Missing...

Today, the ever faithful Timehop reminded me that two years ago we reached 28 weeks.  It took a medical procedure, weekly shots, weeks of bedrest (with months to come) and even an overnight hospitalization (for what turned out to be dehydration-fueled contractions).  I remember Dr. Barsoom telling us each week how important it was to try to make it to 28 weeks.  Sure, 24 weeks is the NICU cut-off, but by 28 weeks preemies are much more likely to survive without major long-term issues.  We were so excited to reach this milestone, as were all of our family and friends that were hoping and praying right along with us.  We not only reached this milestone, but we made it almost 20 more weeks, and Henry was born full-term and healthy.

This reminder made me reminiscent, and made me think of things I never thought I would miss, but that I do.  I miss those weekly visits to the doctor.  Yeah, the shot wasn't the most fun, but it didn't bother me too much, and we ALWAYS got to see what Henry was up to.  Every week, we got reassurance that he was growing and thriving, and staying put.  I miss bed rest.  It drove me absolutely crazy, being stuck on the couch while the house got prepared around me, while things got shopped for without me.  I never understood how people could WISH to be on bed rest.  But now, in the middle of the school year, busy and stressed, I can appreciate the relaxation of bed rest.  Plus, it gave me extra time to appreciate everything about Henry...every movement and every sensation.  And I never had to worry about whether it was my turn to do the dishes...or make dinner...or anything!  I miss struggling every night to get comfortable, without laying on my back or on my stomach...my two favorite sleeping positions!  Most of all, I miss the anticipation...wondering what this baby boy would be like...who he would look like...what it would feel like to finally hold him in my arms.

And now, I miss the memories that we don't get to make.  I miss worrying about the next stage, and how we would adapt.  I miss wondering how in the world I would make time in my morning routine to feed solids...worrying about baby-proofing once he started moving around...how I would keep him entertained once he started having a mind of his own.  I miss the milestones that he didn't reach...crawling...walking...hearing him say mama or dada. 

Despite all that I miss (which is a lot), I am forever grateful.  Henry taught me to make time for what is important.  He taught me that a simple smile can change someone's day.  He taught me to appreciate what I have.  He taught me the importance of giving back and paying forward.  It amazes me every day how much I, and so many others, learned from our six month old son.

Funeral

This morning, one of the leading news stories was about a fire at a local mortuary.  This hit home for us, as it was the funeral home that handled both Brady's and Henry's arrangements and services.  It's hit me harder than I thought it would, as I think of the services they provide to so many grieving families, and how it will affect families that currently had arrangements pending.

When we walked into this funeral home, just days after Brady's birth, and death, we were shell-shocked.  We were very newly married, and still trying to process the loss of our precious baby boy.  We had NO idea what to expect, as neither of us had ever been very involved in making funeral and burial decisions and arrangements.  Sure, my grandma had died a few years earlier, and my family included me in some of the decision making, but I wasn't the one in charge.  Now, here we were, trying to make arrangements to bury our baby boy who never even took a breath on this earth.  We went from planning a nursery to picking out an urn.  This was definitely not something we were prepared for.  Yet the people at Heafey-Heafey-Hoffman-Dworak took care of us.  They walked us through the decisions...from the big ones like cremation to the little ones like the wording of the obituary.  They didn't get upset when we called several times to change the obituary.  And they helped get us started at the cemetery too.  Like many funeral homes, there was no charge for the cremation.  We only had to worry about the cost of the services.

Unfortunately, when we walked in a year and a half later to make arrangements for Henry, we knew what to expect.  This time, we were ushered into the big office.  We knew what questions to ask, and we knew what steps had to be taken.  Yet the staff (this time our director happened to be the gentleman that was injured in the fire) still took their time with us and gladly answered all of our questions.  The same was true at the cemetery, where they took extra good care of us.  I know it's the nature of their business in funeral homes and cemeteries to deal with grieving families, but as in any industry there are some that are better than others.  And Heafey was (and still is) definitely at the top of my list.

I'm not really sure what the point of my post is...I suppose just to get some of this off my mind.  My heart certainly goes out to those who had arrangements scheduled and loved ones at this location.  I also hope for full recovery for the firefighters and gentleman that were injured during the fire.  It still surprises me that this has had such an affect on me.  However, I suppose when you have people that are involved with such an intimate time of your life, you still feel a bit of a connection...

