Grief

Grief is hard.  Grief is work.  Grief never ends.  Grief is confusing...it makes me feel weak, yet it has also made me strong - stronger than I thought possible.  Grief is sneaky...sometimes hitting you when you least expect it.

As we come upon two years, I expect this time of year to be hard.  Throughout most of the rest of the year, I can go about my life, enjoying things, enjoying people.  Sure, there are still tough days...birthdays...holidays...random days when memories pop into my head.  But overall, I feel like a normal human being.  This time of year, I feel nothing like a normal human being.  I don't especially want to interact with people, but I don't especially want to be alone with my thoughts either.  I don't want to go to work, but I have no motivation to do anything at home.  I have a hard time focusing on anything...chores, reading, TV shows, to-do lists.  In fact, it feels almost as though I have been transported back two years, and those feelings are the ones I'm feeling again.

And that's the nature of grief.  You can go along through life feeling just fine until BAM, a memory surfaces or a date rolls around.  I understand that, and I know that, but I don't like it!  I also know that part of grieving is embracing these feelings rather than trying to avoid them.  That's easier to do in the days when grief is new and you feel nothing else.  It's harder to accept now that I know good days and happiness still exist.  So as we move through these difficult days, I will try to accept these feelings as I remember our sweet baby boy.  But I will also remember that there are more good days ahead.

Thank you to everyone who has given me the grace to feel what I need to feel...for understanding that peopling is hard...and for reminding me that I'm not in this alone.

Monsters-Giving

Two years ago it started...two years ago we walked into the pediatrician's office and ended up at Children's.  Two years ago we were told our baby boy probably had cancer.  Two years ago our world slowly started falling apart.

We have spent the last two years putting the pieces back together...learning how to live again...figuring out how to find joy and happiness in everyday life.  We have had good days, bad days, and everything in between.  We miss our monster every second of every day.  Some moments, a gentle memory tugs at our heart; other moments the memories knock the wind out of us.

Now, on the eve of Henry's official diagnosis and the start of his frantic twelve-day fight, I want to remember him.  I don't want to remember the Henry that lay in the hospital bed, needing machines to help him breathe, help his kidneys, and even to keep him warm.  I want to remember the Henry that stole my heart with his very first breath.  I want to remember the Henry that was almost always smiling...that was up for anything...and that loved everyone.  And this is where I ask for your help.

I have renamed the next twelve days Monsters-Giving.  (You may remember last year it was the twelve days of giving...and I realized that sounded so familiar because that's what Ellen uses on her show!)  Over the next twelve days, Tim and I will be reaching out to people we know could use a little smile...whether these are people we know or not.  We want to find joy in the next twelve days rather than simply wallowing in our sorrow.  We don't do this to hide from our grief, but rather to embrace it.  We do this to remember our sweet monster, and to share the smiles that he surely would be doling out were he still here with us.

So over the next twelve days, if it so strikes you, send someone a smile.  Give someone a call that you haven't talked to in too long...pay for someone's coffee...send a note to your mom...your dad...your sister...your friend.  Donate blood or platelets to help those who are fighting.  It doesn't have to cost money, and it doesn't have to be a grand gesture.  Help us honor and remember the sweet little monster who knew nothing but love.  #monstersgiving #allheknewwaslove #amonstersmission #lookatmamausinghashtages

November

For almost a week now, I have managed to avoid acknowledging the fact that it's November.  I've been busy enough at work, and tired enough by the time I get home, that the fact seemed to escape my conscious thought.  But over the last couple days, November has come crashing down on me...hard...

Yesterday I was especially cranky, for no apparent reason. I had a whole day to relax and do what I wanted...all my errands and most of my chores were already done. But I still felt like I wanted to crawl into a hole. The thought of going to work was a little overwhelming, and I couldn't muster motivation to do much of anything. I woke up this morning feeling much the same way. I got to work and sat in my car, talking myself into going into the building. I didn't want to face people, to interact, or really do anything.

But then, seeing this picture on memories brought it all back and it suddenly made sense. We are entering that time of year that will probably always be at least a little hard. This time two years ago was when Henry really went downhill, thus leading to his hospitalization and diagnosis. These were, unknown to us at the time, our last couple days at home with him...our last few days of even seeing him awake...the last few days he looked like Henry. And knowing now what he was already battling is heartbreaking.

We have a lot to look forward to, with Henry's little brother or sister on the way. But that doesn't take his place. Next year we will (God willing) have an infant to take care of and it will still be a hard time of year. I don't know if or when it will get easier, but I know it's not this year. So if Tim or I seem a little quieter than usual, a bit more spacey, or less smiley, know we're trying. I know now that we will make it through the tough times, but that doesn't mean that the times aren't still tough.

Halloween

Halloween is a tough holiday for me.  It's not because it was Henry's only holiday with us...he was with us for Easter, and 4th of July.  Maybe it's because it was his last holiday with us.  Maybe it's because it was the first holiday that it really felt like he was a "participant."  Maybe it's because Halloween is a holiday for kids of all ages.  Maybe it's because the Halloween "holiday" stretched out a few weeks, allowing us to do lots of different activities.  Maybe it's because I see all the family Halloween costumes and posts, and I wonder what Henry would be this Halloween.

Two years ago, I was a little miffed that we had a family event the night of Henry's first Halloween.  I wanted to dress him up and parade him around to our friends and family.  Instead, Tim and I took the day off to dress him up and parade him around.  We took him to see Grandma at work, and then to see Grandpa at work.  He was ooh-ed and aah-ed over, admired, and loved.  Looking back, it's still amazing to me that he was so happy that day, considering he was almost certainly by that point fighting cancer without us knowing yet.

Today, I'm enjoying these memories from two years ago, and looking forward to making more memories with a new little one next year.  That doesn't mean it will be an easy day...but it's another day that I know I will make it through.  I will brave the day at work, with Halloween-crazed kiddos (and zombie-like adults...), and then I will come home, turn off the lights, and snuggle the pups.  Maybe in years ahead I will be ready to hand out candy and participate in the fun, but not this year.  And that's okay!

To all who are enjoying Halloween festivities today or tonight...have fun!  Make memories and enjoy the time with friends and loved ones.  Happy Halloween, from our sweet little monster!

Happy News!

Since the day Henry died, we knew more than anything we wanted to have more children.  As time passed, this goal seemed to drift further and further away.  We met with doctors and specialists, and last spring were excited to find out we were pregnant!  Unfortunately, that ended in the loss of Hope, and a setback in our mission.  We decided to take some time off and get back to enjoying life, rather than stressing about that which we wanted most.  In early September, we were delighted to see two lines on the pregnancy test.  We've been to several appointments and had multiple ultrasounds, and everything is looking great for our current pregnancy...and we are very much looking forward to welcoming a new baby in May 2017.  Thanks for all of the love and support you have given us through this process, and we will continue to keep you updated on our journey!

Dear Mama...Love, Henry

One of the grief books I'm reading suggested writing a letter not only to a loved one that has died, but also from that loved one to myself. I've written letters to Henry before, but hadn't thought to write one from him. So...here's what I imagine Henry would write to me (imagining, of course, that he could write...or even speak in complete sentences. But, hey, it's all imagination anyway!)

Dear Mama,

I know how much you miss me. I see you cry when you think no one is watching...I feel the pain that sometimes stabs through your heart. I watch you as you rock in the nursery, clutching one of the several stuffed monsters that remind you of me. I know you want nothing more than to hold me in your arms again.

