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 ♡

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 ♡