I Choose Death

Maybe I decided it’s time to shake things up…maybe I wanted to see if any of you are still reading these ramblings…maybe you’re like me and need to be shocked out of complacency every now and again. Regardless of the reason, I want to share with you some thoughts I’ve been marinating on for quite some time now. In order to do so, please allow me to direct your attention to an old blog post, appropriately titled, “I Choose Life.”

http://thecarrride.blogspot.com/2013/06/i-choose-life.html

I’ve continued to feel wounded, to some degree, over the last 8 months that God didn’t honor my wishes that night as I penned those groanings from my heart as we waited to hear from Zoe’s surgeons. As I’ve said many times in the past, we were completely shocked that God chose this ultimate healing instead of just fixing her heart and giving her back to us. 

I KNOW certain Scriptural promises to be true, but I’ve yet to FEEL the truth of those promises. Like when God promises…

to be near to the broken-hearted…

that His plans are to prosper me with a future and a hope, rather than to harm me…

to never leave me or forsake me…

that I will find Him when I seek Him with all my heart…

Honestly, I’ve found comfort in clinging to these promises even when I don’t FEEL like they’re true. Gotta start somewhere.

SO in the first month after Zoe died, while in the heaviest throws of our grief, the hubs asked me a simple question…

“Would you do it all over again?”

What's with all these questions he keeps asking me?!? I looked at him like he had 7 heads as I simultaneously threw up in my mouth. Was he smoking something? How could I possibly answer that? I couldn’t even bring myself to get out of bed in the morning most days. But put myself through all this torture knowingly and willingly?!? Well, that just seemed a special kind of insanity. But as I started simmering on that, (marinating…simmering…it’s always about food with me) my only answer could be,

“How could I not?”

Because when the smoke clears, and all is said and done, to answer “NO” would mean…

to never have known our precious little girl…

to never have held her tightly, brushed her hair, dressed her in her tiny little clothes…

to never have taught her to sing, Jesus Loves Me and never have heard her singing it all by herself…

to never have fought so fiercely to save a life…

to never have trusted so fully that the Sovereign One had it under control…

to never have been her Mommy…

Sure…if we could choose to not suffer so greatly, anybody in their right mind (hmmm…maybe that’s the problem here) would RUN from this level of pain…BUT no one who looked into the eyes of this sweet baby could turn a blind eye to her need of a family.

So since there wasn’t a 3^rd option…you'd better take a seat.

I choose death.

I choose the death of someone we loved so deeply in such a short time over the peace and comfort of not knowing this grief.

I choose death because before this sadness, we had an amazing 3 months of loving our sweet baby.

I choose death in our care because without it, Zoe would’ve died in an orphanage, longing for a family.

I choose death and pain because to avoid it would’ve been a result of our disobedience and apathy.

I choose death because to escape that would mean a pint-size emptiness in my heart that would feel like the weight of the world.

I choose death because that means we had LIFE to lose.

God be with me as I’m realizing that, in this season of our lives, both Zoe’s death and ultimate life are one and the same.

I believe. Lord help my unbelief.

I choose death.

P.S.

Just wanted to give you the conclusion I've drawn concerning my last blog post, Just to Be Clear. It's pretty simple.

If Zoe would choose Jesus over this life and all it has to offer, shouldn't I do the same?

Just to be clear...

I've shared so many thoughts of anguish over these past 7 months since Zoe's death, but I wanted to clarify something…in case you were confused…which would be shocking based on how incredibly well I communicate my message consistently…without strange punctuation that I am seemingly addicted to…can't help myself…somebody show me the key for a period!!! 

SO…clarity…yea…here we go. :)

Just to be clear…all of our sorrow, all of our grief, all of our dark moments of anguish…those are exactly that…ours. More specifically, it's not Zoe's. There has not been even one second of sadness FOR Zoe…not one. Each tear shed and scream uttered has been for those of us that remain…not for the one who's gone. Amidst all the questions and overwhelming grief-filled moments, one thing has given me great peace…Zoe couldn't be happier. It's just not possible. Happy sigh. 

No one's praying for Zoe to accept her fate and find peace. She's not trying to pick herself up from the rubble and put one foot in front of the other. Nor does she have to drag herself out of bed every day, telling herself to keep pushing through. Uh…no. She's running the halls of her sweet crib, laughing and singing as loud as her Mama…and that's saying something.

Let me tell you what would've made Zoe miserable…NOT stepping into eternity with her compassionate and loving creator. Because then she would've only known frustration and pain, confusion and sorrow, for any foreseeable future. 

