just when I think I'm doing ok...

Just when I think I'm doing ok, my world turns upside down again. I have had some really good days lately, and I have had some really bad days lately. Everything seems to be a reminder of my sweet boy, and I love that. I don't ever want a day to go by that I don't think of him.

The other night, my husband and I met the sweetest lady. We were walking around in a store killing time and she was giving away samples. We stopped to have a sample and started chatting with her. She saw my ring and asked about it. At first, she asked it if was a mood ring. I took a deep breath and explained to her that it was a ring that contained my son's ashes. She immediately got tears in her eyes. She said she was sorry for my loss and went on to tell us that she had just recently lost her son as well. He was in his 30's and from what we gathered from the conversation, it was a sudden loss. She was so proud of her son. She explained to us that he was adopted when he was just two weeks old and that he was the light of her life. He was a missionary and also worked as a children's pastor. She showed us a picture of him. His smile lit up the picture, he was her pride and joy. She said she called him her SONshine. My heart broke for this sweet lady. She understood my pain. We ended up staying and talking with her for nearly an hour. She brightened my gloomy day. There are angels all around us. There we stood, in the middle of a liquor store, on the day I was supposed to have been delivering my sweet boy, crying with a lady we had just met. As we talked, I told her that I was glad she had been blessed with 30 something years with her sweet boy, she told me that she wished I had been blessed with the same. I needed to hear that. I am honored to have met such a sweet lady. It was nice being able to talk about Holden without the fear that I was making someone uncomfortable. Parents just want to be able to speak freely about their children. She thanked us for listening and we embraced for a sweet hug.

I try to keep myself busy so my mind doesn't go to dark places. I do pretty good at distracting myself for the most part, but there are times when my mind gets quiet and I replay the last almost 5 months. Sometimes it still doesn't seem real. It just seems like we are going through a bad spot, but things will eventually get better like they always do. Then I remember that this won't get better. Sure, I know there will be a time when it doesn't seem so raw and fresh, but it won't ever be better. In the last few months, I have found myself searching the internet for articles on grief, pregnancy loss, miscarriages, stillbirths, and baby loss. I was looking for comfort, I was looking to find something that made me feel less alone, something that made me feel like someone out there understood what I was going through, even when I could not explain it myself; then one day, I found the most brilliant thing I have ever read about this whole thing called grief. I always said that I felt like the grief came in waves, then I found this, a perfect explanation. I don't know who wrote it, but they were reading my mind. I am going to include it here for others to read. My hope is that it will help others to understand. Some people think grief comes in stages, stages that are completed in a specific order, once you are finished with step one, you move on to step two, never to return to the step before and that just isn't the case.

"Alright, here goes. I'm old. What that means is that I've survived (so far) and a lot of people I've known and loved did not.

I've lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can't imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here's my two cents...

I wish I could say you get used to people dying. But I never did. I don't want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don't want it to "not matter". I don't want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it.

Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people that can't see.

As for grief, you'll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you're drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it's some physical thing. Maybe it's a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it's a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.

In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don't even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you'll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what's going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything...and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.

Somewhere down the line, and it's different for everybody, you find the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they are further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O'Hare. You can see it coming for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you'll come out.

Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don't really want them to. But you'll learn that you'll survive them too.

If you're lucky, you'll have scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks." -author unknown

This pretty much sums up exactly how I feel. The part about grief being like waves is spot on. Just when I think I'm doing ok, here comes one of those 100 foot waves. Thankfully, for the most part, the waves are not coming quite as often. Sadly, I never see them coming. I always come out on the other side. Spitting and sputtering, gasping for breath. Eyes puffy and red and face swollen, but I come out on the other side. My scars are deep because of the deep love I feel for my child. My scars are a beautiful reminder of a sweet boy that is waiting for me. My scars remind me that the past is real.

For me, grief does come in waves. Though I no longer feel like I am completely drowning, I do feel like I am just floating along, hanging on for dear life and merely surviving. One day I'll learn to swim again. I am still trying to find my new normal, but for now I am doing ok.

Memorial Service and Balloon Release for Holden Zayne

On our way to the church that morning, we had to make a stop to pick up some balloons to release. We were running late so we just stopped at our local grocery store instead of the party store I had hoped to visit. It wasn't her fault, but the lady helping us was not making me feel any better. She was moving so slow, I thought she would eventually go backward instead. I was on high alert, my mind was running a million miles an hour, my heart was racing and I was sweating. I was still getting dizzy when I stood for extended periods of time. The lady wanted to chat. She asked as we were picking colors, if there was anything we were trying to match. I told her we were going to a memorial service and balloon release for my son. She expressed her sympathies then said the unthinkable. She said to me, "Well, at least he's in a better place right now, and we all know everything happens for a reason." Before I knew what happened, I had snapped at her. I let her know real quick like that those were not the proper things to say to a grieving mother who was on the way to her son's funeral. She looked puzzled and quickly apologized. She finished up the balloons and we were on our way out of the store before she could say anything else.

We made it to the church early as we had hoped we would, met with the friend who was helping with the service and the pastor so we could go over a few things before we got started. We chose the location and they began to get things set up. Shorty after we arrived, friends and family started walking up. It was so hard being greeted with hugs and kind words. I needed them, but I just could not hold myself together. The service was perfect. It was exactly what I had hoped it would be. There were so many people there. We felt so loved and supported that day. I think it was what we needed to start our healing process. We had to have a chance to say a proper goodbye, while surrounded by our children, our family and our friends.

