Now what...

I'm not looking for a magic happy pill that will take away the pain. I'm just dreaming of the day when I won't suddenly, and without compulsion, burst into tears. 

As we approach the one-month anniversary of Zoe's death, I find myself equally frazzled and drained...with no distraction ever up to the task of occupying this frightening foreign land of grief. There is peril around every corner and enemy combatants lurking nearby. 

I've tried to get out of the house for lunch a few times, and mostly tried to avoid the dreaded, "How are you doing?" question. 

I was able to return to church a couple weeks ago...but sobbed through every song like, "Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death...Lord, You never let go of me."  

I've started working out again...even spontaneously did a 5k/13 obstacle Mud Run...I know, I know...cry for help. Trust me...I did...no one answered. And yes, for all you smart alecks, I did injure my good ankle...happy? I learned that I could actually do this race thing without Olympic training...and that God will use a big ol' pothole to teach you some humility when you're trying to beat someone to the finish line. But would you believe that even as I was vaulting (I use that term loosely...very...loosely) over these obstacles in a single bound (just go with it...), all I could think about was how much Zoe would've loved to watch her momma do this crazy race...screaming and pointing...pointing and screaming...just to be sure everyone was seeing this old lady make a fool out of herself. So much for the distractions.

It most often looks like 1 step forward...3 steps back. Leading up to days like tomorrow when we will spend the day together as a family...doing things like parades, talent shows, kids' games, cookouts, and fireworks...it feels more like 10 steps back. 

Returning her adorable 4th of July romper to the store? There's no distraction for that. 

Leaving the cookie batter unmade? There's just no pretending. 

Yet more to the point, and weighing heaviest on my heart these last couple days, is the stories I continue to hear of other children...children that have gone unloved, unprotected, mistreated, and flat-out ignored. 

I saw on the news last week that a toddler was killed from heat stroke. A drunk father went inside his house and passed out, as his son died alone in a vehicle, strapped in his car seat.

I read an article that there is a hospital, in the province the twins came from, that is SELLING abandoned babies. The problem is...there's no way to tell if the babies were indeed abandoned...or simply taken for profit. It's all about the "business" of children. 

As I left Walmart on one of my umpteenth visits last week...already in tears, mind you...an elderly man started ranting on and on to me in the parking lot about Steamboat Days in Burlington and promptly jumped to, "...and I don't believe what they're saying...I think that mom did kill her baby! I really think so...they're gonna find evidence...she KILLED her!" All I could do was shake my head in stunned silence.

My only response beyond prayer has secretly been, "Send them here! I will care for them!!! I'm a...(say it with me now...you know what I'm going to say...) I'm a HOT MESS...but I will be their mommy! It's just not fair! It's just not right! They just need a home...they just need a family...and they're being tossed around like Raggedy Ann and Andy!" 

It feels like salt to the wound...these stories and more. When did children become our possessions rather than our treasures?!? How does a party on a Saturday night trump the life of an innocent child? Gotta say...I'm at a complete loss. What some people wouldn't give for what others toss away so carelessly! 

Stories like these have always been dreadful to hear, but I can honestly tell you, there is no such dread as to hear these stories after your own child for whom you so desperately fought to give life is torn away. No such dread. In a way that I can not adequately express, it feels like a personal offense. How dare they? 

But if I'm being fully transparent, I would admit that until Zoe was taken from us, I never fully understood the pain of those families I've offered condolences to...I've never had to cling to hope so desperately while singing at all those funerals...I've never truly grasped the value of life...not like I do now. Guess I should say...how dare I? 

How many times did I say, "I'm so sorry for your loss"...and then go about my merry way? Far too many, I can assure you...because what I usually missed was the bigger implication into which I'm beginning to sink my teeth. Not only are we grieving the loss of our sweet angel now, we are grieving her absence in every future holiday, in every school field trip, in every concert, in every graduation, in every relationship, in her wedding, in our grandchildren...that will never be. 

We are grieving a lifetime with Zoe. 

I believe that's why you never fully "get over" such a loss. There's no distraction, there's no cure, there's no replacement...there's just emptiness that can only be adequately filled with complete hope in, and love for, a Savior who's got a death grip on me...He really doesn't let go...through the calm and through the storm, in every high and every low. Guess what else? He's got big enough shoulders for all of us to lean on. He never tires of our tears. He never says it's time to move on. He gets it...more than anyone else on earth could even pretend to know how you feel...He gets it. He full-on WEPT over the death of his friend, Lazarus...even though He already KNEW He was about to say the word, and he'd be alive again! Just let that sink in a minute! He wept...sobbed bitterly...then wiped his tears, said the word, and Lazarus was alive. He knows how much this aches inside my heart right now.