I wish you didn't hurt so. I wish I could tell you how happy you made me during my time on earth. You and Daddy made me your world...you never made me feel like a nuisance, or that you'd rather be doing something else. You gave me the  best snuggles, Mama, and boy could Daddy could make me giggle! You took me to so many places, and introduced me to so many people. And, most importantly, you showed me nothing but pure love.

I wish you could see me now...free from tubes and wires...free from cancer...free from pain. I play with my brother and sister, and get lots of snuggles from Nana (she's almost as good as snuggler as you are, but no one can quite fill those shoes!!) I miss you, but I'm happy.

You and Daddy make me so proud. I see how much you're hurting, but that doesn't stop you from doing good things. You bring awareness to the world through our story...you're honest and real, and that resonates with people. So thank you...for loving me, for sharing me and my story with the world, and for never forgetting me. I love you so very much, and I wait as patiently as I can for the day I will once again feel your arms around me.

Love,
Henry

September

You may wonder why September is so important to us...and to our fellow cancer families.  You may wonder why we put so much energy into planning and attending events.  You may wonder why we would want to remind ourselves, for a whole month, of what cancer took from us.  The pictures below are our "why."  Henry was seven months old when he died.  He had done nothing in his short life that caused him to get cancer.  He didn't sunbathe...he didn't smoke...he didn't use a cell phone...he didn't eat apples (I mean, it seems that just about anything these days can be blamed for cancer.)  His cancer can't even be blamed on heredity or genetics.  He just got cancer.  It isn't fair...he didn't deserve it.  None of our little fighters deserve it.  No one deserves it.  Honestly, I don't care if you smoked eight packs a day, I still don't think you "deserve" cancer. 

Now...October is just around the corner...and it seems, at least in my cynical mind, that the world turns pink for breast cancer.  Don't get me wrong, it's not that I think breast cancer doesn't deserve the attention.  But then I think prostate cancer should get the same attention...and lung cancer...and liver cancer...and blood cancer...and bone cancer...and, well, you get the point.  And childhood cancer, of all types, definitely deserves as much attention as breast cancer.  And, actually, maybe a little more.  The federal government provides a minimal percentage of budget to funding childhood cancer research.  Most children receive treatments that were developed for adults...25 years ago.  We hear the saying all the time...the children are our future...so why are we spending so little at protecting our future?  Why are we letting these childhood heroes fight, and struggle, and die?  Why do they not deserve the same attention and funding as women with breast cancer?

So, yes, September is important to us.  We may not be a big dog, but we are in the fight to bring awareness and funding to childhood cancer.  If we could spare even one family from the pain of hearing that your child has cancer, the pain of watching your child fight and suffer, the pain of watching the treatments cause more damage and delays to development, and the pain of watching your child die, then it's all worth it.  It won't bring Henry back, but maybe it will help someone else's Henry.  And, really, for us, that's what it's all about.  #gogold #allheknewwaslove 

Crystal ball

I came across this memory today...one of the first times Henry was sick. This particular instance I think he just had a stuffy nose and maybe a little cough. With Henry, his most noticeable symptom was always his missing smile...that's how we knew when he really didn't feel well.

I remember this...snuggling him in his Husker pjs while watching the game. I remember wishing I could have the cold, or at least that I could make him feel better. But of course I couldn't...other than snuggling and loving him. And in this particular moment I thought it was so hard watching my baby suffer. And it was hard. I just had no idea how much harder it could get.

And I'm glad I didn't have a crystal ball. I'm glad I could snuggle him and make him feel a little better in that moment. Because the hard moments would have come regardless...knowing they were coming wouldn't have made it any easier. Instead, it would have robbed us of the peace and joy of these innocent moments.

We so often wish we could see the future...we think it would make us feel better or more prepared. And maybe that's true. But it would also rob us of the journey and the learning and the growth that comes along the way. Thanks to Henry, I have grown and learned more than I would have thought possible. This journey, though difficult and not one I would have chosen, has made me a better person. Thank you, Henry, and thank you to those who continue to help me learn and grow. 

And don't forget it's still September (for awhile. I mean, September did just start a few days ago)...spread awareness and action when and where you can. #gogold for Henry 💛

Awareness

Today starts September...childhood cancer awareness month.  It's a month that, up until a couple years ago, held no special significance for me.  It used to be the month where I started feeling like I was back into a schedule...a month in which I looked forward to football, and the start of fall weather...a month that was kicked off with a nice long weekend, which somehow was so needed after only a couple weeks of work.  To be honest, I don't think I really was aware that it was anything more than September. 

Now, it's a month I really don't even need.  I don't need a month to be aware of childhood cancer.  I am aware of childhood cancer every day.  I'm aware every day of the year that I don't have a cute little boy running around and keeping me on my toes.  I'm aware every day of the year that I don't have that little boy to snuggle and comfort when he's sick or tired.  I'm aware every day of the year that childhood cancer stole almost all of his firsts from us...his first steps...his first words...his first days of school.

So no...I don't need a childhood cancer awareness month.  All of my friends that I've met through the monster that is childhood cancer don't need an awareness month.  In fact, we could probably use a break from being aware of childhood cancer.  But my former self, and all those like my former self, need this month.  We need to remind the world that childhood cancer exists, that it steals our children from us (whether they are survivors, current fighters, or angels...a normal childhood has been stolen).  We need to remind the world that the current treatments available for childhood cancer are not enough!  It's not enough for a child to be treated with simply a smaller dose of an adult treatment.  It's not enough for a child to be treated with something that was developed 25 years ago.  We need new treatments, and treatments developed specifically for children.

To achieve these goals, we need awareness...but awareness isn't enough.  We need ACTION.  That's what our goal is at A Monster's Mission.  We may not be a huge organization...we may not raise millions, or even thousands of dollars, but we are taking ACTION.  We are spreading awareness, and encouraging action.  We do this through our events like our annual blood drive, and our upcoming first annual foot golf tournament (shameless plug - get your tickets!!), even through our twelve days of giving we spread our story which spreads awareness and perhaps inspires people to ACT.

Let's make September childhood cancer awareness and ACTION month.  Do something...spread the word.  Donate blood (this is something you can do that doesn't cost anything other than a little time and a small prick of pain)...get signed up to be a bone marrow donor...if you are able, donate money to an organization devoted to research for pediatric cancer (A Monster's Mission, Sammy's Superheroes, Cure Search are just a few that come to mind)...share our story, or a story of another small fighter you know.  Let's show the world that our littlest fighters deserve our attention...let's make this month count! #gogold for Henry...#gogold for childhood cancer! 

Childhood Cancer

Yesterday Tim and I had the honor of attending Sammy's Superheroes Glow Gold event in Columbus.  This is the second year we have attended, and it is hands down one of our favorite events.  Glow Gold aims to raise awareness and funds for childhood cancer and research, but the main goal (in my mind anyway) is to honor the fighters, angels, and families.  We walked in, were greeted, and personally given a goodie bag and information for the event.  During the presentation honoring the families, we weren't divided into fighter families and angel families, but instead were all included in one group of families who have been touched by the monster that is childhood cancer.  We didn't walk around as pariahs, as a family that has lost.  Because, let's be honest, any family who has a child with cancer has lost something.