We chose these two poems for the service. We had our dear, sweet friends read them and they did an amazing job.

We're sending a balloon to heaven,
with a parcel on its string.
Be careful when you open it,
its full of beautiful things.
Inside are a million kisses,
wrapped up in a million hugs.
To say how much we miss you,
and to send you all our love.
We hold you close within our hearts

and there you will remain.

To walk with us throughout our life,

until we meet again.

The Broken Chain

We little knew that morning,

that God was going to call your name.

In life we loved you dearly.

In death we do the same.

It broke our hearts to lose you.

You did not go alone,

for part of us went with you,

the day God called you home.

You left us peaceful memories,

your love is still our guide

and though we cannot see you,

you are always at our side.

Our family chain is broken,

and nothing seems the same

but as God calls us one by one,

the chain will link again.

-Ron Tramner

After the service, everyone went out into the grassy area by where we were standing  to prepare to release our balloons. We had chosen a silver balloon for our angel, and we released that one first.

After we released our first balloon together, everyone watched as it floated up and out of sight. It was an intense feeling to release that balloon. In a sense, we were releasing our boy. We were telling him it was ok for him to go, and that we would be ok. I couldn't hold back the tears. Not that I would have ever chosen to walk this path, but since I was forced to, I couldn't have chosen a better person to walk with me, and sometimes carry me. My husband has always been my rock, but I cannot even begin to tell you how amazing he has been through all of this. Our relationship has changed since losing Holden. I feel more vulnerable, more needy and more fragile than I ever have before. I never knew what it was like to have to depend on anyone for anything. I have always been a strong person who could work through things on my own. Losing Holden was nothing like I have ever experienced before, I felt broken and helpless. I needed him to care for me and be tender with me. I needed him to wrap his arms around me and protect me like never before.

We are so thankful to everyone who came out to love on us and support us on this beautiful day. Those that could not be there in person, chose to support us from afar and sent me dozens of photos and videos of balloons being released all over The United States. We felt so overwhelmed by the outpouring of love and support on that day as we said our goodbyes.

I put together a slide show of photos from the memorial. I hope you will watch. It still makes the tears flow every time I watch it. Just click play and the video will start. It's best viewed in full screen.

The song is Gone Too Soon, by Daughtry. It fits perfectly. I cannot listen to it without tears. I added the lyrics below.

Today could've been the day
That you blow out your candles
Make a wish as you close your eyes
Today could've been the day
Everybody was laughin'
Instead I just sit here and cry
Who would you be?
What would you look like
When you looked at me for the very first time?
Today could've been the next day of the rest of your life

Not a day goes by that I don't think of you
I'm always asking why this crazy world had to lose
Such a ray of light we never knew
Gone too soon, yeah

Would you have been president?
Or a painter, an author or sing like your mother
One thing is evident
Would've given all I had

Would've loved ya like no other
Who would you be?
What would you look like?
Would you have my smile and her eyes?
Today could've been the next day of the rest of your life

Not a day goes by that I don't think of you
I'm always asking why this crazy world had to lose
Such a ray of light we never knew
Gone too soon, yeah

Not a day goes by, oh
I'm always asking why, oh

Not a day goes by that I don't think of you
I'm always asking why this crazy world had to lose
Such a beautiful life we never knew
Gone too soon
You were gone too soon, yeah

And not a day goes by
That I don't think of you

Songwriters: MICHAEL BUSBEE, CHRIS DAUGHTRY

sadness and joy, part 4

We arrived Friday for surgery. We were rushed back immediately. I was once again blessed with a sweet nurse. She too had suffered a loss.

We hadn't been there long when my doctor came in. He explained what he was going to do, and the possible difficulties. Once again, heavy bleeding, damaged uterus, complete hysterectomy, and death. That is always a fun waiver to sign.

After surgery, I was in the recovery room for what seemed like forever. I could hear people talking around me, and I was freezing. I was ready to go home.

I was finally given the all clear to head home, all I had to do was get up, get dressed, make it to the bathroom and be successful at making a tinkle. Easier said than done. I haven't mentioned the broken foot and walking boot so far, but flashback a few weeks to January 6, I fell and broke my foot. Being a week out from having a baby and a few hours out of having surgery, this was no easy task. I was finally able to wrestle myself into the pajama pants that I had worn to the hospital, with the help of my amazing husband. The nurse was nice enough to wheel me over to the restroom where I was able to successfully complete my mission. The nurse called down to the lobby to have a volunteer wheel me down to the car. Why do hospital volunteers have to be so joyous and cheerful?? And why do nurses not warn them in times they really shouldn't be?? We had the sweetest elderly gentleman helping us out, normally this would not have been a problem, but he wanted to chat. He started the conversation off with, "Well young lady, how are YOU today?" and I lost it. I don't even think he realized it at first.  He began rambling on about I don't even know what, he tried repeatedly to engage me in small talk. When he finally took a breath and looked down, he realized that I was in tears. He asked me what was wrong, so I told him. Poor guy.

We received word sometime during the time we were at the hospital that Holden's ashes were finally ready. We left the hospital and grabbed a quick lunch for the road.

