All Things New

Hi Sweetie,

On the eve of the new year, I find myself feeling a little sad. This year has brought so much heartache and tragedy, and I've said a few times that I was ready for it to be over. But in the past week or so, I've found myself wanting to hold on to 2015 a little longer. Time marches on so quickly, and it continues to take us further and further away from those last moments that we spent with you. It sounds silly I know, but somehow entering a new year seems like losing another connection to you.

Papaw built a ball to drop in Morris Park tonight. I've only seen pictures of it, but it looks amazing, and I can't wait to see it in person. We are dropping the ball earlier than midnight so that your cousins and other young family members/friends can participate. I am so grateful to Grami and Papaw for finding a way to include you in every special occasion this year. Since the unveiling of Morris Park, we've held several family get-togethers there. We've Trick-or-Treated, held a Christmas tree lighting, and now a ball drop. You are always remembered when we are in Morris Park.

It is easy to focus on all the bad things that happened in 2015, but I want the year to go out with me remembering all the good things that happened. Grami wrote a poem a few weeks ago that I put to pictures and music.  As I compiled it, I was reminded of so many of the good things, and I've been making a list in my head ever since:

• Your cousin Abigail learned to walk and say our names (Aunt "Kee" & Uncle "I-an").
• Daddy and I got to "meet" you and see your beautiful face. We experienced a perfect goodbye.
• Our family felt (and continues to feel) the outpouring of love from our friends and community in our grief. 
• Our Godson Jackson was born, and Daddy and I were among the very first to hold him.
• Daddy and I saw a breathtaking field of Bluebonnets in TX that we nick-named "Morris' field."
• Papaw finished in 3rd place for his age group at his first ever 5k. He was part of a team of more than 50 people who participated in your honor.
• Our sweet pup Izzy joined the family, bringing so much love and joy with her. 
• Morris Park was unveiled in Grami & Papaw's backyard.
• I conquered my fears and took flights in a 1942 Stearman and a Cesna 210.
• A basketball tournament that will be held in the month of March (the month of your original due date) was named in your honor.
• Daddy and I ice skated at the iconic Rockefeller Center Rink on Christmas morning in memory of you...it was my very first time ice skating!
• I made countless new friends in people I met through the Sadie Rose Foundation and other people I met in your passing.
• My faith and my relationship with God strengthened. 

This year wasn't the year that we expected, but it is a year that we made the most of in every way that we could. I don't know what 2016 yet holds for us, but I know God has a plan.  He makes all things new again.

Love,

Mommy

Merry Christmas Morris

My Angel Morris,

Daddy and I just got back last night from our trip to NYC. We left for our trip on Christmas Eve. As we were landing, I got a glimpse of the NYC skyline and got really excited for a moment. Then instantly the reason for our trip hit me and tears filled my eyes. Daddy smiled at me and grabbed my hand, and just like that, the moment of sorrow passed. We spent Christmas Eve walking around the City looking at the Christmas window displays and other decorations. We walked through this little Christmas village in one of the big holiday stores, and I smiled when it contained a model bi-plane that reminded me of my flight with you.

Christmas Day was jam packed with activities. Daddy laughed at one point during the day and said that I had so many things planned that he didn't have a moment to think. I smiled and told him that I planned our day that way by design because I didn't want to think. I worried that if I stopped for even one moment on Christmas Day and thought about what we should have been doing with you, that the entire day would be lost for me.

We started Christmas morning early with ice skating at the Rink at Rockefeller Center.  I had never been ice skating before, and it had been years since Daddy had been. Not surprisingly, Daddy was great at it and I was not so graceful (although I'm proud to say that I didn't fall once!).  It was so warm out that we didn't even need our coats! We had a blast, and we even got to watch a cute couple get engaged on the ice. It was a fun way to start the day. I took your elephant so that we could get a picture in front of the Rockefeller Christmas tree in memory of you.  Later I found an ornament to mark our special time honoring you.