I'm so grateful for a Comforter who truly understands the sting and bitterness of death yet gives me the example of continued faith and endurance in the plan of the Father. That's how I answered that dreaded question this week to a friend...I'm completely and utterly trusting in the goodness and faithfulness of God yet still feel cheated and rocked to my very core that Zoe is gone. Balancing those two...while heavily leaning toward the first...that's how I'm doing.

SO...now what? Where does that leave me...this continued heartache and newfound appreciation for life and the blessings it brings?  Well, I'd still take them all in...that, I know for sure. No one will ever replace Zoe, but each of these children have a name and a need...maybe God will choose to send them our way. I pray my heart will continue to be broken...and my arms continue to be open...for those who have no one to love them. For some reason, I'm sensing that He's not done growing this chaotic crew, but if His plan is not a matter of quantity, I'm confident that He desires to improve our quality of life...both in the Carr's and in every life we touch. I'm praying for the humility to be pliable in the hands of the One who truly does love all the children of the world.

"Celebration of Zoe Carr"

Well here we are...you and I...friends to the bitter end. Slightly over-the-top, but I heard the big swell in the music and got carried away. Although, I'm pretty sure I could get emotional hearing bagpipes right now...so take that with a grain of salt. (You're still stuck on the fact that I'm hearing music in my head, aren't you? In full disclosure, that's the least of my hang-up's...so be grateful for the filter I'm now choosing to activate.)

I could go into the intricate details about what made this momma emotional today, but I'll just tiptoe in for now. Some friends came over to help me get the house in order after Hurricane Hospital, and although I hadn't necessarily planned to do so, we went through and gathered Zoe's things. We took turns being strong. I was so grateful to have them here with me. We will just leave it at that. 

Another thing we're doing may sound odd to you, but I decided I wanted to do the final touches on the room as planned before Zoe's last trip to the hospital. She'd so looked forward to having her new quilt from Aunt 'Nita...and her very own name on the wall...and a special wall with all the pictures of each and every extended family member so she and Zane could learn who everybody was. So...before it becomes just Bubba's room...we're finishing the "twins" room. Some day I will share some pics, but for now, I wanted to share something far more personal...our life with Zoe.

Chris and our friend, Tim Svoboda, made this video to celebrate Zoe's life...we showed it at the conclusion of Zoe's memorial service. 

For those of you that were there, I hope you enjoy this window into our world once again.  

For those who weren't able to attend, I would humbly ask that you curl up on the couch for the next 7 minutes, grab a kleenex...or 5...and spend some time remembering Zoe with us...we will never forget.


Zoe's Memorial Video

Zoe-Sightings

Calm down. Step away from the phone. Nobody's calling the men in white coats. 

I'm not hallucinating...but I guarantee I've "seen" more of Zoe in these past couple weeks than anybody EVER saw Elvis. Dude...you know who you are...move on people.

Let me explain.  In the midst of our heartache and intense sorrow since Zoe's death, we've asked the Lord consistently to allow us just a small peak into what He's accomplishing through Zoe's death. We realize we may never fully understand the impact her death had on those that knew her, but that doesn't stop us from asking. I wanted to share some of those moments with you tonight.

Another reason for this post is that today was one of those "eat-everything-chocolate-in-the-house" days. Yes, it started at Walmart again. What can I tell ya...clearly I spend too much time there. It ended with us stopping by the cemetery briefly as we found ourselves driving right by...it was our first time there since the burial. The filler of my day was equally emotional...hence my need to be reminded of a sovereign God working, specifically through Zoe's death.  

A little girl I've never really spoken to much came up to me last week at Bryce's baseball game and asked me, "Why did that girl die?" I fully expected to start sobbing, but God gave grace, and I was able to hold it together. I said, "Well, she was born with a very sick heart, but God kept her alive until we brought her into our family. The doctors tried to help her heart, but they couldn't make it all better. So now she's with Jesus, and it is all better." Maybe it was the innocence of a child...or maybe another miracle...but it was comforting to hear those words coming out of my own mouth, and who knows how He'll use it in her life.

