Ty + S

I love this man, in all seasons.

 (Christmas time, Benjamin Utah, Dec 2012)

He is my best friend.

(Portland Rose Gardens, Spring 2012)

This month marks the 5 year anniversary of Tyler noticing me from across the hall before the first class of our last semester at BYU. 6 months later, married. What a choice blessing. I can't imagine me without T.

Happy 1st Birthday, Truman

Like several families I know, we have a couple of angels waiting for us in heaven. Today marks the 1 year anniversary of Truman's delivery to this world. He was, as you know, born deceased. His gestation period was a mere 135 days. He weighed just under a pound and was 9 inches long. He had his dad's eyebrows and long, muscular legs (Ty and I both have a 30 inch inseam, so it wasn't a generational thing). I sang to him, I talked to him, and heaven was very near.

While many dreams were broken on November 13, 2011, the dream I had of holding an infant in my arms came true:

Tears still freely fall when I think about the joys and sorrows of this day and the days that have followed.  I know I posted this song in my last post, but it bears repeating--I held Truman, and God has held me up through the support and love of so many angels, both here on earth and above.

Truman, I love you. Forever. Thank you for coming to our family. Your dad and I have learned more about the purpose of life and our desire to be a forever family because of you. Your spirit lingers, and we are so grateful.

To be Held

I'm having an emotional morning. In a good way. I was asked to teach a lesson to the women at church about the Resurrection. I was taken back immediately to my experiences with losing Truman and Sterling. It made me remember that a lady from church had wanted me to listen to this song about bad things happening but surviving. I looked it up onYoutube, and after some cathartic tears, I share the words here:

"Held" by Natalie Grant


Two months is too little.
They let him go.
They had no sudden healing.
To think that providence would
Take a child from his mother while she prays
Is appalling.

Who told us we'd be rescued?
What has changed and why should we be saved from nightmares?
We're asking why this happens
To us who have died to live?
It's unfair.

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.

This hand is bitterness.
We want to taste it, let the hatred numb our sorrow.
The wise hands opens slowly to lilies of the valley and tomorrow.

If hope is born of suffering.
If this is only the beginning.
Can we not wait for one hour watching for our Savior?

I have been held. Even when my literally aching arms have sought desperately to hold a child of my own to no avail--I have been held.





 

Pre-Ultrasound Post

Today is a day that I have anticipated for over 4 years now. A day when a darkened screen lights up and a little light is made known to the world--boy or girl, head size, kidney function, heartbeat a blazing. Truman was born just two days shy of his ultrasound. Sterling was 6 weeks away from that event.

Over the past three days, I have had nightmares of people punching me in the stomach, trying to end my pregnancy. I got a stomach bug and with all the throw-up and stomach cramping I thought for sure this pregnancy had terminated. My fears, while I am always working to keep them at bay, have been stronger this week. Stronger because of this force inside me that says I must see this baby. I must make it to the ultrasound.

Three nights ago, Tyler felt our baby move for the first time in any pregnancy. The amount of joy that filled my heart is sure to be doubled, tripled, quadrupled with every new moment of this pregnancy. We are in uncharted territory, and we are here together.

While reading in our regular spot of the scriptures this morning, I was amazed to hear Isaiah "speak" to me, such personal and profound truths:

“Sing, O barren, thou that didst not bear; break forth into singing, and cry aloud, thou that didst not travail with child. . .

For the Lord hath called thee as a woman forsaken and grieved in spirit.

For the mountains shall depart and the hills be removed, but my kindness shall not depart from thee.

And all thy children shall be taught of the Lord; and great shall be the peace of thy children” (3 Ne 22: 1-13).

All my children. I love all of my children. Perhaps a hint of sorrow will accompany the joy of this afternoon, the sorrow that has carved out the space in my heart to hope anew. I rejoice today. Maybe all of my children will be there.

A Vision

In Proverbs, the Psalmist declares that "where there is no vision, the people perish" (Pro 29:18). I can tell you--not having a vision is sticky. Life becomes swirls of redundant, dreary wasteland that gets traveled again and again--eg, a rut.  When we moved to Colorado, T's vision was clear. He would start medical school. Period. My vision was a bit foggier. I was leaving a great job, fabulous friends and family, and had been applying online for jobs since March. When we got to Utah for a three week hiatus from life before the journey to the Mile-High City, I still had not a clue what my future would hold, but I did find out that I was pregnant.

This news, while joyous for certain, added to my uncertainty of my vision for my Colorado experience. Who would want to hire a pregnant lady, a high-risk pregnancy lady no less? The first two months here left me tired, sick, and job searching to little avail. After a couple of job interviews in my field of mental health, I started wondering if my own mental health would prevent me from contributing to lives of clients in a meaningful way--I was discouraged. Worried about the pregnancy. Worried about money. Worried that the 2 years of school, year of internship, year of work towards my license as a family therapist was all a waste.

