There is a Time for Everything Under the Sun

Our third child didn’t get a baby shower.  Not because historically it’s improper in the book of manners, but because I just didn’t think my heart could handle it.  The last time I had been pregnant with a boy, my friends gathered around me as we ate chocolate and vegetables and artichoke dip, all the while cooing over adorable blue polka dot blankets and all things tender and tiny.  It had been almost four years since I had first become a mom, and with that bit of experience, this time around was a bit sweeter and much more relaxing.  With almost four years of practice under my belt, this was going to be a lot easier, a piece of cake.  I more or less knew how to prepare and what to expect.

I had let my guard down and was burned.  That wasn’t going to happen this time.

My friend recently posted how she had taken almost 1000 pictures of her nephew’s birth, and prior to that, she shared pictures of the shower she hosted for her sister, a celebration of the anticipation of their third child.

I am not one to weep over regrets, but my heart sunk a little.  Why hadn’t I allowed the many who offered to host me a baby shower just do what their hearts wanted to do?  Receiving help is difficult for me.  Pride gets in the way of receiving, because I am a damn strong woman and can do a hell of a lot on my own.  However, I’ve found over time how strength is beautiful in numbers, how relying on God and others is not weakness shown but rather confidence revealed.  Real trust, to the core…an ability to recognize most great masterpieces are made up of more than one color, a brick is solely a brick on its own, and a tree will never grow if the seed isn’t ever planted.

No orchestra is made up on solely one instrument.

And only now, after just having loosely celebrated Ryan’s 3rd birthday (Em was sick, he didn’t know it was his birthday or what that meant, really, and Jason and I were just home from Spain), am I able to understand it wasn’t out of guilt or feeling sorry for me that my friends, old and new, wanted to host me a shower. 

I realize now that a shower is to celebrate the anticipation of the little life about to enter the world, an opportunity to celebrate the woman carrying that life, the waiting parents, and a space for everyone to rejoice.  

There is a time for everything under the sun.  Pregnancy and the anticipation of a child is a time of celebration.  Only when news otherwise is relayed should the celebration turn into mourning.

There is a time for everything under the sun.

We don’t skip bridal showers because we think the poor couple won’t last past the infamous 7-year itch.  We don’t forgo weddings for the same reason.  There is no guarantee, on any given day, we will all make it to the 89 year old mark, so should we all skip cake and ice cream, all the years leading up to our day?   There is no guarantee, only hope and hard work, if our marriages will, indeed, continue happily ever after.  Just because a woman is pregnant does not mean the baby inside of her is meant for this side of Heaven.

And just because my heart was raw, carrying another son in my womb, unsure of the days to come, jaded a bit from loving and losing, doesn’t mean I should have denied my family and friends the opportunity to anticipate and celebrate the life growing in me and the arrival of our newest family member.

I’m not saying it was right or wrong to deny my friends and family a chance to host a shower for me years ago.  What I am saying is, in my selfish attempt to protect my heart from further heartache and disappointment, I shut down and didn’t even allow those who loved me to show their love faithfully as they had in the past.  They had celebrated with us, and also mourned when it was time.  

Birthdays, showers, anniversaries, holidays.  All of these celebrations, though marked with loss and memories, no matter how distant, are indeed, celebrations.

I'm not sure why I'm writing this 4 years from when my friends offered to throw me a shower, but I felt strongly to share my heart.  Maybe you are fearful to celebrate the anticipation of a child on the way, perhaps you have had adoptions fall through and it's scary to let your head and heart go there again.  Maybe fear is gripping you as you allow your heart to fall deeply in love again after the loss of a spouse?  I don't know.

I do know for several months I was fearful Ryan would die, just like his big brother.  And I had really, really, really, really, really fallen in love with Noah.  But I knew Noah was dying, and at the same time, I knew he deserved all my love and I loved him with all of my mommy heart.  I don't live in fear anymore that Ryan is going to die like his brother.  He will die.  I don't know when.  God knows the number of our days.  I do know this, however...I have jumped in with both feet in loving Ryan.  The ache and grief of losing his brother does not hang over me as I flip his curls through my fingers, rub noses, snuggle in our favorite chair while reading, and play choo-choo's in the basement.  I'm in love and it feels really amazing.

Every Single Day is a celebration of the lives around us, even our very own.  Is there someone in your life who needs celebrating today?

The only loss in loving is to look back and realize we never gave it our all.

Knee-Jerk Reaction

I'm nauseous. 

Sick to my stomach.

There's a pit deep in my guts that hurts and aches.

Part of it aches and mourns for the families of the sweet Kindies and staff in Connecticut who were brutally shot down by a guy who was really just another kid, only taller.  

20 years old.  What were you doing when you were 20?  I was studying Spanish III, Humanities, and Major World Religions.  I was laughing with friends, in the dorms, at the cafeteria, over at the gym.  Every Thursday night I was leading a small group of girls in Bible study and prayer, just trying to figure out how to navigate college and life.  I was heading out on date nights with my then boyfriend, now husband, and having girls’ night out with my 30 closest "BFF's".  I was "being" 20.

Another part of my heart aches for all the "leftovers."  I hate that fear and despair and nightmares and only memories and empty places at kitchen tables are now reality for some families on the East Coast.  I hate that kids just lost their playground playmates.  

Planning a funeral for your kid is a heart wrenching thing.  

I also know what it's like to be in 3rd and 4th grade and lose friends.  It sucks.

Our Country needs a priority check.

Last month people left and right were warring with words and signs and sentiments about how our Country needs change.  I was physically sick some days in my guts, deep in the pit of my stomach, at how much hope and hopelessness was being placed, or not placed, in political figures and laws and policies, in humans.  Really?  

As if ONE MAN or WOMAN has that much power or influence...

Our World needs a priority check.

Tragedies happen like tsunamis and earthquakes and fires and floods and hurricanes, and shootings, and people join together to help for a time.  Hug a little tighter, share possessions, wipe tears.  And, from my observation and personal experience, fear then sets in.  For some it is crippling to the point of isolation, for others it produces paranoia, still others violence as a protective measure.  I’ve literally stared at my son for 2 years.  I get it.

But the only knee-jerk reaction that we as a Country and as individuals need to take is the kind that bends our knees and bows our heads and hearts.

Because ONE MAN or WOMAN does have that much power and influence...to literally change the world.  But it has to happen in our hearts first.  It must happen with our knees physically bent, heads bowed, hearts laid bare before God, the ONLY ONE WHO CAN BRING HEALING IN THIS BROKEN WORLD.

