Goodbye Floyd

I have recently said goodbye to my home in Floyd, moved to an apartment in Roanoke, and will soon  be moving to a home near Troutville, VA.   Do not mistake 'home' for ''house.'  The house was only a shell, a means to reach my TRUE home.  The loving people I met in Floyd - the feeling of warm, family-love and goodness - the kindness of strangers - the common-mind mentality and most of all, the soul-shaking humility and everyday honesty.

I resisted, I struggled, I cried for hours, days on end. I came to Roanoke, lost, and without direction, feeling as though I were waiting for my life to begin, holding on to the life I had left.  I felt empty and unholy.  I felt alone, and nearly crossed the line to regret.

Yesterday, for Father's Day, we went home to visit Kevin's folks.  I felt, as we drove, a part of my heart re-opening. The closer we got, the more shackles fell away, and tears came again and again, as I received a cleansing feeling of relaxation and relief, so happy to be home again, and also the twinge of pain and guilt, feeling like I haven't made them proud.  After only a few weeks away, my empty cup filled to overflowing as I sat through church and enjoyed the love, spirit, honesty, and openness I didn't know I was starving for.

I felt that old feeling telling me to stop and reach deep down to the source.  I felt a window inched open in my soul, and the Holy Ghost Himself calling to me plainly a truth I knew, but forgot:  That my happiness is in my own hands, and no one and nothing can take it away from me, but ME.  I felt the call to FORGIVE.  I knew that the PEACE I long for is only a moment away, when I can release my resentment and anger, and I cried again, knowing that with my Floyd Family in my heart, I can do it.

 I am an emissary, a missionary, a soldier called away.  I squeeze their memory close to me for warm consoling hugs as I step into the unknown. My distance from them only strengthens my love, it only solidifies my resolve to make them proud.  To be the kind of person who could say, "I'm from Floyd," and have my fellow 'Floydians' be glad I said so.

Their faces, their lives and their examples flash before me constantly, and today I rise to make them proud, to live as a monument to them.  To be ever-changed, to become more like them--more like my true self, reflected by honest eyes and unassuming natures.  My spirit reaches out to them, constantly enlarged by them, and the feeling is indescribable.  I swell with gratitude.  I weep with joy at God's mercy, and such great, great love for me, to allow me to rest in their bosom, and love them so fully, and then to leave them, so that they will be with me, inside of me forever.

Personal Revelation

Relief Society: Episode 12 - Personal Revelation

Please, please, moms listen to this broadcast! I was in church Sunday, and a mom got up to speak, and I began to cry as she spoke, because it was as if I were speaking to myself, her words were so familiar.

"I am a mom of several young children, and I have struggled with something I think many moms struggle with. I had a lot of anxiety, depression, and unhappiness, and there was one day I was sitting in front of a mountain of laundry to fold, and I had this thought. 'This is the plan of happiness...So why am I not happy??" She said, "I was raised by good parents, who were members of the church, and taught me all about the plan of happiness. I understood it intellectually, but I was missing something. Some part of the gospel, I was not quite getting." She said that from that time, she began to seek, and over the next few years, she learned, not just intellectually, but experientially, that we can use the Atonement of Jesus Christ in our every day lives, and every need can be filled by Him, and the happiness comes into us."

Since the miscarriage, I've felt a darkness set in, and depression begin to overtake me, and I haven't known how to write anything uplifting, hence the long silence. Many times the Lord has comforted me, and especially at first, He carried me. But I understand that He has to let me learn and grow, and so He has to let me experience pain, and learn to walk with Him. And so in order to walk, I had to be let down. I have felt like I'm sitting on the ground, with no desire to try to get up.

