A Pandemic of Grace

Yes, I know.  Pandemic refers to a disease but honestly why can’t we shift our focus to the spread of something more positive?  I’m truly trying to find the silver lining in all the chaos that is now our new normal. 

I’ve been transparent with some people about my struggles over the years, especially this past year. Grief is a staple in my life. It drives what I do and what I don’t do.  It affects how I interpret situations, how I process life. I wish I didn’t have to live this way but it is the hand I was dealt. Last year, with Dad failing, it was harder than losing Holden. With Holden, I was allowed to be weak. I was allowed to feel the immense pain and I was able to express it among those who knew what my heart felt. I felt like I could openly grieve and lean on loved ones to help me carry the pain. 

Not many know what it is like to see a big hero of a Dad slowly turn into a stranger.  Already weak from all I had endured, I didn’t handle his failing and death in a heathy way. I held in a lot because I needed to be strong for everyone else. I needed to keep my composure because I was suffocating anytime I truly saw what was in front of me. My depression became an angry monster and I tried to go off my meds and prove how strong I was and that it couldn’t control me. That was a mistake.  I felt anger and resentment towards those who meant no harm to me and loved me. I was just so mad that people couldn’t see how hard this was for my family because we always put on a brave front.  Truth is, it’s scary for everyone and I feel like we don’t reach out as much as we should. Life is a lot more beautiful when we can be honest with each other.  I see that now. 

Therapy and medication changes has helped and I thought I was doing better. Then came this pandemic. It hit me hard. I was trying to work (in a new position), help with school for 3 of the kids, manage a household and find a way to keep the stress levels down for us all. It was too much. I finally went to a dear friend who is my NP to talk about my anxiety. She’s seen me in some pretty dark places and always has my heart in her best interest. She had a student NP, let’s call her D, with her whom I’ve known forever and I just adore her. Trying to be strong, I started explaining about how I’m struggling with all the demands, fears that I’m hurting my marriage, guilt that my children haven’t had a whole mother since losing Holden and that my mental health struggles are trickling into the kids. Then the tears came. She said some lovely words and then came the punchline “you have to give yourself some grace” (there may have been a “damn” before the grace☺️). Yes!!!!!   I never do. I’m so hard on myself and trying to do it all. People always see this organized, put together person but it’s all a front. Behind the scenes, I’m emotionally struggling with it all.  I recognize that my anxiety is fed by chaos and I try so hard to be prepared and organized to reduce my anxiety. Truth is, I’ve been a hostage to routine due to my anxiety.  Any chaotic shift sends me into a tailspin and I can’t seem to get myself straightened out. It’s exhausting, mentally and physically.  I sat there with tears in my eyes as these two beautiful souls reminded me that I’m allowed to feel what I feel because I’ve been dealt some pretty shitty cards. I know everyone has struggles they’ve faced and I need to embrace what I’ve been through and also how far I’ve come, no matter how small the progress may be.  So with my continued therapy and a new medication regimen, I’m trying to change my focus. 

I’ve been blessed with the most amazing cheerleaders in my life and I need to find a way to give myself grace to see what I’m capable of.  I’ve scared myself with how self critical I can be and this pattern needs to stop. I pride myself in advocating relentlessly for my children’s mental health, yet have fallen short for myself.  Mental health has always been something discussed behind closed doors or not at all. It’s okay to struggle.  It’s okay to feel hopeless. What isn’t okay is feeling like you have nowhere to turn. Where is the rule book that says you have to have your shit together at all times. Why can’t we be a beautiful mess sometimes and give ourselves some grace?  We’re all a little bit broken and it’s those cracks that unite us as humans. No one is perfect. No one has it all figured out. We’re all just bustling away, trying the best we can and societal pressures, life challenges and the constant stimulus of social media clouds over the good we do. It’s time to clear the fog and appreciate the view. Lord knows I haven’t paused long enough to see how wonderful it is. I think I could get used to this change ❤️

New World Order

I’ve let my depression run feral while I’ve struggled to keep it all together.  That’s the problem with being a “strong woman”. People don’t see the war feeding upon your soul, slowly chipping away until all you see is a stranger in the mirror.  You become a bystander to your own life.