Numbers

It may sound odd, but numbers and grief seem to go together.  And once a number is associated with a death, it will forever have that association.  27...Brady's birthday/angelversary...14...Henry's birthday...11:11...the time Tim almost daily glances at the clock, which corresponds to the day Henry was diagnosed with leukemia...and the number weighing on my mind today...22...Henry's angelversary.

That means today we've lived another whole month longer than Henry did.  It means that 14 months ago today, I held my baby boy as he took his last breath.  In some ways that doesn't sound long at all...14 months...just over a year.  Yet in other ways it seems like an eternity.  It's been 14 months that my heart, arms, and sometimes even my life, have felt empty.  It's been 14 months of wishing I could snuggle that sweet boy just one more time.  It's been 14 months of wondering what our silly Henry would be up to now...what would he be able to do?  It's also been 14 months of spreading Henry's legacy of love and hope, and being an advocate for childhood cancer awareness.

Thankfully, over the last 14 months, the pain has dulled.  It is no longer all-consuming, constant stabbing pain.  Rather, it is more of a dull ache...sharper at times, but mostly tolerable.  I no longer picture Henry as the swollen baby, hooked up to machines...the baby I feared would live in my memory forever.  Rather, I see him as a vibrant little thing...smiling and laughing...loving and living.  I've said it before, and I'll say it again, I am forever grateful for the six months we had with Henry...the six months where he was our world...the six months where I don't even have one missed moment I regret.

So it's true, these numbers stick in our heads and our hearts as we grieve.  But it isn't these numbers that hold meaning.  It's the number of smiles, of hugs, of laughs, of good times...those are the numbers that matter.

The Best for Me

I'm sure I've posted about my wonderful husband before, but I haven't done so in awhile, and feel like I need to give another shout out to him.  So ladies...don't be surprised if you find yourself jealous of my little gem!!  :D

At 30 years old, I often found myself wondering if (and assuming that) I would end up a crazy cat lady.  (Keep in mind, I didn't really like cats at that point.)  I was single, and had been for several years.  I'd tried online dating, which never quite panned out.  I'd had a couple of short relationships, but nothing too promising.  I'd somewhat resigned myself to the fact that I would always be single.  And then my thin client server went down...and it was Tim to the rescue.  And the rest is history!

I honestly could not have found a better man for myself.  He lets me be me...I don't have to put on any airs, I don't have to make myself up, I don't even have to hide the crazy.  He loves me for me.  Tim has stuck by me when anyone else (myself included!) would have gone running.  When I was pregnant, and he didn't scrape my windows just right (even though he, on his own, went down in the freezing cold and started my car AND scraped all the windows), he took the verbal abuse, and even gave me a hug before I headed off to work.  (I know, I know...there really ISN'T a wrong way to scrape windows.  But try telling that to depressed, hormonal me...)  Tim has a way of making me feel better...it's nothing magical, but hearing him say we'll figure it out or we'll be okay is soothing.  Probably because I know we will - we have before.  And he makes me laugh...true, legitimate laughs.  Even in the depths of grief, he can bring a smile to my face.  On the way out the door today, we both said I love you...followed by some childish name-calling.  I finally said I love you enough not to call you a name.  Which he followed with I love you enough to take back everything I said.  It's so silly, but after a rather sleepless night, it made me laugh.  I love that Tim is really just a grown-up child.  I love his enthusiasm, and his strong work ethic, his value of family, his sense of humor, and his never-give-up attitude.  I love how much he loves his boys...his dogs...even me. 

In past relationships, there has always been a point (or several points) where I missed that initial silly in love feeling.  I missed those butterflies that come with a new relationship.  With Tim, I still have those butterflies.  I still feel silly in love.  But I also feel comfortable, and loved.  There is no "I wonder if there's something better," because now I know that there isn't.  I've got the best there is...the best for me.

What Does it Look Like in Heaven?

I often find myself contemplating (as many do, I'm sure) what it's like in Heaven. It has become a more poignant contemplation, though, since losing my boys. Oddly enough, even through our losses, I have never found myself angry with God. Rather, it brings me comfort to think of my boys romping in Heaven...healthy and happy...playing together.  It brings me comfort to picture my mom watching over them...loving on them...taking care of them.  It brings me comfort to think that I will see all of my loved ones again someday, that I will get to hug my boys and love on them myself.