Then I heard that mom speak Sunday, and remembered that I once took that journey, prompted by the same exact question, and wouldn't rest until I found the answer. I cannot express how much I appreciated that journey. How it changed my life, and my family. I realized Sunday that it's crucial for my happiness and my family's to start asking questions, and seeking for answers. It's time to re-establish trust in God, and a two-way communication that I can count on. I'm such a weak and sorry excuse for a disciple. I wonder sometimes how many times He is willing to teach me the same lesson. I have learned that His mercy is never-ending, and with hope in that, I'm not going to sit down and give up. I'm going to get up, force myself to ask for and seek for the meaning and the purpose and drive in life, and mostly to seek for the companionship of the Holy Ghost.

Above is a link to an interview of Sister Julie Beck, the leader of all the women of our church at present. She answers honest questions from women, like "How do I feel the spirit when I'm physically and mentally exhausted?" "What does it feel like to receive revelation from God?" "I have tried and tried to hear from the Lord. It has never worked for me, and I have given up." Sister Beck gives such inspired advice, it solidified my resolve into action, and I have begun my journey anew.

What are your questions? Are you asking any? What are your emotional needs? Are they being met by the Lord, or some other source? What are you focusing on? Where do you spend the majority of your time? Do you long, as I do, for a secure attachment to your God?

Miscarriage at the hospital, WARNING contains details

Roanoke Memorial Hospital, inspired by a nurse a few years back, does something special for parents who are grieving for a lost baby.  They allow you to bond with the baby, treat the baby as important and precious, because it is to you.

After many calls, my uncle Dr. Mike Jones and family friend, Dr. Ross Hanchett, OBGYN, paved the way for me to enter the hospital emergency room expected, and the doctors who would attend me were notified ahead of time of what was going on, so the way was prepared for me to go gently in.  My uncle performed an ultrasound, and then left me in the hands of a doctor who was a great listener, and very respectful of patients' rights, Dr. Heileck.  I was induced to allowed to labor naturally.  I was allowed to be unhooked from the IV, because I was claustrophobic and it really bothered me.  I was treated with kindness, not pity, with respect, not impatience.

Here are the details, for those who want them:

I labored for 10 hours, with my loving mom for support, feeling as though I were going through a form of pains of childbirth.   I was told I could have an epidural, but if you know me, you know I would be very unlikely to take that option.  The pain was hard enough.  It wasn't as hard as having a full term baby, but it was no "cake walk."  We rocked, we sang, we cried, we prayed, we slept, we mourned, we talked and talked and talked.  Mom rubbed my back for what must have seemed like hours.  I went through a kind of transition, and just lay there, too exhausted to move or protest as I was stuck with needles, and bruised because of my weak veins.  The nurses were wonderful, my veins we just tiny and weak.  After 6 attempts and three nurses, a vein catheter was finally secured in one of my hands.  I tried to sleep between cramping pains.

After six hours, I was told I could try to push, because they could not see the cervix as the bag of waters was descending.  I pushed on my hands and knees, and was able to push most of the bag of waters out, but I was unable to finish pushing the part with the baby out, though I tried my hardest.  The doc and nurses encouraged me in squatting with my mom holding me up on one side and a nurse on the other.  I asked for a mirror, and it did help me focus my efforts.  I pushed till I was blue in the face.  But once the bag was out enough, the doc was able to move it out of the way and check my cervix.  It turned out my cervix had only dilated ONE cm.  I was completely disheartened, and felt suddenly so sorry for all those mothers out there who are routinely induced, and don't know that true labor pains are SO much easier to bear than drug induced pains.  I felt like I should be at a 6 or 7 at least, when comparing to the pains of my natural labors.

Only 2 hours later, I lay exhausted and feeling pains ranging from 9-10, but tried focusing on the empty space above me that was not hurting.  As I lay back, unable to fight anymore, I completely surrendered to all of it.  The miscarriage, the pain, the fact that this baby was not going to live... all of it.  The baby finished descending without my knowledge, born inside the bag of waters which remained intact, my total dilation unknown.  I continued to have pain, however, because the placenta was still holding on.