The crossroads are a scary place to be. Which path do you take? The rough path ends back to who you truly are. The smoother path tends to be chosen when you lack the energy and confidence to challenge yourself.  This path circles back to where you started. You become lost in the cycle with no sense of direction.  It’s a lonely road with lots of dead ends. I’m at one of those dead ends, trying to decide what direction to take next. Do I turn back and take the rougher path?  Do I continue on this perpetual path of “just being okay”?

I’ll admit, I’ve neglected myself greatly. I’ve been so focused on all that surrounds me and didn’t realize I was crumbling among the chaos. I made changes regarding my physical health by exercising and eating better. I’ve lost 38 pounds which should make me feel amazing and yet I still feel the clouds become heavier above me.  I realized my mental health was failing and I wasn’t supporting myself the way I should have been. I saw my healthcare provider and restarted  medications after a hiatus that I thought I could handle. I returned to therapy, signing both of my daughters up as well. I unapologetically told myself “it’s time”.  Lord knows we all have our struggles but I tend to push my weakness aside to feign strength for those around me.  Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate when people allow themselves to be weak in hard moments.  It’s a beautiful aspect of being human. Problem is, I tend to push myself aside to make sure others are taken care of which most likely stems from me being the eldest child along with being a nurse.  A blessed curse.

I’ve seen my struggles in the actions of my children. We project our emotions and soul aches upon our children. My children have had way too much sadness in their short lives. We have had an intimate relationship with death. This has created a continuous open dialogue which is often uncomfortable amongst adults. Heavy subjects for young minds to absorb and yet we do not want to shield them. There is beauty amongst the pain and I would not want to deprive them of these moments.  But it requires work...checking in with them, making sure their questions are answered....making sure my emotions are cared for so that I can carry them through the hard moments when they need me to.  I gave the girls the choice if they wanted to be present when their Papa passed away. They both chose to be there. I believe it has helped them begin to process their grief which will be supplemented through therapy. However, in the aftermath of losing Dad, I sit here and think about how naive I am to think I can carry all the weight when I clearly am not as strong as I project to be.  I’ve been so worried about being strong enough to help my family, especially my mother, when they collapse from the weight of the grief we all carry.

It’s a choice. Which path to take. Are you willing to put in the work to make the changes that so desperately need to happen?  In the end, the work will bring you back to being a main character in your life.  Admitting you need to focus on yourself more and possibly detour from situations or people that discourage you is the start of the journey. Sit back and enjoy the ride.  The destination awaits you when you are ready.

He should be two.....

Trigger warning- Living children mentioned.

He should be two on Earth, not in Heaven.  I find myself saying that over and over again in my head.  He should be two. He should be fighting me over potty training and fighting with Lydon over their trucks.  He should be giving kisses to Sawyer and making silly faces to make him laugh.  He should be running away from his sisters, tired of all the hugs and kisses they would most likely be smothering him with. I am constantly replaying our moments in my head with him in it.  What would life be like with him here?

I have lived in this odd haze for the last 2 years with one foot forward and the other firmly planted in a life before his death...a life without grief.  Grief for a loss parent is very complicated.   It is hard for others to understand unless they are in the trenches with us.  Our grief is our connection to our child.  We don't have a lifetime of memories to soothe our heart when it aches.  We don't have vacation pictures or old letters to touch and look at when we need to feel connected.  We were still getting to know this little person and yet we loved them so deeply.  A stranger we fell in love with before we even knew they existed.  And, as quickly as they came into our lives, they were gone.  We were left with deep, confusing sadness that seemed like a dream.  I have to awaken myself to my reality often because it is easy to let my mind wander and trick me into believing none of this ever happened.  The beautiful wooden box that sits within my home and the ache with every beat of my heart reminds me that it did happen.  He existed.  For a very short time on Earth, he existed.  He was beautiful.   A picture of perfection.  It is so hard to believe that something so incredibly breathtaking is gone.  How could this happen?  Why us?  I often play the last few months of his life through my head struggling to find answers.  Was it something I did?  Did we miss something?  Did he suffer?  Did he know how loved he was and still is?  How do I carry on without him?