To clarify further, I've mentioned before that we were dreading the Berlin heart device, and subsequent heart transplant, for various reasons, but the primary one was the misery it would all have been for Zoe. I said on many occasions during that 3 weeks of uncertainty, "You all better be glad Zoe's not awake right now because if she's attached to all these gadgets and gizmos when she wakes up, she's gonna be so ticked off…not even kidding. And you…and you over there…and even you that just walked by her room…yea, she's gonna make you pay!" :) Y'all can't even…

Of course, there came a time that we were begging the Almighty to give her back to us through these life-saving means, but at no point were we "happy" for her because of them. Case in point, had the Berlin operation worked, Zoe would've had these large (in my non-medical opinion) tubes coming out of her abdomen, which would've attached her to a machine at all times. She would've been awake, and we would've been able to cart that thing around with us down the halls, but she would never have been "free." We also would've had to remain in the PICU until she received a heart transplant. Until. They estimated it could be anywhere from 3 months to a much more likely, 12 months or more. In the hospital. Attached to a machine. With giant tubes coming out of her gut. For the love. Just let that sink in, would ya? The few of you that knew Zoe personally could attest to the fact that Zoe would've made sure everyone felt as miserable as she did. No joke. Obviously we would've made it work, and we would still choose to have her with us in this capacity, but this blog post is about Zoe's joy. That scenario would have been joy-less for our angel. 

She also would've been pretty weak and irritable constantly and whenever I feel beaten up by the what if's of having the surgery when we did, I'm just over the moon knowing that her levels can't plummet anymore as they were…no one's giving bags of blood just to keep her going…no more emergency interventions needed. 

She's good to go. 

So although we continue to weep for OUR loss, our joy is full FOR Zoe. She is with the King. She knows complete and utter wholeness. She will never again experience pain and heartache. 

She wouldn't come back to us for all the peanut butter in the world. Word.

Just to be clear...

Friday, January 24th

I thought I was doing ok.

I was wrong.

…and the autopsy comes...

We missed some moments while we were busy with the 10 confessions…I’ll try to catch you up on other news.

Autopsy.

Not a word I ever thought I’d be throwing around, but here we are. You watch moments like this on tv, but you can add this to the list of things you never expect to hear with your own ears…about your own child.

“We’d like to do an autopsy on Zoe…to see what exactly went wrong. The things we were watching for and monitoring closely were holding steady. We’d like to know if something else was at play that we didn’t foresee. That knowledge could help other kids in the future.”

So, of course, we consented. Anytime we thought about other families going through what we’d just gone through, we wanted to do anything we could to help them.  But, selfishly, I also hoped to learn why she died, medically speaking. As if that would give any amount of comfort. But in my mind, I held out hope for some mystery component that would explain why the best efforts in the country couldn’t save her life.

We waited a long time…a very long time, it seemed. Zoe died on June 7^th. We received the autopsy results the beginning of September, just before Zane’s 4^th birthday. Great present.

I’m not sure what we were expecting, but what came was a novel…a medical novel…with no ending. Don’t you hate books and movies that end with a cliffhanger?!? I wanted some finality, wrapped up in a pretty package…with a big red bow. That’s what I was looking for. What I got was a bunch of nothing. By that I mean…nothing that mattered or made a difference in any way.

It didn't take a medical degree to understand, "…died of natural causes…" which was hard to swallow given the gigantic tubes coming out of her abdomen at the time of death…along with all the complications she encountered during her hospital stay...especially when you consider how "healthy" she was when we went in for her surgery. What that COD meant was this…her poor, overworked heart just couldn't take any more…it finally just gave out. 

Natural causes. Further translation: no intervention of any kind would've ever worked. 

Nothing. Ever. 

Talk about a sucker punch. There was no shortage of tears, I can promise you that. 

I found myself boldly asking God, "If Your plan was NEVER to heal Zoe physically, WHY IN THE WORLD DID YOU HAVE US DO THIS?" This really was the one and only time I was truly angry. Why go through all this…the adoption, sustaining her life all this time, hope upon hope of successful procedures, dreams of a future…if He never meant for her to live?!? It's so unfair…so unloving…so cruel. 

Until…until I stopped long enough to think about that question I'd been asking. What could be the reason/s for the Father leading us to adopt Zoe if it wasn't for her physical healing? If you take that off the table, what are we left with?  

Oh man. You just don't even have the stamina to endure the answer to that question…not when I really start listing everything. While I'm sure the ultimate purpose in Zoe's death may very well elude me in my lifetime, there is simply a plethora of things that have come as a result of God stretching us in this way. 

But here's the kicker: I had to stop thinking that God dropped the ball with Zoe…and instead start thinking of all the things He did with Zoe in spite of (and even because of) her death. I had to look past my grief to see that God never intended for Zoe to live a long life. He had much different plans…whether I think they were good plans or not. The key for me was to realize this…He didn't screw it up. I just "misunderstood." I got it wrong. He didn't.

