Category: Uncategorized

“Sick Soup” and Turmeric Tea

Or “On the mend spiced red lentil-kale soup.” 


With cold and flu season on the horizon you will want to keep these ingredients for the soup and the tea handy! This is our family’s favorite “sick soup.” It’s a little spicy for the kiddos so adjust seasonings according to taste. It is also a good preventative from even getting the crud. 

The recipe is from “The Oh She Glows Cookbook” by Angela Liddon. 


On the mend spiced red lentil-kale soup

1 teaspoon coconut or olive oil

1 sweet onion, diced

2 large cloves garlic, minced

3 stalks celery, dived

1 bay leaf

1&1/4 teaspoon ground cumin

2 teaspoons chili powder

1/2 teaspoon ground coriander

1/4-1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika

1/8 teaspoon cayenne pepper

1 14-ounce can diced tomatoes with their juices

5-6 cups vegetable broth (more as needed)

1 cup uncooked red Lentils, rinsed and drained

Salt and pepper to taste

2 handfuls destemmed kale leaves or spinach (I’ve used both)
Method: In large saucepan, heat the oil over medium heat. Add the onion and sauté for 5-6 minutes until translucent. Add the garlic and celery, season with salt and sauté a few minutes more making sure the garlic doesn’t burn. 

Add the bay leaf, cumin, chili powder, coriander, paprika, and cayenne and stir to combine. Sauté a few more minutes until fragrant. 

Stir in tomatoes with juices, the veggie broth, and Lentils. Bring mixture to boil, then reduce heat to medium and simmer, uncovered, for 20-25 minutes until Lentils are tender and fluffy. Season with salt and pepper. Discard bay leaf. 

Stir in kale and cook for a few more minutes until kale has wilted. Serve immediately. (I like to make a double batch and freeze half.)


Turmeric Tea

In a saucepan, bring four cups of water to a boil. Add 2 inches of sliced fresh turmeric root OR 1 teaspoon ground turmeric. I also add about 1 inch of fresh sliced ginger root. (You can leave the peel on both roots.)

Summer for about 10-15 minutes. Strain through a fine mesh or cheesecloth. 

Enjoy as is or add raw honey to taste. 


Here is a link to the health benefits of Tumeric tea. Turmeric Tea Benefits  

Stay well, my friends, and enjoy! 

Why pregnancy and infant loss awareness matters

She sat in my office, her third visit sharing her story of loss. Her baby died several decades ago, after living a few short weeks. We had shared on a surface level the details of those few weeks and reactions and support or lack thereof. She leaned back now, folded her arms, and said, “It was hard, you know, but don’t you think it would be harder to lose and older child?” 

“No,” I replied, “Different, but not harder. I’m so sorry you’ve been told that.” 

I’ve heard that myself from strangers, family, friends, and way too many cashiers asking me if I’m having a party with the items they are ringing up and I reply, “Yes, to remember children that have died.” 

Here’s a disclaimer once again. I have sat with many parents whose child, teenager, adult child has died. I would never want to take away the impact of their life, their grief, their memories, their sorrow. I pray I never know that pain. In our groups we talk about the different stages and types of loss even within the child-loss community, so this is not about comparing losses. Ever! 

The point of this post and Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month (October) and Day (October 15) is to raise awareness specifically for this cause. 


It matters to me because after I told the Mom above that her loss mattered a dam broke, a weeping came forth, anguish flowed from her very soul. Some time later when she could catch her breath she said, “For the first time since my baby died I feel like someone understands. For the first time, someone acknowledged my loss for what it was to me” 

She changed after that. For the better. Releasing years up pent-up grief allowed healing to follow. I never see her now, but I’ll never forget that moment. 

Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness matters for the women who seek me out after a speaking engagement thanking me and wishing they had someone to talk to sixty and seventy years ago. 

It matters to me because when I was terrified about a subsequent pregnancy someone told me, “Oh don’t worry, that first one was just cleaning your pipes out.” 

My baby that I had dreamed about, loved with every fiber of my being, grieved with every cell in my body, had been reduced to nothing more than a “pipe cleaner” in this person’s view. 

This Awareness matters for the family who’d suffered multiple losses and the husband decided he needed to put school on hold. The school refused to reimburse him for his current classes that had just started even though it was so he could provide and care for his grieving family. I sent a letter to the school saying how I had walked with them through this grief and that to minimize their losses was only compounding their grief. The school not only complied, but sent a letter of apology to the family for misunderstanding just how devastating their losses were. 

Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness matters to me because we are told we can have more children like they can be replaced like rag dolls. We are told we should “get over it,” “be over it,” “move on,” like a part of us wasn’t just ripped out and buried or cremated. It matters because the Mom in my office the other day received a note saying, “I hope you feel better,” like she had the flu instead of just given birth to a stillborn baby. 

It matters because the silence of family and friends can be deafening when all we want is for these little lives to be acknowledged and remembered. 

We are ONE in FOUR! This matters to me because ONE in FOUR women know this pain and we are still held captive to our grief because of societal norms. 