This life has made strangers into best friends and best friends, as well as some family, into strangers.  It teaches you the importance of empathy and what it truly means to a grieving heart. It makes you question everything....all your relationships,  career, life in general.   You often wonder if you are on the right path because none of them seem right with a piece of your heart missing.  It is a confusing and emotional journey that requires every ounce of your strength to make it through each day....to get to the next sunrise where you are one day closer to being reunited in Heaven.  You have to put your mask on and power through because your reality is far too heavy for those around you.  You find your secret group, filled with beautiful mothers with heartbreakingly similar stories, where you can unload your fears and sadness before it eats you up.  You say 'I'm okay' more than any person should because it's exhausting being honest. You live a lie everyday because your heart is breaking yet you keep on living.  It's the nature of the beast.  Grief is ugly and ever changing.   Just when you think you have it controlled, it breaks free and attacks your heart.  People call me strong....that's a lie.  I'm just trying to stay afloat.  I do what I have to do for my family but it isn't easy.  I don't have the energy to extend to others after I take care of myself and my family.  I'm still trying to figure this all out.  There is no guide on how to live without your child. 

I thank God everyday for my beautiful Earth children and my husband.  They give me purpose and keep me grounded.  They remind me that I am needed and loved.  In the darkest moments, they show me the beauty I possess in this life.  Even on days when it feels as if we have more than we can handle, I find those moments of peace where I know we are blessed beyond measure.  Such a beautiful, wild, crazy life we have.  I wouldn't trade the joy or sadness for anything.  This is  my life. My beautifully designed life. 

Grief's Army

One thing I have learned about grief is its  unpredictability.   Just when you think you are making progress,  grief rears its ugly head and knocks you down like a bully on the playground.  It is a constant struggle to find a balance, a new way of living when everything seems so much harder to tolerate.  Everyday life is a battlefield and grief is your enemy.   You try to stand your ground but grief's army is much stronger than yours.  I'm not gonna lie, I have been struggling...I have been struggling to find a new path through this war zone and I now admit I need reinforcements.  

I thought I was doing okay, making my way slowly through the muck and getting one foot ahead of the other.  I was a fool to believe it would be that easy.  I realize that I put my grief on hold to focus on getting Sawyer to us safe and sound.  In the first few months of his life, I was in a haze of relief and gratefulness.  My grief was able to plan a sneak attack and I started back where I left off before I got pregnant.  I started to get frustrated easily and overwhelmed with minute things.  My organized ways have been nothing short of chaotic and I can't seem to get a grasp on it.  At first, I blamed it on life with four kids and I believed I would figure it out eventually.  I go to therapy to help navigate the grief and have had many discussions with my doctor about starting meds but I didn't want to seem weak.  I am a warrior, right?  I have seen the darkness of death and made it this far.  Shouldn't I  be okay by now?  How long can I hold on to this pain?  The stigmas of society weigh heavily on my mind because society often minimizes grief and labels it as weakness rather than human nature. 

Not many people know but I battled postpartum depression after I had Brynly.  I was terrified the day I went to the doctor to tell her I needed help.  It was the best decision I ever made but yet I still feared the judgment I may face seeking help again.  I tried telling myself that I could figure it all out with the right therapy and getting our family rhythm back.   Problem is, I am a different person now.  I see life differently and cannot go back to who I was before.  She no longer exists.  The new me has many fears and views life as before and after Holden.  But, I put on a brave face and tell people "I'm okay" even when I am screaming inside.  I share my true emotions with a select few who get me, who truly hear my words and allow me to vent. Grief is such a hard concept for people to understand because it is so different for everyone.  People try to use their own experiences or others' experiences to give advice to those who are hurting.   Even though well intended, it can cause more damage than good. 

Last week, Sawyer became ill and it was traumatizing for me.  I know most parents can relate to the normal fears when your child is sick but I truly know the pain of when things go horribly wrong.  I watched as he coughed and gagged and, at one point, his lips turned blue.  I froze in fear and thought I was losing another baby.  I felt my heart pounding and my eyes burning from trying to hide my tears from everyone.  The nurse in me is usually calm in these situations, assessing and determining what needs to be done.  I failed in that moment because the loss mom in me took over and I panicked.  I knew in that moment that I was not okay.  I needed help.  I can no longer ignore my heart's pleas.  I needed to take care of myself to care for my family. I was not okay.....

I saw my doctor and told her I needed something.  She got it, she got me.  I needed to know that I was not weak.  I needed to know that what I am experiencing is normal and we will find a way through.  I know I am not alone but, even with all the support, baby loss can feel so isolating.  It is a lifelong grief that will change many times and I realize that asking for help is not a sign of weakness.  I feel stronger having shared my struggles and seeking help.  I share this because I know of so many who suffer alone or minimize their pain to make it more acceptable.  Grief is human nature, a byproduct of having a soul and experiencing loss.  It's okay to admit when you are not okay.  That is the strongest thing a person can do for themselves and those they love.  Grief's army is no match for the human heart.  Never deny your heart the help it needs ♡

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...