I got that all from an autopsy report. Just goes to show…God sure uses some bizarre methods to get our attention. 

What have you been missing simply because you're not asking the right questions? What have you been blaming God for screwing up when you should be asking...

"If not this…then what?"

"If You never intended this to work out the way I thought it should, what do you have for me that's better?" 

"What are You trying to accomplish with this heartache?"

Who knows? Maybe God will send you an autopsy report to clear things up a bit. Worked for me.

Bringing our series to an end…Confession #10

I wish I could say that I've saved the best for last. But in reality it feels like I've held on to an atomic bomb...until the masses are lulled into complacency…and am now dropping it on a school filled with innocent children. Yea…high levels of drama…but that's the vibe I'm feeling over here. Once again, I'll ask you to stick with me until the end. It's gonna be a bumpy ride. 

Our 10th confession won't be anything new and earth-shattering…it may just be another eye-opener to the inner turmoil of the grieving parent. For me, it was a gut-wrenching realization. 

Confession #10: The grieving parent is experiencing intense emotion toward the Sovereign One. This emotion surfaces in various forms…anger, apathy, and disappointment, to name a few. My personal "favorite" was the latter…disappointment. 

I lost track of how many times someone told me after Zoe died, "It's ok to be angry with God!" or "God can handle your anger and questions!" Anger would've taken much more energy and effort than I could bear at the time…my emotion centered on disappointment. It also matched the heaviness of my spirit more. Anger would've demanded passion. I couldn't pull anything close to that from any crevice of my being.

I just found myself so very disappointed that God would orchestrate this path…and not just disappointed in the shocking plan…but disappointed in the One himself. Before you call an elder meeting, let me add…I still trusted and loved the Father, but if I'm being honest, I didn't like Him very much. Ok…I guess you're probably still leaning toward making that call. Hear me out, though. I fully believe you can be torn inside out by the debilitating throws of grief and still trusting the Almighty for the big picture. It just felt…and sometimes still feels…like God and I…well, like we "were on a break." 

I would liken it to my relationship with my own children. There are many times when I'm super disappointed with their choices and behavior…and feel as though our relationship is very strained…yet my love for them never fails. Is that a fair analogy?

I've mentioned in earlier blog posts that we were praising God for His miraculous work in sustaining and healing Zoe already. Why did He feel like this was the better way in spite of all that?!? We may never understand. We may not be meant too. But this definitely led to my disappointment with Him.

Truthfully, I wanted to not feel this way…I wanted to trust His plan implicitly. But that's why this falls into a confession…especially in Christian circles…nobody wants to admit, let alone talk about, this one…and yet it's a core struggle of the grieving parent. 

It's a strange place to find yourself in a situation where the thing that gives you the most comfort, grace, and compassion is also where you find your greatest torment. By that I mean, the truths found in Scripture are so encouraging and so frustrating at the same time. 

How about I put it this way...sometimes I wanted to stay miserable, and God just wouldn't leave me alone. (another familiar them when I think of family relationships) Lame.

There are so many times when this internal conflict became apparent to me, but I’ll only list a couple for time’s sake.

 I could site innumerable times when someone shared encouraging Bible verses with me, only to have my heart clinch in turmoil at the truth of God’s sovereignty or love for each one of us. Honestly, I didn’t really want to hear it at the time. Yet, truthfully, the only real comfort I’ve had these last 6 months is pondering the fact that God is up to something bigger than I could imagine in Zoe’s life and death.

As dear as music is to my heart, there were times I couldn’t utter a single note because of the words that were attached to them…usually centering on trusting God and following Him, no matter where He leads. I couldn’t bring myself to lie in order to keep singing. Then there have been other times we’d be singing in church, and the stone cold reality of God’s loving compassion would hit me like a brick wall, and I’d be so overwhelmed by His presence that it would feel like the world stopped spinning for just a moment, and He reached down from Paradise and gave me a big ol’ bear hug.

I even signed up for a women’s Bible study and was excited to study the story of Esther in greater depth and see how God would use it to further heal my aching soul. I quickly began back pedaling, however, when it seemed like Beth Moore was trampling all over my tattered heart with every, “…for a time such as this…” comment. For fear of passing out or vomiting all over the sweet women in the class, I just couldn’t bring myself to keep going.  I’m still looking forward to doing the study because I’m confident God had me there for a purpose. I may just have to do it in a smaller setting or even alone…and that’s ok, too.

