If you are visiting for the first time, I am almost certain the first thing you will do is click to see what this blog’s all about. Who she is. And what in the world I am talking about when I say ‘beautiful mess’.

I am not the she.

And when you realize the she is a dead baby girl, you might be appalled (unless of course you walk this road with me and know what the pain of losing a child feels like, or know someone very close to you who does). You might click away, because it is too much.

But if you click away before reading a little, you will miss a few things…

that healing is REAL…

how faith becomes stronger out of sheer desperation…

that everything, everything changes after saying goodbye…

that you can embrace your plan b – whatever it is…

and realize you are picking up the pieces to this mess everyday…

I have had a few people tell me that my blog is sad to them, almost in a way that it makes them uncomfortable. I’ve even had people tell me they hate my blog.

Hate is a strong word.

If you have children, and have never had to bury one of them, losing a child is the furthest thing from your mind, and something you are convinced will be the end of you if you ever had to.

And it is unimaginable. But the truth is, it happens more often than you think.

When I lost my daughter, I made a pact that I would never let her memory fade. She was incredible, and I wanted the world to know it.

Aside from that, I was in shock that other women had done this… and survived.

This blog is for them. And for my son.

When you visit this blog, I hope you don’t walk away sad, in tears or in shock. My true hope is to share the audacity of hope in the face of grief. Because something about being so close to death, makes life so very precious. It is almost like being reborn. And you are never the same.

It hurts my heart to hear things like that, but honestly it won’t change my writing. After all, this is my blog.

And I feel strongly about being open and honest about real life. This is my life. And leaving the ‘sad’ parts out of this blog would be sharing a half truth… a lie.

To you it might be sad, but to me, it is a dare to live my life to the fullest.

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I was never that girl who always wanted to be a photographer. I didn’t
carry a camera with me everywhere I went, and as a kid I hated it when
my mom would set me up in front of a beautiful arrangement spring
flowers and tell me to “Say cheese!”

I did own a camera, but it typically only came out during special
events or vacations. It did give me a way to capture important
memories, but even then I found it to be more of a hassle than an
enhancement during these special times. I’d often come home realizing
I had only taken two or three pictures during a week-long trip,
because I had left my camera tucked away in my purse the entire time.

If I’m being honest, I would have to admit that my camera was a source
of pure frustration back then. I never thought that down the road it
would end up being my lifeline, my source of connection, and a huge
piece of growth on my own personal life journey.

But after the loss of our first daughter Bella that’s what my camera
became. It was a way for me to hide from the world in my moment of
greatest pain, but also reconnect with nature and the world around me.
It was a way for me to still create when my body failed to do so. And
it taught me to love myself and be grateful for each and every moment
I’m given here on earth. These days, I am passionate about teaching
others about how a camera can do the same for them.

• From behind the lens you can learn what truly weighs on your
  heart, and what’s most important to you.
• From behind the lens you can capture magical moments of your own
  personal gratitude, of your unique perspective, and of your special
  life.
• From behind the lens (+ computer screen) you can learn to utilize
  free tools that will transform your photos and your heart into
  artistry and self expression.
• From behind the lens you can reconnect with yourself, with
  others, and with the world.
• From behind the lens you can discover light – golden, warm and bright.
• From behind the lens you can come along with me and you’ll simply
  radiate.

Today Beryl is offering one lucky SBS reader a spot in her
summer e-course: Radiate. This online photography experience is
designed to incorporate YOU time into the hustle and bustle of daily
life all while breaking down the complicated world of photography
editing using FREE online software.