A couple days ago, we took little Zane to see his first movie, Monsters University. (Thought about that whole "trouble sleeping/fears" thing halfway through the movie...nice...we were the family that was ridiculously laughing at all the wrong places as we tried to convince Z that these monsters were just SOOOOO silly!!!! Parents of the year. Follow up: no ill effects noted.)  Anyway, as we were getting our loads of popcorn, a man stopped with his son and said, "Hey, I hate to bring up a difficult thing, but did you just lose a daughter?" Good grief...I tell you I had to swallow hard...but again the words just followed, "Yes, we did...that was us." He went on to explain that they were at someone's house from Ty's travel soccer team a few days earlier. He saw they had Zoe's obituary there, and he read the whole thing and has been praying for our family ever since. "I just can't imagine the pain you're going through, but please know that we are praying for you every day!"...a guy I met by the butter. 

One of the most exciting things to come from Zoe's funeral was the memorial fund that was established in Zoe's name at Swallow's Nest Home in China. We never could have dreamed or imagined that so many hearts would be led to give in Zoe's honor. To date, more than $3000 has been donated. This is both overwhelming and humbling for Chris and I. We are so thrilled to be apart of what God is so obviously doing through you.  It was so exciting to share the news with the home's director, and I wanted to share with you her response! God is so timely with his care for His children.

wow, that's wonderful and we so need it. We have ortho surgery coming up on one boy, undescended testicle on another, club feet on another and reverse colostomy on another......think of you everyday.....

We have literally heard from people all over the world about the impact Zoe's death and her memorial service has had on their own lives, as well as the lives of their church and/or family.  You don't even need to ask anymore if you can share our story or blog...please do so...if it can point any one toward Christ and reaching out to those in need, we are all for it.

Roughly a week after Zoe's death, we received the following email from a friend:

I have been praying for your family. Tonight I was visiting with some friends in Iowa City and the wife is a doctor on the floor you all were all on. She did not personally work with Zoe, but everyone knew her and your family. She told me part of the story of how a year ago the staff started talking about her (you informed them possibly they were coming and checking out resources) and waiting for her to come. She also shared that most of the staff there weren't believers (she is) and that your reactions and love and hope was drastically different and has helped some of them question things to hopefully point to God. She shared that you were the second family within the last couple of years to really make a impact on the staff. The other family was also from the Burlington area, and they had lost their son a couple of years ago and were believing Catholics. 

We so appreciate every card, every prayer, every text from all of you...but on days like today, I'm even more grateful for the merciful hand of God reaching down to wipe my tears.  May you sense His presence as well, and may Zoe's life and death continue to make a unmistakable impact for the Kingdom. 

I can't help but imagine our princess sitting on the lap of her Jesus. They sing...they laugh...they give nose kisses...and as she cuddles in close, I can also see Him leaning forward, directly her attention, saying, "Because you're here with me, big things are going to happen, Zoe...Watch closely...I'm going to use BaBa's sermon to help that other Daddy teach his kids about Me...oh look, there's a man that's hearing about me for the first time...your friends from the orphanage are getting the surgery they need...there's your sweet nurse~she's realized she needs to get back in church ever since your sisters were singing to you in the hospital...here's another...and another...this may never end!" 

Zoe just giggles...and snuggles back in...she's never been happier. 

A Letter to Zoe's doctors and nurses from her Daddy

Dear University of Iowa Children’s Hospital Medical Team,

My family would like to express our immense gratitude for your efforts in caring for our daughter Zoe during her recent stay in the PICU. Our experience with the doctors, nurses, and staff was exceptional and words cannot fully express our thankfulness for your incredible skills, compassion, and service. We know that you did everything humanly possible to save Zoe’s life, and for this we will be eternally grateful.

As you have done so much to minister to our family, we would briefly like to attempt to do the same for you, although in a somewhat different way. We’d like to do so by explaining the reason we ended up in the PICU in the first place.

We know that there are those who wonder why a family of six would adopt a little girl with a serious heart condition and in many peoples eyes little chance of survival. The answer for us is very simple. We adopted Zoe, and her brother Zane because all six of us were orphans at one time as well. No, not physical orphans, but spiritual ones. As human beings, we are born sinners and as a result were separated from our Maker and heavenly Father, God himself. And despite the fact that at one time we wanted nothing to do with him, he decided to adopt us into his family. Romans 5:8 explains how he did this: “But God demonstrated his love towards us in this, that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.”