Of course, if I could choose, I would have my boys here with me. But then again, that's selfish. That would mean Brady would probably be facing some major developmental delays, if not worse, after being born so prematurely. It would mean Henry would have finished his first rounds of chemo treatment, possibly faced a bone marrow transplant or other harsh treatments. He also would probably have some delays in his development, having spent a good portion of his first couple years of life in the hospital hooked up to machines. And that's assuming his body recovered from the initial trauma and damage from the leukemia.

Instead, I have two of the most perfect angels watching out for me. I know that Brady and Henry are together. I know that when other babies head to Heaven (way too soon for those of us on earth) our two boys are waiting for them with open arms...and possibly a flash mob or dance party as well (they are Tim's sons, after all!) And I know that when my day comes, hopefully not for a good long while, those two little sweethearts will be waiting for me, too.

Don't Blink

I've spent some time flipping through photos of Henry on my phone tonight...especially photos of when Henry was just born...photos from the hospital and the very early days at home.  These pictures simultaneously warm and fill my heart with love and reveal the gaping hole left by my boys.  Although people say the pain of childbirth is forgotten once the child is here, I've found that it's the exhaustion of the newborn days that has been buried in my memories.  Those newborn days...when even a ten minute trip to Target requires hours of pre-planning.  You have to make sure baby is fed, changed, and not in desperate need of an immediate nap.  And then you have to make sure you have a bag loaded with bottles, diapers, blankets, burp cloths, and anything else this tiny being may possibly need during your fifteen-minute absence from the house.  Besides trips outside of the house, there is also the exhaustion of near constant feeds, and when you're not feeding or changing a diaper, you're frantically trying to keep bottles washed and ready for the next time the little one decides he's hungry RIGHT NOW.  And, of course, let's not forget the newborn sleep schedule...spend time napping all day so that he can party all night.

These pictures also brought two words to mind...two words shared by a friend going through her own unique grieving process.  These two words that I read in her post, and that spoke to me were "don't blink."  In her case, she is cherishing every precious moment with her daughter, and sharing the lessons from her daughter with the world.  (Thank you, April, for the inspiration!)  Don't blink...soon your baby will be here and those flutters and kicks will no longer be there.  Don't blink...your baby that is up crying all night will soon be a toddler, then a child and finally an adult who will no longer need soothing in the middle of the night.  Don't blink...that toddler that wants you to read the SAME book just ONE more time before bed will soon put himself to bed and read his own books.  Don't blink...that sometimes obnoxious pre-teen girl in your house will soon be all grown up and out on her own, leaving your house feeling quite and somewhat empty.  I take comfort in the fact that I didn't blink with Henry.  Sure, constantly feeding and washing bottles took up a good chunk of time, but it meant my baby was healthy and growing.  Yes, those trips to Target were much more complicated than running on my own, but it gave me time with Henry (and someone to talk to while I shopped.)  Yes, the all-night parties were utterly exhausting, but it meant my baby was HERE, and HEALTHY, and I thanked God for that every night. 

And this doesn't apply just to our children...don't blink, because you will never have this day, this moment again.  Once this moment passes, it becomes a memory.  Take time to enjoy the little things.  Put your phones away at dinner (I admit, I am guilty of this!)  Take a minute to appreciate the beauty surrounding you (yes, even in January...that long, cold, dark, Christmas-hangover of a month.)  Tell your spouse, your parents, your children that you love them.  Give hugs freely.  Smile often.  Read a good book.  Listen to a favorite song.  Do whatever it takes to enjoy at least a moment, and to enjoy what you have.  Don't blink.

Dreams

Tonight, in case you haven't heard, there's a Powerball drawing. Not just any Powerball jackpot is at stake...but the largest Powerball jackpot. Almost a billion dollars. A BILLION dollars. That's a lot of lottery tickets that have been sold. That's a lot of dreams.

I rarely play the lottery, mainly because I'm too lazy to buy a ticket. This time I played...I went in on the office pool. Tim went in on his office pool. And, just for fun, we bought our own too. We've come up with many ways of spending this money that we are obviously going to win. There would be responsible things to do with the money...bills to be paid off...funds to be set up for any future children...money to be set aside for a foundation we'd love to set up (one which would cover funeral and burial expenses for families faced with burying their baby or young child)... And then there would be fun things to do with the money...home improvement projects that are currently in the ten or twenty year plan...a vacation home on a tropical island somewhere, along with a plane to get us there whenever we get the itch to go...building a fancy new gym...

