When Holidays Hurt

I used to love Christmas.  The smells. The lights. The music.  Every single bit of it.  However, after Holden, Christmas has lost some of its luster.  Nothing like the season of caring and being with those you love to remind you of what is missing.  You would think that after all we have been through this year, I would be filled with immense joy but I find myself teetering on the edge of joy and sadness.  It is a very confusing time for me having Sawyer here.  I thank God everyday for him but I still have that deep hole within my heart that echoes my pain.  I cannot recall my memories as vividly as the time passes and it makes me wonder if it was all a dream.  I find myself only looking at the same two photos of him.  In these photos, he looks like he is just sleeping.  He looks alive.  Sometimes we must trick our mind to calm our heart and our reality is too real some days.  I am still feeling my way around, trying to make sense of it all and find a way to make this all work.  No two days are alike and I imagine they never will be.

I have been called strong alot lately but I have my doubts.  Most of my strength has been birthed from the death of my son so it is a difficult trait to embrace. I have to be strong because my husband and earthly children depend on me.  If I fall apart, so will this family and I cannot let that happen.  Holden wouldn't want it that way.  But, underneath the facade, I am a shattered woman who still feels the weight of the world and has moments where she struggles to catch her breath.  Somedays, I wish I could collapse to the ground and sob uncontrollably until my tears dry up.  Somedays, I wish I didn't have to leave my bed because he is so alive in my dreams.   Somedays, I trick myself into believeing that none of it happened.  These temporary moments of survival are what I need to keep above water but then I feel the waves crash upon my already weakened heart and it is the most sickening feeling ever.  It's hard to believe that I have a beautiful baby boy who grew inside of me for eight months only to have him taken from me.  That's not how it's supposed to happen.  He is the first thing I think of in the morning and the last thing I think of before bed.  He saturates my dreams and his name lingers on the tip of my tongue.  I am on the verge of tears often but have learned how to function otherwise.  It isn't easy and I doubt it ever will be.

This is our truth.  No sugar coating. No fluffy words to make it easier to swallow.  This is our life.  There are far too many others who carry this pain daily.  I decided to write this piece to bring awareness to the fact that so many of us hold a deep pain behind our seemingly happy faces this season.  Although there are many things to be grateful for, it does not negate the loss and pain that so many have endured.    Yes, we have found some beauty in all of this but it still is a seering pain that will reignite often and never fade completely because our love for them will not allow it.

There is one thing that I want you to take from this piece and here it is:

Although we smile, we still hurt.  You will not hurt us by saying their name or speaking of them.  Silence hurts more than any words ever could.  We are navigating this confusing and often overwhelming new life and although we may seem strong, we still need you.  Don't ask what you can do, just do.  Oftentimes,  we don't know what we want but we need you to remember with us and understand we are not the same and may never be.  No matter what loss a person has experienced, a heart never forgets and we need each others to help us through each day.  We need love on Earth to help us through when we lose love to the Heavens. 

Merry Christmas from me to you.  May the love of the season bring you peace and be gentle to your heart ♡

Dear Sawyer

**TRIGGER WARNING**  This is a letter to our new rainbow baby.

Dear Sawyer,
I need you to know this:

I fought for you.  I fought demons I never knew existed to make you a reality.  You were never an afterthought; you are exactly what our hearts needed.  You came after our lives were turned upside down and we were struggling to find a way to navigate through the grief.  I was terrified to try again.  My own body was now foreign to me, having carried life and death.  I had to fight off fears that my body couldn't bring another child into this world alive.  Time was not on our side and I had to fight to educate myself and make sure my body was ready.  I had to fight off all the 'what ifs' and let destiny take over.  I had to find a balance in the war between my heart and my body. 

