area.

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The guilt part stinks. I don't remember the last time I gave her much special attention. I spend a lot of time just trying to keep Levi away from her, because he's so darned mean to her, and hence, seeing her lurking near him tends to make me feel slightly irritated and wish she would just go away for awhile, because I know I'm about to have to stop whatever I'm doing and make him be nice to her. This past Saturday morning, Adam was fishing, and I was cuddling with Levi on our bed in the early morning. Heidi was being annoying, walking around, trying to rub up against me, and just causing more stimulus than I was ready for before 7am on a Saturday. I gave her a little push off the bed, and she left the room. It's interactions like this that I can remember happening recently; certainly not the kind of attention she deserves for being the sweet and easy kitty she is and putting up with what she puts up with (mostly this means Levi).

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I'm just trying not to think about what she's doing now, or what's already happened to her if she's never coming back. Too much loss right now. This is the fourth "loss" in the past couple of months that have, accumulatively, hit me hard. First, our family doctor, who delivered Levi and worked his tail off during my pregnancy to make sure everything was okay and that I got to attempt my VBAC, was just transferred to another base (McChord, actually, for all you Washingtonians!). The last time I saw him was in May, at Levi's 15-month checkup. Then our Bradley (natural childbirth) instructor, who also happens to be the head nurse on the labor and delivery floor where Levi was born, retired from the Air Force and moved away. She is just a sweetheart and has had such a positive and far-reaching effect on our family. Her retirement ceremony was hard for me. Adam couldn't make it. I got to hug her and say goodbye, and then, that was it. It felt so weird. I had someone watching the boys for the ceremony, and I just drove around afterwards on some back roads and cried. I knew what was coming next...and you know, too, if you know me or you've been reading this blog. Our beloved next-door best friends moved away to Alaska. It was sort of surreal. We knew it was coming for months beforehand, and then suddenly it was time. The packers came, the moving truck came, our friends stayed with us in our home for the last week doing all the final stuff with their house and outprocessing, and then they left. It's been empty here. And today I feel empty. I have what I need, my Jesus and my people-family: Adam, Drake, and Levi. But right now most of the little extra joys seem to have gone.

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I am sorry that I didn't love on Heidi more while we had her. I am sorry that we didn't get to do more with our friends during their last months with us here. I am sorry that things change, children grow up, friends move, people and pets pass away. Loss takes many forms. I was just not ready to lose Heidi yet.

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What can I expect but to feel disappointment and even emptiness and loneliness sometimes in a world that is not my home? My home is with the Lord. And my Lord is never-changing. Never Changing. When I've just about had it with change and loss, this is a beautiful truth.

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Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from the will of your Father. Matt 10:29

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(Sorry for the weird paragraph breaks with periods. Blogger was not letting me make any paragraph breaks, so I had to "trick" it with the periods. You don't want to read all that rambling with no paragraph breaks, believe me!)