Returned with Honor

SHE'S HOME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I was really planning on this being a pictures only post. I had envisioned tons of super fun photos of everyone hugging and crying and laughing and hugging again. But true to Crisis Center protocol, there just had to be a story involved.

When a missionary comes home it's a big deal. We Mormons love to make it even a bigger deal. I wanted to be an uber cool mom and make sure Hermana Crosgrove had no doubts what-so-ever that we were excited to have her back.

When I take the Little People into public (try not to do that more than I have to) I like to put all red shirts on them. They are easier to keep track of that way. That backfired the last time. At the yearly town celebration I gathered up some children for lunch that weren't mine....they were wearing red shirts.

The Man and I decided we should have family shirts made just for such occasions and they should be really bright orange or some other color that would mark for certain a Crosgrove as a Crosgrove. We also decided that Nichole's homecoming and the trip to the very public airport would be the perfect place to try out these shirts of awesomeness.

And then there were the signs that must be made. A giant banner, twenty feet long at least, stating "WELCOME HOME NICHOLE" that could be held up for her as she walked down the airport corridor. And another sign to be displayed on the highway for the whole community to know that she was back and we were ecstatic about it.

Things didn't quite work out as planned.

First the shirts. Because of all that went on last week (Miracle, Still) I didn't get them ordered. When I went to the shop on Monday they were back logged and assured me that shirts could not be made in time. I decided to just make the signs extra cool and maybe add some balloons.

Then life happened. Our basement flooded. For three days we were able to nothing but rip out sheetrock, carpet, and insulation. Instead of putting things in order and arriving calm cool and collected we were back to flying by the seat of our pants and just hoping to get to the airport in time.

We didn't.

Her flight was half an hour early.

No banner. No shirts. No balloons. No cameras. Not even her family. Just a set of Grandparents to greet her (thankfully).

The Man dropped me and the children at the entrance and then drove away to park the van. The banner drove away with him, still rolled up and stowed away.

As we came down the escalator at the airport there was a crowd. Over a hundred people all holding "Welcome Home" signs. There were balloons, posters, flowers. These were the cool families that have it all together. I spied my father-in-law and I could tell something was wrong. Nichole had already come through and she had made a bee-line for the bathroom.

Guess where Mama Crosgrove and her entourage of Little Peoples went? Right into the bathroom after her. I couldn't help it. I wasn't waiting another second. We caught up to her as she was washing her hands. The bathroom is now filled with screaming, crying, hugging, oh my goodness let me hold you some more Crisis Center inmates.

And a couple of really confused women just trying to use the restroom.

I would have loved to have had those first moments captured on film. I would have loved to have done everything like normal people for a change. I was more than a bit disappointed in myself.

And then I heard Nichole's side of the story.

She had been reluctant to even get off the plane. She wasn't ready. She knew there would be a massive family and lots of fanfare waiting for her and she didn't want it. She had just spent the past year and a half of her life completely forgetting about herself and focused on bringing souls to Christ. Her stomach was roiling at the thought of having all of the attention just on her.

She was praying that somehow all of the hoopla and commotion would go away and she could just have time to slowly adjust to this new life of hers. As she came down the corridor and saw all of those signs and balloons and eager faces she prayed again. "Please don't let any of these people be my family."

God answers prayers.

A Miracle, Still

 It's been a week.

 I'm just today allowing myself to process all the growing that has been required the past few days that seem more like a year.

It's because of a cousin that is more like a brother. I blame that on my mother. She has a tendency to just love people because they are people and she just loves him. And he loves and accepts her and calls her Mama T. Which means he's stuck with me as a sort of a sister.

Lance is married to a most remarkable woman. I just love her. Even more so after the past few days.

 I got to see firsthand why they are so amazing together.

I have given birth thirteen times. Giving birth is sacred to me. If I had it my way there would be no one but my sweetheart and the throngs of heaven with me when a sweet child comes into this world. That isn't practical, I know. Most of the time it isn't even possible. I've needed help of some sort or another and I'm thankful there have been others there to fill those needs.