We need a priority check that places God back as the number One priority.

I'm sick of the political "correctness" and spiritual "correctness" in our attempts to "build" bridges.  

So far, the attempts have done nothing but bring out our ugliness.  People are fighting for their right for this or that, freedom to do what they want, say what they will.  The choice to do whatever, whenever, wherever, with whomever.

Me, me, me, me, me, me, me.  But that's fine for you, you, you, you, you.

YES!  ONE MAN or WOMAN does have that much power and influence, and we've seen it can be for either good or evil. 

I think the words were, "Your kingdom come, Your will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven."

None of this is God's will.  None of it is His wrath.  Stop being pissed at Him.  He has never stopped being good.

The shit hits the fan because we think we want to be in charge.

I know in my own life, it's not working for me...the part of me being in charge.

Our Country needs a knee-jerk reaction, that's for sure.  But it's not for or against guns and it's not in a mass exodus towards homeschooling.

Every.  Single.  Knee.  All of them.  Both of mine.  

Bending.  Bowing.  One man, one woman changing the world, two knees at a time.

We need revival.

Grieving With Others

You know, I was never a fan of funerals and potato salad or dying people or dead ones or death or pretty much anything that had to do with end of life.  As a kid, from grade 3 and then throughout junior high and high school, a friend, classmate, relative, or pet, died, each year.  Super fun, YEAH!

When I was really little, like preschool age, the guy across the street backed over his son.  My mom was gardening and heard him yelling at his big brother (only 4 at the time) that he was supposed to be watching his little brother.  Messed up...

After my friends and I walked home from the bus stop one day, about a half hour later I heard emergency sirens and a helicopter.  My friend, John, who Stacey and Marc and I were just walking with, was in that life chopper, hooked up to machines, on his way to his last breath.  I didn't go to the funeral.

The first funeral I even remember was my own Grandpa's.  Enough people had died in my life by then that to actually have to face it and attend a funeral, at age 16, made me nauseous.  I was FREAKED out!  Likely this was due to my own deceitfulness and sneaking I had done in junior high watching "R" Rated horror films while my parents were gone.

What the hell was I thinking?  You name it, my friends and I snuck and saw it.  Children of the Corn, Poltergeist, Nightmare on Elm Street, who knows what else...

Jacked up.  Like, totally, completely, utterly EFFFFFF-ed up!

Wow.  To think Hollywood makes money off glorifying death and dying and the underworld.  It's the unknown that fascinates, but to horrify it?  Dear Lord.

And now I've tasted death.  In fact, not only have I soaked my dead son with my tears, but I've grieved with others who have done the same.

I've kissed death.  It's bitter.  What if Eve had picked fruit from "The Tree of Life" instead of the tree of the "Knowledge and Evil?"  We never would have tasted the salty bitter emptiness that comes to those of us left this side of Heaven.  We never would have experienced separation from God...

EVE!!!!  #$%^&*(

This month my friend, Carly Marie Dudley in Australia, is hosting "Capture Your Grief" for Pregnancy and Infant Loss.  She's created a Facebook page for people to share their stories according to the topic of the day.  I headed over there just to check it out.  You know, since it's been 5+ years since I held Noah, I was just going over to the site to encourage others, probably new moms and losses.  And then I started reading, and just saying, "I'm so sorry for your loss!" and looking at the beautiful lives affected by death and temporary separation, yet heartache, nonetheless.

And then I posted a picture.  Because it was a call for "Pre-Loss" pictures.  And that was easy, because I posted this:

 
It's a picture of Noah, in my belly, safe and sound.  And it's utter pregnancy joy on my face, looking at myself for the first time in my life and thinking, "Wow!  I'm beautiful!"  And it's a gift to my heart because I didn't know.  All I knew was I would have a son, and I was already in love with him.

Being over at Carly's Facebook page with all those stories is difficult.  It's not cupcakes and tequila.  It wrecks me to know other families hearts will know the same pain mine has known.  I knew when Noah was sick, and after he died, that we weren't the first and wouldn't be the last.  But there's still a hope and a wish it could have ended with *us*.

When I saw my Grandpa, lying there in his coffin, hands folded, handsome, eyes closed, with a little too much make up, a peace I had not yet known in my life swept over me.  I remember thinking, "Huh.  That's not my Gramps.  That's just his body.  He is with God.  He is at rest."

Today the call on "Capture the Grief" was to post about a treasured item.

If you've read here long, you know I'm not attached to things.  Remember my purge fests?  Anyway, I realized, though, my most treasured item is my Bible.  It's my most treasured item because, well, it's my Bible.  Duh.  But, also because the night before we said goodbye to Noah, his nurses brought me ink sheets so we could stamp his feet.  I searched for a clean page in my (at the time) 20 year old Bible.  The only page I could find was opposite the last page.

Revelation 22:20 and "Footprints"

Revelation 22:20  "He who testifies to these things says, 'Yes, I am coming soon.'"

AMEN.  COME, LORD JESUS!

I treasure this for the promise that it is, as well...that life here on Earth is literally but a vapor!

Thoughts on Dying and Living

As I sat across my davenport from a friend, a fellow bereaved mum, I listened to her heart and shared her tears as she told the stories of losing 3 of her grown children.  I will not share her story because it is hers to share...

One thing we talked about, though, was the "How?"

Yesterday as Emily and Ryan and I left a store, there were several emergency vehicles in the next parking row, helping whomever it was who needed help.  There were employees of the store directing traffic in the opposite direction of the situation.  We headed to our car, and as we walked, we prayed for the person laying on the ground.  We also prayed for the rescue team as they cared for the person in need.

As we backed out of our spot and headed up the row I literally had to wait for a woman steering her cart serpentine like down the center of the driving lane, craning her neck, not watching where she was going, but trying to see what was going on in the other parking row.

Really?  Really?

I know the woman was curious as to the "What?" in the situation, like what happened? or how did this happen?  We are curious people.  And we are not bad or wrong for wanting to know.

Heck, when Noah was in the hospital, I asked the question, "But WHY?" for 5+ months.  Not "Why?" like, why me?  why my son?  but, "Ok, so his test results are inconclusive...he is dying...his DNA is normal...but again, he's dying...why?"

Remember "Speed" and the vanilla flavored acting of Keanu Reeves?  The people were all on the bus yelling, "We're all gonna die!  We're all gonna die!"

