Exhaustion.

I wanted to post an update, but I have to be honest - the words aren't coming. Not in any sort of coherent stream of thought, anyway. I'm exhausted. In a way I've never experienced before and everything in my body hurts, yet I feel like I'm living someone else's life. Someone else carries quadruplets for 26 and a half weeks. Someone else goes on bed rest for 10 and a half of those weeks. Someone else delivers those four babies and then says goodbye to one of those precious children only 10 hours later. Someone else plans the funeral for that sweet baby while trying to figure out insurance and FMLA and the ins and outs of the NICU for the surviving three babies. Someone else sits in the front row of the funeral looking at the only pictures she was able to get of her beautiful son before he was placed in the box that sits beside those pictures. Someone else pumps every two hours in the midst of all of it so that her other three babies might be able to grow and thrive and have a chance at life that her other baby won't get. Someone else gets an infection and ends up back in the same room to be treated for it as she spent three weeks on bed rest in only two weeks before and weeps because the last time she was in that room she had all four of her babies with her. Someone else hates Wednesdays because of the reminder of what week gestation those babies would be and how her angel baby might still be here if only she could have kept them in longer. Someone else almost loses another baby this week and freaks out and struggles to feel any comfort in trusting the Lord with her one pound baby's health because the Lord already saw fit to take her brother home, so who's to say He's not going to take her as well? This has to be someone else's life because I can't do this.

But it's not. It's my life, and it's Nick's life, and by the grace of God (and ONLY by His grace), we're doing it. We're not doing it well, but every day we get out of bed and we put one foot in front of the other, and we make it another day. And every day we experience the goodness of God in amazing and tangible ways, and we are reassured that we will be okay. And we are also reassured that it's okay that we aren't there yet. And in the midst of our not okayness, we've got thousands of people who are literally holding us up in so many beautiful ways, and we are experiencing the body of Christ in a way we could have never fathomed. We've got an amazing medical team that is fighting so hard to get our babies healthy. We've got amazing friends and family who are fixing meals and cleaning our house and helping with Jeremiah and sitting at the hospital with us and crying with us. We've got an amazing church family that is sending freezer meals and helping us through our grief and who hosted a lovely celebration of Oliver's life for our family. We've got sorority sisters who are raising money for our NICU stay and funeral costs and who named a star after Oliver so that we would always be able to look to the sky and see him. We've got best friends who drive the two hours from Kansas City just to be with us for an hour or two and let us cry with them. We've got co-workers and employers who are so gracious and generous with us and have given us the time we need to be together as we mourn Oliver and celebrate each victory we see with Mavis, Amos, and Lena. We've got strangers from across the country who are sending cards and gifts and sweet words of encouragement and praying so diligently for our three tiny miracles and rejoicing with each "win" they have. Truly, I could go on and on. We have been blown away by people's kindness to us - throughout our entire pregnancy but especially in the weeks since we delivered.

So while it feels very much like we are living someone else's life, Nick and I have found so much comfort in the midst of our pain. Not only in the way you all have been the hands and feet of Jesus to us, but most importantly in the Truth of who Christ is. He is not unfamiliar with suffering, but He Himself endured the unthinkable. This world is not as it ought to be, and God does not delight in our hurt, but instead meets us in it and reminds us that in the midst of the brokenness, all WILL be well. It's not yet, but it will be. God weeps with us over the loss of our son, but He also reminds us that Oliver is safe in the arms of his Creator and we will see him again some day. So while my arms ache for the baby I won't get to raise, my heart is comforted in knowing where he is. I have been clinging to this passage from Lamentations 3, and my prayer in sharing it, and really in sharing all of this - our entire journey and even the ugly rawness of my hurt and my fear - is that you would find encouragement and peace in knowing that there is HOPE. No matter how dark the days, no matter how deep the pain, no matter how feeble the faith, there is always, ALWAYS hope.

19 Remember my affliction and my wanderings,
    the wormwood and the gall!
20 My soul continually remembers it
    and is bowed down within me.
21 But this I call to mind,
    and therefore I have hope:

22 The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;
    his mercies never come to an end;
23 they are new every morning;
    great is your faithfulness.
24 “The Lord is my portion,” says my soul, 

“therefore I will hope in him.”
    

We'll be okay.

