A Changed Person

I recently read an article titled "They Should've Warned Me."  To sum it up, the author listed all kinds of warnings she got while she was pregnant (enjoy your sleep now, your body will never be the same, your relationship with your husband will change, you'll never have time for yourself...)  But then the author went on to list what she never was warned about (that you'll love your husband even more when you watch him as a daddy, that waking up to take care of your new bundle is rewarding despite the exhaustion, that having time for yourself really meant time that you were missing your baby...)  Then she ends the article by saying that they should've warned her that becoming a mommy would change everything about her, but that she wouldn't go back and change a single thing.  (If you're interested in reading the original article, you can find it here: (http://www.huffingtonpost.com/jenny-studenroth-gerson/they-shouldve-warned-me_b_6471948.html).

This article summed up so much of what I've been thinking and feeling lately.  As soon as I had Brady, and especially once I had Henry, I became a completely different person.  I worried in my 20s and even my very early 30s that perhaps I wasn't cut out to be a mother.  I liked doing things when I wanted to do them, I liked not worrying about anyone else's schedule, I liked sleeping in on the weekends and having evenings to myself, traveling was a breeze.  I couldn't picture myself getting up even a few minutes earlier, let alone a half hour or more in order to get another being ready...it was hard enough to get myself out of bed, ready and out the door each morning.  I glared at the moms and dads boarding airplanes with infants, hoping that they (and their crying baby, since that's all I thought babies did on planes) would choose not to sit by me.  I worried that I was too selfish to make such a lifestyle change, even if it was for my own child.

Brady changed me into a person that could worry more about another person than I did about myself.  While first pregnant with him, I was still a bit of my selfish self.  Yet once I started seeing him on ultrasounds and feeling him flutter around I became much more worried about him than I was about myself.  And then once Henry came along, I completed that full personality change.  I no longer cared that my house wasn't picked up and clean; I didn't care that the only dishes I had done for two weeks were bottles; I didn't care that my clothes were still dirty as long as Henry had things to wear.  I wasn't bothered that a run to Target was actually a two-hour process...making sure Henry was fed, changed, happy, and that the errand was completed before he became hungry or dirty or unhappy again.  Nothing seemed to matter nearly as much as snuggling and loving this tiny little creature that had taken over my life.

So to all those soon-to-be mamas that follow us...don't worry!  Don't worry about the lack of sleep, the laundry piling up, the house that needs to be cleaned.  Don't worry about the me-time that you will no longer have in abundance, or that you and your husband's relationship will change.  Instead, just enjoy every single moment.  The dishes will still be there, but your baby will only be your baby for a short time.  I am a mother, and it has changed me in so many ways for the better!

Another of Henry's Lessons

This isn't one of my original top ten lessons Henry taught me, but it's one that struck me today.  As I was (what else) perusing Facebook, a cancer mom on my friends list commented that her Facebook seemed full of people complaining...not getting to sleep in, having to go to work, it's raining...those kinds of things.  As I read this, and responded, I realized that this was another one of Henry's lessons...seeing the positive.

I used to be a self-proclaimed (and known by my friends) "Negative Nellie."  I always tended to see the bad in a situation, and I tended to dwell on this.  At work I would get frustrated when people didn't see my point of view, or do things the way I thought they should be done, and that consumed me.  I didn't see the positive things the kids were doing, or what I was learning from others.  I would get frustrated when I couldn't sleep in, or when the weather didn't cooperate with my plans.  I would get especially frustrated when work or studying got in the way of having fun.