I think of this scene, and many like it being played out in real life around the world under different circumstances, and I do wonder if this is the first realization a person in the scenario has had that they, indeed, are going to die.  

Everyone.  Is.  Going.  To.  Die.

But it's the "How?" that often catches us off guard, sweeps our legs, and leaves us feeling as if it came out of nowhere.  Because we weren't ready for it?

And it's the "When?", too.  My friend said she asked God about the timing of her children's deaths.  One in his 20's, the other two teenagers.  My son was 7 months old.  My friend's dad was 61.  My friend's daughter 1 hour.  My friend's mom in her early 40's.  My Grandmas in their 90's.  My father-in-law, 49.  My friend's husband, 34.

When we read "90" in the obituaries, we don't really ask why?  We may ask how? but, for the most part, their death isn't the result of a skiing accident, though anything is possible.

The nature of us, though, wants to know the how? and why? when we read the other ages.

And we are taken aback.  Struck with disbelief in some cases.  Sorting feelings of unfairness and pounding our fists about timing.  "A life cut short."  "Such a tragedy!"  "They had so much more life to live..."

If God really is Who He says He is, and He really does know the number of our days here on Earth, and He designed us with beauty in mind, and a purpose, and for a display of His splendor...well, this causes me to believe He isn't taken aback by the how? or the when?

Please understand, I am NOT saying He is the instigator of the how?  Please read Job for further insight here.  I personally believe God left the book of Job in the Bible on purpose so we could see just how sick and twisted the Devil really is at trying to tear our hearts away from the Unconditionally Loving God who created us.  (This will have to be another post entirely.)

What the heck is my point here?

Well, we can live the rest of our lives broken, torn, our hearts tragically ripped open because of our inability to fully ever comprehend the how? and the why? and the when?

Or, we can live the rest of our lives profoundly impacted by the beautiful people we once knew who have gone before us into everlasting life.

And we can carry their hearts, passions, gifts, character, and strengths in our lives as we choose to be better people because of them.

We can celebrate their heroics.  We can allow smiles to grace our faces, even in the midst of sorrow, as we remember something funny they once did, and not feel guilty about it.  We can rejoice that no matter the amount of time, whether in pregnancy or 50+ years later, we were once a "Mom" and will ALWAYS be a mom, no matter where our children dwell.  It will wear the title, "Bereaved, Grieved, Widowed," and it will have aches, pains, and heart wrenching yearning.

But what if we had never met them in the first place?

As a bereaved parent, a grieved friend, a person who has kissed death on the lips, I don't want to imagine my life never having known the people I loved who have died.

My life is richer because of them.  

And in pain and grief, there is healing knowing each person we meet on our way truly is a gift to us from the very hand of God, no matter how long they are called to walk the Earth.

*In memory of men I never knew:  Luke Sheets, Stephen Luth, Garrett Coble, and Austin Anderson
*In honor of Hannah Luce AND all the surviving families, friends, and loved ones:  we are constantly praying for you...He still has you here on purpose.  Never give up hope!

Trekking Around the World

Remember this?

It's been a while.  I wouldn't expect you to, but I sure do.  One night, 5 years ago last November, we had gotten some yummy Chinese take-out and were sitting in Noah's room at The Children's Hospital.  As we finished up and started cracking open our fortune cookies, I grabbed one and said, "This one's for Noah."  If you can see in the picture, that's medical tape, the kind that used to keep tubes and crap attached to my sweet boy.  We used it for other things, as you can see.

At the time I remember thinking, "Oh how great it would be if You would heal Noah, God, and we could go all over the world (a lifetime dream of mine) and tell everyone of Your faithfulness, love and power."  This was my initial response to reading, "You will step on the soil of many countries."

It's because I had seen myself with a grown son...remember?  And so I naturally thought it was Noah...since he was my only son at the time and all.  And Noah did step on the soil of many countries, so to speak, just not physically with his two sweet little feet.  His blog hit every continent before he died, but that wasn't quite what I had been thinking...

Well, fast forward 5 years.  This post isn't about Noah.  It's about how my heart leaps out of my chest every time I see pictures of a sweet mama and her boy, so very much in love, who are on a journey.  It's about how I can't get them out of my mind, not because I want to, but because God continues to put them on my heart, all throughout the day.

I have mentioned him here before, but I'm asking you not to turn away.  I KNOW reading about a kid that is dying is nothing less than gut-wrenching.  It's HARD.  It SUCKS.  It's a volume of books filled with descriptive words that can't really describe the heartache.  I freaking GET IT!  It's why hundreds stopped reading my blog after Noah died.  I understand.  It's not as fun as Pinterest or Facebook or a hundred million other things.

But I'm literally begging you to let your heart pray for Jarrett, Chelsea, Peyton, Conner and Trek, as they set off on a journey of living life to the fullest, one day at a time.

You see, someone close to them contacted me to pray for them...she had read Noah's blog and couldn't stop thinking about some of the similarities.


Here is where my heart is wrecked.  We never wanted Noah to be stuck in a hospital bed his whole freaking life.  That was never our dream for him...but because of a whole hellofalotta reasons, we were stuck.  There were days I dreamed of stealing him out of the hospital and taking him home...but we couldn't because we didn't have home health care at the time.  It was a big mess.  The closest I got to showing him the world was this...whoopdefreakingdo!


Anyway, Chelsea's heart is living out what I wished I could have done with Noah. 


Am I living vicariously through them?  Only the freedom part...I lived all the rest already.

Either way, my heart is crying out for them to RUN, PLAY, LAUGH, CRY, REST, STARE, LISTEN, SING, NUGGLE, SMOOCH, HOLD ON and LET GO all at once. 


I pray for God's love to fill every corner of their lives with such fullness that this time in their lives will ever be etched in their hearts.


I hate what they are going through but if I had it to do over, which I don't wish for, but if I could go back, I'd run like hell out of that hospital and live whatever amount of time I had with my boy, free from the beeps and meds and tubes and tests and pokes and drugs and smells and unknowns. 


I'd run.

I don't despise what we went through, I do have to say, because 5 years later, I'm grateful to at least have the perspective that life is short.  It's time to live, today, right now, to the fullest.  Time and the people in our lives are literally gifts from God for our joy. 


It's time you, or someone you know, stop holding back.


Hug tighter.


Kiss longer.


Stare at your children.


Laugh your ass off.


Play on the floor with your kids.


Tell your husband you love him.