Dr. Heileck was wonderful, patient, and not at all pushy.  He began the work of getting the placenta, which was full of white calcium deposits, gnarled and in pieces, out as quickly as possible, because I would not stop bleeding.  Finally, in agony, I pleaded for him to stop, and asked for pain meds, which had been available all along, but I had wanted to tough it out as long as I could, and he respected that.  But extracting the placenta piece by piece felt like digging into a deep cut with a knife.  He said it may be necessary to sedate me and take me to surgery, but when the pain meds kicked in, he said, "let's just try this for a little while, and see how it goes."  The meds killed the worst of the pain, and I squeezed my mom's hand and a nurse's hand, (who was telling me everything going on every step of the way,) and breathed deeply to manage the rest.  Finally, the ordeal was finished.  I was able to lie back, and rest-- saved from the operating room, and thankful.  I thanked the doctor over and over as I closed my eyes and enjoyed being free of pain.  the Doctor seemed amused that I was thanking him after he'd been digging inside me with pinchers.  I felt emotional completeness, having completed labor, but I did miss my husband who was unable to take off work, due to a death of an employee's father.  

The doc and nurses carefully examined the baby, wrapped his 4.5 inch body in a receiving blanket, handed him to me, and promised he would not be out of my sight unless I gave permission.  I say "he," because between the tiny legs was the first thing I looked at, and was overjoyed that I could see it!  It was a boy, and they encouraged me to name him.  I named him" Luke," the name Kevin and I had agreed on long before, if it were a boy, and they made a "Certificate of Memory" for me.

They left me alone for over an hour to bond, and I drunk him in.  I tried to memorize every teeny tiny finger, every teeny tiny toe, his little perfect ears that were still pinned back to his head, his almond shaped blue eyes, that had not yet finished forming, his little mouth that was also unfinished, opened, and sported teensie little lips.  His round little tummy, and the tiny, gnarled cord, the tiny collar bones and ribs, so perfectly formed, the legs so adorably tucked up in the fetal position, the primitive muscles so easily outlined.  His hands pressed together, with his head resting on them, like he was just a little baby going to sleep.  

I fell in love with this little miracle of life, yet as I looked on, I could see him slipping away.  Each minute he was exposed to air, his body darkened, and lost fluids.  He began to decompose almost immediately, because his skin was not thick enough to prevent it.  Mom and I tried to hold on to each passing moment with him, as he quickly slipped away from us.  The nurse came and asked if we'd like her to take pictures, and I eventually agreed, though I knew the pictures would not capture his true form at the first moments I met him.  They brought me a couple of tiny gowns and asked which I would like to have for him, and I got to choose a crocheted blanket, as a keepsake.  They asked me what I wanted to do with the body, and I said I wanted to take him home.  They gave me a tiny casket, and they gave me literature both religious and non, to help aid the grieving process.  The nurses and aids all called him "Luke" and said he was beautiful, even when his form had changed, and he was not anymore.  Our last nurse gave us a sympathy card, just from her, and they gathered a beautiful white cloth envelope of keepsakes for us, and encouraged us to honor this baby's memory.  Kevin arrived before checkout time, and was only able to see the bare remains of what used to be our baby, but it meant so much to me to have him with me, even for just a little while.  

That night I slept soundly, and cradled all my kids in the bed with me.  The next day, I got up, showered, and set about the plans of what to do with the baby's body.  Through tears and disagreements, saying things we didn't mean, then having to compromise and reconcile, we finally decided on a plan.  

My parents-in-law and we took the tiny casket, a blanket, and some literature and keepsakes, and met my mother at the family cemetery.  My husband and his father dug a little hole directly over my brother Seth's grave, just big enough for the tiny casket.  We sat on a blanket provided by my mother-in-law, and put the casket in the middle, decorated by tiny flowers the children had picked, and the crocheted blanket and some pretty things the hospital had given us provided a lovely centerpiece.  We prayed and sang a song, and thanks to smart phones, we even had the music to go with it.  We sang, "I Know That My Savior Loves Me."  Or at least we listened, and the children sang, and we teared up between the words.  We read the following poem provided by the hospital: (Passed around because we could hardly read it without breaking down.)

