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Our Story of Hope- The Ford Family (Everly)

“You have been assigned this mountain to show others it can be moved.” – unknown

The morning of May 2nd started out different than usual in that I didn’t rush.  Everly woke before Major, my 3 ½ year old and I pulled her into bed to nurse.  As I laid there on my side feeding her from my body I took her all in.  I savored her.  I distinctly remember looking into her eyes as she nursed, stroked her hair and thanked God she was mine.  But she wasn’t mine.  Not entirely.  She was on loan and little did I know that loan was being cashed in later that afternoon.

I left for work that day not knowing it would be the last time I would hold my baby girl.  I nursed her before I left because she wouldn’t take a bottle and prayed I could get home to nurse her again without having to pump.  I was the Regional Manager of Georgia for lululemon athletica and my Area Director was flying in that day to visit my stores with me.  I was on a store visit when I noticed I had several missed calls from my husband Josh.  One of the workers came up to me and handed me the store phone.  It was Josh saying in a desperate, frantic voice for me to get home and that Everly wasn’t breathing.  I screamed as I dropped the phone and ran towards the door.  My boss grabbed my things and ran after me asking me what was wrong.  In between groans/screams I told her what he had told me and she drove me to the hospital.  My husband had called me back to tell me to go to the hospital and not to come home.  He would be on his way behind the ambulance.  What he really didn’t tell me was that the investigators were at our house and treating it like a crime scene.  He didn’t want me to have to deal with that.   (My husband is a federal agent and has been on the other side of situations like this.  He knew how to handle law enforcement and shielded me from that side of things)

I arrived at the hospital and someone was waiting for me.  She ushered me down a hallway and another until we passed the emergency entrance.  I saw a gurney and a paramedic standing there.  He wouldn’t look me in the eyes and I knew.  I knew my baby girl was gone.  I screamed, “He won’t look at me.” Over and over until I was hoarse.  The doctors and nurses who worked on her came into the tiny room they put me in conveniently positioned next to the psych ward to tell me the news.  I couldn’t believe it even though I already knew in my heart that what they were saying was true.  She was gone.  It felt like a bad dream.  I hadn’t pumped and my breasts were beyond full.  I was so angry that she wasn’t alive for me to nurse.  My whole body hurt, yearning for her.  My husband arrived shortly after the doctors told me and I howled in pain as we held one another, hot tears streaming down my face.  How in the world was my beautiful, perfect baby girl dead?

Everly was with my trusted nanny Cici the day she passed.  She put her down for her nap like any other day and Everly never woke up.  She passed peacefully in her sleep with no suffering.  She was face up and perfectly fine.  She didn’t suffocate or suffer.  Her autopsy months later came back perfect.  She had nothing wrong with her.  It was a tough blow to hear because it would almost be easier if there was something wrong.

No one can ever prepare you for something like this.  You hear of it happening and yet you never think it will happen to you.  I can honestly say I was one of those people who never in a million years thought that I would lose my child.  Everly was a gift from God.  Through all of this I have come to the realization that God doesn’t take our babies.  He received her that day but He didn’t take her.  I know she is with Him and that does give me some peace.  Grief is THE hardest thing I have ever been given the task of navigating and yet I knew almost immediately that God has a plan and a purpose in all of this suffering.  He will see us through this.  Everyone kept telling me that I can be “Mad” at God.  I have never once been mad at God.  I knew that God cried too that day.  God didn’t mean this to harm me.  The enemy did and I would NOT allow the enemy to win this one.

There’s a quote by a poet named Yung Pueblo that goes like this, “true love does not hurt, attachments do.” He goes on to say that Love cannot cause pain; attachments cause pain.  When the attachments that we create in our minds break, we feel their rupture deeply, how deeply depends on how much we identify with the image that we have created.  This resonated with me so deeply.  I had created the perfect image in my mind of my life with my daughter.  I’d bought clothes sizes ahead never once thinking she would never wear them.  I assumed.  I was confident she would.  I was wrong.  In reflecting on this, all I see when I open that closet is pride.  My pride for my beautiful daughter.  None of it matters.  Actually she hated all of the frilly smocked dresses and large bows I put on her head.  She couldn’t have cared one bit about any of it.  It was my own pride and wanting that bought all of it thinking I would have her here to dress her like a baby doll.  I can’t beat myself up for the images in my mind that never came to fruition or for the fancy clothes.  What I do know is that the images of what would be created more pain for me in thinking about what might have been.  So I choose to remember the love I gave her in the eight months she was here.  The really good happy times that did happen, not the ones that didn’t and never will.  To be present with my son and husband and give them a wife and mother they deserve.  I am still here.  There is still a purpose for my life and I must live it to the fullest.