I am sure you know that our adoption of Zane and Zoe has been costly – financially, physically, and now emotionally and spiritually. However, our adoption of the Z’s pales in comparison to what it cost God to adopt us. His price was the greatest ever – the life of His one and only perfect Son, Jesus Christ. On a Roman cross 2,000 years ago, Jesus died so that we could be adopted into God’s family and live with him forever.

This leads to another ‘why’ question we know many people are asking about Zoe. Why did God allow her to die? Why would he have us adopt her, only to take her away less than three months later? To be honest, we don’t know all of the reasons for what God is doing through her life and death. But here is what we do know. We know that Zoe has touched hundreds if not thousands of lives. We know that she has brought smiles to people all across the world. We know that many people have been drawn closer to God as they have offered countless prayers on her behalf. We know that Zoe has changed all six of us, and many more, for the good. Most importantly, we know that God has used Zoe to point people to their greatest need, a relationship with himself. 

Of course, despite all of this our hearts are still breaking. We love this little girl as if she has been a part of our family since birth. We are writing this the night before her funeral, knowing tomorrow will likely be the most difficult day we have ever experienced. But in the midst of our pain, we also have hope. You see, we are confident that Zoe is in heaven, and one day will be reunited with her. In reality, tomorrow we won’t say goodbye to Zoe, but only “see you later”. That’s because one day we will be reunited with her in heaven where we will live together as children of God forever. It is our sincere prayer that you have this same hope. If not, or if you are not sure, we would love to have the opportunity to talk with you more.

Once again, thank you for caring for our baby girl. We will forever be indebted to your efforts on her behalf.

In Christ Alone,

Chris, Eva, Landry, Bryce, Peyton, Ty, & Zane Carr

My Better Half Speaks

Zoe's BaBa hasn't been silent either since our angel went to be with Jesus.  I figured you might be ready for an Eva break...so I'm giving him a chance to speak...doesn't happen much around here. (As a matter of fact, our sweet nurse, Jenny, told Chris one day that she'd listened to about half of one of his sermons, and her initial response was, "WOW...I've never heard him talk this much before! I was shocked!" Chris replied without hesitating, "You know my family...I never get a word in around this bunch! On Sundays, I've got 45 minutes where they can't interrupt...I take full advantage.")

The Sunday after Zoe's funeral was Father's Day.  Chris preached the following sermon entitled, "Fatherhood in a Broken World."  I can unashamedly say that it's worth your time. 

Enjoy my silence...it won't last long! :)

Now That's a Mom...

On the flip side of my last post, we also saw the underbelly of the PICU life at times. 

I want to stress that the majority of our memories would be those of constant encouragement from every angle possible. But I wanted to give just a small amount of latitude to one of those "down" moments.  My goal is not to offend anyone, but to cause some introspection. 

As is the nature of the beast, we saw familiar faces daily...those whose head nods would speak volumes.  But there was also a daily influx of new faces with new stories that brought with them new heart aches.

It was one such person that caught my attention late one evening. As I sat down for a breather in the family lounge, I caught the tail end of her story. In hushed tones, she explained the state of their special patient. It seemed from the weary expressions and vocab that this PICU visit was another one of the surprises I've mentioned previously.

"...and this entire time, that mother has stayed right by her side...not leaving for one second...refusing to leave with any other family members...NOW THAT'S A MOM!"

I'm confident that this gal thought very highly of this mother, as did all the other gals seated around that table...or at least they seemed to affirm as such with their head nods and nonverbal acknowledgment.

It struck me as...off...as if implying the opposite would also be true...mom takes a break=not a good mom.

Granted these are extreme circumstances we're talking...parents aren't thinking straight...emotions run high. But can I humbly suggest that sometimes the most loving thing a mom (or dad) can do is step away?!? 

I'm not suggesting a shirking of responsibilities...not even hinting at a neglect of family in any way...actually not even remotely proposing the popular "Me Time." Just calm down and don't hate.

What I am suggesting is that the needs of EACH of your children are important...your relationship with your spouse is vital...your ability to think outside the PICU box is crucial for your own mental stability. In our situation with the death of Zoe, I shutter to think how much more crushing the weight would've been if I'd closed off myself from the rest of the world in order to sit at her bedside. 