We're struggling. I'll be honest. This last week and a half has been the hardest 10 days of our whole lives, and it is purely by the grace of God that we are still standing. I'm exhausted tonight, so it's probably better that I don't let my feels get going or we could be here all night, but I did want to post some pictures of the kids and tell you all that we are SO, SO grateful for you support, prayers, and encouragement. We continue to be blown away by the outpouring of love we've received. In addition to just missing him so much that my body literally aches, one of my greatest fears is that Oliver will be forgotten and that Amos, Mavis, and Lena will be denied a part of their identity as quads. He will always be a huge part of their story and of our family and to know that you all love him so much gives me hope that our precious baby will not be forgotten. The love you've shown us and the condolences you've offered have been so comforting and reassuring and we are so grateful.

Many of you have asked, and Nick and I are still working on a meaningful way to honor Oliver's life in the way of a memorial, but as soon as we nail it down, we will let you know. In the meantime, we plan to celebrate our beautiful boy with a graveside service for our immediate family this weekend. We have been working with Houser Millard Funeral Home and they have been nothing short of amazing. Oliver's obituary ran in the Jefferson City paper today, and you can read it here on the Millard website.

In other news, the other three babies are doing remarkably well for how teeny they are. Lena finally reached one pound today! We are so excited for her!! She continues to show us what a brave little fighter she is - the big babies (you know, the almost two pound ones!) do something one day and she does it the next. The doctors tell us it might be a while before she is able to do this or that, and she turns around and proves them wrong. She's such a feisty little thing. :) Really all three of them are. We are so very proud to be their mommy and daddy. Every day we look at each other and say, "these babies are ours. God gave them to us. How did we get so lucky?!" I won't bog you down with the medical details, but I'll hit the highlights - they are all three off the big ventilator and are getting their oxygen through a much smaller nasal cannula, they are all on at least a few milliliters of breast milk (I pump and then they get it through a feeding tube directly into their tiny bellies...they are no where close to nursing, but maybe someday!), and they've all opened their eyes! The biggest concern we have with all three of them is that their heart rates drop several times a day for a short period of time. They call them "brady events" and they are very typical for preemies. Their nurses and doctors assure us that as scary as it is to watch happen, it is very common for tiny babes, and they will eventually outgrow it. We completely trust these amazing, amazing humans who are caring for our babies, but given what Nick watched happen to Oliver, we are both incredibly nervous about them. Please pray for us that we don't freak out every time it happens or wear on our incredibly patient, kind, and compassionate medical team. More importantly, please pray that the babies would outgrow this soon. I weep every time it happens at this point, and I know it's the pain of losing Oliver that is still so fresh and raw that is contributing to my paranoia, but right now I just can't help it. And I'm okay with that. Healing will come. But in the meantime, it's terrifying.

So many of you have been so sweet to remember big brother these last 10 days, and we are so grateful. Jeremiah is doing as well as can be expected. He took the news of Oliver's passing about how we anticipated he would - he was sad and confused but also very matter of fact about it. He loves the other babies but really struggles to be in the NICU. The alarms and machines are just too much for him (they are almost too much for Nick and I too...it's constant. One of the babies is always being naughty and setting off their alarms so there is never a quiet moment in our little neck of the NICU woods.), and every time one of them has a machine dinging at us, he assumes another baby is going to die. It's been really hard to watch, but we continue to make him come visit once every few days for short periods of time because we know it's important for him to learn to trust that the babies are safe and in good hands.

So, I just realized how tired I am and this entire post may be completely incoherent, so I'd better sign off before I fall asleep on my keyboard!! :)  But, maybe you'll forgive me if I leave you with cute pictures of my teeny tiny baby humans?!?

Teeny Leeny

Mavey Baby

Famous Amos

And of course, a very proud, sweet, handsome big brother

Thank you for being patient with us as we adjust to our new life as a NICU family as well as plan a funeral for our baby. It's been completely overwhelming and all encompassing, but we know we'll settle into a routine eventually. In the meantime, thank you for loving us and our kids and continuing to be such faithful prayer warriors. We've got three itty bitty babies who still desperately need your prayers, a big brother who is trying to make sense of it all, and two parents who are grieving but filled with hope as we know that Oliver is safe in the hands of the One who made him and we will see him again. We still have four amazing children to raise on this side of heaven and we don't want to take one minute with them for granted. They are precious treasures to us.