After finishing up on the ice, we headed to find some breakfast.  Before stopping at a small cafe, we went into St. Patrick's Cathedral where we lit a candle for you and others we knew spending Christmas in Heaven. I said a prayer that all of you were having the most wonderful time celebrating in Heaven. Those moments spent remembering you and your friends on Christmas morning were among the most meaningful moments of our trip for me.

After breakfast, we strolled to Central Park and spent some time enjoying the nice weather.  We made our way down to the Empire State Building. It was foggy so we decided to wait to go up to the top. Instead, we hopped on the Subway and visited the 9-11 Memorial and Museum.  The memorial was absolutely breathtaking and such a beautiful tribute to the victims of 9-11. There are two twin reflecting pools that stand in the footprint of the fallen towers, and the names of the nearly 3.000 people who lost their lives that day are inscribed around the bases. The museum captures so beautifully the lives of those lost and the strength and unity America showed in mourning them. There is a stunning wall inside the museum with a quote that reads, "No day shall erase you from the memory of time." It was my favorite part of the museum.

We spent a few hours at the museum before heading back to the hotel to get ready for dinner. We got dressed up (Daddy looked so handsome) and enjoyed a nice dinner before heading to the Radio City Music Hall Christmas Spectacular.  The Rockettes were awesome!  The whole show was amazing, from the dancing to the music to the special effects.  I was so surprised when the show ended with a live nativity and the reading of part of the Christmas story from the scriptures. It made me love the show even more.

We had plenty of other activities over the next few days too.  We enjoyed breakfast of mimosas and chocolate-covered strawberries thanks to awesome friends who had a bottle of champagne and treats delivered to our room. We took a cruise around the harbor, where we saw the Brooklyn bridge and the Statute of Liberty. We went up to the observation deck of the Empire State Building. We toured the Rockefeller Center. We of course did some shopping! Daddy bought me a beautiful "M" initial necklace from Tiffany's and a new handbag from Michael Kors. The handbag is covered in "MK" print for the designer, but for me the MK's stand for Morris Keith.

Saturday night we went to see Wicked on Broadway.  I enjoyed the entire show, but there was a song at the end that made me tear up because it reminded me so much of the way I feel about you:

"Like a comet pulled from orbit
As it passes the sun
Like a stream that meets a boulder
Halfway through the wood

Like a ship blown from its mooring
By a wind off the sea
Like a seed dropped by a bird
In the wood

Who can say if I've been
Changed for the better?
I do believe I have been
Changed for the better 

And because I knew you...
Because I knew you...
Because I knew you...
I have been changed for good."

Merry Christmas Morris!

Love,

Mommy

Thank You & Merry Christmas from the Rankins

Dear Friends and Family,

For a second time this year, I wanted to use my blog to write directly to you.

Etiquette websites say that you should send out thank you notes within 2-3 weeks of a funeral, death, or act of remembrance. The notes should be personalized, handwritten and at least 3-4 sentences long. I must apologize to you all - I never got around to sending out most of the thank you notes that we should have sent out in the weeks and months following Morris' death. Please know that if we missed sending you a note, it isn't because we aren't grateful for the continuous support you have shown us during this time. Nothing could be further from the truth.  Ryan and I have been overwhelmed by your love, kindness and compassion.

As someone who believes in good etiquette and manners, I have felt increasingly guilty for the missing thank you notes. Several weeks ago, I had an idea to remedy the situation by sending out Christmas cards with a personalized note to each of you.  But as I scrolled through the card designs, I just couldn't bring myself to pick one out. The cards were filled with photos of happy families, smiling children and words of holiday cheer, just as holiday cards are meant to be. My heart hurt knowing that Morris' sweet face wouldn't adorn our card this year.

So instead of a hand-written thank you card or a Christmas card from us, I am breaking all the rules and writing this non-personalized, electronic, more-than-three-sentences note to you. Since I know many of you personally, I know that you won't begrudge me this.  In fact, knowing you the way I do, I am sure that many of you never expected anything from us in the first place. But the truth is, although I couldn't bring myself to say it in a card, you deserve much more than a simple thank you.

