Publishing Ty's Book

A couple weeks ago, I received the elating news that Walnut Springs, a small publishing company in Utah, finally accepted my book for publishing! I finished Ty's book last spring, just before Ty's two-year passing mark, and have made efforts to find a publisher during this past year-and-a-half.

I have been waiting anxiously and hoping and praying this day would come, and now it has! The release date will be in January 2014. It sums up a lot of experiences that I share here on this blog, as well as some other details that I haven't shared with everyone yet. I cannot wait to see Ty's book in print--and mostly, to know that I get to share him and his special spirit with everyone.

I don't know if anyone really reads this blog, but I figured I'd post about it anyway! A title is still in the works, but right now it could potentially be titled, "My Borrow Angel: Coping with losing a child."

If anyone's "out there", I will keep you posted. = )

Answers to My Prayers

I am continually in awe when I am reminded that the Lord knows what we need, even before we realize we need it. What I write now is in reference to my guilt-induced post from yesterday. Dealing with grief can be very confusing, especially when we are removed from being spiritually fed on a daily basis. I think that goes for life in general. Life can seem so dismal when our focus is on earthly distractions, as President Uchtdorf referenced in his talk this morning.

I prayed yesterday and today before conference to find answers to the trouble I've been feeling again, hoping to hear a talk on how a person forgives themselves for a non-sin-related issue -- like guilt over a child's death. But I also told Heavenly Father that I was not sure what I needed to hear, but that I would hear something that would bring me direction and comfort.

Every talk one after the other was so good! But the two that struck me were first, Craig C. Christensen who spoke about the Holy Ghost and how the Holy Ghost can bring peace and comfort beyond our understanding. His words helped remind me of the incredible, undeniable Spirit we felt after Ty's funeral.

This talk lead perfectly into Shayne M. Bowen's talk where he shared his experience of losing his 8-month-old son, who aspirated on a piece of chalk. His description of that anxious fear waiting in the hospital while the doctors worked on his son . . . and then those devastating, life-changing words from the doctor, apologizing that nothing more could be done was so reminiscent of our own experience. I touched Dan beside me who was crying, and who continued to remember what it felt like to be a father afraid of the dark, unable to sleep, and wondering what could have been done.

The tormenting guilt that Elder Bowen felt was understood by us both. I soaked up every word he spoke, taking notes on:
-How he prayed for a change of heart
- Was given to known he had not been robbed and should look forward with hope, not despair.
-The Spirit World is real, the veil is thin.

And what brought me peace was hearing him say that it was ok not to "fully get over it" because even with the knowledge of the gospel, we are still separated and will not experience that full joy until we are together again. But in the mean time, that bitter pain can be sweetened through Heavenly Father and relying on the Atonement.

I loved that he spoke about remembering the peace felt at the funeral. My heart was so touched by the Holy Ghost during this talk, and I felt with all assurance that rather than focusing on guilt and forgiving myself, I need to continually remember how enveloped with the Spirit that Chapel was on March 13th, 2010. There was such peace and calmness that flooded the room that everyone had to feel the presence of Spirits from the other side present and confirming that all is well.

Even if I don't understand how or why Ty died, what I felt during the funeral and in the weeks leading up to and following his burial was real and inexplicably calming. Something that good could not come from something bad . . . right?

It's how I feel about the gospel. I do not know all things. I don't understand every concept. But I choose to focus on the things I have felt a testimony of. If I have felt it in one area of this gospel, the rest must also be right and I will understand one day. I am reminded today to take this practice into my thoughts with Ty's death. I must remember the peace and Spirit I felt, and always feel when I immerse myself in spiritual matters.

I feel so loved by Heavenly Father today that I could be in a mental place where I could hear these inspired words and be touched by them according to my needs. I have a testimony of prayer, and when I use it with heart-felt sincerity, the Lord answers them. He does! and why I do not make the effort to do so more often is something I need to work on.

Today I feel released from guilt, and while this may not always last, I have another experience to lean on when I falter in the future. I am comforted to know that leaders of our church have experienced these same feelings and still have conviction for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day-Saints.

I love general conference. Hope you are enjoying this weekend!

It Begins Again

Since becoming pregnant, I have found myself checking the baby monitor at night more frequently, even though Aiyana is an almost-17-month-old toddler and not a baby I need to worry about. The early mornings have my mind wondering, "She's ok right? Of course she's ok. . ." and yet, a tiny bit of nerves makes me click on the monitor anyway.

Ugh. It's beginning again. It's beginning all ready.