Finding Peace Amongst the Pain

The other night, after leaving the ER with Lydon, I had some time to pass while we waited for his medication to be ready.  I decided to drive around Dodgeville and look at Christmas lights and thankfully there was still a lot up and they were lit.  Lydon was extra chatty just as he always is when his sisters are not around.  I decided to ask him a couple questions.  My heart was screaming to ask but my mind kept telling my heart to stop being ridiculous.  I finally asked "Do you ever see Holden? Does he talk to you?"  In some insane, irrational part of my brain, I hoped that his answer would be "Sure, Mom, he talks to me all the time. He says 'what's up'!"  Instead, he yelled at me in his mature 2-year-old voice demanding to see more lights- "More lights,  Momma."  I don't know what I wanted or expected.  I just feel that with the 6 month mark looming in the near future, the only memories I have of my precious Holden are slowly fading away.  Tomorrow means the year of his birth and death is over and part of me wants to hold on as long as I can.  There have been little signs of him- the hummingbird on the postcard stamp, the hummingbird on the kleenex box at the dentist and the hummingbird figurine I stumbled upon at the store.  But still, I am left with wanting more.  I will never get what I truly want but my heart still cries out for a sign that we will be okay and it remains unanswered.

Before I ran Lydon to the ER, we had to go say goodbye to his daycare teacher whose beautiful life was cut tragically short just 2 days before Christmas.   Bill told me about the night he was explaining to the girls about how Jenny was going to Heaven and the tears that welled up in Harper's eyes.  What he said next will haunt me forever- "The kids sure have been through a lot this year."  I felt my heart drop just as it did when we found out we lost Holden and Ricky.  My beautiful earth trio has faced more in their short lives than most adults and yet their beautiful minds and hearts continue to amaze us with their unwavering faith.  We took the kids to say goodbye to Jenny because they wanted to.   We gave them that choice.  The girls colored her pictures and they gazed upon the pictures at the funeral home exclaiming how beautiful she looked in her wedding dress.  We paid our respects and headed home feeling a little more empty than before.  Then, Bryn started to talk about how beautiful Jenny's urn was and how she was with our boys now.

Six months ago, my children's experience with death was limited.  Then, they were thrust into death without any safety net and yet they have embraced it, almost found some peace with it.  They do not look at death as we do, they know in their hearts that our loved ones are in the most amazing place- Heaven-and they are okay with that.  Before this profound peace, there were moments where I honestly wondered how I would even make it let alone help my children.  To hear your child say they would rather be in Heaven with their brothers than to be on this earth...it shatters your soul.  How does a child even know the feeling behind such a statement.  I knew then that they lost a little bit of innocence that they would never get back.  To come from that gut wrenching moment to now, I know we are doing the best we can but I can honestly say I was so consumed by my grief that I didn't really stop to think about the complete impact it has had on my children.  That one statement of Bill's snapped me out of my haze.  I felt utterly disappointed in myself but then we went to see Jenny. To see them smile and talk about Jenny in such a beautiful way, I feel as if they have overcome their demons whilst I still must battle mine.  I wonder if instead of talking to them, the boys are sending them comfort,  little hugs of encouragement filled with immense love.  Maybe that is what makes them so comfortable with the concept of death; they know it will all be okay.  I wonder if those are my signs, through the words and actions of my earthly trio.  It is as if the boys have given a little piece of their soul to each of their siblings, giving them strength when their Momma lacked it.

I look to this new year with fear and excitement in my heart.  I know we are stronger now than we were before but we gained that strength through earth shattering loss.  Although stronger, we are still quite fragile so I do hope that 2015 is kind to us.  One year ago, I was newly pregnant with Holden and certain of our life ahead.  Now, I look ahead one day at a time, one foot in front of the other, one prayer at a time ♡

When the Autopilot Shuts Off

Christmas.   The season of joy and renewed spirit.   The season of giving, sharing love and comforting those with broken hearts.  This season has been hard for me.  I feel myself becoming physically ill from the sadness I carry in my heart.  I have been trying hard to make sure there is plenty of Christmas spirit for my earthly trio but it is hard when I would rather run and hide. 