On our worst and darkest days this year, we received glimmers of hope and love from you. Your sweet texts, cards, phone calls, and gifts sustained us on the days that we wanted to fall apart. Your mention of our son's name and the stories you've shared about how he has impacted your life held the pieces of our broken hearts together. Your kind actions and words in memory of Morris continue to ensure that our son's legacy extends beyond the 8 months that I carried him in my womb. A simple thank you could not even come close to letting you know how deeply these things touch our souls or how eternally indebted we are to you for what you've done. Not a day goes by that we don't think to ourselves how lucky we are to have you in our lives.

The great thing about sending you an electronic letter is that there is no ink to be smeared by the tears that I cry writing it. As I type this letter to you, I am painfully aware that it has been a hard year for so many of you too. The old saying about March goes, "In like a Lion, out like a Lamb," but that sediment must not apply to years, because 2015 has been difficult from the start and continues to throw curve balls even now. Just last night I heard the devastating news of a little girl losing her battle with cancer. When I hear of a family having to say goodbye to a child, no matter the circumstance, I feel physically sick to my stomach. Whether our stories are similar or very different, my heart hurts for the family because it knows the pain, heartache, and longing that they now face.

This year has been a terrible year, no doubt, but there is still hope. I want to close my letter to you with a gift. It might be a gift that some of you already have, and it might be a gift that some of you don't want. I want to give it anyway. Last Sunday at church, a sermon series concluded with the importance of sharing the Gospel. My sweet friends and family, if you have never really heard the Gospel, or if you've heard it before and never accepted it, please know:

God created us to be with him. (Genesis 1)

Our sins separate us from God. (Genesis 3)

Sins cannot be removed by good deeds. (Genesis 4 - Malachi 4)

Paying the price for sin, Jesus died and rose again. (Matthew - Luke)

Everyone who trusts in Him alone has eternal life. (John)

Life with Jesus starts now and lasts forever. (Acts - Revelation)

Watch the video at Life in 6 Words

Love and wishes for a Merry Christmas,

Keri

Our Christmas tree lighting at Morris park. Merry Christmas to our Family and Friends!

Finding Joy this Christmas

Sweetheart,

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas.  I love this time of year, but finding joy this Christmas has been hard for Daddy and me. We decided to go ahead and put up our Christmas decorations, mainly because we were given some sweet ones in memory of you. Maybe it's just me, but the lights don't seem to shine as bright this year as they usually do. I am holding on to your verse more tightly than ever. "When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought joy to my soul."  Psalm 94:19

The Elephant Angel ornament I found several months ago. <3

Sweet decorations given to us by your great aunt Judy. 

We gave away some of your things last week. We found out about a baby girl who could really use them, and I knew in my heart that she was supposed to receive some of the items we had been planning to donate. And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. Romas 8:28

I can't share much about this little girl or her story because of the situation, but Daddy and I had a chance to meet her and love on her. She is absolutely precious. We put together a big basket of things for her and included a few "Baby" gift cards that we had never spent so that other things she needed could be bought. You have such amazing family and friends, Morris, and before you were due to arrive, they made sure that we had absolutely everything that you would need. I know that the people who generously gave these items to you are sad that you aren't here to use them, but I am sure that like me, they are proud to see them go to a baby who needs them. This baby girl is one more life that has been touched in some way by you, our darling angel.

I included a note in the basket that said:

"This basket is filled with things.  These things - diapers, wipes, pacifiers, lotion, etc. - may seem very ordinary, but to us they are some of the most precious things we could give you. These things were meant for a very special baby boy named Morris. Instead of living on earth as a little boy, Morris became an angel and went to live in Heaven.  Angels have everything they could ever want or need in Heaven, so Morris has no need for the items contained in this basket anymore. As soon as we heard about you, we knew that these items were now meant for a very special little girl."

I told her about your verse, and then I gave her Romans 15:13 as her very own verse:

"May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope."

I'm praying this verse over our new little friend, and I hope that everyone who reads this letter will do the same. I'm certain that God has big plans for her. Grami and I had an idea on how to celebrate your upcoming birthday and angelversary, and after helping this baby girl, I'm convinced that our idea is exactly the way we should honor your memory. I'm working on the details now, and I'll share our plans with friends and family in the coming weeks.