The drive from the hospital to the funeral home was the longest ride I think I have ever been on. When we finally arrived, I stumbled out of the car and hobbled inside with the help of my husband. The lady who greeted us was so kind, she met us at the door and asked if we were Holden's parents. We told her yes and she led us into her office. She grabbed a small plastic container and a nice folder. As she was grabbing the plastic container holding his ashes, she dropped it. Of course I was already in tears and this did not help one bit. She was apologetic, but it hurt my feelings. We took the plastic urn and had a quick peek inside. It was harder than I had imagined it would be. We took the folder containing his death certificate and his small plastic urn, and we left. I found a small piece of joy in my time of sadness. My son was finally back in my arms, though not the way I had longed for him to be.

We knew we could not keep his ashes in a generic plastic urn so once I was up to it, I started my search for the perfect resting spot for our boy. One day, while scrolling a Disney page on Facebook of all places, I saw a post that a lady had made about her "son" but the picture was of a soft, cuddly teddy bear. I read back through some of the comments and came to the conclusion that she had lost her son and that the teddy bear was an urn. I began to google "teddy bear urns" immediately. Thankfully, it didn't take long for me to find what I was looking for. There were many kinds to choose from, but I knew I that I did not want a regular looking teddy bear. I wanted him to look different. Finally after going back and forth between about four bears, I decided on one that I loved and I ordered it immediately. It didn't take long to arrive. Although, once the bear arrived, I did not immediately transfer his ashes, it was just too hard for me. I left the bear beside my bed for weeks.

Once I had gotten myself together enough, I contacted a dear friend and asked her if she would help me work on a memorial ceremony for my sweet Holden. Of course she agreed. I had a basic idea of what I wanted to do, I just had to work out the details, and that was just something I was not emotionally able to do. I told my precious friend that I knew I wanted to do a simple service and a balloon release, I left the rest up to her. She contacted the church where we were to have the service and set up a meeting with one of the pastors and she met us there to work out the date and a few details. I contacted a close family friend, who is a youth pastor, and asked him if he would officiate the service for us. He said he would be honored. I should probably mention, he is the brother of the two angels mentioned in a previous post, sister number one who arrived to pray with us the night we checked into the hospital, sister number two who arrived to pray with us just as we delivered our sweet Holden.

We knew we needed to be able to give everyone a chance to plan on joining us at the memorial, time for me to get stronger physically, and my super friend needed time to work out all of the details. We planned to have the service on Saturday, January 28, 2017.

When the day finally arrived, I was a wreck. I felt a little better physically, but emotionally, not so much. I was nervous about everything. What if no one came? What if I couldn't make it through? So many things were on my mind as we drove away from the house that morning.

this week

This week I should be packing my bags for the hospital. I should be making sure all of my baby laundry has been washed, sorted and put away. I should be picking out a going home outfit for my precious baby. I should be making sure his car seat was safely buckled into my car. I should be grocery shopping to make sure there is enough food in the house while I am in the hospital. I should be making last minute arrangements to make sure that the kids will be taken care of and shuffled to activities. I should be making sure my house is clean, my laundry is done and that all of my last minute details are taken care of. I should be going to the doctor for one last check up. I should be going to the hospital to have blood work done. I should be happy.

Instead, I am trying to find things to do to keep my mind busy. I am trying to think of something meaningful to do on Friday, the day that my baby should be making is big entrance. I am trying to just make it through the day.

I am still trying to process my loss. I am still trying to figure out what could have gone wrong. I am still angry. I am still hurt. I am still heartbroken. I am still in shock. I am still in disbelief.

This week should be building up to one of the most beautiful days of my life. Instead, I am trying to figure out how I am going to make it through that day. It won't be THE saddest day of my life, but it will be in the top 3. That day should be spent at the hospital, holding and loving on my precious newborn baby boy. It should be spent with my family all meeting the newest member. It should be spent with my older children arguing over who will be holding the baby next. It should be spent taking pictures and laughing. It should be spent with visitors telling us who Holden most looks like.

Life has a funny way of turning us upside down. Life is full of surprises, both good and bad. Back in October, I got one of the best surprises of my life when I found out we would be having a precious baby. In January, I got one of the worst surprises of my life when I found out our precious baby was gone.

She was brave

and strong

and broken

all at once.

-Anna Funder

sadness and joy, part 3

The rest of the day was just surreal. I was in disbelief still. I would go through spurts of uncontrollable sobbing. My heart physically hurt. I felt empty. For the first time since being in the hospital, it hit me that I was in the same type of room I had been in after the delivery of all of my other children. It was the same bed, the same bathroom set up, the same soap, the same smells, the same toiletries, the same routine to follow. The only difference was, I did not have a baby to care for while we were there. There was no little isolette or baby warmer, there was no rolling baby bed stocked with tiny shirts and diapers. There were no cheerful visitors waiting to meet our son. Our room was filled with flowers, but instead of words of congratulations and best wishes, there were cards filled with sympathy and prayers. We had visitors, but there were no happy moments and picture taking. The children came to see us, but there was no fighting over who would hold the baby first.

We spent time in prayer with the hospital's chaplain and we were able to get some ideas of things we could do as a memorial for our sweet boy. We were able to have a service with him at the hospital, but it was a private service for just the two of us. We knew we were going to need to do something that included the children.