I waited for you.  After Holden was born,  I made a promise that I would not hold another newborn until it was my own child.  It may seem unnatural to some that this thought was in my head so soon after we lost your brother but I knew in my heart that this chapter of our life could not end that way.  I knew Holden wouldn't want it that way.  I met many babies during that time but my heart hurt to see them so alive.  I had to force back my tears or walk away when it was too much.  I knew that my time was coming.  I just had to wait.  Even in the depth of our grief, I knew that we would find hope and peace again.  You brought that to us.

I love you immensely.  I love each of my children with all my heart, whether here on earth or in Heaven.   My love for you feels different as it does with each child; one no less than the other,  just different.  One of the OB nurses, and dear friend of mine, asked me in the hospital if I felt like I was bonding with you.  It made me think because I could see where she was coming from.  Us Mommies sometimes go through the motions of caring for our babies which conveys love but bonding is a higher level.  I had to think about it and really check in with myself to make sure I wasn't just 'going through the motions'.  Truth is, the moment I saw your face, you took my breath away.  I felt an intense pull to you knowing what I went through to get you here and that you and Mommy were bonded as warriors in our own right.  You came into this world screaming and awakened my heart in more ways than you will ever know.  The last time I was in that room, my heart shattered from the silence.

You are your own person.  I truly worry that at some point you may feel as if you are living in Holden's shadow.  Truth is, he is a huge part of our family but so are you and the rest of your siblings.  I do not want your life to always be intertwined with his death.  You are not here because he is not.   You are here because this was our destiny as a family.  I truly believe that you would have come to us regardless.   Your piece to our puzzle existed long before Holden and is now where it should be.  I will spend the rest of my life reminding you of that.  I recently had a discussion with my therapist about the discovery that cells from babies  have been found in a mother's body long after the baby is born.  There is also some speculation that these cells can migrate back to subsequent babies.  If this is true, you are the only one, besides me, in our family to carry a little bit of Holden as well as all your other siblings.  You carry all of us within you and it only seems right that you came to complete the circle that was broken almost a year and a half ago.  You are the piece that has been missing all along, long before our family even started.  Never forget that.

And, finally, I am still broken.  I lost some of my confidence as a mother when we lost Holden.  I am more nervous and may hover over you alot.  I apologize for this but you are almost too good to be true and my heart is still a little fragile.   Give me time.  I will get better.  I am gonna kiss you and hug you as much as I can.  I am gonna snuggle you to my chest and breathe in your smell.  I may take a little bit longer to lay you down at night just to get that extra moment.  I was robbed of this recently and I am going to cherish every moment I get now.  You may see me watch you and your siblings with tears in my eyes.  It's okay, I need to do that.  You may see me get frustrated at times when I shouldn't be.  I apologize, I am still grieving.  You may see me come out of my room with puffy eyes and that's okay.  Sometimes, I need a quiet moment to let it all out.  I miss your brothers and I always will.  It is the price of love and I am left with so many questions my heart and mind cannot answer. 

I often wonder if you hear Holden whispering to you.  If he does, listen. I wonder if you saw him before he sent you to us.  If you did, remember it.  You were handpicked by your big brother and what an incredible gift you are.  As much joy as we feel right now, I still feel the pain sneak up every now and then.  I know this will not be easy and we will certainly face our challenges but I know we have the strength to see it through and come out stronger than ever.  And never forget that you were destined to complete our family.  It just took a long and twisted road to get you here ♡

Love,
Mommy

Dear Holden: Happy Birthday

Dear Holden,

One year.  365 days since your silent entry into this world brought forth the loudest pain I have ever felt.  My heart still aches as it did that day.  The more time that passes, the more I remember or, maybe, the more my mind tries to fill in the gaps.  You see, when you are only given a small moment in time to create a lifetime's worth of memories, you don't want to look back and not remember every single minute.  That time is so very precious.