I usually try to post a positive twist on what we have to endure but this season has broke me.  I discussed this with my counselor the other day.  She mentioned that maybe I was still on autopilot and the reality of Christmas and the New Year has forced me to face the facts.  I think she pretty much nailed it. I have been trying to be so strong and not upset people with what my heart truly feels but, you know what, who does that help?  No one.  It only prolongs the enevitable.  I lost a baby, not once but twice.  I heard "there is no heartbeat" on Valentines Day after almost a year of trying to get pregnant.  I had to make the decision to have surgery since my body could not let my first angel go.  I held my beautiful, 6 pound 9 ounce son in my arms and never heard him cry.  I carried him for 36 weeks planning out our perfect future only to have it ripped straight from my heart.  I had to go home and put my needs on hold because my beautiful trio needed their Momma.  I try to cry when they are not around or wait for Bill to fall asleep because the thought of upsetting someone else bothers me and I have to be the strong one, right?  Yes, I have amazing support and so much love around me but those kind gestures will never take this pain away.  What I wouldn't give to hold him again and feel his soft skin against my lips.   What I wouldn't give to rub my fingers through his beautiful hair and tell him how much I love him.   What I wouldn't give to go back to that Sunday and pay more attention to my body.  Maybe things would be different.   Maybe I would have had a little one this Christmas.   Maybe I would have had to sneak away during family get togethers to nurse him and have a quiet moment with my last born.  My last born....he was to be my forever baby.  I was so ready for the next chapter of our life and now it sits here with the corner turned but I do not know if I am ready to turn that page.

This is all us angel Mommas have ...questions, 'what if's and 'maybe's.  We have memories that will never happen.  Our heart feels a little tug every now and then when we realize this is not a dream.  Sometimes, I feel like this is a dream because it seems too sad to have really happened to someone.  Then, I remember all the Mommas that have faced this reality and I am one of them.  Such a heavy, heart wrenching reality to face.  What you see on the outside is so far from what is felt inside.  I try to plaster on a smile and go about my day.  I try to keep myself distracted because when it is quiet, my mind is consumed by my boys.  As I have said before, it is not all rainbows nd sunshine afterwards in a new world where we cherish every moment with our earthly babes.  You have to balance their needs with your needs all while tending to the broken hearts that you all now possess.  It is a complicated process to move forward without causing damage.  We cannot be strong every moment and we are bound to have our downs just as much as our ups.  The most important thing is that people stick around for both the ups and downs.  It may be uncomfortable to stand by someone who is grieving and that is okay.  Sometimes discomfort breeds inappropriate comfort and the damage it may cause is irreversible.  Hearts do not forget easily.   Be kind to each other and remember that a simple 'I am so sorry' is the best therapy around ♡

The Race

The most difficult thing about grief is that it will always catch up to you.  No matter how hard you try to ignore it, it will sneak up on you and attack at your weakest moments.  It may take days, months or years but grief never forgets and it will never let you get away without a few scars.

Right now, I am dancing an delicate dance with my grief.  I am trying to keep the Christmas spirit alive in our home but it sure is hard knowing that there are two less children to open presents on Christmas morning.  Instead of buying presents for Holden, I am shopping for nameplates for his urn.  Instead of buying Ricky Christmas jammies, I am buying ornaments to remember him by.  I am trying to stay positive and make sure my earthly trio get the Christmas they deserve but my heart wants nothing to do with the holidays.

I used to enjoy family get togethers.   They allowed us all to catch up, share stories and show off our beautiful children.  This Saturday, it was too much.  Seeing all that joy only made my heart weaker.  I could not escape my sadness and stepped away for a while.  I laid in the bed next to where Lydon was napping and wept.  I slept off and on while my beautiful rainbow dreamt happily.  I heard all the happy voices booming from downstairs and was mad that I couldn't enjoy that.  I was mad that I had been given this life.  What is the purpose for all of this?  Why must I bear this weight?   I cannot understand why such beautiful souls were taken from me without a single answer.  My mind was spinning.  I was so overwhelmed in a moment where I should have been experiencing pure joy.  Holden would have been 5 months old this Sunday.  He would have been smiling, babbling and being passed around and smothered with kisses.  He would have smelled like my Aunt Judy's perfume as all my others did when they were little and snuggled with her.