As we sat eating dinner before the gates opened to the public, I gazed around at the sea of blue shirts.  It amazed me, that in this tiny corner of the world, there are this many families affected by childhood cancer.  Dr. Coulter, the guest speaker and a local leading researcher, said that Nebraska has the third highest rate of childhood cancer in the nation, yet as population goes we are one of the smaller states.  And as I looked down the football field at all the families, I was reminded once again why this cause is so important to us.  I would love to live to see a day when no parent has to hear the words "your child has cancer."  Because even this tiny slice of families affected is too much!

Thank you to Sammy's Superheroes for honoring our family and so many others...for acknowledging the fighters, the angels, and the supporters.  Thank you for sharing our stories.  Thank you to those who take the time to read this, who support our cause, and help us honor our angel.  As Margaret Mead said, "Never believe that a few caring people can't change the world.  For, indeed, that's all who ever have."  As we go into September and childhood cancer awareness month, we will keep working for awareness, for funds for research, and for change...for Henry, his fellow angels, and all the kids still fighting.

Funk

These last few days I've been in a bit of a funk.  That's a technical term...you know, when you just feel cranky and short-tempered for no apparent reason.  And no matter how nice those closest to you are, you still find something wrong with whatever they're doing.  (In this case, poor Tim managed to send me nearly into a rage because he peeled the skin off a pepper "wrong"...I wish I were kidding!)

I'm not sure the exact cause for this latest funk, but I'm guessing it has something to do with summer being over and having to be an adult on a daily basis instead of just intermittently.  Going back to work after a long break is always hard...I'm used to doing what I want to do when I do it, and now my schedule is dictated.  I can't get up, enjoy my coffee, get my workout in just before lunch.  I can't spend the morning reading in my (newly improved) sunroom.  Instead I have to get up to an alarm (gasp!), get myself ready (which involves almost daily fighting with myself over what to wear), have a lunch packed, make my coffee to go, and get to work.  Then at work I have to people...all...day...long.  Don't get me wrong, I work with amazing people.  But when I get tired or overwhelmed, I can no longer retreat to my bed or my sunroom...I have to keep plugging along.  And when I get home, there's just about enough time to do my workout, shower, make dinner, clean up dinner, and get to bed. 

This transition has always been a little tricky...I am one that craves down time and alone time.  And with the start of school, both of those are in short supply.  To make it even a little trickier, the first few weekends of this school year happen to be pretty busy, so I'm not getting to recharge my batteries.  I will get used to the routine, I will get this new position at work figured out (maybe not until the end of the year, but I'll get it!), and life will settle down a bit.  And in the meantime, I'm trying to keep taking care of myself...getting my workouts in, eating the healthy-ish meals at home like planned, getting plenty of sleep (even if I wake up feeling like I didn't get any at all!), and hacking away at my to-do list - at home and at school.

And then, when I get extra super duper cranky, like I was this morning (again, for no apparent reason), pictures like this pop up to make me smile and gives me a brief respite from my moods.  I hope maybe it will make you smile today too!

Teachers

I have spent the last few days back at work, spending my days with fellow teachers, all of us frantically preparing for the new little faces that will greet us next week. We want our rooms to look perfect and to be inviting. We want our lessons to be fun and engaging. We want our technology to be working (I've seen the emails guys-I promise I'm working on it!) And most of all, we want to make a difference...to maybe be "that" teacher that a student always remembers for being fun, creative, and, most of all, caring. 

As I sit here and fret over my to-do list (which I'm not even kidding, is five typed pages long), I think about my role as a teacher. Yes, it is my job to impart knowledge, perhaps even a little wisdom. But another big part of being a teacher is actually being a learner. We are always learning new things...curriculum, new behavior strategies or engagement strategies, new technology...sometimes voluntarily and other times not as much. But beyond that, I learn from the kids. I learn new ways to teach something so that everyone understands. I learn how to teach kids skills for life. And I am reminded every day of the wonder and joy in learning.

As a mom, I am also a learner. Sure, I learned how to make bottles...how to get that perfect bath water temperature...how to get baby vomit out of a car seat and poop out of a white onesie (although let's be real, that was often accomplished by utilizing the trash can.) But I also learned about selflessness, patience, and unconditional love. I have never been less selfish as when I was caring for Henry. Now, when my dog starts whining at 5:15 in the morning, I get cranky. When Henry started rustling around that same time, I felt blessed to have that quiet morning playtime with him. I had more patience than ever before...I had no problem rocking him for an hour. In fact, I often kept rocking even after he fell asleep.

As we go into this new school year, I am looking forward to learning...from my colleagues, from others in my field, from books and articles and videos. But most of all, I look forward to learning from the kiddos. Bring it on 2016-17!!

Technology

Technology...it's one of those things that's great when it works.  Now, I have to admit, I am a bit of a geek when it comes to technology.  I always want the newest gadget (even if the slightly older gadget I have is still in perfectly good working condition.)  I definitely take after my dad in this sense, as my mom wanted nothing to do with technology.  She refused a cell phone almost to her dying day!  But technology can also take us away from the world around us.  I know I myself have been guilty of that...perhaps sitting at the dinner table, with my husband, perusing Facebook instead of having a conversation.  (In my defense, Tim is just as guilty of this!)  I see it at restaurants all the time - families each with their face buried in a device and silence at the table.  I have made it a point to put my phone away at the dinner table, at least, and to actually have a conversation with my husband.  But I am still pretty darn attached to the stupid thing.  (Just kidding, phone, you know how important you are to me.  I didn't mean to call you stupid...)

Despite all of this (and the frustration that comes when technology DOESN'T work as it's supposed to) technology can be a pretty wonderful thing.  I can talk face to face with my sister halfway across the country, or my dad the next state over.  I can see what my cousins on the other side of the country are up to, and keep up with their growing kids.  It's not the same as actually spending time together, but when time and money prevent us from being together often enough, it's at least somewhat of a substitute.  AND, in the palm of my hand, I have a powerful camera and video recorder.  It's not like when I was a kid, and our camcorder was about as big as the laptop from which I'm typing, and you had to carry the VCR in a bag connected to said camcorder in order to actually record video.  I don't have to wait until I finish the entire 24 or 36 shots in a roll of film plus developing time to see my pictures.

And, in our unique situation, we have all kinds of photo and video memories of our sweet angel.  We didn't spend seven months expecting that was all we would have.  But we recorded much of it...not to the point that we weren't present in the moment, but enough that we have some amazing memories to look back on.  We intentionally got new phones while pregnant with Henry with more memory, knowing we would be capturing lots of moments.  And though at the time I sometimes wondered if we were overdoing it, I am now beyond grateful that we did capture those moments.  (Of course, for any future children, I apologize in advance that we basically attached a camera to you 24-7...)

Don't use technology as an escape from the world, keep having face-to-face conversations and interactions, get outside and explore, BUT do take advantage of that powerful technology in your hand to record some of those moments.  You never know when the day will come that those records will be all you have left.  After all, as my dad is fond of saying, film is free!

Death...and Love

Leave it to J.K. Rowling and her Dumbledore character to cut straight to my heart.  I just finished reading Harry Potter and the Cursed Child.  I was a little skeptical of reading a play about Harry Potter, but it turns out I didn't mind at all.  And it brought those years of anxiously awaiting the newest book in the series, the characters, and the story all back to life.

A lot happens in this story, which I won't reveal for those of you who are planning to read it.  (And if you aren't, you should.  And if you haven't ever read Harry Potter, you really should!!)  But the line that stood out to me was this, DUMBLEDORE: "Those that we love never truly leave us, Harry. There are things that death cannot touch.  Paint...and memory...and love."  Thanks Dumbledore, for putting my thoughts into perfect words.