IN THE GARDEN

In the most beautiful of gardens

Most carefully tended,

There is an occasional rosebud that never opens.

In all respects that rose is like all the others,

But some unseen cause keeps it from blooming.

It wilts and fades away without coming to its radiant unfolding.

What happens in nature's garden occasionally also happens in God's family.

A baby is born,

Beautiful and precious,

But with some unseen, mysterious band sealing

That life so it never comes to its rightful unfolding.

This child, too,

Gradually fades and is gathered back into the God's heavenly garden of souls--

Where all imperfections are made perfect,

Where all injustices are made right,

Where all mysteries will finally be explained,

And where all sorrow will finally be turned to joy.

Haylee Christine Shepherd

May 9, 1997

The feeling was one of comfort and warmth, not hurt or grief.  We all smiled and felt love for one another, and felt the loss, but also the sweetest peace.  Then all of the children took the casket, and together walked it to the grave.  Kaylee and Peter laid it in the ground, and they all threw flowers on it, then each child got to shovel a mound of dirt into the hole, then Kevin and Grandpa finished the rest.  One little perk, was that the baby's casket rested directly on my brother's vault.  

I felt good about it, and did not wail or cry, only shed a few quiet tears every now and then.  

Next we went to the location we're building our house, and planted two apple trees, one to pollinate the other, and will eventually be dedicated to our little Luke, a tiny rosebud in God's garden of souls.  The children got to play with their cousin, and I got to talk to my sister in law, and try to find some kind of normal.  

I felt a much needed closure, and ready to begin a healthy grieving process, and that is what is now going on.  Little by little, I can start to feel the full impact of my loss.  I waffle between apathy and unimaginable hurt.  Of course Kevin is going through his own grief.  He reminded me yesterday that this baby was a part of him too.  I saw him tear up many times, I saw him push through emotions, and I know he is grieving, only quietly, the way a man often does.  

It is not the same as if I had lost a living child, the pain is not constant and shocking, but it is acute, and sometimes shoots through me with such effort that I break down secretly every night, and every morning.  I have not had the courage to go to the basement where all the baby stuff is still sitting.  

Literature I got from the hospital reads, "Don't take my grief away from me."  In order to let others know that grieving is healthy and necessary, and not to always try to comfort or avoid  emotional subjects that could make the grieving person upset.  There are times I want to FEEL something!  Anything!  I want so much to get these feelings OUT!  So many people don't want to listen, because they don't want to see me cry, or cause me pain, or don't want to risk something coming up that they won't know how to handle.  I know, because I've been that person.  But being on this end makes me feel differently.  Now I understand that it's okay to face the issue head on.  It's actually a relief.  

Today I got to talk to another mom who's been through this.  It was reassuring that she could get through it and be okay.  Still, we both teared up as she remembered her experience, and I was honest about mine.  It felt good to tell someone what I'm really going through.  I am finding so much love all around me, I'm so blessed, I hope I can BE that love for others in return.

Miscarriage

Today, at 19 weeks gestation, my unborn child was found to be without a heartbeat.  I am praying for understanding, praying for answers, praying to know God's plan for my family.  I keep thinking of the large pack of newborn diapers we had been given, and the newborn clothes.  All the boxes and bags of supplies we'd saved for this little one...I suppose I will pass them on.

I feel such a variety of feelings, numbness, pain, regret, guilt, and I know more is yet to come.  I will fret about whether or not I will ever have another child.  I will mourn, and I will question why... I will pray, and I will hold my other children tighter, appreciating even more, that the Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away.  Today I opened a book that came in the mail, and chapter one read, "Remember who your children are."  ...And who they really belong to.