I remember the last time I know for sure I felt you move.  It was on Saturday night, after my 2nd 12-hour shift in a row.  You were so active that night.  Maybe too active but my naive sense of security blocked out any red flags.  What if I would have gone in?  Would you be here right now, walking around while I got ready for your birthday.  I would've bought you a smash cake instead of a name plate for your urn.  I never thought you wouldn't be here for your 1st birthday but here we are....still trying to gather the pieces after having our world turned upside down.   I remember going into work the next day thinking I had felt you move on the drive there or else I would like to think that you had moved.  I hit the ground running that day and you always slept when I was walking around.  I ate lunch and headed back out to my busy day.  My belly hurt but I thought I had ate too much.  I joked with the girls about how crazy it was that you would be here in just 8 days and how busy we were gonna be.  My forever baby boy, you were supposed to be.  I remember looking over at Shelly and said that I hadn't felt you in a while.  I grabbed the doppler and tried to listen for you.....nothing but static.....I knew right then....you were gone.  I set the doppler down and started to cry.  Damn it!  Why?  Why?  Why?  I was rushed over to OB but being a nurse didn't allow me the luxury of believing it would be okay.  I knew too many stories.  I had to call your Daddy.  How was I gonna tell him this?  How?  How do you tell a proud Daddy that his baby boy had died?  I remember his face when he walked into the exam room.  You can never forget pain like that.  I became numb at that moment.  I wanted to run away and pretend it wasn't true.  I just wanted to hide from everything and be left alone.  I guess you could say I was in shock. 

I left my body and went through the motions.  Start an IV, start an epidural,  try to rest.  We just waited....and waited.  It felt like the times I was in labor with your sisters , when the room was quiet and we were all anxiously awaiting their arrival (your brother's entry was very fast and not so quiet).  Only this time, it was too quiet.  There was no heartbeat thumping softly in the background.  Just the sound of the IV running and tears.  I slept for a while thanks to some medicine and awoke to an uncomfortable feeling.  I called Gigi over to check and moments later, the room was filled with people.  C-section...bleeding...hurry.  I honestly wasn't scared.  In that moment, I was okay with dying.  I thought that if God had to take me too, then so be it.  We could be together.  It would be okay.  I felt at peace with death as I was rushed to the OR.  He spared my life for a reason, I know this now.  But in that moment, death would have been less painful than the hurt I felt in my heart.

I think I finally snapped out of my haze the moment your Daddy looked right at me and said 'I see him' and the pain washed over his face again.  Absolute silence....no baby cries....just the sound of my heart breaking knowing we were about to face our greatest challenge ever.  How do you face life after facing death?  Where do you go from here?  I kept thinking 'what do I do?'  This is not what I had planned.  I had your diapers bought and clothes washed.  I had your diaper bag packed. I had all the baby supplies ready.  I had our life ready for you.

I thank God everyday for not taking me, too.  I know He did not want to take you either but He had to.  Something happened within my imperfect body He created and He had to embrace you.  I am not mad at Him anymore.  I have found my peace with that but the sadness remains and always will. 

Last night, I was feeling overwhelmed by the sadness, playing the events that occurred a year ago in my head.  I cried so much my head hurt.  Then, among the clouds outside our home, I saw a beautiful sight.  A rainbow was peeking from the clouds.  The sky was so beautiful as if love was being sent from the Heavens.  I felt you in that moment and peace washed over me. 

This is not what I envisioned your first birthday to look like.  I picture you with cake all over your face and the girls laughing at how silly you are.  I envision Lydon showing you how to play with your toys but then taking over as a big brother would and you getting mad at him.   I envision snuggling your sleepy head into my shoulder after all your birthday excitement as I thank God for the last year and pray for many more.   I envision telling your birth story over and over and shocked at how fast the last year flew by.  I envision a lot of things that will never happen.  I wish I could have truly seen and felt those things with you.  I wish you were in my arms right now, being rocked to sleep as I hum to you.  I just wish you were here and I always will.  