Having other people around doesn't make it less sacred. That's one of the things that I learned this week. Another is that sacred things remain that way because they are treated with respect and dignity. So I hope that Lance and Kim will understand that I am not writing their birth story.

 Birth stories belong to the parents.

 Especially to the mama.

Only she knows the deepest feelings of her heart. Only she knows the things that were of the greatest worth that day. Only she knows and understands where the power and strength to carry on came from. Only she knows the things that must never be forgotten.

 And the things that must not be remembered.

I need to write about the experience, though. I need to allow my heart to say some of the things it has felt this week. I need to work through the emotion that has built up.

A baby. No heartbeat. A Mommy. A Daddy. Pain. Sorrow.

What can I do to alleviate some of the pain? DOING becomes a need. I need to be able to have some control over a situation that no one has any control over.

I get to spend an afternoon finishing the inside of a beautiful little casket. I have to stop now and then as waves of emotion flood over me. I'm remembering back to just a few hours before, when the tiny body that will rest here is cradled in my hands.

When I first saw little Matthew, it was too much. I became weak and had to leave the hospital room. Babies are not supposed to be born sleeping.

As I tried to gather myself together I learned something else. Caregivers have emotions, too. A sweet nurse that was all business in the delivery room was now with me in the hallway. We exchanged hugs and tears and then she took a deep breath, put on a brave face and went on with her work.

 I decided to learn something from her.

I prayed to my Father in Heaven for strength. I was immediately overcome with an entirely new perspective as an answer to that prayer. I was no longer focused on this sleeping child that would not wake, but on the absolute miracle that had occurred. Here was a precious body for a spirit that had returned home. Such a beautiful face! Tiny nostrils and perfect lips. Sweet fingers on a hand that was smaller than my finger print. 

And those feet! Absolute perfection. How could toes that were no thicker than my fingernail be so precise, perfectly detailed, and so adorable? I just couldn't get over those feet!

Miss Brianna was asked to record this sacred time with photographs. It was my privilege to be by her side. We both felt the guidance that comes from the other side. We both felt the spirit of this little person. 

We both felt the sense of humor that came with that spirit.

Now and then I notice little moments of growth in my children. Sometimes I witness womanhood come on over night. Brianna astounds me. I am so proud of her for developing an interest into a talent and then sharing that talent for so much good.

As Miss Brianna and I left the hospital we were humbled and quiet. There weren't many words to share. Words hadn't even been formed yet. We started out in the darkness of night but as we drew nearer to our home the light began to erupt from over the mountains in all directions. Miss B, as tired and worn as she was, had to stop the car. She ran out into a field, got down on her knees, and started snapping pics of the sunrise. I was reminded of my post Chasing Light. I know the timing that morning was a special gift to us. And hopefully to Kim and Lance as well.

I wish I could stop writing now. But I can't. There's more in my heart. 

My brother Seth left this earth just before I entered it. I never knew him and yet he has had a large impact on my life. His life and death changed my parents. It reminded them of how strong they are. His earthly experience drew my parents closer to each other and closer to God. They learned how to let things go that need to be let go of and they learned how to cherish the things that should be cherished.

And they learned the difference.

My father offered to have Matthew interred with Seth. At the graveside service I witnessed a great man stand at the head of his own son's grave and dedicate that soil to receive yet another special body. I can't begin to comprehend the faith, the understanding, and the love he possesses.

 When I asked about it later my father said he only wished he could have done the same for all of his  grandchildren and great-grandchildren that were born sleeping.

I don't welcome hard things in my life. But I am grateful for them. I am learning that mountains in my way can be marched around or climbed. If I choose to climb them I get a much better perspective.

Thank you Lance and Kim, for letting me be a part of your climbing expedition. The view isn't completely lovely yet, but it is becoming clearer.