Death seems to take so much from us...it can take the person we love most in the world...it can leave us full of regret, loss, sadness, despair.  It can turn our world into a dark and gloomy place.  But death can never take away love.  Sometimes, in fact, death intensifies love.  We don't stop loving someone because they died.  We continue loving them, and we hold them in our heart.  And over time, our memories bring comfort rather than pain.  It will never be quite enough...it will never be the same...but the love never fades.

The Good Stuff

The other day as I was driving I once again found myself hearing a song's lyrics in a way I hadn't before.  I was listening to The Good Stuff by Kenny Chesney.  And once again, it's a song I've heard numerous times before, but for some reason the lyrics seemed to speak to me a little louder this time.

The story of this song is a guy going into a bar after fighting with his lady, and ordering the good stuff from the bartender.  But the bartender says you can't find that here.  According to him, the good stuff is things like "the first long kiss on a second date," or "a new t-shirt sayin' I'm a grandpa."  That's the good stuff.

So of course, this got me thinking about the good stuff in my life.  For me, it's the four tails wagging when I walk in the door (and yes, even the excited barking).  It's the kiss every morning as Tim leaves for work (or when we both leave for work when it's not summer.)  It's that first sip of coffee.  It's the feeling when your head hits the pillow after a long day.  It's the excitement of the first green blade of grass in spring, or the first snowflake of the winter.  It's hearing your baby rustle and babble in their crib across the hall.  It's a good burger fresh off the grill. 

So often we get so caught up in life...jobs, responsibilities, bills, worries...that we forget about the good stuff.  Thanks to Henry, I have a much bigger appreciation for the good stuff.  Thanks to Henry, even in the darkest days I can find a least a little ray of light.  Perhaps it's because Henry is now my ray of light that I carry with me in my heart!

Florida

I don't know why I was so nervous to take Henry to Florida...I was scared he'd be fussy on the plane (even though rarely was he ever fussy)...I was scared he'd be anxious around so many new people (even though he LOVED people)...I was afraid he wouldn't sleep well or eat well (even though at three months he was already a great sleeper and eater)...I was afraid it would be a hassle to haul all his stuff (even though I had Tim and my dad drove some of the big stuff down for us).  Thankfully, making the trip was more important than all of my worries!

And those worries were just silly.  Henry was a fabulous traveler.  I mean, let's be honest, Henry was really just a fabulous baby.  On the plane he snuggled happily and slept or watched whatever we were watching on the iPad, and even when he blew out his diaper on takeoff he just chilled and let me change him...on my lap...in the cramped window seat.  Once we got to Florida, he was content to be held by anyone and everyone.  Tim and I could leave him at the house with someone and go get coffee, and he was fine.  At the wedding reception there were times we lost sight of him (knowing, of course, that he was still in the venue) and he didn't mind a bit.  He LOVED swimming in the pool and the Gulf (both of which were bath water warm), and he napped happily on the beach.

I am forever grateful that we did things with Henry...whether a trip to Florida, a visit to the pumpkin patch, or just taking a walk with the dog (you know, back when we weren't crazy and only had ONE dog) or snuggling for a snooze.  It wasn't ever a chore to have Henry with us...in fact, we rarely did anything WITHOUT him.  I know had he grown older, there would have been more times that we would have done things without him.  But for his short life, he knew love and happiness, and that is something I will never regret.

Because...this...sweet perfection... <3

To my husband on his birthday

To my dear husband,

I am so grateful that you were born an undisclosed number of years ago (a lady never discusses someone's age, and we both know what a lady I am...) It may have taken me many of those years to find you, but you were more than worth the wait.

Before you, I dated, I had boyfriends, I even had boyfriends that I thought I might marry one day.  I shed many tears when relationships ended, and often thought I would never find the perfect man for me.  I planned on becoming a cat lady, even though I really am more of a dog person, because I didn't want to admit that I was a bit lonely...that I was missing my other half.  Then one day, you invited yourself to coffee, and before I knew it, I had found my missing half.

There are so many great things about you I could probably fill a book.  But the thing I love the most about you is that you love me...and you love me just the way I am.  You don't wish I looked just a little different, you don't wish (at least out loud) that I were just a little less crazy, and you don't judge me when I burst into tears because I don't know what to wear.  You let me yell at you for scraping my car windows wrong, you let me sulk and have bad days, and you never seem to take it personally.  I know that I can be hard to live with sometimes, let alone love, yet you seem to do so without pause.

God knew what he was doing when he put you in my life.  He knew I would need someone strong, loving, caring, and kind to hold on to through tough times.  He knew I would need someone sweet and funny and fun loving to laugh with through good and bad times.  We haven't had it easy, but we're making it through...together...and I wouldn't want it any other way.

I hope today, your birthday, is just as wonderful as you are.  I hope you feel all the love surrounding you from near and far.  I hope you know just how loved and admired you are by so many, especially me.  And I hope you know how lucky I feel to be the woman by your side.  You are MY superhero.  I love you on your birthday, on every day, always and forever.

With love from your lucky, lucky wife,
Jelly Bean

My Words

Last week, I did it.  I clicked on one of those Facebook app links...you know, the one that says What are Your Most Used Words?? (Or something along those lines.)  I did so assuming mine would be full of negativity...sadness...just plain yuck.  So I was incredibly surprised with my results!

Now maybe this app filters out the "yuck", but I like to think that perhaps I have found ways to keep a positive outlook.  Am I always positive? Of course not. Is it always easy to find something good? Nope. Is the work and energy to look at the bright side worth it? Absolutely.

It would be so easy to stay bogged down in sadness, to focus on what my life is missing. And there are days when I do just that. But that's not where I want to live my life. So I find the good things...do things I like doing...spend time with the people I love. It takes effort, it takes energy, but it is worth it.

Think about your words...what would your cloud look like? What do you want it to look like? Make the changes you need to make, and change that cloud from an ominous thundercloud to a white and fluffy cotton ball.  If I can do it, anyone can!

I've been pretty quiet on here lately...life has been mainly status quo.  I have been enjoying summer.  I've gotten a few projects done (though I have several left to go, and now we're coming up on the downhill slide of summer!) read a few books, watched a *little* TV, and gotten LOTS of puppy snuggles.  So that's where I've been - busy doing mostly nothing!

Today, on one of the Facebook pages I follow, I read the following quote: "Think of the joy a firework display brings.  It has a tremendous burst of energy and color.  It causes those viewing it to be overcome with 'oohs' and 'ahhs' as they watch from afar.  The tremendously beautiful lights cause a spectacular feeling to erupt from your core being.  There are people in our lives that are like that; they bring forth tremendous bursts of color and beauty into our lives, and then they are gone and stop without warning.  After the firework display is over, we can hold onto their memory as the sky turns dark again, but we will always have that wonderful memory tucked away.  And the capability of having a memory is a gift from God so we can always see the sparks in our mind."  ~Ron Heitmann

As I read this, I immediately thought of Henry.  He was definitely a burst of energy and color, beauty and love.  And although he is gone, that beauty and love remains tucked away in our memory.  I have tucked away the feeling of rocking him to sleep, the sound high-pitched gasps he made as he drank his bottle, the sight of his beautiful smile, and even the smell of some of his world-class blowouts.  And although some memories fade with time, the brightness of these memories will stay with me forever.