The children didn't cry, but they were sad in their own way.  I could see more hurt on Peter's face than I expected, sometimes he'd crawl up and rock himself in the rocking chair, looking so quietly sad.  Other times he smiled and reminded me of funny things just to see me laugh, his face glowing so brightly.  He told me, "I have good news Mommy!  You don't have to worry, we'll have a new baby, but It's going to take a long time."  Then he drew a couple pictures of me with a baby in my tummy, with a smile on my face.  One of the pictures showed a smiling unborn baby, and one showed just a ball.  He gave them to me, hoping I would take heart, and have hope.

Kaylee wanted to be held a lot, and wanted to be happy and reassured that everything, especially me, would be okay.  But sometimes she hid her face in my arms, and when I told her it was okay to be sad, she wanted to know why everyone wasn't crying.  I felt the strength of prayers.  I told her I did cry, and will cry some more, but I feel Jesus giving me comfort, and I feel God's love so strongly, it's like I'm in His arms.  He is blessing me right now.

Kendon knows nothing, and wouldn't understand if he were told.  But I am comforted each time I nurse him, and I don't think that's terrible to admit.

Right now the dormant baby is in my belly, waiting to be removed.   I can't sleep, I can hardly eat, just waiting for what will inevitably come.  I want to meet my baby with all my heart, to hold him or her in my hands.  I want to have some closure.  I want to know all the details of what the baby went through.  I want to know if it was a boy or a girl.  I want to know what God was thinking by, giving us such an unexpected and joyous gift, then taking it away before we could enjoy it.  I know, I know, we can't understand the mind of God.  We don't know His plan.  But somehow, I still want to.  Some of these questions and desires may be answered and fulfilled, some may not.  I am going to have to be okay with that.

Kevin is taking it like a man, feeling the way men do.  He is doing this his own way, worrying for me, and not allowing any sympathy for himself.  Yet he too has lost his baby.  And of that I am keenly aware.

It may seem brash and uncooth to speak of miscarriage in such detail.  In our society it is not discussed much--it is awkward for our friends and family to deal with.  So many women go through it, and yet we still don't know how to handle it.  We want to make sense of it, and we want to help one another feel better about it, but in the end, we just have to get through it and let time do its work of healing the pain.

I don't feel so different, I don't feel anything much, but the reality still hasn't hit me.  I know it will soon, and I'm bracing myself.

Moved

We have moved to a new address, and do not have internet for another week.  I'm having withdrawals.  I hope to be able to post soon, but for now, just know that you have a friend who wants you to be successful in finding your own, Peaceful Way.

Something Parents All Over the World Are Struggling to Learn Right Now: Including Me

Attachment Parenting:  Developing and utilizing a close parent-to-child bond in order to discipline and teach our children.

One of my favorite phrases on the Attachment parenting website is, "It's not called PERMISSIVE parenting!"  
So many think that in order to "be nice" to our kids, we have to be permissive.  Many see parents who are patient and non-confrontational with their children, and assume that those parents are permissive.  It is difficult for our society to understand that there is a sweet-spot between Authoritative and Intimidating, and Permissive and Uninvolved.  That middle ground is Attachment Parenting/Positive Discipline.

Attachment Parenting isn't a new skill to learn or a new philosophy of parenting.  It's the true spirit of humanity.  It is the embodiment of the second greatest commandment given by Jesus Christ.  It's loving others as we love ourselves.  In other words, it is loving others while we love ourselves.  


One of the hardest tests of being a parent, is seeing our true selves reflected back through our children.

Do you see yourself in your children?
Do you consciously or unconsciously despise what you see?
Does the thought of them becoming like you, scare you?
Does this thought make you want to hide or lash out at [yourself in the body of] your child?

If you searched your heart and found the answer to any of the above is yes, you are not alone.

Attachment Parenting is seeing ourselves in our children, and having unconditional love, compassion, empathy and understanding for that self we see.  