I won't lie. I was angry. Who am I kidding, I am STILL angry. When I first got in the shower, I completely lost it. I was in pain from delivering, I was going through the same motions I had with my other children, the same aftercare protocol, I still needed help. The first whiff of the hospital soap was more than I could handle. Seeing the pads and net panties in the corner was more than I could deal with. There should have been a baby. I should have been celebrating the birth of my son, not mourning his loss. My husband should be telling our visitors about hearing his first cries and his birth stats, how long he was, how much he weighed. I should have been trying to get him to eat good. We should have been charting his diapers and feedings. Instead, we were being consoled by nurses, doctors, chaplains, friends and family.

That night, we had a few visitors. It was hard. I wanted so badly to be telling them about my precious son and his birth, instead we replayed the events of the last few days in heart wrenching detail. After the last visitors had gone, our night nurse walked in. Talk about finding joy in sadness, it was my guardian angel from our first night. I have never been so happy and relieved to see someone as I was to see her. She was a breath of fresh air for me. She was truly a gift straight from God for me during all of this. She was so kind and understanding. She was gentle with me. Over the course of the night, she prayed with me and talked to me. I fought sleep so I could spend time with her. She finally convinced me to take a drug cocktail that would surely help me sleep. I finally got to the point where I just could not fight it anymore. I have never felt such an instant connection with someone. I know she was an angel in disguise.

I was released on Friday to go home. I was having some pretty heavy bleeding still. I had no energy, no drive and no motivation. The only thing keeping me going was my husband and other children. I missed them while we were gone. We had gotten to see them every day, but it wasn't the same as being at home with them. I was really missing Holden, not only emotionally, but physically. He had been with me every step of the way until his birth and now I was completely alone, and empty. My oldest son walked through the door Friday after work and said the sweetest words any mother could ever hope to hear from one of her children, he said, "I did something, but it is going to make you cry, but it will be a good cry!" He walked over to me and showed me what he had done, then he leaned down and hugged me. He had gotten an "H" tattooed on the inside of his finger. He did it the day his brother was born. Of course I bawled like a baby. I had been downstairs alone at the time, my husband was upstairs putting the children to bed. He came down a bit later to find me in the arms of my sweet son. He was such a source of comfort me that lonely night. What a perfect way to honor his mother and his baby brother. My son brought me joy in my time of sadness.

The first night was hard. I laid in my bed and sobbed. My body missed him. The next day, I somehow convinced my husband that it was a good idea to take me to get a memorial tattoo. He's a smart guy, I am POSITIVE that he knew there was no chance that he could convince me to wait another second. I called up my mom and asked her to come watch the kids, I think she knew not to argue as well. I felt like absolute death, but I managed to get myself ready and out the door. We had a quick dinner then headed over to the tattoo shop.

I couldn't be more pleased with the way it came out. I got the inspiration online, but I wanted his name and footprint added. The blue print is his actual footprint from the hospital. I feel like this was the first step in my healing process. I found a little joy during my sadness.

The next few days were a blur for me, I could not be left alone with the kids yet, I still physically felt so bad. I was still bleeding, A LOT. My husband had to take extra time off of work, and my mom had to fill in during his absences. I didn't just need a sitter for the kids, I needed one for myself! By the time the next Wednesday rolled around, I was ready for a small trip out of the house. My hubby had to check out a car for a friend so the kids and I rode along. I still didn't feel great and I was weak, but all I had to do was sit in the car. We sat in the car waiting for him to finish up and the longer I sat, the worse I felt. At this point, I thought I might have just been getting hungry. My hormones were still wonky so I tried to snack to keep my strength up. Once he was finished, we decided to grab a quick lunch. We didn't really want fast food, but we didn't want a full blown restaurant either. We decided on Schlotzsky's, it would be quick and we could get back to the house. While we were waiting on our food to arrive, something just didn't feel right so I headed to the restroom. Of course the women's restroom was out of order and there was someone in the men's. I waited, not so calmly, on him to come out. By this time I was feeling really dizzy and light headed. I made it into the restroom just in time to pass a huge amount of blood and a rather large clot. I got cleaned up and headed back out to tell my husband what had just happened. We quickly finished lunch and rushed home. We got home just in time for it to happen again. This time was just about as bad as the first. Throughout the course of the day, the bleeding continued to get worse. I could barely sit up without feeling like I was going to pass out. I called the doctor to tell him what was going on. I had to leave a message. In the time it took the office to call me back, I had almost convinced myself to go to the ER. It was that bad. The office called back and said they would call in a prescription that would stop or significantly slow down the bleeding, but that he wanted to see me the next day. My pharmacy did not have the medication, but they were nice enough to call around town and try to find it for me. By the time we finally found some, the store not so quickly let us know that they might not have it after all. Once again, I had just about convinced myself to head to the hospital. Luckily, the store was able to find some and my hubby headed out to get the medicine. I was instructed to stay flat of my back and not move unless I absolutely had to. The bleeding never really slowed up a lot, but it was better.