I don’t care about media attention, but I am passionate about a societal shift. We need safe spaces for mothers and fathers and siblings to have their grief validated and healing support to follow, not glossed over by platitudes, cliches, and their babies reduced to pipe cleaner status or a time of not feeling well. 

We need compassionate doctors and nurses who empathize with this loss, pastors and clergy who offer funeral services at the wishes of the family no matter how early the loss. 

We need co-workers and bosses who give those grieving this loss the space and understanding they need. We need to stop minimizing the impact these precious lives had in the lives of those who so desperately loved them. 

I will join the chorus of those refusing to keep our losses private. I will work the rest of my life to campaign for this awareness so that, God forbid, should our own daughters know this same loss they will find a society that embraces them, encourages their voices, and nurtures them in grief and healing. 


In closing, here is a poem I wrote two months after our daughter, Sadie Rose, was born, lived, and died. It is raw, it is real, and I still feel this way. 

Don’t Tell Me

By Regina Cyzick Harlow 

August 2007

Don’t tell me everything happens for a reason

Don’t tell me this is just a season

Don’t look at me and raise your eyes and tell me that you know

That God takes care of everything because He loves us so

Don’t shrug your shoulders in my face and tell me “God knows best”

Don’t comfort me by saying my baby’s found eternal rest

I’d rather hold my baby girl and feel her flesh and blood
To smell her breath upon my face and feel her baby hugs
I’d rather kiss her tender cheeks and comb her baby hair
Than cling to idealistic dreams of knowing her “over there”
I wish her cries would wake me when I desperately needed sleep
I wish a smelly diaper meant I’d get to wash her sheets.
I’d love to feel her on my breast and hear her baby sigh
Oh God I cannot take this pain, why did she have to die
I’ll never hear her footsteps as she patters down the hall
She’ll never learn to ride a bike or play with baby dolls
She’ll never call me mommy or sing her ABC’s
She’ll never get to help me decorate the Christmas tree
So before you in all your wisdom tell me how to deal with grief
Just close your mouth and walk away and give me some relief
I know you want to help me and you don’t know what to say
But hugs, and tears, and smiles are best, when my heart feels this way.

Life, Love, and an Unforgettable 10th Anniversary Celebration

Saturday the husband and I celebrated ten years of marriage. Ironically, the weekend of our wedding we had leftover hurricane rain and winds but everything cleared out just in time for a perfectly beautiful Sunday afternoon wedding. This weekend we had the leftover rain and winds from Hurricane Matthew. 

“Rain on your wedding day is auspicious,” my friend told me, but apparently the rain fairies didn’t get the message to the marriage fairies. 

The first ten years we weathered some pretty difficult storms; the death of our firstborn daughter, the death of his father, additional loved ones in declining health, me giving my life to the work of our non-profit, him working six days a week at the business he started, three years of ministry school for me, and the list goes on. 

We’ve also been incredibly blessed with two more biological children and the opportunity to love a foster child for nearly a year now. 

Some of this crazy was our own volition, some was life’s calling. For example, we chose the addition of children and to become foster parents, the husband chose to start his own business, both of us knowing it would be a grueling first couple of years with no guarantees we would make it. (We would make these same choices a thousand times over so no regrets.)

I have been present with mothers delivering stillborn babies, officiated funeral services for deceased children, sat with countless families and individuals grieving the death of their child, grandchild, sibling, texted with moms in the middle of the night because that’s when grief overwhelmed, visited with mothers on the mental health floor because all she could say to the doctors was that she wanted to be with her child that died. I conduct groups meetings and one-on-one support, plan and officiate multiple annual remembrance ceremonies and events, and I do nearly all of this as a volunteer. So… I got another part-time position to help with our household income, but both my work through our organization and my part-time job are life callings. Sure, ultimately it was my choice to say yes or no, but the call was birthed from excruciating pain and purpose and what an honor it is to serve our community in these ways. 

As we planned for our anniversary weekend, we talked about driving a few hours east for an overnight getaway. However, as I looked around our house, I had an epiphany. 

Why not have the kids stay with mom and the husband and I take two days to work on cleaning and organizing our house. (With the exception of dinner and a movie.) Surprisingly the husband agreed! 

I’ve never been a romantic and I’m practical to a fault, so I don’t think this caught my husband off guard. 

September a year ago our basement flooded from heavy rains. (We lost some sentimental items in that flood that gave us only a mere glimpse of what people in Hurricane Matthew’s path have lost. My heart has hurt so much for them this week.) The husband tore out the carpet, but everything has been sitting there waiting to be put back together. He started repainting this summer, but there was still more to be done. 

We have been blessed with cousin hand-me-downs, but they have accumulated without being sorted through, completely overtaking prime real estate in our daughter’s room. With our long days and tag-team schedules, clutter had unfortunately taken over way too much of our already small living quarters. 

After dropping the kids of with my mom Saturday morning, he went to work in the basement and I began methodically working my way through the bedrooms. All said, I hauled twenty-one garbage bags out the door. Only two were trash though, the rest were clothes stored for future use or donated. I also washed, folded, and put away twelve loads of laundry! (I don’t remember the last time all our beds had clean linens at he same time and being completely caught up on laundry!) He got the basement painted and ready for carpet.