Now, at a time in my life when I really could focus on the negatives, I find myself seeing more positive.  I see the flowers that are brighter because of the rain.  I may not get to sleep in, but I get to wake up.  Work may drive me crazy, but it gives me something to do, and gives me a purpose at a time when I feel lost.  And it gives me a paycheck so that I am able to live in a house I love, eat without worrying about where the next meal is coming from, and feed my three crazy dogs.  Although I could sink into despair (and I certainly do at times), I know from recent experience that it could always be worse.  I could be sitting in a hospital watching my baby struggle for every breath...see him hooked up to so many machines it's hard to even see his beautiful face.  Do I wish Henry were still here fighting?  Selfishly, of course I do.  But then I imagine him running free and happy all around the heavens with Brady and all of his other baby angel friends, and I know that he's well and happy.  I could be struggling and alone, but instead I have an army of supporters, and my family and friends to pick me up when I fall.

So, yes, I have been dealt a bit of a rough hand (to put it mildly) over the last few years.  But I have had some amazing joys as well.  I know that I will have tough days, and I will have better days, and some day it will all make sense (even if that day doesn't come until the day I die.)  And I have Brady and Henry to thank for my renewed attitude on life...for being so little they sure did have a lot of wisdom to share!

Memorial Day

Today is Memorial Day...a day to remember and honor those who have given the ultimate sacrifice for their country. And to honor the families that have had to make that sacrifice. I cannot imagine losing my husband, my dad, a brother or sister in combat. I cannot imagine not getting the chance to say good bye. Yet military members take that chance daily...and their families live their lives for days, weeks, months on end without a husband, father, mother or wife. I am so thankful to all those who have sacrificed so that I can live my life freely.

So often we say, "I can't imagine...I could never..." And it's true. I can't imagine losing someone due to their service. So many people have told us, "I can't imagine losing a child, let alone two." And that is also true. These things are too awful to imagine. We can't live our lives in fear of losing something or someone. But we can live our lives as though we could lose someone. We can take time to enjoy the people in our lives. We can take the time to make a phone call or send a message and let someone know we are thinking of them. We can take time to visit the people we love, even if that visit takes time or money that we don't feel we have. This isn't living in fear, it's appreciating the people in our lives.

Tim and I did this with Henry. We loved spending time with him, and showing him off to family and friends. While we miss him terribly every minute of every day, we don't have to regret time we didn't spend with him. So today, on Memorial Day, take time to honor and remember, and take a minute to let those in your life know how important they are!

Summer is here

As with so many things since losing the boys, I am filled with conflicting emotions today.  Another school year has come to an end.  The kids were definitely ready for summer, and I think the teachers were even more ready.  So today, the last day of school, should be filled with excitement for all of the freedom I will have for the next few months.  Every year since I've started teaching (or, since I've started school) I have loved the last day of school.  When the last bell rings (or the song "School's Out" comes over the intercom), I feel almost a sense of euphoria...of freedom.  This year, although I am glad that the year has come to an end, that excitement was missing.  I am walking out of that building a completely different person than the one that entered in August.

I woke up this morning feeling lost.  Losing a child comes with lost hopes and dreams.  As I went back to work last August, I was already making plans for how Henry and I would spend this summer...how we would spend time at the park, the zoo, the library...how we would take "field trips" to see Daddy at work, and Grandpa and Taz...how he would still go to Carrie's a couple days a week so he could keep in some sort of routine, and so Mommy could run errands and schedule appointments.  I was sad to have to drop Henry off at Carrie's and go to work, but I knew that summer would come again and that we would have all of that time.

Those dreams have been shattered.  Instead, I am facing a summer of spending my days alone, although I will have my fur babies for company.  I have made a list of projects and crafts that I want to do, so that I have some sort of purpose to get myself up each day.  I am redecorating my library, decorating our house, and maybe even making some of the ideas that I've pinned on Pinterest over the years.  Perhaps I'll even read a few books, catch up on some TV shows.  It will be nice to have down time, and time to do these things.  But it's not at all how I had planned to spend my summer.

It may take a few days, but I will find my routine.  I will spend time in my sunroom, relax with my puppies...maybe even take them for walks.  I will visit Tim at work...bring him a little treat now and then (like he does for me all through the school year!)  Maybe my dad might want to meet for lunch now and then...or help me hang pictures in the house.  I will get out to California and visit my sister and brother-in-law, and get some quality sunshine therapy (unless it rains...which it tends to do when I visit!)  But then I still get quality sister time.  Perhaps my sister-in-law and I can do some crafty projects together.  So it may not be the summer I had planned, hoped for, or dreamed about, but it will still, I hope, be a nice summer.