I managed to somehow make it through the night with minimal drama. My mom came to take me to the doctor. At this point, I was unable to really walk on my own. Thankfully I had an old wheelchair from a previous injury. We took the chair and headed to the doctor. A sweet friend met us at the office to sit with the kids so my mom could take me in to the office. Once inside, they ordered an ultrasound to try and find the cause of the excess bleeding. The ultrasound was brutal. My heart expected to see my baby. I was already a wreck because it had also been exactly one week since I delivered my baby boy.  We made it into the exam room and I was unable to sit up, I had to curl up on the exam table and wait to be seen. The room was spinning and I felt awful. The doctor came in to talk to us and we decided to move forward with a d & c, he felt like it would help the bleeding and get me physically on the road to recovery. My surgery was scheduled for the next day.

to be continued...

be kind in what you say...

Since I mentioned three things you can say in times of tragedy in another post, I thought I would cover a few things that you probably shouldn't say to a grieving parent.

I know in times of tragedy people mean well. They want to say the right thing, I'll remind you now that there really isn't a right thing to say. Sadly though, it very rarely comes out right. Maybe it is exactly what you meant to say, and you thought it was helpful, comforting or thoughtful. Maybe you had no idea the pain and guilt that it inflicted on the person you were speaking to. Most often things said to a grieving parent feel more like a punch in the gut or a slap in the face.

Throughout the course of my life, I have lost five children; four to miscarriage and one to stillbirth. I am no stranger to ill thought out things people have to say. I have been in some downright awkward positions. Anyone who knows me well, knows that I do not hold my tongue well, this even counts in my times of grief.

I thought I would take a moment to talk about some of the things that I have had said to me personally. And once again, I know people mean well and they truly feel like they are helping.

at least...no sentence starting with at least should ever, and I mean EVER, be directed toward a grieving parent.

at least you have other children...

at least you lost him/her early...

at least you know you can get pregnant...

at least you lost him before he was actually born...

everything happens for a reason...I don't believe this. At all. What could POSSIBLY be the reason that my child died before he was even born. Everything does NOT happen for a reason. I have known some amazing people that have gone through some really awful things. I know that a lot of Christians believe this, I am a Christian and I have a very strong faith. I do not believe this for one second. I don't think God is sitting high on his throne hand picking people to inflict heartbreak upon.

God doesn't give anyone more than they can handle...this is one of my favorites! If this were the case, God must think I am Super Woman! Once again, I don't for one second believe God is choosing to inflict pain on me. But if for some reason it were true, God must seriously think I am a rock star with amazing coping skills.

time heals all wounds...Nope, not even. Time may lessen the sting, but a time will never come where I do not think about my son and what he would have been like. It has been over 20 years since I lost my first child and I still think of what could have been. I still think of that child and I still love that child. Sure, I don't sit and cry all day, every day, like I did in the earlier days, but there are still moments in EVERY SINGLE DAY that I lose it. The loss of a child isn't something you can ever get over. Some wounds are just not meant to heal. Some wounds are not even meant to scab over. Some wounds are invisible to those on the outside, but that doesn't mean that they aren't just as raw.

be thankful...this one is my next favorite. Are you even kidding me?? No one needs to tell me how very thankful I should be for my living children. They are my absolute life, I couldn't possibly be any more thankful for those blessings than I already am. One of these has nothing at all to do with the other. You don't have to remind me to be thankful for the fact I can get pregnant, I suffered through years of infertility, wondering if I would ever know what it was like to have a child. And I am very thankful for the time I had with Holden, but that does not mean I cannot wish that I had been given more time with him. Would you tell a person whose parents were in an accident and one parent died, that they should be thankful that they still have the other?! NO! You most certainly would not! I don't expect you to compare my situation either.

be thankful for your other children...

be thankful you can even get pregnant, some people can't...

be thankful for the time you had with him...

be thankful you didn't lose him after he was born...

God must have needed another angel...well, I don't see anyone  offering up one of theirs!

I know EXACTLY how you feel...no, you don't. No one knows exactly how anyone else  feels, that isn't even humanly possible. Everyone processes things differently. Even if you lost a child at 6 weeks, 12 weeks, 30 weeks, you don't know how I feel. My own husband does not even know exactly how I feel, he does know how HE feels though. There is no way to know how someone else feels or processes their own grief.

he's in a better place...how is being away from his mother any better? Were my other children not worthy of this "better" place you speak of? Sure, heaven IS indeed a better place than earth, but what better place for a child than in his own mother's arms. And this makes it sound as if God hand selects children to take from their parents. God is not a mean or thoughtless God, he is a God of love and mercy.

how are you doing? Not a horrible thing to say and although this is a common question and one that normally would be easy to answer, there is just no way for a grieving parent to answer this question. Sometimes we just don't know how we are doing. Sometimes we feel like we are doing "ok" but the next second we are falling apart. And sometimes it is hard for us to know if you can really handle the truth.

let me know if there is anything I can do...once again, this is a common thing for people to say, and I know they mean well, but often times, we DON'T KNOW if there is anything you can do. We don't know what needs to be done, we can't focus, much less figure out what we need. And, it puts the ball in our court. We cannot handle that. If you truly mean what you are saying, say something like:

I'm making dinner for you, what night should I plan to drop it off?

Can I set up a meal train with some of your friends?

I am going to come sit with your other children so you can get some rest.

I am going to mow your yard so your husband doesn't have to leave your side.

I am going to come get the kids for an afternoon so you can have a short break.

I am going to come pick up the house for you; fold some laundry; wash some dishes; clean the bathroom; watch the baby so you can nap.