Everly James Ford is a bright light in this dark world.  She set me on a path of deep spiritual awakening and has brought me closer to our Lord during this than I ever thought possible.  I am forever grateful to be her mother.  I will continue to heal through this and know that I will NEVER get over her loss but will get through it, day by day, minute by minute, second by second.  Each day is different and I take it as it comes.  I recently left my corporate job to pursue my career as a Full time artist.  Everly taught me to take risks and live big.  We are not guaranteed tomorrow and I am living life out loud for her.  My art helps heal me and others.  It is where I find peace in the storm of her loss.  Follow along via Instagram as I continue to post there about navigating the waves of grief.

www.jgfcollective.com

@jillgordonford.art- Instagram

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How Do You Keep Going?

‘How do you keep going day after day after loosing a child? What do you cling to on those hard days?’

As I read those words in a text recently from a friend who also just lost a child, I began to think and reflect on what had kept us going.. At first, I conjured up what I felt seemed like typical ‘Christian’ responses faith, hope, etc., while true, they didn’t seem adequate to explain my journey. I told her I’d get back to her in a few days as I thought it though.

The next day as I was reading about Moses, it hit me, MANNA! That is what has kept me going each day. Just as the children of Israel were dependent on God to provide manna to keep them going each day, I have also had to learn to completely lean on God to give me the manna I needed every day to sustain me. (Exodus 16)

manna

I can remember sitting on the couch in our living room the mornings just after Zoe passed away, with time to fill since I was no longer nursing and cuddling her in the early mornings. While the boys were still asleep, I would read. I felt like I was sitting there almost begging and pleading for God to fill my broken heart. I would search the pages of each book or the Bible for what God wanted to ‘feed me with’ that day. It became such a refreshing time for me that I found myself absolutely needing that time each morning. Still today, I look forward so much to that time in the mornings, alone, where I can read, enjoy my coffee, and search the Word for pieces of truth and hope to cling to each day.

coffee

In my desperate need for daily manna, I’ve also come to realize that yesterday’s manna is NOT ENOUGH for today. While in the past I may have felt I could make through on my own for at least a day or two, or sometimes even a week, today I KNOW differently. Just like the Israelites couldn’t store up manna and needed a fresh supply each day, so do I! I need the nourishment and a fresh Word, that will soothe my heart, and strengthen me each day.

While it took loosing Zoe for me to realize what desperate need for God looks like, I am grateful for this gift of desperation. I have truly come to know that nothing else will satisfy and soothe our broken hearts except the true living Word of God.

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Dear Woman Who Has Never Lost a Child,

 

Dear Woman Who Has Never Lost a Child,

I was once in your shoes; with two sons by my side and a daughter in my arms.  When I was pregnant with both of our boys, I was oblivious to that fact that other moms around me were hurting; many in silence.

I didn’t know anyone by name who was living through a miscarriage, the birth of a still born baby, nor a parent who lost a child to SIDS. Our close friends had lost their child to illness as a toddler, and that was a pain I couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

Yet, should I have felt guilty that I had a child and others did not? Absolutely not. Should I have not shared the immense joy of our sons’ births publicly? Absolutely not. Guilt is never the answer.

Should I have been more thankful and less quick to complain about pregnancy or motherhood; yes. Yes I should have.

Sometimes I forgot that:

There are many women begging for the aches of pregnancy.

There are many women longing for long nights awake with a fussy baby.

There are many women who long for someone to call them ‘Mom’.

There are many women who feel like God is answering everyone else’s prayers but theirs.

And all those things that we complain about, are exactly the things that someone else is begging for.

Three years after our second son was born, I was pregnant with Zoe, and things were much different. This time, eight of my friends and family lost their precious growing baby through miscarriage during my pregnancy. It was incredibly hard to know what to say or do. I had many conversations with God about ‘Why us?’, “Why did we get to keep our baby?’, and ‘How was I supposed to respond as the only one who was still pregnant?’ I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to celebrate publicly at times, because I didn’t want to hurt them; but I did know the last thing they would want to hear was my complaining.