Why?

Why? It can be such a difficult question. There isn't always a clear-cut (or any) answer to "why" like there often is to "who," "what," and "when." As humans, we want to know why. Why do bad things happen? Why is there such sadness in the world? Dwelling on why can drive a person crazy.

As I watch news coverage of the officer shooting here in Omaha, the question of why sits heavy on my heart. Why was this young officer shot and killed? Why was she taken from her husband, stepchildren, and newborn daughter? Why do her parents have to struggle to figure out how to go on without their daughter? Why will that little baby never know her mom?

As I see updates on Facebook of one of our little buddies who received a new kidney yesterday, or another buddy who was born with heart defects, I wonder why these little babies have to fight so hard to survive. Why do their mamas know more medical jargon than some medical professionals? Why do they have to watch their babies in pain, hooked up to tubes and machines? 

And, of course, I wonder why we lost both of our babies. What purpose do these losses, and other losses of children, serve? 

The hard part is that we don't always know why. That can be hard to accept. But the good news is that sometimes, down the road, we can find some purpose or understanding. After losing Brady, I understood how precious pregnancy was and I appreciated my time with Henry even more. That doesn't help in the moment. I don't see purpose in Henry's loss yet, but maybe someday I will. To the family of the officer killed, nothing will make the pain go away. But I hope someday they will find some peace, some meaning, just as I hope I will.

Musings

I follow several Facebook pages that relate to loss...loss of pregnancy, loss of children, loss of children to cancer.  I do this not to wallow in sadness and despair, but to remind myself that I am not the only one that feels this way after losing children, and that it is perfectly normal.  What I've seen a lot of lately, on many of these pages, is posts about awkwardness...how once you lose a child it become awkward to talk about them, or that it makes others uncomfortable, or that people never expect the answer to "How many children do you have?" to include children who have died.

Reading these posts and articles has led me to reflect on my own experiences.  After we lost Brady, we had much support in the early days, but that support dwindled quickly.  People very quickly got back to their lives, as we struggled to get back to ours.  After that initial period after his loss, it often became uncomfortable to talk about Brady to anyone except our closest friends and family.  We had no children at home, and I did always dread the "Do you have any children?" question.  I hate to make people feel uncomfortable, sad or awkward, but I also hate not to acknowledge that yes, in fact, I do have a child...he just doesn't happen to be here with us.

After losing Henry, the experience was different.  We continue to have incredible support, and I have people in all facets of my life who allow me to talk about Henry without feeling uncomfortable.  Even the "Do you have any children?" question is a little easier to answer.

These different experiences illustrate the fact that in our society we are uncomfortable talking about loss, but especially loss of pregnancy.  So many people don't understand that although Brady was "born into heaven," he was still born.  Even a baby who is miscarried is often already loved, dreamed of, and wanted.  These losses, although different than the loss of a child, are not easier.  When you lose a child during pregnancy, you lose all of the hopes and dreams you have for that baby.  And in some ways, it is harder because people are more uncomfortable talking about it.  No one else got to see or hold Brady, so it was harder for people to connect and understand.  Everyone knew Henry, and so many people got to meet him, that his loss was more real (not for us, but others.)

That is one thing I hope that people will gain from reading some of my writings...that the loss of a child at ANY stage is devastating, and is not something one simply "gets over."  The loss of Brady was just as devastating as the loss of Henry...different, true, but devastating nonetheless.  Whether you carry a baby for days, weeks, months, years...inside your body or out...that is still your baby and your love is no less regardless of the time you have.  So the next time you hear of someone losing a baby during pregnancy, don't be afraid to ask them about their baby...because that a baby is what they lost.  And don't be afraid to ask someone who lost an adult child to tell you about their child...bringing up the name of a child who has died does not make the loss worse...rather it validates the love that we hold for our children that are no longer here.