To enter:

**You must follow this blog via email, RSS or bloglovin‘ to enter***

+ Like Beryl Ayn Young on Facebook

+ Sign Up For Beryl’s ‘Daily Doses of Camera Love’ here

+ Visit Beryl’s blog here

*please leave a separate comment for each entry*

Guest blogger, Beryl Ayn Young, serves as chief photography muse
over on her personal blog, and serves as teacher of
photography courses aimed at nourishing the mind, body, and soul. She
believes feeding the spirit with lifelong learning, photographic
healing, & a glass half full perspective. Beryl leads classes and
offers mentoring aimed at teaching you how to improve your camera
skills and cherish life’s journey. Come discover how photography +
self exploration + editing techniques = a radiant new YOU during her
upcoming photography e-course, Radiate launching June 2012.

I have been so blessed by Meghan and her blog, eat.live.make., and honored to have her sharing something so personal, beautiful and inspiring here today on loss. I hope you get a chance to read her words. They had me in tears by the end. In a good way :)

Hello beautiful readers of Small Bird Studios! My name is Meghan, and I blog over at Eat.Live.Make.

At first, my blog started as a journal chronicling my journey with celiac’s disease. But, after our first miscarriage, God has allowed me to connect with so many women {through the blog world}  who share stories of loss and infertility. Their honest stories have helped me in my journey of healing.

I hope my story can somehow help you in your journey as well.

I am so thankful for the honesty Fran has in her journey on her blog. I am so blessed by her words, and thankful to be able to share my story!

—————————————————————————

My journey started with a diagnosis of Endometriosis. After my surgery I was given two options:
1. strong doses of hormones in my system (who wants that?)

2. get pregnant right away- because that is the best chance I have of conceiving and eliminating infertility and pain for several years.

After a lot of prayer, my husband and I decided we would try to conceive. And God was faithful to allow our hearts to be open to bringing another member of our family into this world.

We tried for around 8-9 months without any luck, and much heartache.

In November of last year we were able to conceive, and tested positive a week before Christmas, and two days before my new nephew was born.

We were so excited, we told a few friends and family members on Christmas day.

We lost the pregnancy on January 1st.

It was painful, so painful physically. And shattering emotionally.

I was told to keep trying, so we did. And lost our second pregnancy in April.

I am still tender, and still heartbroken. Sometimes grief wells up inside me so strong I don’t think I can bear it. And sometimes I am numb.

I never know when it will strike.

But I welcome it.. I welcome it to remember and to grieve the loss of my children that I never got to see or hold.

But God has a way of redeeming our hearts from broken and ashen places. He has opened me up to a beautiful community of women who share stories that are similar, yet so different than mine.

He is continually showing me that His ways are Higher than my ways, and that He has triumphed over this fallen world.

He is fighting for my heart.

I am learning to trust in the unknown.

Will I be able to bear children? Will we have a the family of blonde haired, blue eyed children I dream of? 

But I know that if I can’t, and if we don’t, whatever He has for me is beautiful.

And in all of this, in all of the hurt and the unknown and grief, I long for heaven.

I long for the day when I can hug and hold and laugh with my children.

And I am so thankful (and quite jealous) that they get to glimpse heaven before me.

I hope they know that I love them with a mother’s love, and that I carry them with me always.

If you asked me about breaking away from my normal routine, and how that’s going I’d be tempted to flat out lie. But since I’m no good at lying, I’d tell you it’s a lot harder than it looks. It’s something I have to just do.

If you asked me about this blog, I’d tell you that I’m wiped out and rethinking everything. I want to declutter, redesign and possible (sadly) remove sponsors. Not because I don’t want to support them any way I can, it’s just a lot to handle at the moment. I’m thinking about using PassionFruit, or maybe nothing at all. I guess I just want my blog, life to be… simpler. Nothing’s decided yet though. Especially that part about the redesign (I still have a stack of business cards with this header design on them, so that’d be a big ugly move in itself ;).

If you asked me what I’m reading I’d tell you not much except this book by C.S. Lewis, called The Problem of Pain. What caught me was the title, but also the back of the book, “If God is both omnipotent and good, how can we explain the pain and suffering that people experience daily?”