Tell him you are sorry.


Hold hands.


Turn off your freaking television.  Hell, throw the damn thing away.


Forgive.

Stop caring what others think of you.

Trust God sees the bigger picture.  Relinquish the control you think you need to have.


Smile.

Listen.

Play.

Dream.


Live in wonder.

Baby Trek Atlas may not physically touch the soil of many countries in his short life time, but the way he's living with his big brothers and mommy and daddy who adore him...well, he's experiencing more love than many do in a lifetime.  And, if you spend some time reading his mama's blog, I would venture to guess he'll have you looking around, wondering what matters, and making a few changes and tweaks to what is important. 

That's Trek, a 9.5 month old, teaching us a thing or two.  That's him stepping on the soil of many countries...

Life is short.  How will you spend it?

Smitten

I know I've been MIA...I can't help it. I'm totally smitten and loving it, but dreading it at the same time...Love is complicated. I'm also exhausted getting only 2 and a half hour sleep cycles in each night, but I know that won't last forever. Here are things I love:

• I love Ryan's peach fuzz...it's dreamy and soft and all over his sweet shoulders, his back and his sweet cheeks. I just can't explain how much I love his fuzz...
• I love that God designed him to fit perfectly with his soft, fuzzy head cupped in my hands, arms together, with his buns resting perfectly at the fold at my elbows...in this position I can smooch his face all over.
• I love that my lips fit perfectly between his fuzzy shoulder and his sweet little ear.
• I love when I stick my pinky in his hand he actually holds it...his brother never held my hand...ever...
• I love that he throws punches like a sailor in a bar brawl when he's hungry...and when he burps and toots, he could easily beat out college boys in a competition.
• I love that he smiles and puckers and smirks and pouts when he's dreaming dreams of who knows what.
• I love a lot of other things, too, like how much his daddy loves him and wanted to remember his life long friend every day for the rest of his life so blessed him with a great name like Ryan, which means "Joyous King" and a middle name like Everett which means "Brave & Strong".
• I love that his big sister is so proud of him and wants to hold him and change his buns and snuggle him...even though it's been a big transition for her.

I'm not going to lie. I could make a list of what I hate, too. It's been hard as hell. I've been on an emotional roller coaster, much like the Corkscrew at Cedar Point in Ohio. As much as I love being Ryan's mommy, (I tell him that multiple times throughout the day, "I'm your mommy! I'm your mommy! I'm your mommy!") I'm riding the fence of loving every single little thing he does and staring at every single little thing he does, hoping and praying that he's not like his big brother...

The stress of little sleep and staring to make sure Ryan is okay every other minute have added up a bit and yesterday, as a result, I pumped a whopping 1/8 of an inch of milk, which equals about a half an ounce. Stress and nursing do not go hand in hand, though ironically, they go hand in hand, so I am trying to consciously chill out.

How's that workin' for me?

Well, I'm just taking one day at a time. I'm enjoying the peach fuzz. I'm trying to sneak in snuggle time with my girl as we all adjust to a new schedule. He and I are reading the Psalms and will head into Proverbs soon. I am taking deep breaths, allowing myself to cry and laugh...and just trusting that the love in my heart for my husband, daughter and son is enough to span a lifetime, but meant to be spent one day at a time.

That, I believe, is the most difficult part of being a mommy...the "one day at a time" part...

Em came into the delivery room very shortly after her brother was born. She held him right after Daddy did.

Exhibit A: Peach Fuzz

Em decorated the house and put up streamers that she wanted me to cut, like at the Chamber of Commerce. Pretty darn cute, I'd say!

He is literally just that sweet!

Em and I were cracking up, commentating what we thought Ryan was thinking...we're going to make a video and post it...stay tuned.

My friend wrapped him up like little bunny foo foo.

The sweetest big sister eh-ver.

Em bought that little monkey for her brother when I first told her I was pregnant. She is pretty much the best big sister in the whole wide world. It's been quite an adjustment for her, but she has been very gracious. I am really, really proud of her. I think she's proud of him, too.

Redemption?

So, I guess since I'm due in less than a week it's probably time to have some more belly shots...my friend Gina took these of me on my front porch. The memory on my camera has been full and I've been a bit busy. I guess documenting this pregnancy has been a bit surreal for me.

Anyway...

I've realized that I think I'm afraid to actually meet "Baby Nacho". I remember after Noah died that I wished I could have gone back to when he was in my belly, safe, alive, just the two of us, him tucked away from the cares and curse of the world.

Everyone keeps wondering when this little man will make his grand entrance. I know I should be so excited, but it does not seem real. I obviously don't know the future, but part of my heart wants to keep him all to myself because as long as he's in my belly, at least in my heart, he's okay.

Yeah, it sounds like I have zero faith, hope or trust that God's got a different scenario laid out for this child. Believe me, my faith is way bigger than zero...

People have said things to me over the last several months to the effect of, "God will redeem the situation" or "Oh, it's a boy! What a redeeming story!"

I have some serious thoughts, feelings, and words about the above sentiments. God does not have to "redeem" anything. By us having another boy doesn't mean God is "redeeming" our loss of another little boy. What if this one was a daughter? Would that mean He was only sorta redeeming it? What if we had never been pregnant again? Would that mean redemption wasn't written for us?

Redemption or redeem is defined: to buy back; to win back; to free from what distresses or harms; to change for the better; to repair or restore; to atone for or expiate as in an error

God did not make an error when He made Noah the way He did. And, another baby boy will not win back Noah's life. And as far as "buying back" or "winning back"...my heart never ran away...even though I don't always understand or agree with the way God runs the Universe, I totally trust Him and trust that the bigger picture He is able to see is much more glorious than the one I see, even with eyes of faith...so no, I don't need "buying back" because I never ran.

God is amazing and so difficult to understand at the same time! I believe whether we ever had another child or not, Redemption, in its true definition, has already happened in our lives. It is for every single person on the face of the earth from the beginning until the end who will choose to believe. It was planned for since day one in time, and it occurred about 2000 years ago through the sacrifice of Jesus Christ. He is our Redeemer.

And this is a different boy, not in place of the last one, but another one, a different one, with his own story...a story that will be written one day at a time because of God's grace...and for God's glory alone.

Trivial pursuit...

After Noah died I could never imagine myself thinking or acting on anything that didn't have eternal value or a world changing after effect.