Isn't that how God sees us?  Doesn't He tell us that He is in each of us, and He loves us as Himself?  Recently I read an article on theattachedfamily.com about how one mother taught her son to do a chore.  He was a teenager, perfectly capable of doing the actual chore, but she understood that he was not necessarily capable of developing the habit and remembering to do it on his own.  So she met him with a smile, and they did the chore (bringing the trash cans in) together.  They did this for several weeks, and then, he started doing it on his own.  "Just as it took Kelly several weeks of teaching her son to bring in the garbage cans, it will most likely take kids several teaching sessions before they get the hang of a job and are able to think it through on their own.  Kelly says she even expects her son to forget again, as his priorities are simply different than hers.  But she is ready and willing to step in and do it together with him again...teach many, many times!"  I thought about that, and cringed at how I have gotten exasperated when I had to teach my child something more than once, and I asked myself a tough question: which way is God's way?

I can picture Him knowingly and patiently taking our arm in his, and walking us through His way again and again.  Then we take over and start to do it on our own, but He knows "My ways are not your ways, neither are my thoughts your thoughts."  So He expects us to forget again, doesn't He?  He knows we will need Him to walk us through it again, because we are immature.  We are children, and that is our nature.  His promise is that He will be there every time we forget, smiling and ready to teach us again.  His patience is infinite.  His love--unconditional.  What can we learn about parenting from Him?

When you look through the eyes of your child, what do you see?


What will be the story of his childhood?  What will she remember most?  Are you creating a childhood she'll speak openly of 20 years from now, with an honest, genuine smile?

One of the best and most straight-forward helps I've found is at AttachmentParenting.org.  Specifically, the section on Effective Discipline.  I have recently forgotten, and relearned much of this, and am grateful for a patient Heavenly Father who is ready and willing to take my hand...again.

"But I Already Raised My Children!  It's Too Late to Change the Past."

Even if your children have left the nest, even if they are having babies of their own, it's never too late.  We all need this attachment at any age, and we all need to reconcile our pasts.  An amazing change can come over you and your relationships when you have reattached to your parents, no matter how old, to your children and grandchildren, no matter the age.  Even if your parents have deceased, you can attach or re-attach to a reconciliation of their memory.  You can say within yourself, "this is what my parents knew, this is what they did not know that I now know."  As the first Nephi in the Book of Mormon, you can say, (paraphrased) 'I am thankful for their examples, good and bad, and thank The Lord that I can see the difference.'  You can find compassion in your heart for them, and for yourself.  You can learn to parent yourself, through positive self-discipline.  Again, it is NEVER ever, too late.

"I Don't Have Any Children of My Own"

If you have no children of your own, you can connect with a niece or nephew, a close friend's child, a student...many many kids long and need for a kind, empathetic adult to reach out to them.  You can change someone's life by simply creating a few wonderful, loving memories.  For more information on ways to do this without anxiety, (which destroys all our best attempts) there are several resources I recommend:

http://theattachedfamily.com
http://www.naomialdort.com
http://attachmentparenting.org/blog/
http://attachmentparenting.org
http://celebratecalm.com
Book: Attached at the Heart: 8 Proven Parenting Principles for Raising Connected and Compassionate Children  by Barbara Nicholson and Lysa Parker  [I have not read this book yet, but it is recommended by the attachment parenting website, and I look forward to checking it out from my local library as soon as I am finished moving.]


I am so happy to report that my relationship to my children is better than it was several weeks ago, and the more I study this way of being, the easier it becomes to lead and guide them.  They are better behaved, they are happier, and they are healthier.  Everything from their grooming and eating habits to their public conduct has improved. Not to perfection, but progress, definitely.


My challenge for you all is to find a child to connect (or reconnect) with in a healthy way, whether it is your own child or someone else's, and then write me and tell me about it at: ginnyleeferguson @yahoo.com, or simply leave a comment.  I want to hear from you!!  You may find your story posted, unless you specify not to.  (I will be deleting my email address after a few weeks to avoid spammers, so if you want to take down my email, now is the time.)