I've found myself trying to convince myself that surely, it won't be as hard as last time when Aiyana was born - -that I will not have that permanent anxious weight on my chest all day and night with my new little boy. I haven't let go of that hope, but I know having a newborn, in all its fragile-state through the first few months, is always going to be triggering, and always going to be hard.

My thoughts have often been revisiting my last therapy session in Provo, as of late, which was in January 2011. "Since you cannot rationally convince yourself that you were not at fault for your son's death, you need to learn to forgive yourself," my therapist had said. It was an assignment I had taken on, though I'm not sure I followed through well enough. It's just too hard to convince myself that I was at fault, but impossible to fully believe that I wasn't.

I know, I know. We've been over this, and around this, and yet here I am again. Even I am rolling my eyes at myself, thinking, "Really? Come on, you need to let this go." I still can't. I don't think about it all the time, but since becoming pregnant I have been, even reading SIDS articles about babies re- breathing carbon dioxide when a blanket is over them. . . which it was. And yes, Ty was strong and could lift his head and roll, so it doesn't make sense that he would be in danger. Often times, I think the blanket concern is for younger, newer babies with less movement control. But then I continue to read that babies with risk for SIDS are at risk because something is not right with their brain stem that would tell a "normal" baby to reposition away from inhaling trapped carbon dioxide. . . and so I find myself back to where I was so long ago. . . It could have been prevented. The one night I used that different, bigger blanket might have made all the difference.

And yet Dan still remembers and stands by the blessing he received from our Bishop, stating clearly that Dan knew before this life that he would lose a son. . .

I wish I just knew for sure one way or another so I could walk the path I need. If I'm at fault, I just need to know. Why is it important? Because guilt, more so than even learning to live with Ty missing from our lives, ever nags me from a small corner -- sometimes edging out further and stronger when I can't reign it back in, a nasty little demon from my personal Hell.

So I need to pretend. . . or accept? that I was partly at fault -- an accident, of course, like parents who might feel responsible for an accidental drowning or hitting their child with a car. I wish I could talk to someone who's been through that. The question is coming to me more frequently, "How do I forgive myself? How do I get over the fact that perhaps I could have a three-year-old running around with his cousins, playing with Aiyana and preparing to be a big brother?" I have no answer. Just conviction that I need to follow through with this assignment because no one can convince me 100% otherwise that all is as intended.

There's a mother's blog I read not too long ago whose daughter drowned on vacation. On her daughter's "Angelversary" (day of her death) she chose to honor her daughter by encouraging everyone to forgive someone, like this mother tries to do for herself. It was in August, and I went through the motions of letting go a white balloon for this little girl, as well as a white balloon with the words, "I forgive . . ." to represent forgiving myself. I didn't really feel anything for me, but it was a start and is a push in the right direction.

So, here I go on another personal journey, seeking forgiveness with help from Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ to know how to do this. Is it possible? Really? I don't know. I'm not sure how it is but I have to try 100% this time and see what happens. Maybe I'll find an answer during Conference this weekend.

Little One #3

I woke up so many times last name, hoping it was time to get up—to start our morning with finding out the gender of our baby. 8:30 Am arrived at last as Dan and I waited for our appointment. I could barely contain the excited nerves in my stomach, my foot bopping up and down restlessly. Only running a few minutes behind schedule, we were called in.

As jelly was rubbed on my tummy, the ultra-sound tech commented about how she was going to look through the anatomy: the heart, the lungs, the brain . . . I jumped in with, “and the gender . . .”, smiling when she picked up on my“hint-hint-can-we-find-that-out-sooner-than-later??"

I only had to wait a few minutes before she found the appropriate position. Before the ultra-sound tech even said it, Dan noticed right away. “It’s a boy, isn’t it?” The tech smiled and said, “Yes, how did you know?” and seemed impressed with Dan’s ability. Dan laughed. “Well, it’s sitting right there.” I, of course, did not see anything right away. Dan’s always better and deciphering the images than I am, so I questioned, almost afraid to really believe, “Is it really a boy?”

When the tech confirmed, my eyes welled up and my soul felt a thousand emotions past and present, and I sobbed audibly. I remembered when we found out Ty was a boy, and I felt his birth, his life, his loss. It’s amazing how much the body can experience in only seconds. And I felt sheer happiness and gratitude.

Dan explained to the technician, “We have a boy but he passed away.”

While I continued to cry, accepting the fistful of tissues to catch the make-up that I hadn’t expected to run all over my face, she asked, “Does this baby have a name?”