Engaging in the day to day was a difficult task, not only physically but emotionally and mentally. I had difficulty having trite conversations or giving a rip about petty pursuits...yet at the same time, because I live on earth, I would have to embrace those pursuits like laundry, grocery shopping, filling the car with gas, even dusting gigantic creatures out from behind long neglected furniture or caring about the PTA.

I hated it! I resented that day to day existence didn't have more of a "POW" or "PUNCH!" I still had to make dinner and my kid was still dead.

Continuing on, not "moving on" or "getting over it", but continuing on is one of the most difficult steps of grief. I'm no grief expert, but I sure as hell know what I'm talking about when it comes to my own grief. Sometimes, in order to get through another day without the person you loved, you just have to not care what the heck anyone else thinks and allow your heart and mind to be somewhere else...somewhere trivial...somewhere not centered on loss and despair...because that will always be there.

Going there may cause feelings of guilt, but there is no ONE WAY to grieve...and I personally advocate escapism when it comes to grief...and I could sure use a dose.

Grief sucks because as long as we've lost someone we loved, we'll always grieve. We will never NOT grieve. Even with time, which for me personally has helped bring some healing, we will still miss those people...wondering.

No, I won't and don't spend every single day missing Noah. But there hasn't been a day in 4 years that I have not thought about him. Days and dates come and go that hold significance for the short 7 months he spent on this earth...

One day in particular was the day Noah was admitted to the hospital...for the rest of his life. It was August 2nd, 2006. Four years later, on August 2nd, Jason and I spent the day with friends we love like family...in a hospital here in Colorado, where we all said goodbye to someone we loved very much.

And yet, somehow in the days leading up to the guys' surgeries, we were living life just like the next guy...dropping Em off at camp, surprising her with a "TWEEN" room makeover, running here and there, nesting for "Baby Nacho".

And then life stopped. Literally. At least for a lot of people who loved Ryan.

And then the part that sucked is that life started to continue...but for us, just as it has affected our lives since Jason's dad's death, Noah's death and now Ryan's death, life will include some trivial, but it won't be trivial. There will be a "norm", but life will be anything but "normal".

Just like the tag line for the retreats my non-profit organization hosts states, we will "find the extraordinary in the normal".

Picking up Em from camp...she informed us it was the first and last time she'd be going there.
(So, it did not go quite as we expected...)

Em's favorite color is aqua...somehow I caved and decided to paint her room that color...she is completely OVER pink and so INTO aqua.

Above is a 200+ year old sleigh bed I slept in when I was a girl (less than 200 yrs ago, of course). I found "TWEEN" bedding that incorporated all the colors she's currently "into".

Em and Lady loved the room and she, at 8, now thinks she's pretty old and cool!

And, for whatever reason, this hideous thing made it into the room because she was given a dollar at a garage sale to buy whatever she wanted...I think when I was a girl I had glass swans with liquid in them and paper mache clowns from Mexico...sorry, Mom! What a decorating NIGHTMARE!

Lady loved the new look. She pretty much just loves Em and likes to snuggle her and follow her places.

For those who recall, I painted those glow in the dark rings and circles for her original pink little girl room. They still glow so I'm not touching those.

That's Em's little "vestibule" in her room where her mirror is now face height so she can apply clear lip gloss.

And those are 50-60 year old baseball mitts that were my dad's when he was a boy...they are a glimpse into the trivial I've been working on since, in the midst of all the last month has brought our way, we still have something very monumental and extraordinary on the horizon...and it's the anticipation of a sweet baby boy's arrival into this world. I'll let you see what I'm doing with them in another post.

TIME

The "Fall of Man" was for sure, by far, hand's down the crappiest day since the dawn of TIME.

I know there have been terrible, horrific, life-altering days throughout the history of the world that have affected more people than just the first two people loved wholeheartedly by the Creator of the Universe, but as far as changing the whole course of history...that day sucked, for sure!

I mean, really, right?! Oh, poor Adam and Eve! Yeah, they had it so rough, right?! I feel really sorry for them. God made them...in His own image...showed the vastness of His love by giving them every good thing He had just creatively made in The Garden, save ONE. We all know that genocide kills more people than Adam and Eve, and besides, they left The Garden with their lives!

Yes, they did leave The Garden alive...but now they would surely know the effects of death.

I know to the naked eye, the fact that Adam and Eve weren't zapped with a lightning bolt and fried to a crisp for their disobedience makes some think the effects of their choice were not all that grave...or that their consequences were simply felt by them...make no mistake, it was a grave decision...and we still feel the repercussions.

One repercussion of The Fall, I believe, is TIME.

We live in TIME. We measure it. We function within TIME. For us, those living here on Earth currently who can read this blog, TIME is all we know. Unless we've been to Heaven and returned, we cannot fathom the difference between life measured in ETERNITY and life lived out in TIME.

Part of The Fall is that we live in the tangible yet are expected to hope in a faith we cannot see but somehow are able feel.

Don't get me wrong, TIME can be great! The anticipation of an exciting event like a birth or marriage, a vacation or TIME spent with people you love...that kind of TIME can be so beautiful and fulfilling.

And then, of course, the passage of TIME can be trying sometimes, even excruciating. For instance WAITING for something you really want, like a kid waiting for their birthday or Christmas...the place where waiting and patience collide.

I've read in God's word that "life is but a breath". I have gathered from His word that God functions in a different realm of TIME than I can see or grasp. I have experienced that life is short, yet losing someone we love, regardless of how much TIME we did get to spend with them, as long as we live on this Earth, that amount of TIME will never be enough.

Whether it's 93 years, 49 years, 34 years, 20 years, 7 months, or an hour, because we live within the boundaries of TIME, it will always hurt for those of us left over.

It's no secret that since losing Noah my perspective on life and death has radically changed. The same is true about TIME. When Jesus said He'd be back "soon", I know He meant it...even though according to our measurement that was, like 2000 years ago! So, I have to allow my heart to trust that "soon" to God is measured differently than "soon" to us, here and now.

And one day, when we are able to see more clearly because we will be with God, I imagine we won't even have to measure TIME or look back and wonder why then, why so soon?

We will be in ETERNITY, free from the effects of The Fall and with all the TIME in the world.

...until then, even though we hope, we grieve in TIME.

Apparently...

Apparently...stress brings about contractions...or at least mega-Braxton Hicks.

Apparently...even though I have been trained throughout my life in different leadership settings to appear calm in extremely stressful situations, my body wasn't trained as well.