We went to Union Station Restaurant and Bar for dinner, a historic building that housed Wetsel Seed Company for many years that has now been brilliantly transformed into a quaint restaurant. I had blackened tuna and steamed broccoli, he had country carbonara. The food was fabulous, but we hardly knew how to act without the three munchkins. I was reminded why I fell in love with this man. He is caring, a mama’s boy, has a shameless dry humor, and is a delightful conversationalist. 


We went to Lowe’s afterward to look at ideas for basement flooring. I’ve had a movie theater gift card for two years that we thought we might use, but we didn’t see anything that captured our attention. We came home and watched “Fireproof,” a movie about a couple on the verge of divorce but found a way, ultimately found God, and worked their marriage out to be better and stronger than ever. 

This morning I made three loaves of bread and ministrone then continued cleaning. This afternoon I made peanut butter bars. Mom brought the kiddos home after church and the husband enjoyed the Washington Redskins football win. 

The children were so excited about their clean organized rooms that they just wanted to hang out there. They promised to help keep them that way. We had our traditional Sunday evening routine; a big bowl of popcorn and America’s Funniest Videos.  

Our tenth wedding anniversary celebration was nothing like how we originally envisioned it, it was so much better. Next to my faith, there is nothing in the world as dear to me as my husband and children. Spending this weekend with and for them was the greatest joy of all. 

To many more years…

Confessions involving food, love, aging, and first-world problems

Last evening I was going to write a Facebook post how, without planning, everything I made for supper started with the letter S; salmon, Spanish rice, slaw, and spiced pears. It was simply a random observation that made me smile sometime during the preparation. Our palates were pleased and our tummies took in probably well more than our bodies needed. 

At some point during the evening I sent a Facebook message to a Haitian friend. He is associated with an orphanage where I volunteered some time and I worried about their well-being in the aftermath of Hurricane Matthew. 

While the husband so dutifully worked on dishes, I took a required online nutrition education class for a program our foster child is associated with. 

The evening got away and soon after the children were tucked in, I succumbed to slumber as well. The baby had a second fitful night, sneezing and coughing until I sat upright and held her. She slept better then and I dozed. I tried waking the husband twice this morning since the baby was finally in a deep sleep and I was holding her, but we both dozed off again until it was about a half hour before we had to get out of the house. At that point we all jumped up like  something was chasing us, scrambling to find clothes and get breakfast. 

I came downstairs to find last night’s rice and slaw still on the counter, unrefigerated and uncovered. My mood was quickly going from exhausted and grumpy to just plain mad. We eat leftovers for lunch every day so this not only meant delicious healthy food had been wasted, but that we also needed a plan b for lunch. 

The husband and I celebrate 10 years of marriage tomorrow, but life felt anything but romantic at this point. Of course it wasn’t “his fault,” but he was an easy target for my mounting frustrations. 

I jumped in the van, raced the kiddos off to school at which point I noticed my gas needle was on E. 

EMPTY, that’s what I saw and how I felt. 

After fueling up I scurried to my mother-in-law’s to take her to the walk-in clinic for some routine lab work. When I got to her house she couldn’t find her required paperwork. When my husband called the doctor to inquire about having it faxed over he was told the clinic is closed on Fridays. 

I had skipped breakfast, a second cup of coffee, and the baby was wearing mismatched clothes (at least it was clean) for an appointment that wasn’t even going to happen. 

In my mind I kept reminding myself these are all good problems compared to those being impacted by the violent storm, but that did not keep me from being frustrated. 


I ask my mother-in-law if she wanted to accompany me on a few errands. She was brave enough to say yes. 

I felt guilty, and often do, that my life is so fast-paced that I rush in and out, here and there with her, without really being present with her. I recalled a poem I memorized in school, called “Somebody’s Mother,” and pondered what Mary Dow Brine witnessed to pen these words. 

The woman was old and ragged and gray

And bent with the chill of the Winter’s day.

The street was wet with a recent snow

And the woman’s feet were aged and slow.

She stood at the crossing and waited long,

Alone, uncared for, amid the throng

Of human beings who passed her by

Nor heeded the glance of her anxious eye.

Down the street with laughter and shout,

Glad in the freedom of ‘school let out,’

Came the boys like a flock of sheep,

Hailing the snow piled white and deep.

Past the woman so old and gray

Hastened the children on their way.

Nor offered a helping hand to her—

So meek, so timid, afraid to stir

Lest the carriage wheels or the horses’ feet

Should crowd her down in the slippery street.

At last came one of the merry troop,

The gayest lad of all the group;

He paused beside her and whispered low,

“I’ll help you cross, if you wish to go.”

Her aged hand on his strong young arm

She placed, and so, without hurt or harm,

He guided the trembling feet along,

Proud that his own were firm and strong.

Then back again to his friends he went,

His young heart happy and well content.

“She’s somebody’s mother, boys, you know,

For all she’s aged and poor and slow,

And I hope some fellow will lend a hand

To help my mother, you understand,

If ever she’s poor and old and grey,

And her own dear boy is far away.”

“Somebody’s mother” bowed low her head

In her home that night, and the prayer she said

Was, “God be kind to the noble boy,

Who is somebody’s son, and pride and joy!”