Now, do I truly believe we are going to win the lottery? Of course not. But it doesn't hurt to dream. Dreams keep us working and planning. Some dreams are more realistic, others are more far-fetched. Winning the lottery...pretty far-fetched. Getting pregnant...more realistic. And having a baby to me would feel like I had won the lottery. Find that dream that means everything to you. Hold on to it. When life gets in the way, dream harder. We can't all win the lottery, but hopefully we all have some dream worth dreaming and worth holding on to. 

Warning...rant ahead...

I usually try to be at least semi-positive, in my posts and in my life.  It's been an ongoing goal, and something I continue to push myself toward.  Some days, however, I just do not feel positive, or especially grateful, or even just okay.  And in the spirit of this blog, I feel it's important to be real and honest, and share not only the good, but also the bad.  So consider yourself fairly warned!  :)

This morning I am frustrated, disheartened, plain old pissed off, sad, bummed... We've gone another month without getting pregnant. I know, it will happen when we aren't thinking about it...when we aren't stressed about it...when we least expect it. It will happen when it is supposed to happen. I know there's a reason (though I don't know what the reason is) that we aren't pregnant yet. In my head, I know and understand all of these things.  Just like in my head I know and understand that there is A reason for Brady's and Henry's deaths...though I don't know that THE reason is.

Unfortunately, knowing these things in my head does nothing to fix my heart.  I know I'm a person outside of being a mom.  I know I can enjoy my life with kids or without kids.  I know there's a purpose in all of this.  But darn it, my heart still hurts.  My heart and arms still yearn for a baby to snuggle, soothe, and care for.  My heart yearns to see Tim make that baby smile (and vice versa!)  My heart wants our set-up nursery to be filled.  Heck, my heart even yearns to change poopy diapers!  My heart doesn't understand that there's a reason for waiting...my heart doesn't understand that it will happen when it is supposed to happen...today my heart just hurts.

I also know that people mean well when they tell you that things will happen when they are supposed to happen...or that we will have a baby when we least expect it.  They are trying to make us feel better...to lower our stress.  But from a woman trying and struggling to conceive, when you hear of someone having troubles getting pregnant, don't tell them these things.  Tell them, "Oh, goodness, that must be tough!"  Or, "Please feel like you can talk to me...I would be happy to simply listen."  Or, "We're thinking of you and praying for you."  Or even just give them a smile or a hug.  Because, most likely, they know all of those things we normally say are true.  But sometimes, when a couple trying to conceive hears these platitudes, it gets them down on themselves...makes them feel as though what they're feeling must be wrong...makes them feel as though they're being selfish or self-involved...

Tomorrow will be better...I know that.  And despite the struggles, we will keep dreaming of filling that nursery, snuggling that baby, and even changing those poopy diapers.

New Year's Resolutions

Just as I've never been a big fan of New Year's, I've been even less a fan of resolutions. I understand that the start of a new year can feel like a new beginning, and it's never a bad idea to set goals for yourself. But I've never been one to do something just because I'm supposed to or because it's expected.

The last couple years, though, I have somewhat gotten on the resolution bandwagon. However, rather than simply making resolutions that will most likely fizzle out within a few weeks, I have tried to set goals that I can work toward that will improve my life. Last year my main goal was to become more positive. Believe it or not, I used to be a very negative person. After losing Henry, though, I felt that I was getting buried in the negative, and finding the positive was the only way I knew to dig my way out. Working toward that goal definitely has improved my life. And as a goal, it's one I will continue working on even as we move into another year.

This year my new goal is simpler...I want to read more. As I've said, I'm a librarian who reads very little. It's hard to promote reading to my students when I come home and plant myself in front of the TV. To (hopefully) accomplish this goal, I set myself a 2016 reading challenge. Knowing myself, I know I work much better with a challenge, which is really a to do list in disguise! Hopefully this will motivate me to read more in quantity, but also broaden what I read.

This goal-setting has helped me to feel as though I'm moving forward instead of feeling stuck in that pit of despair. It doesn't magically make everything better, but it gives me a bit of focus when everything feels out of control. It gives me something that I can be in control of, in this world where so much is out of our control. Plus, as long-term goals rather than shorter-term resolutions, I am more likely to find continued success that will hopefully lead to more permanent lifestyle changes.