Hmm. We’ve all wondered that a time or two. Or maybe I’m just that carnal.

If you asked me about my son, I’d tell you that something about the clock turning past his second year of life has completely thrown his (perrrfect) sleep schedule out. Is this normal??? Please just lie and tell me it is. It will make me feel better.

If you asked me about his eating, I’d tell you it’s getting better. That’s one for me, right? :)

If you asked me about this fog my brain seems to be in when it comes to writing, I’d tell you I feel inadequate on so many levels, heading this huge project of Still Standing Magazine. My own writing took a backseat for a few days while the launch party was going on, and I feel like I have to find my voice again.

If you asked me about our house, I’d tell you we rearranged the living room and it feels more like home than ever. Imagine? That’s all it took… moving a few couches around. We had a house right after we lost Jenna and that was the first place I ever felt truly at home (after marriage). A part of my heart never wanted to leave, but that just wasn’t the right thing for us to do at the time.

If you asked me about Mother’s Day, I’d tell you about the flowers Bubby brought me in the middle of his playtime in the dirt and rocks Saturday afternoon. His sweaty palm was squeezing something and all I could understand was “Fyyyy!” as he reached out his fist to me (normally this means butterfly).

I hesitated and let the things (?) in his hand fall to the ground. I saw the flowers, and my heart melted and I felt a little bad.

“Oh… flowers…” I secretly hoped he’d never stop being this sweet. A sigh of relief came over me too, that it wasn’t in fact a smushed up butterfly he was holding…

If you asked me about my husband, I’d tell you that watching him grow spiritually has encouraged me a lot lately.

If you asked me about grief, I’d tell you that I’m so tired of the sadness! Pretty much sick of it. I’ve been thinking a lot about pain, more about how frustrating it is, and that it never, ever changes. But then the other day, I was reminded that pain is in fact a gift. Just like the pain of a flesh wound, the pain of the a heart wound is an indicator that something isn’t right… complete… whole… fixed… healed.

Pain makes grief almost unbearable, but it also makes her life… real.

I’ve decided that my broken heart is a gift. At least for today.

The irony of having the magazine live, is I am having major writer’s block. And just in a weird funk.

I’m pushing through though.

I’m also having some weird anxiety about Mother’s Day. I think the card companies thrive off of that. To be honest I really don’t care much about the day. Mothers should be celebrated, honored, loved everyday.

What a sacrifice. I am thinking/ speaking of my own mom now.

I guess growing up I never really got it. Everything she did for me.

Since becoming a mother, I have had many, many humbling moments that my mom did this for me.

Poopie diapers, throw up, spit up, more poop, sick days, sleepless nights, midnight calls the the doctor, midnight runs to Walgreens, setting appointments, sitting for hours in the doctors’ office, haircuts, feeding, figuring out insurance stuff.

(I love you, Mommy).

Motherhood isn’t everything I thought I’d be, it’s more.

And it also came with a lot of surprises. Some welcome surprises, and some earth-shattering ones.

This weekend I have to say holding this sweet boy in my arms satisfies that ache on some level to mother a child in the here and now.

But the anxiety is probably from just not wanting to face yet another day that reminds me of her death, and being gone. Something that has been resting deep in my soul today is to focus on things to be thankful for. I am sure that is just God telling me to remember what I do have!

And I need that.

On my very first Mother’s Day Jenna was alive, and in the NICU. My heart was SOARING. She was well enough for Pete and I to slip away to church that Sunday for an hour or so. Of course being gone for two minutes from the incubator is torture, but I remember just beaming with so much pride.

I was a mother.

I sat next to my grandmother. She didn’t say a word, but she took my hand. She slipped a fuchsia stoned-ring off her hand (ruby? I really have no idea, but I think she knew it was Jenna’s ‘color’) and slipped it onto my hand.

She smiled and somehow that Mother’s Day I felt so validated.

Even if all we have now is memories of her, they are still ours. Forever.