Regardless, it all seriously comes down to my disappointment with God in choosing this path. We believe He can and will…and IS…redeeming Zoe’s death for some amazing kingdom purpose. I have no doubt. But that doesn’t make me want her any less. Let me be painfully transparent here.  One day, I remember telling my pastor/husband, “Everyone keeps saying how awesome it is that people are hearing about Christ because of Zoe’s death. I know it’s so awful and ungodly to say, but right now, I’d still choose Zoe. I guess that reveals how little I truly believe what I say I believe about Jesus.”  Such a sad commentary on the heart condition. Not that anyone would not understand the plight of a mother who’d just buried her 3 year old daughter…it’s just a miserable place to be when you find yourself wholeheartedly wishing for the temporary at the expense of the eternal. But like I said, sometimes…like our children…we just want to cross our arms, stick out our lip, and be miserable for awhile…no matter how comforting the arms of our father can be.

So it is in the throws of relinquishing ultimate control and God-given nurturing desire that disappointment was born. Even though He had given life, He took it away. Even though we obeyed, it wasn’t enough. Even though we sacrificed, He demanded more.  I guess the real question would be, “Will my heart CHOOSE to say, ‘Lord, blessed be Your name’?” Because in these moments of deep disappointment in what God has ordained, my will must lead the way. I’m trusting that God will bring along my emotions/feelings when the time is right. For now, I’m left with the words of a song that has comforted our family greatly these past 6 months.

What if Your blessings come through raindrops

What if Your healing comes through tears

What if a thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know You’re near

What if my greatest disappointments…or the aching of this life

Is the revealing of a greater thirst this world can’t satisfy

What if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise

Maybe one day…just maybe…we will look back say…

"That disappointment and anguish? Well, that ain't nothing compared to this. This…THIS…is so much better than we could ever have imagined." 

Now wouldn't that be something?

Confession #9: The Elephant in the Room

We are traveling back home for our Christmas Eve service at Harmony, as we speak. Although brief, our time with the Wagenschutz crew was crazy and fun, as always. It's always special to be with extended family, especially at Christmas time. Distractions of chaos have been helpful as we approach this holiday without Zoe, but that's for another blog post, so I'll move on for now. 

We are leading up to the doozie of all confessions, in my opinion…#10…at least it has been in my book. Maybe I've already hit on one that rang your bell, but #10 sticks to your ribs…and hips…and thighs, if you know what I mean. ACK!

Anyway, I wanted to share confession #9 with you while I have the opportunity. We are leaving tomorrow afternoon to travel over to Indiana to celebrate Christmas with the Carr side! More chaotic distractions…just what the doctor ordered! :)

SO…here we go…confession #9 is very simple. It may be so simple that it's difficult to explain, but I'll do my best.

Trying to avoid talking about Zoe is more painful than talking about her. I'm already confused. This isn't going well.

Let me put it this way…I may (and probably will) tear up when anyone (including me) talks about our precious girl. But those are tears of sweet remembrance and disappointed dreams. Good tears. This needs to be ok. I've become very aware that this makes people feel bad…like they've done something wrong by bringing up Zoe to her family. This couldn't be further from the truth. We are sad she's not with us any more. That's how it will always be. Humanly speaking, we will never say from our standpoint, "We don't miss her anymore." Never. Please don't try to keep us from remembering that.

The FAR more painful tears come when it's obvious that you're avoiding bringing her up to us. That cuts much deeper. I'm confident this isn't done with any malice whatsoever, but primarily out of discomfort of not knowing what to say…not wanting to hurt us any more than we're already hurting…not wanting to bring up old wounds that cause fresh tears. I get that. I really do.

But can I just say…she's always on my mind. When I think and talk about our family, I think and talk about Zoe as well. To not do so feels like another sort of abandonment to me. 
She's part of our family now…even in her absence. Imagine our joy when you remember that with us. 

I don't want to pretend that we only have 5 kids, but I know it's makes some people uncomfortable when I accidentally say 6. This "elephant in the room" travels into many facets of our lives. I totally understand now why it's so difficult for families to put away the things of the child they lost…why some parents struggle with changing anything in the child's bedroom…why any "new" experience is just as painful as the old memories.

Let me give you a couple examples in our family.

Although we took Zoe’s clothes out of the room she shared with Zane, I haven’t been able to bring myself to take her name down from the bedroom wall…or to take her bed and pink quilt out of the room.

We also didn’t take a family Christmas picture this year. Could. Not. Do. It. Not without her.

We also have framed pictures of Zoe sitting around our house.  I can’t ever think we’d remove them.

Before you think it’s creepy when you go to someone’s house that has lost a loved one, and you’re reminded of that loss as you look around,  please understand that to remove all evidence that this person existed feels like a betrayal of epic proportions.

Also understand that we are thinking of our sweet angel even when the world keeps spinning and time keeps marching on without her.

Maybe then you can appreciate the sweetness of a memory instead of the sadness of a death.

We WANT to remember. Please don’t want us to forget.