A Mother's Love

I came across this on Facebook today (and it is highly likely that I spend waaaay too much time on social media...)

"I have laid my child in a surgeon's arms, I have slept upright in a hospital chair, I have listened to the beeping of machines and been thankful, I have smiled through tears, I have found strength when there wasn't any left.  A Mother's love is the fuel that enables a normal human being to do the impossible."

In some ways, I am grateful that Henry's battle was so short.  Those almost two weeks were perhaps the longest two weeks of my life.  We hardly slept, I hardly ate, the beeping of machines became simply background noise.  We had so many doctors in and out every day, and the only moments I had to myself were in the restroom.  Of course, I would have fought alongside Henry for months and years if I had gotten the chance.  But watching your child suffer is the part of parenthood that no one warns you about.  And this is true whether your child is suffering a stuffy nose, a broken heart, or a life-threatening illness.  As parents, we want our children to be happy and healthy, and when we can't make that happen it breaks our hearts.

A mother's love truly is the fuel that helps me to go on.  That love is what I lean on...knowing that my baby is happy and whole again...that he is not depending on machines to live...that he is not swollen because his organs are unable to do their jobs.  I love Henry (and Brady) so very much that I can continue to live even though they are not here.  The love I have for them (and that I know they have for me) gives me strength...and knowing that one day I will hold them again keeps me going.

To all those mamas out there who are fighting alongside their babies...whether their babies have a cold, a skinned knee, a heart condition, kidney disease, cancer, trouble with friends, trouble in school...and whether their babies are babies, or toddlers, or adults with children of their own...keep fighting.  Your love is what truly protects those babies, and that love will give you strength.

Invisible moms

Today I want to wish a happy Mothers Day to what I call the "invisible" moms...the moms that aren't always remembered by our society on Mothers Day. We are getting better about recognizing these moms, but on days like today we can start to feel invisible. Happy Mothers Day to the moms who have no babies to hold...those who carried babies within for a day or weeks or months...those who gave birth to babies and nurtured them for days, months, or years but then had to let them go...those who yearn for a baby but have not been blessed with one...

Then there are the "non-traditional" moms. These people became moms without physically giving birth...stepmothers...grandmothers/aunts/siblings/dads/friends who have taken in kids to raise and nurture...moms of fur babies...mentors (like my favorite "work moms")...and anyone else who stepped up to the role of mom.

So many people can fill the role of mom. I hope that all of these moms are feeling the love on this Mother's Day. No matter how you become a mom or who you mother, you are important!!

Mother's Day

We all know Mother's Day is coming this weekend.  Like most major events after a loss, the anticipation and dread for these days starts early.  I've been dreading Mother's Day since about the first of May.  And I've seen a lot of articles come across my Facebook newsfeed...titles like For the Motherless Daughters or For the Childless Mothers...

I have a bit of a problem with these articles.  Not the actual articles themselves - they have good messages.  I just have a problem with the titles.  I don't consider myself a motherless daughter.  Yes, I am a daughter, and yes it's true that my mom is no longer here with me.  But I still have a mother.  She raised me into an adult, and then supported me and became my friend.  She did everything she could for me, and helped make me into the person I am today.  She's not here on earth with me, but she is still my mother, and therefore I am not motherless.  It's also true that I am a mother, and that my children are not here with me.  However, I am still a mother.  I nurtured my babies as they developed and grew inside me, and I held them both once they were born.  I took care of Henry's every need, until he no longer needed me.  I did the hardest thing a mother has to do...I let go.  I let my boys go to a better place, and I have continued on.  But I am not a childless mother...I have children, they are just not here.