“Aaron Ty Kiefer.” It sounded so beautiful.

I don’t know how the ultra-sound tech continued to explore anymore with how my stomach was bouncing around with my tears, but I eventually calmed down after a couple more minutes, smiling in awe of the cute figure on the screen and quietly relishing in the fact that I have the opportunity to raise another boy. I could not feel more excited or more grateful.

Dan later said to me, “So do I need to say it?”

“What?”

He continued, “You were right, and I was wrong.”

I laughed (like that was even in question), but said, “I don’t care about being right. But I did just know somehow. Are you happy still?” Of course, he is. He really, really is. He smiled and held my hand tightly through the whole experience.

It’s been interesting anticipating this gender. With Ty, we both hoped for a girl and didn’t have any real expectations. With Aiyana, I hoped for a boy, but felt it was probably a girl. With this baby, I just knew from the start it was a boy, with more conviction than I felt with Aiyana. Hers was a hunch. This one just had to be a boy though, and I would have been shocked to hear it was a girl. Still happy, of course, but it just feels so right to me that we’re having a boy now.

I feel like I need this to add yet another page to my grief and healing compilation. I have yet to go through Ty’s clothes and belongings since we packed them away two-and-a-half years ago. I’ve been waiting . . . and now, I can decide which articles of clothing I could bear to see on another baby, and which ones I will need to stay in their current condition and state, with memories only for Ty. I know a few of them all ready, most of which are from favorite pictures. I don’t know how it will feel exactly, though Dan made me promise not to do it alone. So we’ll do it together one of these weekends.

It’s crazy how knowing one fact can propel me through so many thoughts and emotions, opening a heavy door with a very long hallway of unknown up ahead. . .

 

Year Two

Monday, March 12, 2012

Saturday turned out to be a good day, after all. Despite my "Dumbo" melt-down, where I kept crying off and on for a couple hours post-blog entry, I didn't shed any sad tears on March 10th. In fact, I felt quite happy. I spent the morning at a stake Relief Society birthday celebration (mostly trying to keep Aiyana entertained throughout the program) and then Dan and I attended the temple in the afternoon. Our Bishop's wife had volunteered to babysit Aiyana so we could do that, which was so kind and thoughtful.

I didn't specifically feel Ty's spirit near me, so I don't know if he was there or not . . . but I do know I felt peace again just like last year. Perhaps it's one in the same, I'm not sure. Either way, this year was considerably easier than last year. Having Aiyana with me helps so much. She is my healing grace! I've decided that I CAN believe it's been two years. In fact, I feel like it's been substantially longer. It feels like it's been years and years since I've held Ty, but it's good in a way. I could not bear the pain if it felt so fresh every day. Sometimes that's the power behind "time heals".

My friend visited Ty's grave for me. It was special because we've been corresponding for a year now, since her 4-month-old boy passed away last year, one day before Ty's 1-year-anniversary. I'm grateful for the relationship we've developed from simply emailing back and forth and sharing the burden of loss and healing.

 

I miss the cemetery; however, I have realized that what everybody told me is true: I have found Ty in Las Vegas after all, or he found us. I have felt him close one specific time in the temple a couple months ago, and I feel him often in Aiyana's nursery. Sometimes it's just that my thoughts are closer to him, so he may not necessarily be there. . . but the nursery has become what the cemetery used to be for me: Just a quiet, peaceful place where the Spirit can speak to me (or where I can occasionally sense Ty close). For me, it does feel different than any other room in the house. Aiyana, too, is incredibly happy in there. When she wakes from her naps, I often go in there and get her 20-30 minutes after she has woken up because she is just content to lay there and babble. I'm so grateful that the nightmare that tainted Ty's nursery has not followed me into Aiyana's sanctuary.

Sometimes I think too far ahead and wonder things like, "Will I write a post every year for his death anniversary? Will I let go balloons on his birthday for as long as I live?" I forget that there is not a right or wrong answer. For instance, during Christmas, only after hanging up the stockings did I realize I did not buy one for Ty. "Should I have?" I asked my friend, Lisa. She gave me some great advice. She said if I had thought to buy one for him then I should have, but the fact that I didn't think about it, probably means I'm ok not to. She told me to just go with my instinct. So that's what I'm going to do: just go with my gut when it comes to including Ty or writing about him or not. Not a day goes by that I don't think about him, but I feel myself healing every day that passes to where I don't need to process every sad thought through writing. I am grateful for that also.