Somewhere in the morning I sneaked my first glance at the Facebook world for the day and saw the response from my Haitian friend. 

“We are all safe,” he replied, “but our family has run out of food and everyone is underfed and hungry.” 

My breath caught in my throat. I thought about how often I eat because I am with friends or bored or stressed, without my body actually needing the food to survive. Suddenly a meal with all foods that started with an S seemed silly, shallow, and smug. Not that it was anything more than just a passing thought anyway, but the blessing of choices and abundance overwhelmed me once again. 

I have had time to pause, to breathe, to be mindful of all that is good in my life since the crazy chaos of the morning, and even in those moments of frustration I was keenly aware of my blessings, but I’m also so human, so imperfect. 

Someone told me recently that my life is to be envied; a loving faithful marriage, beautiful children, etc. There is no doubt I am blessed far beyond what I ever dreamed, but I would never want to appear perfect or make it seem like our family is without life’s normal frustrations and challenges. That’s why I am sharing this post with you today. 

What techniques or practices do you find helpful in stressful situations?  

Herbed lentils and rice, African influenced spinach, and apple cake

I try to vary my recipe sources to keep cooking fun, but sometimes for something different I make a whole meal using recipes from one cookbook. Tonight was one of those nights. 

I used a personal favorite, Mennonite Recipes from the Shenandoah Valley (Phyllis Pellman Good and Kate Good.) Besides being filled with delicious choices, one of the pictures inserted is actually my family’s very own horse and buggy! 


That picture was taken by our local celebrity photographer, Allen Litten. He knows our family well, but had no idea that was our buggy until we told him. We have that same picture framed. That was our beloved horse, Charger, bringing mom home from church one fall day. He was a faithful steed. I’m almost weepy thinking of him as I write this. I got my first car at 18 years old, but until that time my mode of transportation was horse and buggy, bicycle, or walking. 

Now you know why this cookbook ranks high on my list of favs. 

The first recipe is a family favorite. 

Herbed Lentils and Rice

Submitted by Leanna Yoder Keim 

She included this recipe note


Herbed Lentils and Rice

2&2/3 cups chicken, beef, veggie broth, or water (I used veggie broth)

3/4 cup dry brown lentils 

1/2 cup brown rice

3/4 cup chopped onion

1/4 cup dry white wine

1/2 teaspoon dried crushed basil

1/4 teaspoon salt

1/4 teaspoon dried crushed thyme

1/8 teaspoon garlic powder

1/8 teaspoon ground black pepper

4 ounces Swiss cheese, shredded (optional for vegans)

Paprika (preferably smoked)

Method: mix together broth, lentils, rice, onion, wine, basil, salt, thyme, garlic powder, and pepper. Pour into 1&1/2 quart greased casserole dish. 

Bake covered at 350 degrees for 1&1/2hours. (If omitting cheese, test at this point to make sure lentils and rice are cooked and if so, the casserole is done. If adding cheese, remove the cover, sprinkle cheese over casserole, then sprinkle paprika on top. Return to oven for another 15 minutes or so until cheese is melted. 

This is a dish every single person in our household enjoys, which makes it that much better! 


(I left cheese off the one end for those who don’t eat cheese, but the rice got a little dry without the cover on.)

Next was a brand new recipe, but was such a hit it will become standard fare as well! 

African-Influenced Spinach

Submitted by Edith Shenk 

2 Tablespoons butter (I just used veggie broth, no butter, adding a tablespoon at a time so the onions didn’t stick.)

1 medium onion, chopped

1 medium tomato, chopped

1/4 cup crunchy peanut butter

2-10 ounce packages frozen spinach, thawed and squeezed dry, or 1&1/2 pounds fresh spinach, lightly steamed and drained

Salt to taste

Nutmeg

Method: In frying pan, sauté onion in butter, veggie broth, or water, cooking until soft 

Stir in tomato and cook for 5 minutes

Stir in peanut butter and salt. Cook for a few minutes until sauce forms. 

Stir in spinach, heat through, but do not overcook. Pour into serving dish and sprinkle with nutmeg. 


I promise this is FAR more appetizing than it looks. My husband said he could eat the entire dish in one setting. I said the same thing. The nutmeg is a MUST to finish it off. 

Lastly, we splurged with “Elsie’s Fresh Apple Cake.” I know the Elsie that submitted the recipe. Our 5-year-old daughter’s name is Elsie, so when we came across this recipe she really wanted to make it. I’m glad she did! She put all the ingredients into the mixing bowl for me. We healthified it a bit so I will include those notes as we go along. 

Elsie’s Fresh Apple Cake 

Submitted by Elsie Rohrer Terry

1 Cup oil (I used 1 cup unsweetened pear sauce I’d made this summer, I’m sure unsweetened applesauce would be great too.)