I understand why the authors of these articles chose these titles, and I understand what they are trying to say.  I just choose to look at it a bit differently...a bit more positively.  I have a mother, and I have children, and although none of them are here with me I can still celebrate them on Mother's Day.  I'm sure I will blog again about Mother's Day this weekend, but for now I wish all mothers a happy Mother's Day...whether your children are at home with you, fully grown and moved away, or just a thought for your future.  And to all those whose mothers are no longer here with them, I wish you comfort and a day of remembering all that your mom was to you.  Whether it's a happy day or a hard day, I hope everyone has a peaceful Mother's Day.

Books & Readers

We have always joked about how much Henry was like Tim.  They looked nearly identical in baby pictures, both wake up in the morning ready to attack the day, and both have very happy personalities.  One thing, though, that Henry definitely got from  me was his love of books.  I'm sure I've mentioned that before, but even from an early age, Henry enjoyed looking about books and being read to.  (And this is something that most definitely didn't come from his daddy!)

Today and this week, I'm getting students ready for summer reading.  As I introduce the program to them, I wanted to read a fun "summer-y" book.  During my search for the perfect, "summer-y" book, I came upon one of Henry's favorites - Rattletrap Car.  He loved the colorful pictures in this book, and the silly sounds that the car makes as the family makes their way to the lake.  He loved the "clinkety clankety bing bang pop" as the family is off to the lake.  He loved the "whumpety whomp" as the floor fell off.  These silly noises would make him smile.

I loved reading to Henry, and I loved that Henry loved books.  It was a time we could enjoy something together.  It was fun to watch him gaze at the page, as his eyes took in the illustrations, and to see him smile as he listened to the funny words.  I also love that I'm hearing giggles and seeing smiles as I read the same story to the kiddos at school.  It's great to have a hobby and a love of reading that I get to share with my own kids and through my job!  Just a warning to any future kiddos I may have...I hope you like books, because you won't escape reading with me around!

Reflection

I have been doing some reflection lately...on my grief, my journey, and where I'm headed. One thing I've realized is that I tend to keep my feelings pent up. I do this by keeping busy, and not allowing myself time to feel whatever I may need to feel. Keeping busy is not necessarily a bad thing...it gives me things to focus on and keeps me moving forward. However, it is important that I still allow myself time to reflect, remember, and actively work on healing. 

Tonight I took time for myself. I took five minutes and I sat in the sunroom with the TV off, just the sounds of the birds and the breeze, just me, and thought. Tonight I chose to think about my mom. I didn't have an agenda, just thought Mom and went from there. I remembered her funny faces, how she'd reach back for my hand when the family was driving somewhere, how she put sticky notes on serving dishes before holiday dinners. I remembered how it would drive my sister and me crazy when she'd chew on gum or a hard candy. I pictured us sitting in the sunroom at her house, chatting or reading or watching TV. When the five minutes ended I felt refreshed, and even a bit uplifted. 

Sometimes it's scary to face the quiet. I want to get back to a place where I enjoy the quiet. And I'm starting with just five minutes at a time.

Capturing everyday moments

Here is my memory for today...one of my absolute favorite pictures of Henry and me. This picture was taken by my dad one evening while we were trying to get some newborn photos of Henry. None of us had done a newborn photo shoot before, and Henry wasn't quite tired enough to simply sleep through it, so we were patiently winging it. Henry just wanted to be held. We'd situate him, snap a couple pictures quick, snuggle him, and repeat. This was one of those in between moments. It wasn't posed, just me and Henry.

I love this picture because it is so natural. I wasn't posing, we weren't posing Henry. Heck, I hadn't even done my hair or put on a clean shirt! But looking pretty isn't the point of this image...the point is that I'm just being a mom, loving my son. The point is that my baby is comfortable in my arms...that all he needed at that point in time was to be loved. 

My advice to all those new mamas (and the not-so-new mamas as well!)...capture those moments when you can. Of course, you'll have staged and professional or semi-professional pictures taken, and that's good! But capture those everyday moments too. Don't worry that you don't look your best, that you weren't prepared. One day you'll look back and be glad you captured those images!