All of those things are practical ways you can specifically offer to help. I know one of our greatest blessings in the early days was the meal train that was done for us. We were blessed with dinners, and sometimes breakfasts and lunches for a little over a month. In the early days, I did not want my husband to leave my side. Having dinner here and not having to worry about it freed  up his time so that he was able to care for me and for the children in the ways we most needed.

you are going to have to get yourself together and move on...ummm. My baby died. I got different forms of this starting at about two weeks after I delivered my son. You don't get to tell me about needing to move on. You don't have that right. No one has that right. I may NEVER truly move on, sure I have gotten better. I get up out of bed every day, I tend to my other children, I take care of things that need to be taken care of, but sometimes it's all I can do to open my eyes and put my feet on the floor. I just tell myself, one foot in front of the other...just breathe...that is all you have to do. This is not a case of post partum depression, taking pills or talking to someone isn't going to make this just disappear. My son died. He deserves to be mourned and grieved over for as long as I need to.

Be kind in what you say, think before you speak. Put yourself in a grieving parents shoes, would you want to hear any of those things about your precious baby or what you were going through? All we truly need is love and understanding and some time. Wait for us?

today

No matter how long its been,

there are times it suddenly becomes harder to breathe.

today...I don't really like today. There really isn't any particular reason. I just feel sad. When I stop to think of what day of the week it is, I remember it is Thursday. Thursdays are always hard. Thursday was the day Holden was born.

For the past few weeks, I have just been weepy and emotional. Nothing really has to set me off, I don't really have to let my mind wander to a dark place, I don't have to think about my precious son or that I lost him. It just happens, the tears just start to flow. Sometimes I try to hold it in, sometimes I just let it go. I don't hide my emotions from my children, but I also don't want them to always see when I am upset. Sometimes I just don't feel like talking about it, I don't want to have to explain myself,  sometimes I want to just cry alone. My children really are the sweetest kids around, they are very tender hearted and caring. They have empathy for others and they love with all they have. It worries them to see me upset.

Part of me wonders if this new emotional, weepy part of me appeared suddenly because my due date is quickly approaching. Maybe my body knows what is supposed to be happening soon, but won't be. I don't know, I can't explain it.

Yesterday I got a phone call from the hospital, thankfully I didn't recognize the number, so I didn't answer. I did listen to the voicemail. I shouldn't have. It was a message letting me know what my part would be when I came to deliver my baby. Don't they have records, don't they know that I delivered my son four months ago, don't they know that there is no baby to deliver next week??

I can't really say that I like the person I have become lately. My normal extroverted personality hasn't been seen in months, I am moody, irritable, needy and downright cranky sometimes. I know it is normal. I can't even say if I am ready for the old me to come back. I really don't think I am; deep down, I don't even think it is possible for the old me to return. I am not that person anymore.  I don't want to leave home, I don't want to be around people. It's uncomfortable. I can say that I do hope that my desire to be around others returns though. I truly do enjoy other people. Today I do not feel joy, I feel sadness.

Tonight I am supposed to go to a support group for grieving mothers, for mothers who have been through things similar to what I have. I want to go, but I am afraid. I am afraid I won't be able to make it through the meeting. I am afraid to go alone. I am afraid of what will happen if I go, but I am more afraid of what will happen if I don't.

Today, I am a wreck.

sadness and joy, part 2

As if telling my husband that our son was gone wasn't already the hardest thing I had ever had to do, I had to somehow face my children. I knew that there was no way I could tell them.

I made it inside and went directly into my room. I climbed into bed and sobbed. I could hear my husband in the other room telling the children what had happened. I heard them burst into tears and sob themselves. It broke my heart not being able to comfort them and tell them things were going to be ok. It broke my heart knowing how much they had been looking forward to their little brother's arrival. My kids are amazing. They love with all they have and they were so excited to be getting a new baby brother.

I got a call shortly after being home, confirming my arrival time at the hospital. I somehow was able to get up, throw a bag together with what I thought we would need. I had no idea how long we would be gone. I had spoken with the doctor while still in the office about the process and what to expect, but no one knew how long it might take.

I had to arrange for my mother to come and care for the children in our absence. I still don't know how I made it through that conversation. I know it started with a text that probably read something like, 'I need you..." and she came.

Once we got to the hospital and checked in, we were told a little more about what we could expect. I was going to be given medicine to induce labor. My doctor wanted me to actually deliver Holden. How bittersweet that was. All of my other biological children were delivered via caesarean section. I was going to be given the chance to experience labor after all. He explained the possible dangers, but we both felt like I could do it. Some of the difficulties I was possibly facing were: emergency c-section, hysterectomy, ruptured uterus, blood transfusion, extreme blood loss and of course death.

Shortly after arriving, the medicine was started. I was supposed to receive an epidural immediately because my doctor felt that it would speed things along if I was more relaxed. The nurse in charge decided against it.

Some dear friends of ours, more like close family, came to us the night we arrived. They prayed over us and talked with us, cried with us and loved on us. I honestly don't think we would have made it through the first night without them. They were our shelter in the storm that night. They were our gift from God, he knew we needed them.