Yet three months after she was born, our precious baby girl was no longer with us anymore. At three months of age, she closed her eyes for a nap and then opened them again in the arms of her Heavenly Father. She was able to meet many of our friends and family’s little ones before their earthly parents even got to meet them.

All of the sudden, things changed. All of the sudden I became a part of the group of women who HAD lost a child. With feelings and emotions that I’d never experienced before, I began to swim through a rip tide of emotions. However, the best thing I did was to allow myself to feel the bottom of the ocean. As my feet scrapped across the bottom, God gave me the strength to push off, and steadily I began to rise back up eventually above the rip tide. For many years as a teenager and even in college, I had taught this ‘life saving’ technique of pushing off the bottom to my swim students; it was finally time to practice what I had taught.

You see, that is where many of your friends are, they are stuck spinning around day after day in that rip tide of emotions. Therefore, they may be what seems overly emotional at times, extremely sensitive, or downright insensitive to you. But here is the truth, they need you. They also need you to let them feel the bottom, so they are better positioned to push off when they are ready. Extra grace is required. They, deep in their hearts, are happy for your pregnancy. They want to hold your baby; but maybe are too scared to feel the feelings that come with that. They want to come to your baby shower, but aren’t sure if they could emotionally survive. So what do you do? You include, invite, and share with them anyway; you let THEM choose what they are ready for.

Every mom who has lost a child has different needs, however, the thing that fills my heart with constant joy, is to see a mom who has their baby, but is so over the top grateful for all that comes with that- the aches and pains of pregnancy, and exhaustion and the sleepless nights of having a newborn. I don’t believe you have to go through a miscarriage, still birth, or infant loss to have a grateful heart as a mom… rather, it’s about where you choose to focus. Your gratefulness as a mother is a gift to your child, but it is also a gift to those around you.

October 15th is Miscarriage and Infant Loss Awareness Day, another day for you to support your loved ones who have lost a child- Send them a note, share a picture that you have of their child or them during their pregnancy, recognize their child and their pain.

 

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Dear Grieving Dad

I’ve written this post many times in my head. Each time I feel like it goes in a different direction. I want to express a guy’s side of grief, but it’s difficult because everyone grieves differently. This post is for dads, like me, who have lost a child. If you know someone who is in our shoes, please share this with them.

Dear Dad,
Welcome to the club that no one wants to join. You didn’t ask to be a part, but now you are a member. I am too. I was welcomed into the club when my three month old daughter Zoe died from SIDS. We didn’t want to be in this, but here we are together. You may feel so alone right now, but you’re not. There are many of us who are in the club. I was fortunate to have several veteran members share with me their experience and what they have learned. While still somewhat of a rookie, I wanted to share with you what I have learned so far, and that you are not alone in this club.

 

Maybe you feel completely alone, I am with you. Maybe you feel like everything is moving slowly, like you are underwater, I am swimming with you.

 

Maybe you feel like things are moving so quickly around you that everything’s a blur, I see that blurred vision too.

 

Maybe you feel like you have to hold things in together so that you can allow others to grieve, I am holding them with you.

 

Maybe you wait for a call to tell you that things aren’t the way they seem, that this is all a mix-up, I am waiting with you.

 

Maybe you feel like you are unsure what the next step looks like in your life, I am with you in the uncertainty.

 

Maybe you wonder if the pain that you are feeling will ever subside, I am with you in the wondering.

 

Maybe you think of all the things you are going to miss, I am missing them with you.

 

Maybe you don’t know what you are feeling right now, I am with you in the unknown.

 

Dad, there are so many things that are going through your head right now, but I am with you. However, I need to let you know, when I say “I am with you.” I really am, but not because I have the strength to be with you in the pain and the sorrow and the confusion. Rather, it is because God is with me that I am able to be with you. Really, it is he, God, who is with you.

 

I have learned that there are so many different directions that I can go with the loss of my daughter. I can spend time wishing that I had done things differently, from as little as spending more time at home, to as big has having taken the day off to be with her. However, wishing for the past to be different doesn’t help. I can spend time feeling like I let my family down because I was unable to protect my daughter. But the reality is there is nothing I can do right now. I can spend time withdrawn from my family and wife because I don’t know how to share what I’m feeling. Truthfully, I know that withdrawing from them is the worst thing that I can do right now. There are so many different things that I can do, but they won’t help me move on, but it is my choice.