On this holiday weekend, enjoy the sights and sounds of those beautiful lights in the sky, and enjoy the memories of any bright lights gone too soon from your life.  Happy 4th!

The Dance

This morning as I was driving to the grocery store, the song "The Dance" by Garth Brooks came on the radio. This song has been around for awhile, and I have heard it many times. But I never really paid attention to the lyrics...or had reason to pay attention to the lyrics. This morning, I listened...to the music AND the lyrics, and this song hit home.

"And now I'm glad I didn't know
The way it all would end the way it all would go
Our lives are better left to chance
I could have missed the pain
But I'd have had to miss the dance"

I'm glad I didn't know...I'm glad I didn't know that our time with Henry would be so limited. I wouldn't have wanted to spend that time counting down to him getting sick and leaving us. I'm much happier that we spent that time living and loving. Because once we knew he was going to die, everything we did, every memory we made would have been tarnished with that knowledge. And instead we made amazing HAPPY memories that we can carry with us now.

Then there's the chance we could have missed the pain, but that means we would have had to miss the dance. Losing Henry caused a pain that I didn't know was possible, and that I wouldn't have thought was survivable. But having Henry...carrying him for 9 months, caring for him for 7 more...I wouldn't trade that for the world. I wouldn't even trade the pain, because the pain means that Henry lived, and that he was loved.

"For a moment, all the world was right..."

And I carry that moment...those moments...in my heart forever.

Hurting heart

The news lately has my heart hurting. So many parents losing children...to senseless violence...tragic accidents...and the judgement that sometimes follows. I can understand how these parents are hurting, but I certainly don't claim to know what they're going through.

I know and understand the pain of losing a child.  But I don't know what it's like to lose a child like those who lost a child in a mass shooting, or on a vacation to what is supposed to be the most magical place on earth.  We had a little time to process our loss...we had time with Henry to say goodbye. Our loss was unexpected, but not sudden. And although our community knew our story and rallied around us, we were not the center of national (and international) news. We could grieve and process in private. There were no investigations to deal with...no news reporters knocking on our door...just a funeral to plan, deep mourning to sort through.

But knowing the loss of a child, my heart breaks for all of these parents and families. I'm not sure there is a greater pain than the one those who have lost a child know every...single...day. Their lives will never be the same, and right now they may not even know how they'll get through one day, not to mention a lifetime. 

As humans, we want to reach out...we want to help. But perhaps the best way to help is simply to think of and pray for these families. They have family and friends to rally around and support them. Let's surround them with loving thoughts, and show support by putting more good into the world. Help your neighbor...reach out to a friend...say I love you to someone. There's enough bad in the world...so let's work on the good.

And in the interest of bringing smiles and good...who can resist a happy Henry picture?? Hopefully in time all who have lost a child can find some comfort in happy memories. ❤️

The hardest part...

I read something recently that said the hardest part of motherhood is when your kids grow up. And in my head I immediately disputed this. I thought perhaps that's the hardest part for most mothers...but that definitely hasn't been the case for me. 

And then I got to thinking...what IS the hardest part of motherhood? It's a hard judgement for me to make, seeing as my motherhood hasn't lasted all that long. Was it the nine months of pregnancy? Growing uncomfortable, giving up things like a tasty summer beer or a favorite coffee drink? Was it giving birth? Was it the complete and utter exhaustion of caring for a newborn? Was it having to watch him get his first set of shots? Was it dropping him off at daycare? Or, perhaps, was it watching him grow up?

Now you're probably thinking that, for me, the worst part of motherhood is watching my child die. But I actually don't think that's true. (Don't get me wrong, that was right up there among the worst moments of my life.) I think the worst part of motherhood, and parenthood (in my limited experience) is watching your child suffer and not being able to do anything to make it better. Hearing Henry cough and sniffle, watching him struggle to breathe, seeing him bloated and intubated, watching him go through dialysis day after day...that was the toughest part. Because all I could do was hold his hand...be with him...but I couldn't take away any of the pain. Now most parents hopefully will never see their child suffer quite like that. But what about that broken bone? Or their first heartbreak? Getting picked on at school? Anything that hurts our child hurts us too. 

So for me, watching my child (someday, hopefully, God-willing) grow up will not be the worst part of motherhood at all. That, in fact, will probably be one of the best parts. It's those parts that I can't protect them from that I worry about. But growing up...that's something to be enjoyed and celebrated.

Dear Brady

My dear Brady,

Did you think I forgot you?  Here your brother and sister got letters, and you are probably wondering where your letter was!  Don't worry, I didn't forget you...I couldn't and wouldn't ever forget you!  You are the boy that made me a mom.  You are the one that first showed me the joys of being pregnant (and you had to work at that a little), and the strength of the unconditional love between a mother and her son.

I was pretty surprised when we found out you were on your way.  You see, we weren't married quite yet (gasp!)  And I was still just immature enough to worry about what people would think.  Never mind that I was an adult, working in a career which would support a family, your dad and I were engaged already...but for some reason I worried that people would judge us for being pregnant with you and not technically being married.  Looking back, it all seems so silly!  Once I got that notion out of my head, I was head over heels excited to be expecting you.  It's true, I grumbled as my pants got snug, and I got cranky when I couldn't have a green beer on St. Patty's Day, but you were the one that taught me that those aren't the things that really matter.  You showed me that the little things matter so much more.

I remember so clearly the first time I felt you move - I was on my way to Lincoln to get my haircut and I felt these bubbles in my stomach.  It took a couple minutes before I realized that they weren't bubbles, but your little hands and feet moving around!  And my favorite moments with you (while pregnant) were when I had to watch the door at school.  (This was before we had fancy buttons to let people in the locked doors!)  I would sit there for a half hour every morning, and that was our time.  That was your time to play, and let me know you were safe and happy. 

And when we found out you were coming, way too early, we were devastated.  I wasn't sure I wanted to see you, or hold you, or touch you.  I thought that might be too hard...or too weird.  Again, you taught me not to worry about anyone else.  As soon as the nurse placed you in my arms, I never wanted to let you go.  You were perfect...perfect little nose, perfect baby hands and toes...even the start of a red mohawk on the top of your head.  And although I held your perfect tiny body in my arms, I knew that you, my baby boy, were already in a better place.

Thank you, Brady, for teaching me what it really means to be a mom, and for showing me that not all moms hold their babies in their arms.  Thank you for living in my heart, and for watching over those of us still here on earth.  Thank you for welcoming your baby brother, Nana, and now your little sister.  Thank you for watching over them until we can join you.  We love you forever, and you will always be our perfect firstborn.

Love always and forever,
Mama and Daddy

Dear Henry

Dear Henry,

What do I say to you that hasn't already been said?? You may not have been with us nearly long enough, but your lessons and your legacy will live on, hopefully forever! Before I ever held you in my arms you taught me the value of patience, determination, and perseverance. And once you were here, you taught me to enjoy the little things...all the little things. In your passing, you taught me to find the sunshine in the sadness and to focus on what makes me happy. You may be the wisest teacher I've had, and you taught me these lessons in just over a year!

I loved every moment we had with you...from the flutters and kicks...to that month or so when you took up residence right under my ribs...to your first cry (which made us cry!)...to our outings and our snuggles at home. I loved changing every diaper (even the nasty blowouts!) and washing every bottle. No, seriously, I did enjoy all of that because it meant you were HERE and you were OURS.