Baby Mine

Thursday, March 8, 2012

I love most Disney movies. As a kid, the big event every summer was going back to the states so we could watch their new animated musical. However, "Dumbo" was one Disney I never really liked. Even as a child, I found it disturbing -- especially the scene where Dumbo's mother is locked up in a cage. Dumbo manages to sneak away to her for a visit. Chained too tightly to even look out from her barred windows, his mother sticks out her trunk and caresses Dumbo's face and wraps her trunk around his little one. The evident love and longing between the two of them is so emotional. As big tears falls from Dumbo's eyes, the mother elephant scoops up her baby and cradles him with her trunk, and she rocks him while the lullaby "Baby Mine" plays in the background:

Baby mine, don't you cry

Baby mine, dry your eyes

Rest your head close to my heart

Never to part, baby of mine

I was in the kitchen this morning thinking about Ty and wondering how I'll be feeling in a couple days. Just last night, I was telling Dan, "Sometimes it feels like it's just going to be another day. I don't think it's going to be hard really." (Oh, the denial!) As I was putting dishes away, this song played on my Pandora radio, stirring mixed emotions. The song itself is beautiful but the scene from Dumbo always comes to mind. Walking over to the computer, I couldn't decide if I wanted to change the song or not, and before I knew it, I was sitting at the computer bawling -- cursing Disney for this horrible scene of a mother and her baby forced to be apart.

Through my sobbing, I glanced over to the playroom behind me. Aiyana had wedged herself between the wall and the glass door. Watching me with a somber expression, she placed her little hand on the glass. (Seriously? Right at that moment??) The image of her trapped behind the window pane that separated the two of us, with her hand reaching out to me further broke my heart. I hurried to her, trying to wipe the tears away but as I scooped her up, the pictures of Ty all over the playroom flooded my vision and I completely lost it. The deep-rooted pain erupted, pulling from my womb as it tends to do. I squeezed Aiyana against me, feeling badly that I was crying like this in front of her. . . but she simply wrapped her arms around my neck and laid her head on my shoulder for a minute, quiet and serene. She let me cry. It's short-lived moments like this where I feel like she understands, and it's in these moments where I feel the role-reversal between Ty and me, like he's the one saying to me:

Mother mine, don't you cry

Mother mine, dry your eyes

Rest your head close to my heart

Never to part, mother of mine

If you want to see the scene I'm talking about, go to this link. Bring a tissue! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iCgDgJsTR_w
*sigh* . . . everyone needs a good cry once in a while.

Reunion

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

I loved our Relief Society lesson on Sunday about The Second Coming. After talking about Christ's return to Earth, and the destruction and resurrection and everything that comes with it, our instructor asked, "What feelings do you have when you think of His Coming?" There were a lot of nods when someone mentioned fear, as well as when someone answered, "A combination of joy and anxiety!"

I felt the Spirit so strongly throughout that hour of discussion. As a child, I always thought it sounded a little scary, but also hoped I'd be here for that time to witness the change and excitement. As an adult, my feelings haven't changed much, except that the level of excitement has intensified beyond measure. In the past 19 months, I have often said to Dan, "I can't wait for that day." My new favorite phrase associated with The Second Coming is how Christ will "usher in the Millennium". All I can think and feel is, "It's not happening fast enough!" I don't understand entirely how it will work, whether it's different if I am on this earth or have passed. But either way, in death or in surviving the turmoil that will come, I will be reunited with my son.

I have pictured that moment countless numbers of time:

My death as an old woman, slipping over to the Spirit World, where surely Ty will greet me as an adult whom I will still recognize; or here on this earth when angels might place him as an infant in my arms and I get to raise him. I imagine holding my arms out to receive him, witnessing that sweet gummy smile that lights up his eyes. With Dan by my side, I squeeze him tightly, laughing and crying in disbelief to be with him again. My sweet little boy.

I flipped through his baby pictures, craving that smile I just wrote about and those beautiful eyes staring back at me. Having taken 90% of those pictures, I couldn't help but think, "He was looking at me, smiling at me, clicking his picture from behind the camera. He really loved me." I know he still does. At times when I've found this groove of normalcy in my life, although not a day passes that I do not think of him, my mind is not constantly caught up in picturing his face and where he might be at this very moment. But then I have lessons like the one on Sunday, and I feel him all over again. So real. So alive.

When I hear a mother talk about her son who is serving a mission, I see the anticipation and joy on that woman's face as she counts down the day to his return. I completely understand, times a millennium! What a sweet reunion it will be.