 

That is the most important thing that I’ve learned is that I have to choose to move forward. They are simple choices, like taking a shower and shaving the day after Zoe passed away. They are simple like forcing myself to eat, even though I wasn’t hungry, or making the bed, even though no one would fault me if I didn’t. I had to make those choices, they weren’t going to just happen by themselves. The great thing about these choices, is that it’s never too late to start making them, but you have to choose, remember I am with you in those choices. God is with you.

 

Fellow club member, there is no way around this, life is tough right now. That being said, you are not alone. My faith in God has allowed me to walk through this tough time with hope, and there will be more things that will be tough in the future. I am confident that God will be with me. But maybe you don’t believe in God, can I share my faith in him with you? Can I walk with you through this journey? Seriously, I want to walk through the hard times with you, you are not alone. Let me walk with you through this journey. Maybe the first choice you need to make is to talk to me. I am with you in that choice. Will you email me? We can walk together, I guarantee you that the walk is better with someone by your side. I am here for you. 

 

Empathetically

Jeff

If you want to share your story with someone, or you feel like you can’t talk to anyone, please contact me. If you know someone who needs to talk, please share this with them, I would love to listen. You can email me at jrollins@hopefamilycareministries.org.

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Walk Into The Pain

This post was originally written on June 7, 2014 on our family blog; one month after we lost our daughter Zoe. As true as these words were then, they still ring true today. 

One month later.

Still a family of five.

We’ve learned so much this past month and are still processing even more.

This past week I’ve been really praying and listening, asking God what He wants me to learn from this past month. Again and again, I hear Him reminding me to continue to walk into the pain

One of the first things I remember telling Jeff the evening Zoe passed away, was how much my heart hurt. I had never felt that type of pain before; it was different.

Because of the pain, there were so many things I found myself scared to do that first evening, one of them was to be alone. I needed Jeff to be with me whatever I did; I just couldn’t be alone. Maybe it was the loneliness that comes with loosing someone so close to you; I’m not sure.

That night we both laid in bed, but neither of us could sleep. In the early morning hours, we decided to get up, and that was when Jeff wrote this. As we talked through writing that first post, and shared our very raw story through tears, we began to feel comfort. After we pressed ‘publish’, I was able to get up and go back to bed without Jeff, as he was still wide awake. That was the first moment I began to realize that as allowed myself to walk into the pain, the more comfort and healing I was able to find.


(Our last picture of Zoe; just hours before she woke up in His arms.) 

The next day, was filled with hard things- waking up and realizing I wouldn’t hear her cries, continuing to pump milk (as I had still been nursing), going into Zoe’s room for the first time, looking at the pictures of Zoe that I had taken of her just hours before she passed away, the list could go on and on. However, because of what God had shown me early that morning, I walked into each of those moments with a new perspective- the more I allow myself and or sometimes force myself to walk into the pain, each time I was able to come out better and healthier than before.

Those next few days leading up to Zoe’s Celebration, were filled with very hard moments and decisions. One of my most healing moments was also one of the hardest, and it came the morning of Zoe’s Celebration. Jeff and I had decided that it would best for our family if he and I went alone to spend time with and see her, the morning before her celebration. We were both sick to our stomachs and nervous beyond belief to see her. However, after the initial crying, we were able to sit and hold her one last time. I was not sure I would be able to do that and had been fearing that moment since we first talked about it. However, we both sat silently, each holding her, staring at her until we were ready to kiss her goodbye. Jeff said it best, that during that time, we both realized that one’s soul does change their appearance, and even though she looked like our Zoe, she looked different. Her soul was gone. That was just the assurance we needed to bring a tremendous peace and comfort that only the Lord could give. The hard things didn’t subside, but my pain and fear did, each time I walked into the pain.

Today walking into the pain looks different than it did a month ago-

maybe it’s not turning the radio off when a song that stirs my emotions comes on but allowing myself to cry through it,

maybe it’s sitting and watching videos or looking at pictures of Zoe that bring tears of joy,

maybe it’s allowing myself to picture her with our family today and what she might be doing,

maybe it’s allowing myself to stare at another baby I see and remember Zoe’s tiny little fingers or sweet little nose,

or maybe it’s sitting down and writing out my feelings and what I’m learning.

Because I do have the hope of knowing I will see and hold my precious girl again in heaven one day, I have been able to commit to walking into the pain but then existing on the other side healthier than before.

I will walk into the pain, and I will walk THROUGH the pain, but I will not live in the pain.