Apparently...the European pregnant ladies know a little something because a half a glass of wine (don't judge me...) during false labor shuts it right down...unless, of course, it's not false!

I don't have time to go early. I am 36 weeks and though I know that next week marks "full-term", I still have stuff to do...plus, Jason will be out of town...and holding Em's hand in the delivery room just isn't the vision I have for welcoming this new little man into our family.

I go in tomorrow for a routine appointment. Hopefully it will be underwhelming in its findings...

I still have a nursery to decorate along with a good, thorough cleaning of this pigsty we are currently calling "home"...oh, and I haven't packed my bag and I haven't bought newborn diapers in four and a half years!

But I don't want to do any of that. I want to sit and snuggle my kid and pat her little puppy, Lady, and cry because my heart is so sad.

You know, it would be nice to have material other than grief and death to blog about but, apparently, that's not my lot in blog world.

Death sucks. I'll say it again. Death sucks. It doesn't suck for the one that has died because knowing Christ and meeting the Creator of the Universe is epic and quite impossible to explain or conceive on earth. Death sucks for those left behind, or as I say, "It sucks for the leftovers."

I've said it more than once and I'll say it again. Life on earth outside of God's presence is not where we were originally designed to be. We all, though, only know this side of Heaven (at least if you are reading this and haven't been there and back lately...) so, of course we try to make this life great and make the most of it. The only problem is, we forget that living on earth is as close to Hell as we should ever want to be. Earth is a fallen world.

Experiencing love and laughter, joy and hope on this earth is a sweet, sweet thing. God would have that every one of His created could know those beautiful glimpses. That's what I need to hold onto...the reality that goodness here on earth is, quite possibly, a glimpse into life in God's physical presence, yet mine to enjoy here and now...a taste.

Separation in death from those we have known and loved is a glimpse of the Fall of Man. It absolutely should hurt and cause us great sorrow.

Though, in knowing Christ, somehow in His miraculous strength, unfathomable to us, we are also able to have hope...

"Hope, however, that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what he already has?" Romans 8:24

We hope for Heaven. We hope for the day that we will walk with Christ, tangibly, physically. We hope for the reunion of those who have gone before us.

I am just so grateful that I have hope in the midst of life on earth...and in the midst of grief.

I can't imagine my life without hope... or without hope in the One who has given us life.

(Now, for my appointment tomorrow...I hope this little man knows he's totally grounded if he thinks it's acceptable to arrive any earlier than is convenient for his mama!!!! Doesn't he know I have a lot going on?! #$%^&*)

International Babylost Mothers Day

Today, somewhere in the world, it's already May 2nd. My sweet friend, Carly Dudley, and her husband Sam, have touched the hearts of my family in a profound way...all the way from Down Under. For a couple of years now, Carly has been raising awareness of grief and baby loss all around the world! On the beautiful sands of a beach near her home in Perth, Australia, Carly has written literally thousands of names of children who have passed away. Noah's name is framed in our bedroom. We were among the first to have our sweet guy's name written in the sand...but the first was their very own son, Christian.

Today, May 2nd, is International Babylost Mothers Day.

No, it doesn't have that easy, cheerful ring of simply "Mother's Day". And the reality is, "Mother's Day" for some women, is a grinding sound in their ears, like nails on a chalkboard. No sticky fingers are bringing them breakfast in bed or flowers or hand drawn pictures. But, truth be told, these women...women like me, even if we have living children here on earth, or if all of their children are waiting for them in Heaven, are still, and always will be, Mom's.

Carly started this movement. It is not an American thing or an Australian thing. Mom's live on every continent, and a woman who has lost a child will still always be a mama. It is with that in mind that Carly wanted to recognize mom's everywhere by declaring May 2nd a day to remember and a day to celebrate mom's everywhere.

I send my love, encouragement and prayers out for all the women in the world who have experienced the grief of losing a child, no matter the age, whether by choice or not...your hearts are tender and your loss is deep. I am so sorry. I know words don't bring your child back to you, but my prayer is that they are an encouragement to your heart.

Here is the link to a community of Mom's around the world:



If you know a Mom who has grieved the loss of a pregnancy, baby or child of any age, below is the flower that Carly has made to send to that woman, in honor and remembrance...because no matter where her children "live", she is a beautiful Mom.



I am so proud of Carly! She is a beautiful mom to Scarlet, River, Christian and Ocea. I hope to one day walk those sands with her. It's only been my goal to go to Australia since I was in 2nd grade. I'm hoping it'll be a 40-year birthday celebration in 2012, Lord willing!

Guts and Grief

So, I did it. I went to my first solo counseling appointment.

That's it. I'm cured...no need for any further intervention. I've been declared "problem free".

Just kidding.

So, back up a bit and you'll remember that my going to the appointment was a result of a slight temper tantrum - breakdown I had after I thought it was a fine and harmless idea to delve into scientific Trisomy and other birth defect testing. (Remember, I just wanted another ultrasound...) Even though the results told me nothing I couldn't learn by reading a medical handbook about the risks of pregnant 38 year old women, it still struck a heart cord in me and really revealed, at least in my own heart and mind, that I wasn't allowing myself to connect, or attach, to this pregnancy. I mean, if I skip the attachment part then the possibility of being faced with saying goodbye all too soon wouldn't be as difficult, right? Right!#$%^&*

I knew it was a load of crap, as well, so, I went ahead and made an appointment with a woman licensed in grief counseling. I had previously asked a few friends if they had recommendations of good counselors, but after reviewing their suggestions, two of which would have a previous knowledge of me, and then finding out I could meet for 6 sessions through Jason's insurance for FREE, I went with the obvious choice: FREE. But seriously, I really valued the idea of walking into an office and knowing I'd never be seeing the person on the "outside" in "real life." Just safety in knowing this for some reason...

So, halfway through my session, I looked around the office for a small break in eye contact. The guy in the picture looked familiar but I couldn't quite place it. Back to eye contact and my story...why was I here?

I gave her the "Jason" abbreviated version of Noah's story and then shared my own grief journey, the blog, group counseling and how this pregnancy has messed with my heart a bit. I was obviously aware of it and that's why I thought maybe I should have some counseling. She said that it sounded to her that possibly my faith or my knowledge of God was a cover up for allowing myself to really feel my grief. I told her it was more of a deep comfort, knowing that God knew exactly how I felt and that His knowledge of a bigger picture was something that gave me peace.