I dug your blankie out the other day to take a picture for the cake I am having made for you.  I haven't removed it from the bag in a long time because it is just too painful.  I instinctively buried my face into it and breathed in your smell.   I felt like I was right back in that hospital room.  I would give anything to feel your cheeks again and smell your hair.  I wish I could count your sweet little fingers and kiss your button nose.  I will cherish those few memories I was given but will always yearn for more.

Happy birthday, my precious baby boy.  I hold you in my heart and feel you with every beat.  The world just doesn't seem right without you here.  Someday, when we meet again, I will do all those things I envision and I will never let you go again ♡

Dear Holden: This Is Harder Than I Thought

**Trigger Warning: Rainbows and sunshines mentioned**

Dear Holden,

I know it seems like forever since I have really talked to you.  I am usually just sending up quick prayers asking you and Ricky to comfort our family and friends who are struggling.  I know you see Mommy struggling lately and how hard it must be for you to see that.  I decided that I needed to focus on my grief more by doing the things I left unfinished because it was just too hard to face at the time.  I wish I never had to know this life but I cannot imagine a life without you or your brother.  

This week, I ordered a name plate for your urn.  I couldn't help but think that I should have been looking at birthday invites and getting cake ideas.  The girl at the store was very sweet but her smile quickly faded when I told her what I was looking for.  After I wrote out the information to be engraved on the plate, she paused and seemed to let it sink in.

Holden James Wamsley
Born Into Heaven
July 7, 2014 at 4:04 am
6 pounds 9 ounces

Amazing how just a short amount of words can have such an impact.  You are always on my mind but seem to be more than normal lately.  I don't know if it is because I started feeling your brother kicking, going on the memorial walk knowing that at the last one you were in my belly, your birthday getting closer, the hummingbirds or recently finding out that your sweet, unborn cousin will be joining Ricky and you in Heaven.  My heart is heavy right now.

I had been floating through life, trying to stay busy to occupy my mind.  I find myself giving generic answers when people ask how I am feeling.  I just say that I am fine but tired and leave it at that.  What I want to say is that I am scared, mad, nervous and sad.  My excitement makes me nervous because I fear what could happen.  Part of me doesn't want to start feeling your brother.   To me, it means there could be a moment where I stop feeling him.  I find myself panicked at night as I lay in bed because, in the quiet of the night, I cannot ignore my fears. 

I know there are some people who will think I am ungrateful but I am not enjoying being pregnant this time.  I find myself anxious every day, wondering if I will lose your brother that day or the next.  I scrutinize every ache or pinch.  I fear exposure to everything as it could potentially cause me to lose him.  I just want to fast forward to the end and hold your brother as he cries his little heart out.  I want to kiss his pink cheeks and cry for the happiness and sadness we will face.  Even then, I know we will struggle.  Will he look like you?  How will he feel growing up knowing your story?  Will my heart ever feel whole again?

Thing is, I am grateful but also fearful.  Only those who have been in my shoes will understand.  I yearn for the naive person I was years ago, blissfully unaware of what I know now.  I know people mean well when they tell me everything will be okay but I cannot believe it until your brother is safe in my arms.  I know they have good intentions when they tell me to relax,  enjoy every moment and have faith but when you have a piece of your heart ripped out, it is not as easy as it seems. 

I see the excitement of your earthly siblings and I am terrified that they will have to say goodbye to another brother.  They have so much faith and strength that I find myself envious at times.  I wish it was that easy for me.  I find myself shutting down around newborns, especially boys.  I even get envious of pregnant women who have no worries, or at least seem to have very few. 
 
I hate the person I am sometimes but I have to be true to my feelings. If I continue to ignore them, they will consume me. I need to have my sad, angry and bitter moments. It is all just a part of the process. I hope and pray that I eventually see the light at the end of this very long journey. I see other loss moms getting their rainbow and even then I cannot find the strength to be okay, even just for a moment. My excitement is short lived and my fears are too strong.