So back to the vision. When I applied to grad school, I had just miscarried for the first time with Sterling. My heart was in mourning, for the vision I had of motherhood seemed snatched away literally in the middle of night, leaving me barren of so many things, hope included. The vision then was this: I was to reap the blessing of an education regarding human emotions and relationships. I never knew if I would work in the field of counseling. I hoped I would conceive and bear more children, possibly while still in school (crazy what we sometimes hope for, right?).

Two years of unexplained infertility lead me to believe we would adopt children, probably children with emotional needs that would need my degree and skills. When I graduated and got a job, we started saving money for adoption, only to discover that I was expecting again. When we lost Truman, through months of tears and observed grief, I knew with greater assurance that my degree was not in vain. I knew what I needed to do to understand my loss. Continued healing came (and comes) from both my knowledge of God and His perfect understanding of what it means to lose a Son--and from my experience obtaining my masters degree in family relationships.

What is the vision now? It's still a little foggy, and that is really okay, because I don't feel like I'm perishing. I got a job at a Title 1 elementary school in their before and after program. 50+ kids who are at school for 12 hours a day because their parents are trying to make ends meet. Behavioral and emotional needs galore. The pay is pennies to the job I had before and it's not helping me towards a professional license. But the feeling of trying to meet a child's emotional needs in little ways is rewarding, and it is giving me purpose for now. The children are extremely excited that I am pregnant, asking daily if I am having a boy or a girl (I find out next week). I try not to go down the path of how confusing it would be for them if I were to lose this baby. They are so hopeful, so happy. It's hard not to be anything but that, too, when I see their smiling faces, faces that already know a lot of pain and the separation from parents and family, whether from divorce, displacement, or seriously spending the majority of their wakeful hours at our school.

Vision. I never envisioned being here. It's a pretty great place to be for now.

Climbing Solo while Pregnant: Not recommended

I have been silent for long enough. I have obvious reasons to not share my good news of being pregnant. I had originally intended not to let people know until I had passed the point of Truman's loss (19 weeks), but since Wednesday, have been feeling the need to share.

I am 15 weeks pregnant. I had surgery on Wednesday in an attempt to keep my babe inside with a procedure known as a cerclage . My experience at the hospital was one of hope. Nurses, techs, and doctors all wanting the best for me and "baby." All seemed shocked to find out that I had had two previous 2nd trimester losses. While this surgery is not a guarantee  that I will carry full-term or even into the third trimester, I now know that I have done everything in my personal power to stay pregnant.

A scriptural passage I have long loved comes from the book of Romans, referring to Father Abraham, "who against hope believed in hope" that he became the father of many nations (4:18). Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. I have not seen a pregnancy that lasts longer than the second trimester, so it is truly against my natural capacity to believe that my body can hold out longer than that.

But I hope. Against odds, against doctors' opinions, against my own fears. I hope in the Hope of Israel, the Mighty One, my Redeemer, yes, even the great Deliverer.

Elder Richard G. Scott gave an address entitled "The Atonement Can Secure Your Peace and Happiness" where he describes two types of rock climbing, soloing and in pairs. Elder Scott describes the safety and peace that comes from allowing Jesus Christ to be the lead climber:

"Let the Savior be your 'lead' in life. He has said 'I am...the Rock of Heaven...: whoso cometh in at the gate and climbeth up by me shall never fall."

What an incredible promise. I feel its assurance today. The assurance that I will indeed be able to overcome all challenges and sorrows that seem to stand in the way of my dreams, provided I trust and follow the Good Shepherd, rather than trying to lead myself along. To climb up to where He meets me has felt overwhelming of late, but reading these words today has given me rest. Sometimes climbing is just looking up.

The abandoned blog

Hi. I have been blogging, but not here. Tyler and I started a new *public* family blog (rather than the private one on which I rarely wrote.) If you don't have that address and would still like to hear from me occasionally, the address is:

tysunandersonfamily.blogspot.com

I will keep this blog for my personal musings when I feel so inclined, but Tyler has committed me to write at least every other week on the new blog (he writes opposite weeks), and so far, so good :)

In terms of me. . . . New world in Aurora. No job. No husband (well, I have him 'til Monday when he starts his first 9 weeks of intensive study--anatomy and dissections . . . I have an old friend and her darling daughter to keep my company. I have a new rental house that desperately needs some decorative flair. I have family at a  distance that needs my prayers. I have courage to chase away the discouragement that comes from starting over. By my lonesome.

I have sunshine. Literally.