The contractions started that night, but they weren't strong. I did not sleep at all that night, not a single wink. That night, I had the most amazing angel of a nurse. She spent time with me, she hugged me, she loved on me and she prayed over me. She spent a lot of time in my room with me just talking to me and getting to know me. She was truly what I needed that night. All day the following day was a blur. The doctor came in to check on me in the morning and was not happy that the epidural had not been started. At some point, the anesthesiologist came in and got me all hooked up. By this time, the contractions were really starting to pick up, but I was just not progressing. We continued to discuss the possibility of a c-section. I did not want to have to do it that way. I was already angry to be going through all of this anyway, I certainly did not want to have a major surgery on top of it all. I prayed over and over for God to allow me to deliver Holden without surgical intervention. I had my friends and family praying as well.

We had a few visitors during the course of the day and night to help keep our minds from getting stuck in the present. When the doctor came by after work to check on me, I still had not progressed like he would have hoped. He basically gave me until Thursday morning to deliver on my own. Throughout the course of the evening and overnight, I had to have my medicine adjusted. I don't do well with anesthesia, my heartrate likes to slow down to a dangerous rate, and my blood pressure likes to bottom out. Apparently I was scaring everyone with my slow breathing and deep sleep. I was rather enjoying my lack of consciousness and care; and the great sleep I was getting. Sometime overnight, the contractions got to the point that I didn't have a break between them. The nurse finally told me I was complete and ready to deliver once the doctor arrived. I felt such a huge sigh of relief.

The doctor arrived sometime around 7am, just as were both finally getting some good sleep. After chatting with me for a few minutes, he checked me and said we were ready. Holden was born sleeping at 7:55am on Thursday, January 12, 2017. He was perfect, he was beautiful and he looked just like Ian and Landyn.

In the midst of the chaos around us, we heard a knock at the door. God had sent the most precious angel to our rescue. She came to lay hands on us and pray for us. At the time, she had no idea what was happening inside. She had no idea how badly we needed her at that exact moment. She prayed over us, hugged and kissed us, told us she loved us and left as quickly as she had come.

We had the hospital chaplain come in and perform a private ceremony for us. It was perfect. After the ceremony, we were able to spend some time alone with our sweet boy. The hospital sent a photographer in to get some pictures for us and we were able to take some of our own. We ended up getting to spend about an hour and a half with our boy.

We said hello and goodbye to him in the same day. Saying our final goodbye was the hardest thing we have ever had to do.

I didn't want to kiss you goodbye,

that was the trouble;

I wanted to

kiss you goodnight

And there's a lot of difference.

As if saying goodbye and letting him go wasn't hard enough, we still had to fill out paperwork to be able to obtain a DEATH certificate for our son and allow the funeral home to come and pick him up. We had to sign an authorization to have him cremated. We should have been filling out paperwork for a BIRTH certificate; no one should have to go through what we have this past year.

to be continued...

elephants

This is the post I made on my personal Facebook page about a week ago.

Do you ever feel like you are the elephant in the room? I was talking about how I feel after losing my sweet Holden.

I don't want to be around people for that reason. No one talks to me because they don't know what to say. Or, they do talk to me and never mention Holden, and act like nothing ever happened. Both options suck.

I want to talk about my sweet boy. I miss him. Acting like he never existed only makes me sad. Sure, I might cry when I talk about him or what I am going through, but that is a better kind of cry than the one I do at night in the darkness while curled up in my bed alone.

If you know someone who has lost a child, and you're afraid to mention them because you think you might make them sad by reminding them that they died--you're not reminding them. They didn't forget they died. What you're reminding them of is that you remembered that they lived, and that is a great gift. -Elizabeth Edwards

Over the course of the last few months, I have been put into some awkward situations. I know it is never intentional. I know that my family and friends love me, and most likely still do not know what to say. I get that. I have been there too. I just ask you all to consider my feelings. I lost a child, I am hurting, and I am lonely. I know no one will ever truly understand what I have been through, or what I am still going through. I don't expect that, but what I do expect is respect and friendship.

I have been to numerous events recently where I have felt like an outsider. Some have been family events, some with friends and some with just acquaintances. At each event, I have had a small handful, at most, of people come up and even acknowledge me. All of those very select few, greeted me with the warmest, sweetest hug and encouraging words, and I am so very thankful for them. They will never truly know what they did for me in those very tough situations where I wanted to run to the nearest exit and never return. The others...well, lets see, for the most part, they avoided making eye contact with me. For the few that accidentally looked in my direction, I got a quick hello or head nod. Then there have been a few that when I approached them, there was a small, very forced, uncomfortable exchange of pleasantries. The basic, "Hi, how have are you?" You know the ones, the ones that really aren't asking how you ARE, it is more of a thing to say during small talk. Obviously I do not expect anyone to go out of their way for me, or repeatedly treat me like I am fragile. That is not at all what I am asking for. At all. What I am talking about is when we see each other for the first time since my loss. Once again, I do not want special treatment, and that is not what I am asking for. I just do not want to be treated like I have a disease or like you've never seen me before.

This is all so new to me. I am an extreme extrovert and my world has come crashing down around me. I feel like I have not only lost my son, but I feel like I have lost friends and loved ones as well. I feel like a stranger in my own skin. I don't know where I fit in anymore. I have had to face demons I did not even know existed. I am just asking for a little empathy and respect.

In case you are looking for the right thing to say to me:

I'm sorry.

I love you.

I don't know what to say.