Thank goodness for your Daddy and his calm, supportive nature. I know this isn't easy for him either and I wish I could be stronger for him but I cannot. I hope to find my strength again one day but right now it seems like an impossible goal.  And your Gigi has been right by my side while I ask a million questions about my fears and vent or run me to the doctor when I feel something isn't right.  I can only imagine how scary it is for her to see me go through this.  And, thank goodness for family and friends who never forget that our happiness is coming with a price.

I pray all the time for peace and to find a silver lining in all of this.  Maybe it is your unborn brother, maybe it is how much stronger my relationship with your Daddy is, maybe it is the compassion and love your siblings have experienced and show on a daily basis. I guess time will tell.  In the meantime, I am going to continue being an imperfect, broken mess because I cannot allow myself to ignore my heart.  It does not mean that I am not grieving properly or unstable, it just simply means I am a human, a mother, navigating this difficult and painful road while holding onto the beautiful blessings I have been given.  That is all I have the strength to do right now and I have to be okay with that. 

With unending love...
Mommy ♡

When Happiness Comes With a Price

**Trigger warning- rainbow pregnancy**

Loss can make you bitter.   It can make you question relationships, friendships and even who you are as a person.  It can bring negativity into every day of your life and eat away at the few moments of happiness that peek through.  It can make you feel isolated and feel like a failure.  In the beginning stages of grief, you just function at a lowest level possible because that is all you can do with the little strength you have. 

Holden was supposed to be our last baby. We had sold all the girl clothes that were no longer used.  We were stocked up on boy clothes and diapers.  We even got a little toddler bed for Boo Boo so Holden could have the crib.  I was mentally preparing myself for the next chapter of our life.  I had spent 7 years changing diapers, being pregnant, breastfeeding and toting around a diaper bag like a purse.  I was more than ready to be done after Holden.  He was supposed to be our forever baby.  We were gonna have our four beautiful children and live our happy, beautiful life.  That all changed on July 7th.  As I held Holden's lifeless body, my dreams were crushed.  I felt like I failed my family, like I couldn't give them the perfect life they deserved.  My mind was my worst enemy and my heart wasn't strong enough to fight it.  I had never felt or seen such pain.  I heard my oldest tell me she wanted to die to be with her brother.  I saw my traumatized  father, who is fighting his own battles, hold his grandson who shared his name.  I saw my Mom try to be the one to keep it all together while her heart shattered.  I saw the love of my life crumble as he held his beautiful son.  I was a zombie, floating through life trying not to drown. I was a broken version of who I once was, a false representation of who I truly was.  I had to be strong for my family but I didn't have the strength.   I went into survival mode, blocking all triggers the best I could.  I struggled seeing pregnant women and seeing pictures of newborns, especially boys.  Going to the clinic made my heart race.  Walking back into the hospital made me feel weak.  Going out into public made me panic inside.  If I could have went into hiding, I would have. 

Honestly,  I hate this life.  I hate that I had no choice.  I hate that my son's ashes sit in our living room when he should be in my arms right now.  I hate that my whole view of life has been turned upside down and I can never go back to who I was.  I hate that I cannot be as honest as I want to be.  I fight an internal battle everyday and very few know that I do.  Every time I see a baby my heart breaks a little bit more.  I hate that I am this person now.  A person who has to be three steps ahead in case a trigger comes my way or I am asked how many children I have.  This is the price we have paid for the blessing within me.

Sure, I am happy to be pregnant again but this time is different.  I didn't get all excited and jump around when that test went positive.  I went into shock and started to hyperventilate knowing I could lose another baby.  I could very easily have as many babies in Heaven as I did on Earth.  That is a very sobering thought.  I awake each morning scrutinizing every pain, every cramp.  Everyday, I ask myself 'is this the day I am gonna lose my baby?'  A few weeks ago, I was spotting.  Yesterday, I couldn't find the heartbeat.   I went numb both times.  I went into survival mode.  I mentally prepared myself for another loss.  I just assume it will happen because I don't want to build myself up on false hope. This is the life of a mother carrying a rainbow.  It isn't as joyous as one would think.  I cringe when I hear 'congratulations' because it wouldn't be said if my son were alive.  I am told to have faith and that everything will be fine but until you are in my shoes, you will never understand how hard it is to believe that.  My heart is reluctantly opening up to this baby.  It is still fragile and I ache for my son.  If anything,  this pregnancy has made me miss him more.   But, I am slowly realizing the beauty that has been placed in our lives.  We will get there one step at a time.  Am I angry? You bet!  Am I sad? More than ever!  Am I happy? Yes, but that happiness came with a price, a price no parent should ever have to pay....