Through my tears, I looked over at the crib Lydon was laying in.  He was looking at me very contently.  I picked him up and laid him next to me in bed.  We laid there for a while quietly.  I rubbed his back and hummed to him while he sucked his thumb and snuggled his blankie.  This is it!  This right here! This beautiful creation along with my other two running wildly through the house are the reason I wake up every day and drag myself out of bed.  They are the reason I say 'yes' to my grief because I cannot afford for it to overpower me forever.  I need to allow grief into my life in order to find my happiness again.  I know this race will be a marathon for the rest of my life and I know that just when I think I have won, I will trip and fall.  But, my promise to my 5 beautiful angels is that I will dust myself off, get up and keep going.  This race will not get the best of me, it will just motivate me to run faster.

What now?

This week, as I watched my earthly trio,  I came to the realization that there was nothing "baby-like" in my house anymore.   My youngest, Lydon, has lost all of his baby features.  He talks in short sentences and doesn't need much care besides dressing, diapering and handing him his food.  He walks around the house entertaining himself with his trucks and whatever else his sisters have out.  He doesn't need me as much as Holden would have needed me right now.  What I wouldn't give to have a wiggly baby in my arms or have an all day nursing marathon due to a growth spurt.  What I wouldn't give to be cheering him on as he tries to roll over and blow bubbles.  For years, there was always a sense of baby in my house and it seems as if it has disappeared overnight.

Granted, Lydon is still young but he is a running, wild haired toddler now.  I should be chasing him with my arms full of Holden or telling him to kiss his brother gently.  Yet, I sit here and write as tears flow down my cheeks and the pain in my heart swells.  Instead, we hand Lydon his brother's urn to kiss good night.   He shouts Holden's name proudly when he sees his pictures but he will never get to play with him or teach him all about being a boy in house once dominated by women.

Holden was supposed to be my forever baby.  He was supposed to fill the void we still felt.  Now, his loss has created a new void, a void that can never be filled.  We are faced with a life changing decision...do we stay here or do we try again.  It is something Bill and I talk about regularly but what I really want is Holden.  I know another baby would be such a blessing but it will not be my beautiful son who I ache for everyday.  I have seen so many other Angel Mommas face their fear and have been blessed with beautiful rainbows.  I already have a rainbow, my sweet Lydon.  I know the feeling of seeing your beautiful baby's face and knowing they are okay after 9 months of constant worry.  It is a very scary, torturous road and there is no directions for us to follow.  We just have to follow our heart and do what we feel is best for ourselves and our family.  I am still trying to find the ultimate good in all of this and sometimes I truly wonder what I did to deserve this.

I have a dear friend who lost her precious angel the day after Holden was born.  She is currently carrying her rainbow and shares with me her fears.   I hear her pain and yet I also hear her pride and love pour out for this sweet, little bean.  I wonder what it would be like for me and I get a shiver of fear and guilt.  Holden will always be my forever baby as that was to be his place in our family.  I look at Lydon and know Ricky chose him just for us and I wonder if Holden is waiting to bless us just as Ricky did.  Only time will tell if we will be ready to accept his gift...

The Warriors

There is a group of women I know for which I am now a part of.  I have written about these women before but I will never be able to capture their bravery among my writing.  Their courage is a beautiful yet heart wrenching thing to witness.  They have given me strength without being present.  They have wiped my tears from afar and warmed my heart with a single hug.  These women are warriors, through and through.  These women are mothers to angels.   I have heard stories that could make the coldest heart melt.  I have seen the pain upon their face as they speak their angels names in private.  I have seen the pride they possess among that pain and the daily battle to keep their angels' memory alive.   These women are warriors who fight to help others placed upon this path.  They face a mother's greatest fear with the amazing power of infinite love. 

Us angel Mommas fear that our little ones will be forgotten, that their names will fade with time.  We worry that others will forget that these lives, no matter how brief, were and still are so very powerful.  Our angels live with each breath we take, with each beat of our hearts.  We live with the gaping hole in our heart that is filled with sadness, love, pride and fear.  It is a feeling that words cannot describe.  With each passing day, we awaken to the heavy ache of knowing what we do not have.  We will never feel complete as a little piece of us has been taken.  There are now two versions of us, who we were before and us now.  We yearn for our life before yet would not give up who we are now for it would mean not knowing the love we have for our angels. 