You stole not only our hearts, but the hearts of everyone you met. Your mohawk, your smile, and your personality were infectious. And when you got sick, you just had that many more people thinking of and praying for you.

Of course we wish you were still here stealing hearts, especially ours. But we are so honored to have been chosen your parents...to have had the opportunity to know you and love you. And although you're gone, we won't ever stop loving you. We know you are partying it up with your older brother and baby sister, and that you are now busy stealing hearts in Heaven. We can't wait for the day we can once again hold you in our arms, but for now we are trying to carry out your mission...your monster's mission. We love you always and forever sweet boy.

Love you forever,

Mama and Daddy

Dear Baby Jelly Bean

Dear Sweet Baby Jelly Bean,

We didn't get much time to know you - we didn't even know if you were a boy or a girl (but we're both going with girl.)  Even so, we loved you from the minute we knew you were here.  I took about 10 pregnancy tests before I even believed it was true.  We had been waiting for so long, and we were so excited to know you were finally coming!  In fact, we were so excited we couldn't keep the news to ourselves.  We told your family, our friends and some coworkers...we wanted to shout the news to the world!

As that first doctor's appointment neared, our excitement grew (along with a bit of anxiety...with all we've been through that's just inevitable).  We couldn't wait to see your sweet heart beating, and to know that you were healthy and safe, growing inside mama.  Of course, as you know, that doctor's appointment didn't quite go that way, nor did the follow-ups.  However, you did give us the gift of seeing that tiny heart beat, and that is a gift that won't be forgotten.  We are devastated to have to let you go, to not have you in our arms, to say good-bye once again.

But no matter how sad we may be, our love for you has not diminished.  If anything, it continues to grow.  You are one strong baby, taking care of your mama and making sure she didn't have to go through any surgeries or medical procedures.  Following in your older brothers' footsteps, you sure know how to take care of us!  Although we never got to see your sweet face, hold your little hand, or hear your precious cry, you will live in our hearts until one day we meet again.  And until that day, we know your brothers will watch over you, as big brothers should!  Thank you for letting us know you, and for letting us love you.  (And even if it's your brothers keeping an eye on you, you can help keep them in line.  I mean...boys...)

We'll hold you in our hearts until we can hold you in our arms.  We love you sweet baby girl!

Love always and forever,
Mama and Daddy

Patience...

Patience hasn't always been one of my strongest virtues...I have never especially liked waiting, whether in line at the store, in traffic, or to get something I want.  I tend to be more of an instant gratification person than a wait and see if I still want it person.  Over the last few years, however, I have definitely become a more patient person.  Not necessarily by choice, rather by necessity.  Sure, I can still go out and get that iPad or camera I want, or I can grab a new book at the bookstore, but some of the things I want, I've had to wait...and wait...and wait.

Recently, I have been waiting for my body to complete this miscarriage so that I wouldn't have to have any medical intervention.  Let me tell you, this period of waiting has been BRUTAL!  Every day I'd wake up wondering if this would be the day...wondering why nothing was happening...worrying that all this waiting would be for nothing.  Last week at our appointment, that seemed to be the case.  The pregnancy was still there.  So waiting for our appointment this week was even tougher.  I was mentally preparing myself for surgery...assuming my body wasn't going to do what it needed to do.  I was worried not so much for my physical healing, but for my emotional healing.

However, these few weeks have taught me a lesson not only in patience, but in faith.  I went in today fully prepared to be in the hospital having surgery to remove whatever was left of the pregnancy.  But when we went to the doctor this morning, there was nothing to remove!  Everything looked great - there was no need for surgery or any further medical intervention.  To say we were relieved is a huge understatement...I felt like twenty pounds had been lifted from my shoulders. 

Tim and I are so grateful for the prayers and positive energy that has been sent our way the last few weeks.  It has been incredibly tough on both of us, and I know the road ahead will still be bumpy.  But for today we celebrated the "good" news, and can now truly begin the healing process.  To our little jelly bean, thank you for showing us that patience is worthwhile (even when it doesn't seem like it!), and for taking such good care of your mama.  It sure is crazy to think that these tiny babies of ours can teach us so much.  (And here are our faces of pure relief!)

Things that are good for my hurting soul...

I'm not going to lie or sugar coat...it has been a TOUGH weekend for me. Lots of randomly occurring tears...waiting for things that still aren't happening...more tears...feeling isolated and alone and sad and scared...not quite what I had in mind for my "me" weekend. (Although thank goodness I did have the time to let my emotions free.)

Thankfully, I'm feeling slightly more human this evening (for the time being at least.) Some of the things that have helped my hurting soul:

--My husband. He is with me every step of this crazy journey.  He lets me cry...lets me scream and wail...lets me be when I need space. He puts on movies and shows that make me smile and laugh, even if just temporarily. (Today was Deadpool...complete with a quote that has inspired a future blog post.) And he gets me coffee and other treats to lift my spirits.

--Some good friends who have let me vent, and who have validated my feelings. It's nice to know that no matter how alone I feel, I'm never truly alone. You ladies know who you are, and your willingness to listen helps more than you know!

--My sister...who reminds me that some of our craziness runs in the family! And my dad who already has me dreaming of escape to Colorado.

--My puppies. Earlier today I had one in my lap and one laying against me. The physical weight and warmth provided comfort, and the snuggles made me feel loved. Charlie especially has been keeping pretty close tabs on me...following me and snuggling me wherever I happen to end up.

--A good book. My brother-in-law got me stared on this Stephen King series (well...a few years ago...I'm a little slow!) and today that crazy world of his has allowed me to escape this crazy world of mine. (Trent, I'm on book five...slowly but surely I'm getting there!)

--My sunroom...my favorite place in the house (next to my bed at bedtime.) The sun is shining, the breeze is breezing through...the dogs are in and out...it's my own little piece of paradise.

I know there are more tough days to come, and that for awhile there will probably be more tough days than easy ones. But I also know that one day, the tough days will decrease in number and in intensity, and that I will feel good more than bad. In the meantime, I will lean on those who love me, I will escape to my happy places, and I'll let the tears flow as needed. 

Spent...

Spent...that's how I feel this morning.  I feel as though I have spent every little bit of my energy, and I have nothing in the bank.  I am physically and emotionally exhausted...I am anxious (waiting patiently is not my strong suit)...and I think most of all I am just sad.  I miss my boys, I am sad for our little jelly bean (as we are calling her for now), and my body is still processing what's going on (slowly, of course.)  I've been reading things that say you need to let the feelings come and go (or just come, for now)...you need to feel the feelings...and I know that's all good advice, but it's the feelings that have me feeling spent!

So, that's the bad news.  But, you know me, I have to find some glimmer of good.  And today I have several glimmers.  I get to meet my friends for coffee before school - two good things!  We used to meet every Friday morning, but then life, and babies, got in the way.  So this is a special treat.  And after school I get to spend some time with all of my favorite librarians and techs, followed by a special event with our support group.  Now, you might think, that all of that along with a full work day, seems like an awful lot of peopling for someone who likes her down time...and you're right.  But the good news on that front is that I have nothing on my calendar for the rest of the weekend...so I can just take care of ME!  And then, there are only four more wake-ups until a whole glorious summer of taking care of me.  So even though I am completely spent, and exhausted, and sad, there is a glimmer on the horizon, and I know I can make it that far, at least!