Please don't misunderstand. We were there...a great deal. Our other 5 kids made significant sacrifices. Chris and I had to set personal feelings and preferences aside innumerable times. We all were sleep, exercise, and fun deprived...all for a very worthy cause...and we'd do it again. But there were times...quite a few times...when we knew it was best to just...step away. No matter what would transpire with Zoe's heart condition, we knew we would have to pick up our lives together once our PICU stay was complete...we needed to salvage our family...during, so it wouldn't collapse...after.

So if it's not straight QT, what's the DL on the whole "real mom" thing?

Love. Unconditional love. No matter what it costs. No matter what you get in return. BUT...this kind of love will look and sound as different in every momma as the DNA that runs through her veins. 

Remember a key life lesson we pass on to our children is this..."the world does not, in fact, revolve around you." This may sound harsh to your ears...maybe this is the thing that sounds "off" to you! 

Honestly, it sounds loving to me. Because at the end of the day, I want my children to love others unconditionally too. I want them to serve others...to think of others' needs above their own. I want them to be willing and eager to figuratively...or literally...sing until their throats go raw if it provides just one person some measure of hope and comfort.

I can assure you of one thing. As amazing individuals as I know the Carr kids to be, they will not wake up on their first morning as a new parent and think, "Ok...my needs are no longer the most important anymore. It's all about you, ya little mooch." (ahem...did I say that out loud...) Yea...habits are habits.

SO...love...not proximity alone...lovingly live life together...including all the crummy moments and all the wonderful moments...all the while, putting others above yourself.

Period. 

NOW THAT'S A MOM.

Take One For The Team!!!

I want to take the opportunity to share some additional thoughts about life in the PICU.  I say “life” because very few people experience the initial sleepover we had on our first visit…the one where Zoe marched right out of there in her white paten leather cowgirl boots! When I was surprised that our sweet nurse wasn’t sure how to discharge a patient, Renee kept saying, ”You don’t understand…kids don’t just eat graham crackers, order dinner, and walk out of the PICU!”  Little did I realize…

Maybe you all don’t live in the naïve and selfish Eva World that I do…well, that would just be awkward anyway…the housekeeper is a train wreck, and the chef evidentally prefers things grown in a box. Plus, I hear there's rarely any vacant rooms, and the staff is demanding...best to steer clear.

Maybe you excel at bearing one another’s burdens; maybe you write cards to those that are hurting; maybe you actually pray fervently for those who are struggling in intense pain of every kind. To be honest, I thought I did too…before May 22, 2013.  As we continued to sit there all day, every day, in this place we would soon call home, we witnessed all manner of heartache.

A car accident claimed the life of a young mother, while her sweet baby girl fought for hers. Her “big” brother, all of 5, had to be told…along with a long parade of extended family members…that his mommy “was an angel now” and that the doctors would do everything they could to save his little sister. (The grief counselors’ words…not ours)

A mom (along with family and friends) had her world rocked to its core when her 15 year old son was completely healthy one minute…then air-lifted by helicopter to the U, the next.  When she arrived, she found him clinging to 100% life support.

I’ve already told you about my new friend who’s been in the PICU since mid-March with her sweet newborn as they navigate complex heart and anatomy issues.

A 10 year old girl had emergency surgery on a brain tumor.

A 12 year old girl had open heart surgery…she’d been living a normal childhood 6 months before.

Babies came and went…untold stories never forgotten. I could go on and on.  And even though I wasn’t as familiar with their stories, I saw the same heartache when I visited the PICU this past Tuesday.

It didn’t take long…maybe just hours…before you truly began to understand what it really means to “weep with those that weep.”  Had I ever truly borne the sorrow of another? Carried the burden of the suffering on my back with my own sweat and tears? I would have to honestly answer with a resounding “NO!”  Talk about conviction.

We did the best we could to change that. Our pain was not more important than theirs…our wounds did not run deeper…our patient was not, as much as it pains me to admit it, more vital to our world.  We prayed with some…we cried with others…we shared stories…we sang loud enough to provide some comfort, but hopefully not to annoy. (No promises there.) We truly were living life…gut-wrenching, crummy life…together.

Always feeling like it was never enough, I was nonetheless grateful for the eye-opening opportunity God gave us to understand what it means to be His hands and feet…and arms…definitely arms.

People are grieving all around you. Some from the physical loss of a loved one…some from the emotional wound of betrayal…still others grieve a life not-lived, a dream not-realized.  I, for one, will choose to engage…to not live in ambivalence. 

We need to be the church. It’s not optional…it’s expected…by the one who started this whole deal. 

Man up. Take one for the team.