I have witnessed the amazing power of these women through their stories and their actions.   I have been able to move forward by using their strength to push me.  They have given me a gift that I will never be able to return.   I have seen them face their fears and bring rainbows into this world.  There are some who are currently pregnant with their rainbows and facing each day with uncertainty.  There are some who are selflessly sharing their stories to raise awareness and help others face their fears.  I am honored to be among these women and I feel that our paths were destined to cross.  Although deep sadness has brought us together, I cannot imagine my life without them.  These women, these warriors,  are truly angels on earth.  The world is richer having their intense power upon it.

Am I okay?

Somedays, I truly wonder if I will ever really be "okay".  Even in life's happy moments, my mind whispers to my heart and reminds it of the sorrow we have faced.  I am not completely present in these moments for I feel guilty knowing the moment is incomplete without my boys.

I went to see a dear friend's newborn son the other day. I could not even bring myself to touch him.  The last newborn I held and kissed was my own, my sweet Holden.  I almost feel like my arms are sacred space reserved for another of my own if that is where our path leads.  Even when empty, my arms feel heavy with the weight they do not hold. These are struggles I never imagined I would face and only those who have walked this path can truly understand.  

I am not going to lie, the last couple of weeks have been heavy on my heart.  I should be getting ready for Holden's first holiday season.  Instead, I am ordering angel ornaments for Ricky and Holden knowing that Christmas morning will bring a new wave of emotions.  I feel myself slipping into survival mode again and yet I know I must face this new challenge no matter how heart wrenching it may be.  I need to see how beautiful life is again.  I need to see the good that is out there.  I need to trust that God will lead me in the right direction as long as I continue to trust in His ways.  I need to know that we will be "okay". 

Tonight, Harper came to me with a simple note.   It read " Dear Mom, I love you" with a heart on it.  The look of pure love and joy on her face as she handed it to me took my breath away.  How could I not see how beautifully perfect our life is.  Even with all the pain, we are so blessed. My boys have given me some of the greatest gifts.  They have opened our hearts to a love not known by many and awakened an awareness inside me that was dormant for too long.  I am not saying our life is all "rainbows and sunshine" but there is a definite shift in the way life is played out among these walls.  As I looked at this beautiful five year old creature for which I helped create, I felt my heart swoon knowing she was mine.  She was a gift given to me when I wasn't aware I needed it.  She is beautifully imperfect and quirky, sensitive and clumsy, mischevious and wild.  Her baby pictures look the most like Holden.  I see Holden in her face and I tell her that all the time.  It makes her so happy  and I imagine they would have been close.  I wish I could have seen that.

I know we will never be "okay" like we were before but it will all work out in the end.  It might just be a bumpy ride getting there.  Even once there, I know new paths will arise but as long as we have each other, we will be alright.   I feel richer in life having been blessed with my boys even though they were not meant to be here with us.  It is a bittersweet life we must live but our blessings are many.  We will just be our own version of "okay" and that is okay with me.

The Saddest Person in the House

A couple weeks after Holden was born into Heaven, my seven year old came to me with a profound observation.  Her statement took my breath away and pushed my already broken heart down deeper than it had ever been before.  She looked at me with her big, brown eyes and said,"Mommy, you're the saddest person in the house."  Those words held so much power.  In those eight words, she expressed her concern, her sadness and her plea to get her old Mommy back.  How did I get to this point?  I was trying so hard to be strong in front of the kids but that's the problem; we never give them enough credit.  Children see more than we think.  Their minds are not bogged down with schedules and tasks that need to get done.  They live in the moment and, therefore, see life in real time.  They are in tune to the emotions that surround them.  They feed off the environment they are in.  With my uninhibited sadness out in the open, I saw this beautiful little version of me become more sullen and death obsessed.   It was my wake up call.  How could I grieve my son's death and still be present for my earthly trio?  Part of me just wanted to go hide and hope it was all fixed by the time I emerged.  I didn't like myself.  I was weak and useless.   On top of the physical pain I was dealing with, the emotions I felt were so overwhelmingly achy.  I was exhausted.  I relied on others immensely those first weeks and it bothered me that I was so helpless.  I hated who I was and how horrible of a mother I was being.  I was walking a thin line trying to parent my earthly trio while still parenting my angels.  It is a conflict no parent should face and yet here I was right in the middle, an emotional shell of who I once was. 
 

