I know Autumn does not officially begin until later in September, but it is on my mind for two reasons, one personal and one business. In my first blog I introduced the premise that while we are a business, we are also a family. We are a family business; therefore we want you to know us. And there is so much to know. As is the case with every family, our thoughts, beliefs and experiences are as diverse as the changing Autumn leaves, which vary richly in shape, size and color. Yes, there is so much to know. So much that I had not yet thought about what we would and would not share. Would we share our triumphs along with our failures? Our graces along with our faults? Or even more poignantly in this moment, I am confronted with whether we share our joys along with our griefs.
The Autumn season is a spectacular array of vibrant colors that stun our senses in the cool October sun. If you never have, I strongly suggest a bike ride, a walk or a run along our River Greenway this fall. If you prefer to drive, head north up 327 out of Fort Wayne, or west down 24 towards Roanoke. It will never be more beautiful then when the leaves begin to turn their oranges, yellows, reds, and browns. Whatever you do, do not wait.
Autumn is a beautiful season, and yet it is a fleeting beauty, sometimes gone before we take the moment to notice. Quickly the leaves fade and loose their color, falling to the cold, dry and hardened earth below. There they wither, crumble and are trodden upon until soon they are no more. It is an unavoidable truth, that the beauty of Autumn ends in death.
As I said at the onset, Autumn is on my mind for two reasons. Hardy Mums and Death. One business. One personal.
Hardy Mums - why are they so popular? What is a hardy mum anyways? Well, hardy mums are probably mostly popular because they are beautiful, as is the case with most flowers! The yellows, purples, reds, and oranges compliment so perfectly the colors of Autumn. But what good is a hardy mum if it is not actually hardy. Maybe it is just my current state of mind, but I think we love them, because in spite of the impending and inevitable death that we know will follow this beautiful season, hardy mums give us the planting season's last hope and promise of new life returning behind the darkness of winter. So yes, those mums better damn well be hardy! We need something to hold on to! We need something to hold on to... If you did not notice yet, we are moving on to the personal.
Back to the question - what would we share? Would we share our joys along with our griefs? I guess I thought that meant something like, “Would we share the joys such as our family expecting our third baby girl?” and “Would we share the griefs, such as Mhaira is in the ER for third time this month, because she is absolutely and unequivocally the wildest and craziest two year old that ever were!” A short time ago I had no idea the stakes would be so much higher. Not broken bones, but broken hearts...
I can now tell you the name of our third baby girl. Her name is Mia Elaine. We gave her the middle name of Elaine for my mom, who shares that same middle name. We gave her the first name of Mia, which means “mine” in Spanish. It seemed so perfect to us, because she was going to be our baby girl – ours and all ours. She was to be born this December, and we were already anticipating this special Christmas gift. What would she look like? Would we finally produce some blue eyes and blond hair? It did not really matter. We were just excited for that first night, that first cry, that first smile, that first laugh, those first long gazes into each others' eyes, and so on and so forth as we began another journey to get to know our little Mia. Nothing really mattered, as long as she was healthy.
How quickly Autumn can turn to Winter. Wednesday July 26, 2017 was a day I will never forget. It quickly became the worst day of my life, which was strange because I was so looking forward to it. We were going in for Mia's 20 week check up and ultra sound. We were going to see Mia and know for certain that she would be a Mia and not a Michael. Seems silly now, but later that night the United States would play Jamaica in the Gold Cup, so it was definitely going to be the best day of the week. I was so excited, but then suddenly I was not.
We will never know exactly when it happened, but somewhere very close to that 20 week checkup Mia's heart had stopped beating. I cannot think of that moment now without the coupled irony of Mia's name. God had apparently decided that she was not all ours, but rather she was almost all his.
As it turned out that Wednesday alone would not be the worst day of our lives. That Friday we had to return to the doctor to deliver Mia into this world, though she was already far from it. All of these thoughts make me lose my words and the details blur as tears take their place.
It feels like I have been writing for hours, but it has only been minutes. It feels like we have been living these emotions for a lifetime, but it has only been days. There is a constant sorrow that rears its' dark and dreary face in moments anew each day. This day I remember that I know hardly anything about my stillborn daughter. And other days I remember Eliana and Mhaira will never have the chance to play with their little sister. All the while life and everything around us keeps moving forward. Here we are moving from Summer to Fall, and we want to enjoy the beauty of Autumn, but in many ways it feels as though it has already passed us by. We are here in the deep, dark, dead of Winter, and it really feels like we need something to hold on to...
Is there hope for life beyond the dead of winter? The hardy mum says yes, but what about in the metaphysical sense?
There has only been one time since we lost Mia that I actually felt close to her, like she was somehow with me or looking down on me. I was bicycling along the trail, trying to work out these emotions and the doubts that came along beside them. As a Christian, whenever someone would question whether my belief in God was nothing more than a mechanism for coping with my own mortality I had always felt like I could shrug it off. I would answer no, that my belief in God is not a coping mechanism, because if at the end of my life I came to find that there was never a God at all, that heaven was not real, and that my life would actually just fade in to nothingness – that would be ok. I was not some fool just holding to a fool's hope. Or was I?
As life changes, perspectives change. Mia's death confronted me with a new angle on the question. Would it really be ok if at the end of my life I had no hope of ever meeting my daughter? Would it really be ok if the reality were that she was lost altogether? The obvious answer in my mind was no, it would not be ok. What then of the question? Were it not possible that I was actually just being duped, and willingly, into believing in God for the sake of a hope of recapturing something so dear to me that I had lost? I began to feel like that was a very real possibility, and it really rattled me! Riding my bicycle and mulling over these doubts blinding my heart suddenly the scales seemed to fall from my eyes and a comforting clarity filled my mind, my heart, my being. I swear it was as if Mia was whispering to my soul saying, “Daddy, it is ok to be a fool for your love for me...”
Mia taught me something about love versus pride and what really matters. Because of her I am looking differently upon these hardy mums and the color that is just beginning to break through the buds. They are the symbol of an answer to a question that will never be far from my heart. As I water them daily it is as though I am nurturing a growing love and the possibility of a great big hope. While I accept that I might very well just be a fool, now more so than ever, because of Mia, I do not care. She has created in me a greater capacity for love and a greater desire for heaven. And in the end, if my hope for heaven perishes and all that is left is love, that is still ok.