Why We Didn't Wait

**Trigger warning- rainbow pregnancy**

I know there is a stigma with announcing a pregnancy early, long before the "safety" of the 12 week mark.  It is well documented that the chance of loss significantly decreases after the 1st trimester.  However, I have learned that loss can occur at any time no matter how cautious you may be.  I do not want this post to be seen as a scare tactic, that is not my intention.  I want it to merely explain why we decided to go against the societal norm and put our news out into the universe just a few weeks into our journey.

I certainly have my reasons for announcing early.  The main reason being that I have no safe zone.  I lost a baby at the beginning and I have lost a baby at the end.  The 12 week mark means nothing to me anymore.  I struggle with feeling safe with my own body.  I have oftentimes lost trust that I will hold a live baby again, my baby.  I have learned that we are not guaranteed happy endings and life is so very precious regardless of how short it is. 

I am terrified..and sad...and excited...and emotionally exhausted.  Deciding to try again has taken every ounce of my strength.  I have had to learn to love my body again and not hate it for what has happened.  I have had to deal with the guilt of wanting another baby.  I have had to face my grief and find a way to function with it as a part of my life.  I have had multiple blood draws, weaned off medications and had a couple visits with my OB to make a plan for before pregnancy, during pregnancy and birth.  We didn't just get pregnant and that was it, this baby has been in production for a while now.

Time is not on my side.  I could not wait years, that was not an option.  The path to get to this point has been exhausting.  I truly do not have the energy to keep it a secret because, honestly, I am scared.  I am putting myself on a path that led me to where I was just 8 months ago.  I had to dig deep and find a piece of my heart that was ready to move forward.  This beautiful blessing comes with a lot of baggage...baggage that we are more than willing to carry but it will be a long, complicated journey.  In the end, we hope to have a different outcome but we know all too well how things can sometimes turn out.

We believe in prayer.  Our faith has carried us through some of our darkest moments.  I have seen the power of faith and truly believe that prayer and positive energy can carry us through.   Who better to announce to than the family, friends and community who wrapped us so lovingly in their arms 8 months ago.  We have found peace through this love and we need it now as we start down this path. 

This journey will not be easy, it has already been very difficult, far more stressful than I thought it would be.  We are opening our fragile hearts and hoping that this time, we get a happy ending.  This pregnancy has also brought a lot of guilt.  I struggle with wishing it was Holden inside of me but I truly love this baby with all my heart.  I feel guilty that my boys were not enough.  I feel guilty that I may put my family through heartache again. I feel guilty that I have been given another chance.  I feel guilty that I cry more out of sadness than happiness this time.   I no longer have the luxury of being naive and only focus on the good because I have an intimate relationship with the bad.  This is me...this is my life...this is my story...this is my next chapter.  It is a hard read but it is my life...our life.  I know you will stick around for the end...you already read most of the chapters ♡

The Ugly Side of Baby Loss

I know.  I know.  You are wondering why I would even write about the ugly side of baby loss because is there even a good side to compare it to?  My answer is yes, yes there is.  We all have seen the good side because it is the side we pay most attention to.  The hopeful prayers of a heavenly reunion one day.  The silver lining and all the goodness that comes out of people after a loss.  The beauty of cherishing life more than ever before.  The constant chatter about guardian angels and how our little ones are watching over us now.  The smiles we give when we hear our little one's name.  These moments are only a fraction of our lives as bereaved parents.  They are truth but also used as a way to soften the harshness of our reality.  In a way, they are survival mechanisms.   Without hope, we would be consumed by fear.  Without dreams, our nightmare would become too real. 