It's that simple. Nothing you say can bring him back or make me feel better. I don't need a long drawn out explanation of why things happen the way they do. There is no reason.

Just love me and respect me enough to acknowledge that I am in the room and that I am still hurting. My son DID exist, and to me he STILL DOES, my son is loved just as much as my other children, he is just as much a part of my life as they are, he is still, and always will be, one of my beloved children. I love him and I miss him.

sadness and joy

Not until you've lost a child

do you know how it feels to

be sad every single day...

even when you experience joy.

People often ask how I am doing. I often hesitate before answering. I am not always sure exactly what they are asking. A lot of times I just say "ok" whether or not I really mean it. Sometimes I say ok and I really do mean it. I am sad. I am sad every single day, even when I experience joy. Sometimes I even feel guilty for feeling happy.

This is nothing like anything I have ever gone through before. I have lost loved ones during my life, but the feelings were nothing like these. I lost 4 babies before losing Holden. I am no stranger to loss. But this loss...it's wearing on me. Losing the other babies was hard...at the time and for quite some time after, but nothing like this. I do not want to take away from the love I felt for those babies by any means, but I simply had not gotten the chance to know them. I lost my first baby as I was finding out I was pregnant. I lost my second baby 12 weeks into my pregnancy, I hadn't yet felt the baby move and we did not know the sex of the baby yet. I lost the third baby at around 8-9 weeks. The fourth baby I lost in the first 24 hours of knowing about the pregnancy. I was devastated after each loss, but for me personally, I think the pain and sorrow was more for what could have been. I was mourning the child that would never come to live with us, the child I would never know. This loss, the loss of Holden, is different. Much different. I knew him. I knew his movements, I knew his  name, I knew he was a boy, I knew he was perfect.

My pregnancy was a surprise this time. We hadn't planned on me having any more children. I had finally gotten to a point in my life where I was ok with that idea. Of course I would welcome any child into my heart, life and home, no matter how they arrived. Growing up, I always knew I wanted to be a mom, and I knew that I wanted a lot of children. My husband and I both knew from early on that we wanted to foster children and adopt. About 3 years ago, we started the process to become a licensed foster home. We were finished having children, so this seemed to be the most logical next step in our lives. Within 6 months of starting the process, we got our license. A few months later, we got our first foster placement. Within 3 weeks of getting our first placement, we got a call from a family member about a perfect baby boy. Long story short, we brought him home about 24 hours after we found out about him, and his adoption was final 6 months later. Our house, and our hearts were full! Five boys, two girls...

I found out in October of 2016 that we were expecting a baby. I found out about the pregnancy two days after our long term foster went to be with his forever family. We were shocked, we were surprised, we were ecstatic!

A few weeks into my pregnancy, I started spotting. I was horrified, I had been through enough of that to know that it never turned out well. By the time I made it to the see the doctor, it was more than just spotting. I was so relieved when the ultrasound tech immediately saw his heartbeat. The bleeding ended up being from a tear in my placenta. A few weeks of taking it easy and things were back to normal.

I found out the week before Thanksgiving that we were expecting a healthy baby boy.

At this point, we still had not "officially" announced our big news so the weekend after Thanksgiving, we officially shared our news with the world. "We are going to have another baby!"

We were settling in to our new normal, celebrating Christmas, gearing up to get things ready to welcome our new baby boy. We were really looking forward to the new year. 2017 was supposed to be the best year ever.

We made it 10 days into the new year before our world was turned upside down. I had a routine checkup scheduled for Tuesday, January 10, 2017. My husband was off work that day so he stayed at home with the kids so I could go to the visit. It was just a checkup so we hadn't planned on him joining me.

The visit started out like all of the others. They checked my weight, my blood pressure, and asked if I had been having any problems. In my mind, things had actually been looking up. My bleeding from earlier had stopped and I had been feeling pretty good. The nurse had me lay down, she pulled out the Doppler so we could check his heartrate. At first, when she could not find it immediately, I was not concerned. He liked to move around and she just figured he was hiding out. As she continued to try, I was feeling a little uneasy and asked if she would order an ultrasound, and she immediately agreed. She left the room and came back a few minutes later with an ultrasound technician. The tech tried for a few minutes and still was unable to find a heartbeat. By this time, I was genuinely worried, but still felt like everything would be ok. There must be some explanation. She took me to the ultrasound room and had me lay down. She got started immediately and that is when I knew something was wrong. I saw the concern on her face, and as she was measuring him, I didn't see the little flicker of his heart. I prayed to God that I was mistaken, and that he really was ok. She measured and looked for what seemed like forever. I continued to pray that my baby boy was ok. She left the room and came back with the doctor. He confirmed my worst fear. My baby no longer had a heartbeat. I was devastated. I was alone. I didn't know what to do. He took me back into exam room and we talked about my options. He was going to have the nurse call the hospital and have everything scheduled for me to check in later that night.

I had to leave the office alone, in the most emotional pain I had ever been in. I could not call my husband. I could not tell him the worst news of his life over the phone. I sucked it up, I drove to the grocery store to pick up my groceries. I lost it on the poor guy who loaded the groceries into my car and I drove home. I made it to the house, messaged my husband to have the kids unload the groceries. He immediately saw the look on my face. I had to sit in my car, in the driveway, and through tears and sobbing, I had to tell my husband that our son was gone.

to be continued...