2 eggs (I used eggs, but vegans could use ground flax meal/water)

2 cups sugar (I cut it to 1&1/2 cups and used raw sugar)

1 teaspoon vanilla 

1 teaspoon pumpkin pie spice

1 teaspoon salt 

1 teaspoon baking soda

2 teaspoons baking powder

2&1/2 cups flour (I used 1 cup oat flour)

3 cups peeled, chopped fresh apples

1 cup chopped nuts

1 cup flake coconut (I used unsweetened)

I also added 2 Tablespoons ground flax meal

Method: Mix together oil (or pear or applesauce), eggs, and sugar and beat well. 

Add vanilla, pumpkin pie spice, salt, baking soda, and baking powder, and beat well. 

Add 1 cup flour (this is where I used pat flour) and mix well. 

Fold in apples, nuts, and coconut. Add rest of flour (and ground flax meal if using) and stir well. Pour into greased and floured tube pan. 

Bake at 325 degrees for 1&1/2 hours or until a toothpick inserted comes out clean. 

Elsie’s note says this is a great breakfast cake or a satisfying dessert. We loved it for dessert this evening and the kiddos are excited that it is on the breakfast menu for tomorrow morning. It was a huge hit. 

Let me know if you make any of these recipes and what you think! 

Mamaw’s Bread

When I make bread I generally make whole wheat. Mom (Mamaw to our children) makes this traditional white bread that our children think can’t be beat. I made some this evening, along with homemade mint chocolate chip cookies, and potato soup. It was a comfort food kind of supper.

Mamaw’s Bread

From the Pantry Gems Cookbook titled Bread II (I halved the recipe)

2&1/2 Tablespoons dry yeast

3 cups warm water

1 teaspoon sugar 

6 Tablespoons lard or butter, melted

1&3/4 Tablespoon salt

6 Tablespoons sugar OR 1/2 cup honey

(I added about 2 Tablespoons ground flax)

8+ cups white flour 

Method: Mix yeast, warm water, and 1 teaspoon sugar and let set until bubbly. Meanwhile, melt the lard or butter. When first mixture is bubbly, add cooled (warm) lard, salt, sugar or honey, and flour. (And ground flaxseed if using.)

Either mix with flour in stand mixer or mix flour in with hands several cups at a time. Knead well. 

Let rise until double. Punch down, shape into three loaves, and place in well-greased bread pans. Let rise again. 

Bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes or so. Schmutz extra butter on top (I use a cold stick and rub on hot bread just out of the oven.) Cover with wax paper and cloth to steam. 

Tip: Adding a teaspoon of apple cider vinegar to the dough keeps the bread from molding so quickly. 

Enjoy. 

Senior Moment

“I have to ask,” the cashier said almost sheepishly, “are you a senior?” 

The question was innocent enough since I was accompanied by some of my favorite church ladies, several of whom have white hair, but I was caught off guard. 

I wanted to say, “I have been living my 39 years to the fullest and wouldn’t go back a day in my life, but don’t rush me forward.” 

However, all of my deep-breathing pastoral calming techniques malfunctioned and instead I said, “I feel like throwing my wallet at you.” 

Sigh. I really said that. 

Sometimes words of grace and mercy roll off my tongue like gold, but more often I succumb to my lifelong “foot-in-mouth” diagnosis. This was clearly one of those more oftens. 

It gets worse. 

“Well,” the cashier replied, somewhat embarrassed, “some businesses start including seniors at 50.” 

“What?!” I gasped, realizing that she was certain I was at least 50. “I’m not even 40! This conversation has spiraled quickly. I can’t believe this is happening right now!”

Meanwhile, the ladies hearing the conversation were struggling to contain bursts of laughter. 

“Look, how about I just pay you and leave so I can nurse my bruised pride,” I said, laughing, never thinking I should have at least asked for the senior discount or even a free meal after that fiasco. 

I walked out joking with the ladies and mentally recalled lines to a poem I wrote years ago titled, “Coming of Age.” Ironically, I can’t remember it all, neither can I locate it (senior moment?), but I remember the following…

“A few more pounds found their way to my thighs and a crow left it’s footprints around my eyes… so bring on the wrinkles and sagging breasts. I’ll live a full life ’til I’m laid out to rest.”


That’s me on the left, sipping tea with my lovely and quite young bestie. If this is senior living, bring it on! 

From now on I will practice more composed responses to the “are you a senior” question. That poor cashier is probably still nursing her embarrassed ego. Whatever my age, I hope I can always respond that my life has been lived to the fullest. 

Tiny lives, big impacts; in honor of pregnancy and infant loss awareness month 

Although it is taking slightly longer for the air to cool this year, I feel autumn in my bones. Hints of color christen the green summer leaves, the evenings are noticeably shorter, and the mountains call to my melancholy nature to retreat for the season. 

Since our daughter died in June 2007, that innate instinct to retreat beckons even stronger. Thats just my nature. The mountains and solitude are where I find myself and God. 

But retreating for a season is not an option, especially since our daughter died. October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month and I must rise above any hiding I might want to do to help bring a voice to the one in four women who suffer pregnancy and infant loss and to honor the memories of the babies that live on in our hearts. 

Although most people in my life know how greatly we loved Sadie Rose, there have been people who would minimize her impact because she lived a short seventeen hours. For some reason, often without realizing, our society places less significance on a life known only to the parents and/or immmediate family and friends. 