I see the faces of some people when I talk about my grief. I see their eyes glaze over as they begin to fidget from the discomfort of the subject.  We live in a world where tragedy has a shelf life and we are expected to 'move on'.  It is society's survival mode as we don't like to be reminded of our mortality, especially when a baby is involved.  The truth of our life is far too much to bear, for some.  We live others' worst fears and yet we are not allowed to be as open about it as we should.  "It makes me sad."  "I can't even think about it."  "I can't take on your pain along with mine."  I admit, before I became a "loss mom", the thought of baby loss made me run in the other direction.  I would slump away when I heard talk of loss.  It made me incredibly sad, so incredibly sad.  Now, as I sit on the other side of the fence, I see that was wrong of me.   I apologize to all the loss moms who did not have me by their side as I should have been.  I should have been there just to hold your hand, let you vent or just give you a hug when you needed it most.  I should have pushed my own fears and pain aside and realized that your pain was not so easily forgotten. Now that I wear your shoes, I know how incredibly isolating loss can be. In our society, grief and depression can be viewed as a weakness.  I am here to tell you that it is the strongest of souls who have to face tragedy.  It takes incredible strength to peel yourself out of bed everyday knowing that your life is forever changed and there is absolutely nothing you can do to bring your loved one back.  Every day, I awake hoping that my reality has changed and yet it does not.   I look upon my son's urn every morning wishing I was getting him dressed or nursing him or kissing his fat cheeks.  This is my life...a life that can feel as if the weight may crush me.  I am facing fears I never knew existed.   I am mad that I have to live this life.  I am mad that I even have to consider another pregnancy.  I was ready to be done and move on to the next chapter of my life.  I am mad that my dreams were ripped from my heart, my womb, my arms.  I am mad that my thoughts are consumed by my loss.  I am mad that I have to force my smiles now when they came so easily before.  This is my ugly side.  Love it or hate it, this is me now.  I try to hide it as if it were a secret but I feel it take on a life of its own every time I subdue it.  There is no one telling me to stay quiet, I do that on my own.  I ask myself why...is it because I cannot handle the truth?  Am I afraid of letting others see me at my weakest since they all think I am so strong?  Thing is, I don't want to see them slump away or fidget or stare at me blankly waiting for me to be done.  I know it sounds harsh.  I know I may offend some but this is the truth, the ugly truth.  It is a truth you will never see until you are in my shoes or the shoes of anyone else who has lost their dreams.  I know I am blessed to have such amazing support but it is always said that support wears out over time.  Life moves on even when your heart does not.  My heart is still stuck at 7 months ago.  My heart remembers every day.  My memories are more and more vivid and more painful.  I cannot 'move on' completely.   Part of me will always be stuck in the past because a little part of me died with my boys. 

I am not looking for sympathy, I am looking for awareness.  Awareness that there are so many who carry their pain silently.  They float through life without ever showing their truth.  They hurt, they pine, they cry, they wonder, they ask 'why me?'

This Valentines Day will be 3 years since we learned that Ricky's heart stopped beating.  The 22nd will mark 3 years from when he left his earthly home and joined the angels.  His short life on earth began my journey as a bereaved mother and he opened my eyes to a life that is feared by many.  This month,  I ask you to do one thing.  If you know someone who has experienced any type of loss, reach out to them.  Send them a card, call them, hug them, tell them 'I am here for you'.  Remind each other that we are not alone in this world, our loved ones are still thought of, us survivors are still thought of.  We need to take care of each other, be reminded of the beauty of the human soul in a world that can seem so ugly at times.  Your pain is my pain.  When you are weak, I will give you strength.   I am here for you...