Fetal Demise

Fetal demise...that's what I saw jotted on the paperwork when we went in for a follow-up appointment with the doctor.  Fetal demise...perhaps two of my least favorite words.  When we had Brady, we got a certificate of fetal demise in the mail.  Not a death certificate, which would have indicated that he lived...that he existed...that he was.  No, we got a certificate of fetal demise, which seems to indicate that all we lost was a fetus...a bundle of cells...but not exactly a baby.

So now, we are awaiting the completion of this latest "fetal demise."  (And it's so crazy to me that there is nothing that distinguishes stillbirth from a miscarriage in medical lingo.  They are both losses, and both tragic in their own way, yet also so different.)  I am still doing okay, although I am definitely starting to feel more symptoms...physical and emotional.  We have a good plan in place with our doctor, which is also reassuring.  Although we would still love for nature to take its course, it is nice to know there is a plan if that is not the case.

To be honest, I would much rather go through childbirth ten times over than a miscarriage.  Sure, childbirth is A LOT of work...painful...and the recovery is certainly not instant.  But at the end of childbirth, you (usually) have a sweet new baby to snuggle and love.  Even at the end of childbirth with Brady, we got some time to snuggle and love him, even if we didn't get to take him home.  A miscarriage, on the other hand, is a decent amount of physical pain (for me, anyway), a LARGE amount of emotional pain, and you never get to see, snuggle, or love that "fetus" that is now in demise, which of course leads to more emotional pain.

I apologize, I'm not trying to be dramatic, or trying to get anyone to feel sorry for me.  I'm just being real...and right now my reality is a bit painful.  I also want to give a voice, a face, to this event called fetal demise...or miscarriage.  I don't need to be a poster child, but I want it to be okay to talk about...I want people who go through such a thing to have a voice and to find support as I have. I will never take for granted the love and support that has been shown to us, and I simply hope that some day I can pay that forward so someone else maybe feels just a little less alone.

Memories

Yesterday I said goodbye to my childhood home. First of all, I do realize that I'm lucky to have had full access to my childhood home (and its ample storage space!) all of these years...that's not something every thirty-something adult has. Second of all, I am thrilled for my dad and his move. I am excited for him to realize his dream, and I'm excited to have a beautiful new place to visit. Despite all of this (or perhaps because of all of this) saying goodbye was bittersweet.

We said goodbye to the place where we made so many memories...the place where we invented and spent many an hour playing "pull-down-your-pants" tag (sorry Leslie and Jamie!)...the place where we developed our Barbie soap operas (again, sorry Leslie and Jamie!)...the place where my sister lovingly and accidentally stabbed me in the foot with scissors (well, Jamie, you did!)...the place where we loved on our two terriers Buddy and Mac...the place where we got all dolled up for proms and homecomings...the place where we celebrated graduations, birthdays, and holidays...the place where I watched my sister say I do...the place where we said goodbye to Mom...the place we brought Henry to visit...and the place that has always been home. 

Although it's hard saying goodbye to a place that has been such an important place in our lives, we don't have to say goodbye to the memories. We will always have the stories to share, some of them with pictures to back it up (and others, thankfully, for which no pictures exist!) Sure, our memories of the physical space may fade, but our memories of the love that was shared never will. 

Miscarriage

Miscarriage...there, I said it.  It's one of those slightly taboo words...no one really wants to talk about it, acknowledge it, even though it occurs (statistically speaking) in one out of four pregnancies.  To be honest, I'm getting a little tired of always becoming a statistic...stillbirth occurs in about 1 in 160 pregnancies, each year about 15,000 children get diagnosed with cancer and of those just under 2,000 will die, and miscarriage occurs in one of four pregnancies.  I'm ready to be the statistic that falls into a healthy pregnancy, birth, childhood and beyond!

So, back to miscarriage.  Miscarriage is hard.  Like, I'm having just as hard of a time (in a different way) as I did with stillbirth and infant death due to cancer.  Here are some of the reasons I think miscarriage is so hard:

1.  It is a somewhat taboo topic.  We don't like to talk about it.  I'm not sure if that's because we don't want to think about it happening...if women who suffer a miscarriage feel ashamed...or if it happens so early in pregnancy that often the pregnancy isn't even known (or public) yet.  Regardless of why, women (and men!) who suffer a miscarriage often feel as though they can't talk about it and process it.

2.  While going through a miscarriage, a women still has all those pesky pregnancy hormones floating through her body.  She is first-trimester exhausted (and for me, end-of-school-year exhausted on top of it!), her emotions are already all over the place, she may still be coming off of some morning sickness and nausea.  I came to this realization when I noticed I was crying so much more now than after Henry died.  (And I also cried A LOT after Brady died.)  I think that's because of the extra hormones.  I was incredibly sad when Henry died, and I did cry (and still do), but not to the extent I have been lately.

3.  Your body is physically completing the miscarriage, which isn't exactly fun.  No details, but it just kind of adds to the misery.

4.  With all of these physical and emotional symptoms, you are also grieving.  You are grieving the loss of your hopes and dreams for this baby.  With a miscarriage, you never get to see or hold your baby, so all you have are those hopes and dreams.  There are no pictures, no mementos, nothing physical to hold on to.

I've said it before, and I will say it again (and again...and again.)  It doesn't matter when you lose a child, it is traumatic.  Losing a child to miscarriage means you have nothing to hold on to.  Losing a child to stillbirth means you (hopefully) got to hold and see your baby, but you had to leave the hospital without him or her.  Losing an infant means you got to know your baby, but there is a whole lifetime of missed memories.  Losing a child, or teen, or young adult, means you made some memories but are still wishing for more.  Losing an adult child means you have lots of memories, but now you are probably losing not only a child but a friend...and possibly a mother or father of grandchildren, or an aunt or uncle.  My heart goes out to ANYONE who has lost a child at ANY stage, from pregnancy through adulthood.  Your child is loved, and will be until you take your dying breath - my love for my children continues to grow even though they are not physically here with me.

The Little Engine that Could...n't

Tim and I had a conversation earlier today...we're both having a tough time lately, and it's really starting to wear on us.  Like our little engines that could have run out of gas...or that our little engines that could no longer care to make it up the hill (I may have used slightly more vulgar language than that)...or our little engines that could keep getting close to the top of the hill and realizing how far away the top really is.

We have tried for so long to be strong...positive...hopeful.  We thought that by focusing on the good in our lives we would have an easier time moving on.  And that has definitely been true to some extent.  We have had some very positive experiences, and created some very positive experiences as we have worked through our grief.  We are proud of the ways we have found to honor our boys, and our littlest baby as well.

But maybe we need to wallow in the grief from time to time.  Maybe there are times we need to let ourselves feel weak...let ourselves cry...let ourselves feel lost.  Perhaps by focusing almost exclusively on the positives, we are doing ourselves a disservice...and actually cheating ourselves out of some of the grieving.  Because yes, we should be grieving our latest loss, but I feel as though I'm at a lower point than with any of our previous losses.  That tells me that I'm not processing things, that I am pushing things down, and that this new loss is bringing much of that back up.

I'm not sure how exactly to go about processing all the icky stuff, but I know we have to try.  Luckily for me, I have a summer break coming up.  Unfortunately for Tim, that just means a boatload of more work for him.  Although right now we feel like our little engines just can't do it anymore, I know we'll get back on track.  But to do that, we have to be patient and gentle with ourselves. Please continue to keep us in your thoughts and prayers are we negotiate this new twist in our journey.