It matters not how well-known our lives are to the world. What matters is how deeply we were loved by those closest to us. 

Before going further, I have spent countless hours in my work through the Sadie Rose Foundation with mom’s whose young child, teenager, young adult, or adult child died. I hear stories of their child that suffered a terminal illness, was the victim of a horrible fatal accident, died by suicide, succumbed to a lifelong illness, etc. My heart breaks with every single tragic story. I would never claim to know exactly how they feel nor would I ever compare my loss specifically with theirs. I pray I never know the anguish of the kind of loss they’ve known. This post is not about comparing losses. 

From my experience, there is never an easy time for your child to die. 

The purpose of this post is to give permission to all those who’ve known the life-long impact of pregnancy and infant loss a platform to share and to know they’re not alone. 

In a society where mother’s who have known this loss are often confronted with comments like, “You are young, you can have more children,” “There must have been something wrong with your baby and this was god’s/natures way of dealing with it,” “At least you weren’t attached,” etc., raising awareness of the impact these tiny lives had on us is of utmost importance.

I even had someone accuse me once of not being truthful when I said our “child” died as an infant without explaining she only lived seventeen hours. As if to say because of her short life she could not be considered a child. Likewise, there were times I would catch myself saying, “She only lived seventeen hours,” as a way decrease the impact my story had on the horrified listener who had just found out we had a deceased daughter. 

But here’s what I want you to know about this 2-pound, 3-ounce, 11-inch hole in my heart. 

I dreamed of being a mother my whole life. I was raised in a culture where motherhood was among the highest callings and I knew there was nothing more I wanted for myself. Life took it’s sweet time in connecting me with Prince Charming and I spent my early twenties watching all my siblings marry, (including my two younger sisters) and most of my friends. I sat through many painful mother/daughter events with a lump in my throat and an ache in my heart, even while celebrating my own awesome mom. I began to wonder if my dream of being a mother would ever be realized. 

In my late twenties, Prince Charming finally arrived. His horse hadn’t broken a leg, he wasn’t captured by dreams of his own fancy, he was simply waiting for that one right princess to carry off into the sunset. I thank God every day for the gift he is to me. 

Less than three months after our October wedding, we were pregnant. To say we were thrilled was an understatement. Finally, finally, the dream of a lifetime would become reality for me. 

My two younger sisters were pregnant at the same time, but due in early 2007. I was due September 16, 2007. The three of us are the youngest of seven children and throughout our childhood we were called, “The three little girls.” How exciting to be on this journey of growing babies together! 

My sisters delivered a healthy girl and boy. I went for my twenty-week ultrasound in the spring. It was then our doctor and friend had to tell us the difficult news that our baby’s measurements were not adding up. He referred us to a prenatal diagnosis center. 

There were many solemn consultations, hours of ultrasounds, moments of despair, and whispers of hope. At some point in the process we were told our baby had dwarfism, but they could not diagnose the specifics. 

At the last ultrasound before I went into labor we were told it looked our baby would be, “A healthy dwarf.” The specifics of her diagnosis wasn’t what mattered to us. All we knew was that we were madly in love with her. 

I went into labor at twenty-six weeks. They flew me by medical helicopter to a university hospital where I remained until Sadie arrived a week later at twenty-seven weeks. 

She was perfect. She was beautiful. We were holding and loving our own flesh and blood! 


As the day went on, the doctors watched her closely. That evening they came into my hospital room and said these dreaded words that still ring in my ears today. 

“We’re so sorry. Sadie’s too sick. She will not survive.” 

Numb. Shock. Disbelief. Anger. Guilt. Fear. Paralyzing fear. I felt like an outsider observing someone else’s story and yet the pain was all too real. It couldn’t be. This life that had so much personality even in the womb, that had already been so loved and wanted, this babe that had made me the mother I’d always dreamed of being, was dying and there was nothing I could do about it. 

No anguished prayer, no fist raised heavenward, no screaming at the medical staff, no world-renowned scientist or advancement in medical technology, no human effort could keep the inevitable at bay. My baby was dying. 


This! This is who she was and is! This is the hole in my heart that I celebrate and grieve in the same breath. To minimize her life, to reduce her to cliche comments of having other children or quality of life is to shred my heart into another million pieces. 

I am grateful that we have more healthy vibrant amazing children and I celebrate every single day with them, but none of them replace Sadie. Nor would I want or expect them too. 

I am beyond grateful for all the connections we have made through the non-profit we started in Sadie’s memory, but I still long to feel the warmth of her little body again and smell her baby breath in my face. 

My life is blessed far beyond my ability to articulate, but I live with the ache of Sadie’s absence every single day. 

So for every mother who has suffered pregnancy or infant loss, I will not retreat in silence. I will not sit on the sidelines and pretend your baby didn’t exist or didn’t have an impact in your life. I will raise my voice along with yours until the day we stop saying, “it was just a miscarriage, just a pregnancy loss, they only lived…” 

If you have never known this loss, but know someone who has, please consider letting them know you remember with them. Whether it is a card, a text, a cup of coffee and the words, “I remember,” the simplest gesture can make all the difference for those of us who carry our babies in our hearts instead of our arms. 