I took a hard look at myself to make the changes I needed to.  I had to expose my weakness and accept it.  However, I did not want to overshadow my grief.  I wanted my children to see that it is okay to be sad at times; that it is okay to cry and talk about their brothers.  I had so many people tell that I am strong which is hard to accept when you feel so weak.  I am not strong, I would say.  I am just surviving the only way I know how.  In the first weeks, it is easy to focus only on your pain but then life creeps right back in and you have no choice but to move forward.  Moving forward for us meant accepting this new life.  My children no longer have the innocence they possessed before.  They have an intimate relationship with death now and their already strong faith has blossomed.  All our lives have changed.  We have all taken turns being the saddest person in the house.  I asked Brynly if she thought I was still sad.  She told me "sometimes but not all the time."  I asked if she knew it was okay to be sad.  She said yes but she knows that her brothers will always be in her heart.   She said this with love in her eyes and a smile upon her face.  I guess out of the darkness we have discovered the true power of our love and how it possesses no boundaries.  Granted, we are not perfect and this will be a lifelong experience but I can't help but feel richer having seen what our love is capable of.  Ricky and Holden have given us that and continue to do so with every tear we shed and every kiss we send. 

The Illusionist

My smiles used to come easy.  I could be in the moment and not have lingering thoughts about my boys distract me.  I used to go through life naive to what tragedies could truly happen.  I was happy, truly happy.  Bill and I kept saying how lucky we were.  Granted, we had some difficult moments but we were truly blessed in all we had.  We took life for granted being oblivious to the fact that sometimes when things seem to be going good all the time, something bad always happens.  Then Valentines Day 2012 came around.  Newly pregnant,  nervous about a small bleed, Bill and I walked into the ultrasound room expecting to see our baby dance around on the screen.  We had tried for almost a year to get pregnant.  We wanted this baby so badly knowing how amazing being a parent was.  I was so excited to calm my fears by seeing my little bean.  No heartbeat seen...I am going to call the doctor...I am so sorry.  Our lives changed in that moment.  Why were we being punished?  I thought we were good people.  How am I going to tell the girls?  I learned how to function with grief.  I learned when and where you could let your emotions slip.  Bill and I both feel that Ricky gave us Lydon and prepared us for Holden.  In his short time on this earth, he gave us some powerful gifts.  That is a lot to carry every day.

 

I dealt with my grief for 2.5 years only to have that scab ripped wide open when Holden was born.  The pain was way too familiar and I really wondered how I was going to go back to life after feeling like it ended.  I was tormented every day with trying to be present but allowing myself to grieve.  Those who saw me in the early weeks saw me at my worst.  Those who have seen me after really only see the me I allow them to see.

 

I am not the woman I was before.  You may see me laugh and smile and be my goofy self but even in those moments I feel pain, I feel quilt.  How could I be happy when I know that I have two babies in Heaven?  If I seem too happy, will people think I am heartless? When I meet someone new, I am mentally preparing myself for the moment when they ask if I have kids.  Do I tell them the truth?  Am I emotionally strong enough in this moment to handle that conversation?  I struggle with these thoughts daily.  Those who have been in my shoes understand.  Some may still be in the midst of it; some may have found ways to cope with it.   I am still learning. 

 

On top of trying to cope with life, I am trying to be a good parent.  I think there is a misconception that after a loss, us angel parents become amazing, perfect parents who relish every moment with our earthly children.  That couldn't be farther from the truth.  Yes, I cherish my moments with my kids more than I did before but this agonizing sadness has weakened me.  I still get frustrated.  I still yell and then feel guilty.  I still find myself getting overwhelmed and not looking at the bigger picture.  Thing is, I need to be a parent all while tending to my own needs which have drastically increased.   I do not have the luxury of stopping life to focus 100% on me.  There are three little blessings that are relying on me to get it together and care for them.  Without my husband by my side, I never would be able to do it.  On top of dealing with my own grief, there is the sadness that my husband and children carry.  Life right now is a roller coaster with no stopping point seen.  I believe one thing we have accomplished out of all this is that we are more aware of making sure each one of us knows how truly loved they are.  

 

I feel like I am able to function the best I possibly can with the cards I have been dealt.  I honestly could not have gotten to this point without all the love and support that surrounds me.  I try to remember all the good I have seen come out of this and know that I am a small part of it.  It warms my heart to know that my sadness has brought awareness and understanding that loss is felt for an eternity.  My life may be somewhat of an illusion at times but eventually the curtains will be drawn and all will be revealed.   It comes with strength which I find more of every day.