I also told her that over the last 3 and a half years I have processed my grief quite candidly and openly with awesome family and friends, and, with all of you! I have allowed myself to feel every emotion, including, but not limited to: anger, disgust, being totally pissed at God and Noah, despair, jealousy, hope, peace, happiness, trust, failure, anger at the unknown, frustration with "modern medicine" and the "system" of politics and insurance, surrender, peace deep down that I can't explain, hope that there is a reason for everything and it's okay that I don't understand it, and trust that He's not done with me yet...for some crazy reason.

I looked around the room again for a break in eye contact. Saw the same guy, smiling huge in a photo where he was hugging the woman across from me...

Me: "What is your last name?"
Her: "Such and such..."
Me: "We'll be at barbecues together in the future...our husband's just went to Bolivia together."

She asked me at the end of our time together if that made me uncomfortable. I didn't answer the question but asked her the question in return. I went ahead and signed up for our week two appointment.

On the way home I had a bit more time to process. Even though I felt comfortable sharing with this woman, who made me feel comfortable, I really treasured the assurance of having a neutral counselor, someone with no "outside" knowledge of me. I also realized that once I made the connection of who she was, I shut off part of my story...part of my heart. Adrienne, a person not afraid to share all of my guts, threw up some walls and started "monitoring" anything I shared.

As a result, I called the office, rescheduled with another counselor and also shot off a quick email sharing why I was switching. She called back and completely understood. I told her I looked forward to knowing her on the "outside".

One thing that I realized from our session was that over the past 3 and a half years, I have been processing my grief. I don't claim to have the corner on the market on how to grieve beautifully, but I believe I have allowed myself to walk through it, the highs and lows, and I have a pretty good grasp on grief and its triggers in my life. Hence, the reason I made an appointment in the first place.

So, even though I'll likely share more of my grief experience with the new counselor, I am also looking at this as an opportunity to dig in deep to the crap I've been burying for years...just other sludge that comes to the surface as a result of interacting with certain personality types and situations and my own coping methods as a middle child peacemaker...for me, I think it's going to be very interesting to see just how screwed up I really am. (Smiley face) But really...

It's not all it's cracked up to be...

...and the measures I'll be taking, as a result.

So, not trying to be too raw here, but this has never been a place where I "blow sunshine" for myself or anyone else. Let me shoot straight: being pregnant after losing a child isn't all it's cracked up to be. It's a bi-polar roller coaster of emotional highs and lows, and quite frankly, it sucks with a capital "UCKS"! I'm jaded. However, I don't think that is all bad.

Don't feel sorry for me. Not that you might. I'm just saying, if I don't write my guts out here and process this whole pregnancy I know I'll be a pretty messed up lady. Therefore, step one in the measures I am taking: I need to write.

I realized it the other day. Well, I've known this part for a long time...I am a tactile learner...a hands-on type of girl...show me...let me see...totally that Thomas guy...you know the one. It goes against every fiber of my being to live by faith yet, thanks to The Fall, that's just how it is. Actually, I am not alone in that expectation...we are all meant to live by faith. To live, trusting in the unseen...and also trusting that, like in the book of Hebrews, whether I ever see the promises unfold, God is still good and His promises will be fulfilled...is really difficult for us humans who were born with senses meant to be engaged. My eyes were designed to see. My nose created to smell. My body made in such a way to touch or sense heat and cold, sharp and soft, rigid and smooth. My ears, though not the best, were intended to hear even the drop of a pin. And, of course, my tongue in particular, was designed by God Almighty to taste chocolate from miles away, say, especially German or Belgian varieties.

No. Instead, we literally have to live by our hearts, our minds, our guts...all parts of us that we can't physically see by looking in the mirror, but all led by the Spirit of God, directing us like a compass. Sooooo, as a result, having a sweet, growing baby tucked quietly in my uterus that I can only see or sense through ultrasound or a doppler heart monitor just isn't cutting it for me. It's a trial of faith that has lost it's giddiness and as a result, step number two of measures I am taking: I need to engage.

So, this is kind of what has happened:

Now, believe me, I know there are women all over the world that wished they were pregnant at this very moment...even if just for a moment...to say they were. I know. I am not asking anyone to feel sorry for me. Believe me. Honestly, in sharing my journey of pregnancy after a miscarriage, a healthy baby, a baby that lived and died and another miscarriage, I am simply trying to encourage others who may walk this same road, or have friends, family or women in their circles of life on a similar path.

So, found out I was pregnant. A bit surreal. Felt crummy for several weeks. Wanted to avoid a visit to the doctor until, oh, who knows, maybe delivery. Only told my parents, and Em, of course...with the whole rodent thing. Finally went in at 10 weeks. Saw a really cute baby. Saw a really cute heart beating. Let my heart engage a little and actually get excited. Set follow up appointment for which I was qualified...since I'm geriatric and all. Actually, I naively agreed to the appointment to check for chromosomal disorders thinking that I'd just sneak another peek through ultrasound. Had that appointment. Kid's nuchal fold was decent...not pink flagged or red flagged, but of course, couldn't just be in the clear. But, still left the appointment with a semi-mediocre sense of, "Well, it's heart was beating and it's still cute."

Continued random thoughts in no particular order: So during this whole time, "whole" meaning the last 15 weeks, I've just figured the kid would sleep in our room for 3 to 6 months since A: it would be hungry in the middle of the night; and B: we don't have a bedroom for it...so, that meant no nesting necessary. I did want to know the sex of the kid, but Jason didn't really, so the other day I figured, "Ahhh, skip it...we'll meet it when it comes." A couple people have told me they want to buy me presents and throw a shower, but I have declined. First of all, if it's a girl, I saved all of my favorite age groupings of Em's clothes, so the kid is set until it's at least 5 or 6. If it's a boy, I have baby boy clothes of Noah's that we just threw in a box and taped up after he died...they are obviously brand new. Still have all the props, too: crib, car seats, you name it.

Add this to the fact that I've felt better since 13 weeks, I went from a size 10 to an 8 (thanks, no need for applause, but yes, I'm pretty happy about it...not gonna lie), I have no "pooch" and I can't quite feel the bugger kicking yet. This equation, when you throw in the fact that I am a tactile person, has left my head spinning...

It hit me. The perfect storm for "disconnect" or "disengaging" was taking place in my heart and head. Finally my heart said to me what my head had been thinking all along:

"I'll meet this kid when it comes and see how long it sticks around..."

"I'll see if this kid makes it past 7 weeks..." (pivotal time we took Noah to hospital)

"We'll see if this kid can live through its 7th month and then we'll paint its room..."