To October. To moms and dads, brothers and sisters, grandparents and friends remembering our babies gone too soon. 

My Love,

Regina

The Sadie Rose Foundation will participate in the worldwide Remembering our Babies events October 15th for Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day. For more details, visit our website or Facebook page. 

The truth about our plant-based-ish family

This past March I came across “Forks Over Knives,” (referred to hereafter as FOK) a documentary promoting a “whole foods plants based” (vegan) diet. I convinced my husband to watch it and asked if he would try it with me for one month. At the end of the month we could do one of three things; decide that was the most horrible decision we’d ever made as a couple, use the recipes and lifestyle as a good resource for a well-balanced diet, but include some meats and dairy, or become tee-totalers and go all-out vegan. 

To my surprise, he agreed to try it. 

We were amazed at how much better we felt within the first two weeks. However, we did not push our children (7, 4, and minus 1 at the time) to try it. What I did do was fix things I knew they enjoyed with every meal and then require that they try at least a taste of every dish. 

The trial month passed and we felt so good and enjoyed the new recipes so much we just kept rolling with it.  We did, however, choose the middle option above of using the recipes and lifestyle as a good resource for a well-balanced diet, but do include occasional meats and dairy. 

Many of the recipes in the FOK Plan book, FOK recipe book, and other resources I had ordered made execellent contributions to our dinner table whether they were the main course or a side dish paired with meat or dessert. This experience has also exposed our family to many new flavors. While we are not purist tee-totalers, these recipes have definitely set our family on a better track to health and wellness. 

At my August birthday, my mom wondered what I wanted for a present. I requested a pre-order of the FOK Family cookbook. I was certain this would be the key component to getting our children on board. I envisioned glowing healthy children happily eating copious amounts of leafy greens and vegetable dishes. It was a warm fuzzy mental picture, to be sure.

Fast  forward to the cookbook’s release date this past weekend. I received the email saying the order had been shipped and would arrive Tuesday. Oh the delight! 

I put off creating dinner menus until the book arrived, convinced it would offer solutions to all the hang-ups we’d had so far. I watched for the mail delivery truck like a child expecting Santa Claus. 

Finally, late afternoon, the truck arrived with the coveted present in tow. I ripped open the box and devoured the recipes on each page, wondering which ones to try first. 

I chose the Samosa Muffin Cups, a cornmeal-based muffin stuffed with seasoned cooked potatoes and onions, and a Kale/Israeli Couscous salad. The children love couscous so this was sure to be a hit. 


The husband and I enjoyed both recipes, but the children picked at the muffins with little to no interest. The boy doesn’t like onions, so I told him he could pick them out. Still to no avail. No amount of coaxing was going to impress their palates. 

On to the kale and couscous salad. The girl (now 5 years old) ate the salad under obligatory measures, saying she liked the couscous but not the rest of the ingredients. 

The boy (who turns 8 today) took one spoonful and began making guttural cave-man sounds. I took this as a sign of pleasure and started beaming with delight, but my ecstasy was short-lived when his face turned bright red, then an odd shade of green. 

We were in trouble.

“Run!” I said. “Run outside and spit it in the yard!” The grunting and other-worldly sounds were now accompanied by  closed-mouth dry heaves, like a cat trying to cough up a hair ball. “Run!” I repeated. 

The incident ended with dinner alternatives for the children and a delicious double-dark-mostly-plant-based chocolate cake to celebrate the boy’s birthday. 

The truth is, all I want is for us as a family to be as healthy as possible without becoming so legalistic and rigid that mealtimes become a chore. We choose to eat as a family around the table as often as possible and we use that time to build conversation skills and our family. If that means that sometimes those conversations happen around meat and dairy, so be it. One thing for certain, the “family-friendly” kale and couscous salad will be reserved for days when I pack lunch for myself. 

Onward and upward, dear friends. May the kale be with you. 

Foster Parenting Interview

What I said (and didn’t say but wanted to) that you should know! 

Our local social services agency called me this week and asked if I would consider being interviewed on TV as a foster parent. These interviews are the bane of my existence, but when I really believe in a cause, I feel it is my responsibility to help raise awareness. 

The TV station had contacted them because our state was ranked number one  nationally for having the lowest number of children in foster care. This came as a surprise to our specific locality since we are a relatively small community and currently have 172 children in care!

Anyone who has ever been interviewed for a media interview knows the anxiety of entrusting your story to a reporter. As a former staff-writer for a community newspaper, I also relate to the responsibility of the reporter to capture the true angle and emotion of the story. This is no small task. 

I truly appreciate the TV station’s effort to help raise awareness and the kindness of the reporter, but understandably they only have a limited thirty seconds or so to devote to what I believe deserves much more time and attention. 

What I said was that “We had the same concerns many people have. Would we be able to love a child as we love our biological children? What if we got too attached and they returned home? What if our house is too small? What about our busy schedules? What if we try and it doesn’t work out?” 

These are all valid logical concerns so I’d like to address them individually. Before I do, I want to state that I’m no expert on foster care. We were approved as a foster family exactly one year ago and have had (still have) one placement since last fall. These are just observations and thoughts from our very limited experience. 