Happy Mother's Day

Today is Mother's Day (just in case you hadn't heard...get that last minute card or bouquet if needed!) I have a lot of emotions going on today, and I know they will go up and down throughout the day. I also know that's okay. But for now, I want to wish a Happy Mother's Day to:

All the moms who have gone through pregnancy and childbirth to become mothers (whether that road was smooth or bumpy or full of detours)

All the moms who have become mothers through the wonder of adoption, and all the birth moms who made such an unselfish sacrifice for the well-being of their babies

All the single dads who have had to play the role of dad AND mom

All the grandmas, aunts, cousins, and friends who have stepped in to become mom, regardless of circumstance

All the teachers and school personnel who sometimes have to play the role of mom, since our students can't learn if they don't feel safe and have their basic needs met

All the women who yearn to be a mom, but for whom it hasn't happened yet (don't give up the faith-if you have a mother's heart, you will somehow and someday become a mom, I truly believe that!)

All the moms who have lost one or more of their children...even if you have surviving children they can't fill that hole in your heart

All the moms that have had to give up one or more of their children...you may still carry them in your heart

All the moms of fur babies...sure, they're not human babies, but if they are part of your family they ARE your babies

And to all the sons and daughters who have had to say goodbye to their moms. Sure, it's the circle of life, but it's never easy...

I'm sure I'm forgetting a group, and not on purpose. Motherhood is a huge job, and sometimes it takes a village! So I hope everyone who in any way, shape or form fills the role of mom can be appreciated on this day. I am beyond thankful for my mom, who put up with me and loved me regardless of my (many) faults. And I am also so blessed by my three miracles (and my husband!) that not only made me a mom, but molded me into a much better person. Much love to all!!

Feeling the Love

The news we received this week has been hard...kind of like a kick in the gut or a punch in the face (not that I know what either of those actually feel like...I just imagine that's what this feels like!)  We had been hoping and praying that this baby would be born healthy in December, and that she would bring joy to our family.  It's true that she didn't grow very big, and it's true that I won't have to go through childbirth.  It's also true that we won't get to hold her, or see her, or know her.  And that's what makes miscarriage hard.  Losing a child at any stage...early or late pregnancy, stillbirth, infant loss, child loss, adult child loss...it's hard and terrible and devastating.  And because we are losing a child (yes, a tiny one, but a child to us nonetheless), we are allowed to be sad, and cranky, and a little down in the dumps.  That's certainly where I've been living the last couple days.  That's okay.

But it's also okay for me to smile, and to laugh, and to go on with life.  Last night at our support group meeting, we had some laughs.  Sure, we had some tears too, but it was nice to be able to laugh with a group of people who truly understand.  This morning, I found myself in tears, because I didn't like any of my clothing options.  Seriously...am I two years old??  So I left for work, wiping the tears, pouting and sulking because this life just doesn't seem fair.  Which it isn't...but we've been told since we were little that life isn't fair.  It's how you respond to it that makes the difference.  And I have some amazing people that help me respond to this unfair life a little bit more...positively.  I walked in from morning duty (after yelling at student after student because I was...well...cranky) to a Starbucks treat left by an anonymous coworker.  That put a smile on my face.  Then one of my students came in with an adorable travel coffee mug, and told me Happy Mother's Day.  Smile, and a few tears after she left (happy tears...tears that I AM a mother, and that others see me as a mother.)

So sure, I'm sad...and yes, that's okay.  But yes, I'm also smiling...and that too is okay.  I've said it before, and I'll say it again.  It's the simple things that make someone's day.  A smile...a hug...a "how are you doing?" that you truly mean.  And we have the best people around us for that.  I have people that will let me talk about icky things like death, miscarriage, grief, and they don't even give me weird awkward looks.  I want everyone to know, that no matter how happy or sad I'm feeling on any given day, I do not take that support for granted.  Thank you for letting me be sad, and thank you for helping me to pick myself back up.  <3

Heartbreak...

We went back to the doctor today, and when they did the ultrasound the baby no longer had a heartbeat.  We decided to head home, and let nature take its course.  We are, of course, heartbroken, but there are some positives that have come out of this experience:

1.  We were able to get pregnant, and we got to see our little peanut's heartbeat!  That is one of those experiences that no matter how stressful the circumstances remind us of how precious life is.

2.  We got to work with a wonderful doctor.  We have loved ALL of the doctors we've worked with through our pregnancies.  This one has been so compassionate, and goes above and beyond to make sure we are taken care of.

3.  We have an army of love and support surrounding us.  As life goes on, sometimes we wonder how many people still follow our journey.  We have no concerns about that anymore, that's for sure!

4.  My health has not and most likely will not be affected, nor will our ability to get pregnant again.  This is just (statistically speaking, not emotionally) one out of every four pregnancies that end in miscarriage for unknown genetic reasons. 

5.  I like to think that this peanut will join her (for some reason we just assumed she was a she!) brothers in Heaven, and they of course will welcome her with open arms.  When the three of them decide the time is right, they will send their newest sibling our way.

We are incredibly sad today, and that's okay.  We will probably be sad for a bit of time, and that's okay too.  But we also know that we are strong, and that we will come through this experience stronger than ever!  We, of course, would appreciate any thoughts and prayers sent our way for strength and healing.  Thank you for ALL of the support already sent our way...we are beyond blessed.

Time

I've written about time before...but it's been on my mind again lately. Time is such a funny thing. Sometimes, we wish time would fly...at the beginning of a work day or week, the days leading up to a much anticipated vacation or event such as a wedding or birth or graduation (for the graduate anyway, not always the parents!), the last few weeks of school, during stressful events such as moving. We often we could just fast-forward to the event, to the end. Yet other times we wish time would slow down or even stop...over the weekend or days off, while actually on vacation, leading up to graduation for the moms and dads and throughout our children's lives (they grow so fast!), when having to say goodbye to a loved one, summer days (for teachers, often parents wish those summer days would go a little faster!), as days home with a new baby dwindle.

I guess what has brought this topic up for me again at this point is all the posts about babies (and kids...and teens...and young adults) growing too fast, and parents wishing these babies, kids, teens, and young adults would stop growing. Before I continue, I am not judging these parents...not even a little bit!! I'm just sharing my perspective. As a bereaved mother, as a grieving parent, I would give anything to watch my child grow. Even when Henry was here, I specifically remember thinking as he grew that I missed when he was tinier. But at the same time, I never wished for him to stop growing. Every time I thought I wished him tinier, I realized that then I would miss all that he was discovering and learning. I know had he continued to grow, I eventually would miss those baby moments, and those toddler moments, and those innocent childhood moments. But I could never wish him to stop, because I would never want to miss the discovery moments, the a-ha moments, the learning moments. And now that he is not here, I would give just about anything to be cherishing each moment with him.

What I have taken from all of this is that no matter what, time moves on. Sometimes it seems to move slowly and other times it seems to race by. We can't control time, nor the speed at which it moves. However, we can control what we do with our time. We can cherish the moment we are in, and try not to wish it away by wishing time would slow down or speed up. We can appreciate where we are each day, what we have in life, and what we hope to achieve in that day. As humans, we will always miss what has passed, and we will always look forward to what lies in the future. The important thing is not to miss our present because we are focused on the past or the future. And thankfully (for me at least) I have memories to keep my past with me, and hopes to keep my future bright.