I recognized it. I wasn't letting myself engage because I didn't want to love and lose and hurt again. Therefore, step number three of measures I am taking: I am going to go to grief counseling...again.

I did a practical thing yesterday, (with a friend who I think secretly and strategically suggested it) and went to BabyGap, as well as the maternity section. I bought two pairs of pants...size 8! Why am I skinnier pregnant than in real life?! Anyway, the pants are super cute and I realized that I really needed to do this simple thing. And by "needed" I mean needed.

After Noah died I donated ALL BUT ONE item of maternity clothing. I was angry. I was purging. I sure as hell didn't need maternity clothes. I am still going to try to get by with as little maternity clothing as possible, but buying those super cute white pants and the semi-dressy ones helped my heart engage.

Fast forward to today: I got a call from my doc's office. "Do you have a minute?" was the question on the other end. My preliminary blood results were in from the testing I had done. I really had only wanted to check out the ultrasound picture...I had forgotten about follow-up calls and the remaining tests.

"Because of your age...you have a 1 in 86 chance of having a child with such and such a chromosomal disorder...but because of your nuchal fold reading, combined with your age, you have a 1 in 125 chance."

I was waiting for her to add the comma and say "thousand" or even "hundred thousand" after the above numbers. She didn't. "That's a 1% chance, but I wouldn't worry about it."

Now, before anyone bashes my head in or sends hate mail, I love the kid. It is who it is. And, we're having it and welcoming it into our family no matter what...but that call screwed with my head and heart and I had a solo freak out session and then public crying display once I met up with Jason for lunch.

I do not deserve, nor am I entitled, to have any sort of "perfection" on this earth. I live in a fallen world and I am a fallen person. I am tired of people being so happy for us, thinking with Jason's new job and this pregnancy that our lives will just be so "great, perfect". Unfortunately, the reality is, after loss, you look at life differently.

This isn't all it's cracked up to be. The tail spin of emotion and disappointment and unknown combined are enough to drive me to drink...something non-alcoholic, and without caffeine, of course, but something!

Everyone and their dog can try to encourage and reassure me that everything is going to be just fine...whatever the hell that means...but the truth is, I have to live by faith and trust that this is part of our story, a story God is writing and only if I am willing to be the paper, and be still, will He be able to scribe the masterpiece He has designed.

So, on the way home I called the office back and said I was done. I wanted to cancel all the rest of my perinatal tests, besides finding out its sex, because my heart just could not take it. The kid is who it is. I cannot change it or eat more Omega-3 to change its chromosomes. I'm not terminating my pregnancy, so why the hell should I torture myself, even out of scientific curiosity? She understood completely, was so supportive and encouraging, and asked if I knew a good counselor...

She didn't know the measures I was already taking...like the appointment I just made for March 23rd. Oh, and the brainstorm sheet I drew up last night decorating its room...

I will get through this...but just one day at a time.

Down-sizing...Ode to 'Pilot'

My sweetest guy snoozing away in his car seat on the 4th of July in SD...if I had only known...

Oh how I thought it would be a quick stay...

I still had hope here...

I get so pissed, angry, and motivated when I look at these pictures...the first two for obvious reasons, the third sentiment, because NO ONE, NOT ANY PERSON should have to experience what we did...all because doctors just don't look for #$%^&* Lyme's disease! START #$%^&* LOOKING! PEOPLE HAVE LYME'S DISEASE! MY KID WAS #$%^&* BORN WITH LYME'S DISEASE!

Maybe the second or third day...still oblivious that the doctors were oblivious...little did I know that little did they know...

I tried to put these in a progression of chronological order but I can't figure out how to upload them that way...Here, Noah isn't attached to anything except his mommy and daddy...notice that on my wrist I'm no longer wearing his hospital band...to me, that symbolized his freedom...

The progression of untreated Lyme's is dumbfounding. In just a few short months, my sweetest guy who captured my heart, could no longer even open his eyes, and hadn't been able to move for several months...not to mention the obvious need of oxygen and food intake. LYME's SUCKS!

My friend told me she was going through the old blog pics and found this one...her new favorite. I have about 3000 favorites...bittersweet favorites.

OT and PT for Noah. Though the hospital told us that they were scaling back on his treatments since he was 'just going to die anyway'.

My sweetest girl being chased by a pack of wild, cute puppies on our only family road trip to SD

One of our few family photos taken outside the hospital life, when life was sweet, at Hacienda Colorado, the Mexican restaurant Noah frequented in my belly, went to once (here) and where we had friends and family gather after his service

Noah and Em in their car seats, ready for Noah's very first car ride ever from the hospital 1.5 miles down the road to his first home

I realize this post is raw. And do you want to know how it all started?! Yesterday we dropped off our Honda Pilot at the dealership and walked away from it for good. It may sound dramatic...not trying to. We are trying to steward our finances better and just because we do have two cars doesn't mean we need two cars, so we made the decision to keep the one we actually own. Profound, isn't it?! Anyway, it's an inanimate object, obviously, but leaving it behind yesterday conjured up more memories than I would have expected...memories that will never be left behind.

Right before Em was born we bought a used Accord. It's the car she came home from the hospital in. We also had a red Blazer. Then, a while before Noah was born, a guy hit us and wrecked that car. We got the Pilot. The Pilot is what Noah came home from the hospital in.

Believe me, it was my idea to get rid of the car since Jason works from home and Em's school isn't far. I get that for us, two cars is nice, but in reality it's a luxury. I'm not going to lie that I loved the heated seats, but I can warm up my buns by exercising. I can ride my bike to get her or something or borrow Jason's sister's car. It's just a car. I just didn't realize how many memories it had carried over the years...road trips, and then, of course the ruts we wore as we made the same trip daily with it to and from the hospital...and then the day Jason and I drove Noah's sweet little lifeless body across town to the mortuary. It's where Em and Noah got to sit side by side in their car seats for 7 weeks together. It's another chapter, but I just didn't expect the sorrow to come. Financially it feels good to be free from it. Emotionally I am grateful that God has blessed me with a mind, heart, and arms that will never forget.

Jason: You doing okay?

Me: I miss my kid...

Pause...

Me: The dead one.

Jason: I gathered that...

It's just a daily journey, this thing called life, this thing called grief, days filled with joy, others with sorrows. It's part of the bigger picture, but only just that...a part, not the whole. One day, we will know in full. I look forward to that day!