The concern of loving someone else’s child as your own was huge for us since we do have biological children and we would never want to be unfair to another child. We had family and friends who have done foster care/adoption and they modeled for us that no matter how the children come to you, you love them as your own. 

I knew I loved our foster child when I got the phone call to pick her up at the social services office. 

In my mother’s heart, it was like seeing the positive pregnancy test and being beside myself with love and joy and anticipation. 

My husband confirmed his own feelings weeks later when I overheard him telling someone he felt no different about our foster daughter than our own children we brought home from the hospital. 

For us, loving her has been easy, natural, and without reserve. 

Which leads me to the next concern. What if we get too attached and they return home? 

This one will keep you up at night! We’ve had family and friends to whom this has happened. We saw their hearts shatter and their world crumble. We see how they continue to carry this love for a child now far removed from them and how the child (and concern for the child) lives on in their hearts. 

But more often, we’ve seen those who hope to adopt through foster care be able to do so. (Just this week my brother and his wife officially adopted two brothers through foster care!) For this concern though, it should be broken into two parts.

First, if someone goes into this process open to foster care without the intention of adoption, the attachment part is different. You can love and nurture the child knowing it is just for a season. That helps prepare for the outcome. From what I’ve been told by foster families who provide care in this way, the releasing back to biological family or into an adoptive home is difficult, but easier, because it was expected and planned for. There is a great need for foster families to provide care in this way. 

For us, as with many, our hope is to adopt. To love a child as your own and want to be their forever family, adds a different component to the process. We were honest up front that this was our goal, knowing that the ultimate goal of social services would be to strengthen and support the biological family so that the child returns home or with a relative. 

Holding these two goals in tension as a foster/hopeful adoptive family has been one of the most stretching parts of this journey. 

There have been moments where the thought of this precious child being anywhere but with us literally takes my breath away, brings me to my knees, leaves my heart vulnerable, exposed, bleeding on the floor, and feeling completely helpless about every single part of it and you realize the biological families must feel the same way. 

In our specific situation, we have already had to release a child back to heaven. Our precious first-born daughter, Sadie Rose, whom we loved with our very breath and being, died as a newborn from hypochondrogenesis. Now we have WILLINGLY risked love again with two more biological children and a foster child. 

We have told ourselves often, we never thought we could live through the death of a child, and yet the amazing love and grace of God carried (and continues to carry) us through that dark night of the soul. We cannot imagine or lives without our foster baby being a forever part of our family, but should that be the case we are fully confident that we will be met with that same unchanging unwavering love and grace. 

But that’s easier said than lived. And in those moments when fear of loss overwhelms, friends have sent beautiful messages of reassurance. 

One day I received the most timely text that read, “You don’t know what tomorrow holds, but you have her now. Love her now. Cherish her now. Pour your heart into her now, and believe that whatever her future holds, what you give her now will have an eternal impact.” 

Isn’t that the risk we all take to love anyway? We are never promised tomorrow, not even our next breath, LOVE NOW! 

But back to the interview, what I wanted to say but didn’t.

Fostering is an emotional roller coaster ride. You will feel love, fulfillment, joy, but you will also feel anger. You will be expected to support people who, for whatever horrible life circumstances, traps, or addictions, (and sometimes completely helpless situations) they find themselves in, cannot seem to find their grounding in life. While you rejoice when it looks like a child you desperately love and want may stay with you, you will be sad for the brokenness that brings them to you, sad for the person(s) whose lives seem to continue spiraling out of control. Your heart breaks for all the people involved and you find yourself hoping the best for everyone. There is no way to prepare for these emotions in advance except to expect them. 

I wanted to say, “Be prepared to say no.” We received a placement call within weeks of our approval, but it was for a situation beyond what we believed we were prepared to take on. Saying no to children in need made me feel like a horrible human, but if it wasn’t right for us it would not have been right for them either and we wanted them to be where they needed to be. We’ve said no to additional placement calls since, but may eventually say yes again when we believe it is the right fit. Just know it is okay to say no and be prepared to do so when necessary. 

I wanted to say, “People can say ridiculous and hurtful things about foster children.” Sometimes you are left speechless by their thoughtlessness and other times you defend your foster child with the tenacity of mama and papa bear. Just be prepared, because as with many situations, people share their unsolicited thoughts and opinions freely.

I wanted to say, “Be prepared to love more deeply and profoundly than you ever dreamed possible!” This is a redemptive life-changing love. We needed our foster child as much as she needed us. We are eternally grateful for this opportunity to have our hearts opened and transformed in this way whatever the outcome of this experience may be. 

If you have been one of those families considering foster care, or if something in this post stirs your heart to the possibilities, I urge you, please contact your local agency to start the process. You may find during the process that it isn’t a fit and that’s okay too! Fostering/adoption may not be right for everyone, but for us it has been one of the most rewarding experiences we’ve ever shared as a family. 

Because she is not officially adopted at this point and we do not know if or when that will ever happen, we cannot share photos. Instead, here is a picture of the beautiful sunrise from my walk this morning and a field of sunflowers from yesterday. 


If you take nothing more from this post, whoever the important people are in your life, LOVE NOW!