This year has contained so much heartache and tragedy, not just for our family, but for so many families we know and love. I'm sure that Daddy and I are not the only ones struggling to celebrate Christmas this year in the same way that we have in the past. But as the Christmas story reminds us, no matter what happens in this life, there is reason for great joy:

"And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and they glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, 'Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause GREAT JOY for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord."  Luke 2:8-11

As we spend our first Christmas without you, we'll try our hardest to find joy in the season and remember the true reason that we celebrate.

Love,

Mommy

Thanksgiving

Hi Pumpkin,

Yesterday was Thanksgiving.  Daddy's sisters and their families were in town, and we spent the day with them.  It was unseasonably warm yesterday, so we even got to enjoy some playtime outside. It was a far cry from last Thanksgiving:

One of my favorite pregnancy photos, taken the day before Thanksgiving last year.

Not long before we ate dinner, Riley asked me if I would read her a book. Your grandmother was a teacher for years, so there a ton of books to choose from at her house.  Riley went off to make her selections, and when one of the books she came back with was shaped like an elephant, I knew it was a sign that you were with us.

Riley and Aunt Keri reading the elephant book before Thanksgiving dinner.

Later, after dinner, dessert, and some playtime, the adults sat around recovering from a big meal and all of the activity while the kids were still going strong. Riley came to me and asked me if I'd read to her again. She curled up in my lap with a book, and it must have triggered a memory for her of last year's Thanksgiving. 

Last year at Thanksgiving, you were still safely snuggled inside me. Riley had developed a game that day - she would come climb up on my lap and tell me a "secret" about the baby (you).  The secret would always be something sweet like, "I'm going to love the baby" or "I'm going to kiss the baby" or "I'm going to play with the baby".  

Last night as we were halfway through our story, Riley suddenly turned around.  "Do you have a baby in your tummy?" she asked.  "No, I don't," I told her.  With the sweetest and most innocent eyes, she asked, "What happened to the baby in your tummy?"  My own eyes welled with tears. Daddy, always Mommy's hero, jumped in and softly told her, "We had an angel baby."  "Oh," Riley said.

Oh.

And with that, she was off to something else. There are so many days that I wish had the resilience of a three year-old.

The other night, Daddy and I were cuddled in bed talking. I can't even remember the topic, but it of course turned to you somehow. Daddy said, "I don't think people can understand. For us, it always come backs to this. It sucks."  What he meant is that no matter our topic of conversation - friends' pregnancies and new babies, holidays, happy occasions, traditions, just plain ole' everyday, regular moments....all those topics lead back to you and the fact that you are gone. And while we wouldn't change the fact that you were here, however briefly the time was, the fact that you are gone is hard and it hurts. As Daddy so eloquently put it - it sucks.

And yet, we have so much to be thankful for in this life...amazing family, wonderful friends, the best furry companions in Izzy and Abby, a beautiful home, and jobs we both love.   What happened to you may be a curse, but you are still our biggest blessing.  Happy Thanksgiving my sweet angel.

Love,

Mommy

Faith > Fear

Sweet Baby Boy,

I got back the other night from a work trip, but this trip was a little more unique than some of my others.  I had the opportunity to take the company plane.  "Company plane" sounds really glamorous until you find out that the company plane is a tiny Cesna 210 that seats a total of 6 people including the pilot and copilot. You know how terrified small aircraft make me, so I'm sure you are just as surprised as I am that I agreed to take a flight on this thing:

That's tiny, right?  I told Aunt Becca about my plans the day before I left, and she thankfully didn't tell me that she was worried but instead told me several times over the next day that she was praying for me. I told another friend who also sent up prayers and words of encouragement. I didn't tell Grami or Papaw about my plans, because I knew Grami would worry herself to death. When I got home safely, I texted her this picture.  She replied, "Are you nuts?! I'm glad I didn't know!"

Here's the story of how I ended up flying on the world's smallest plane (I don't know if that is true, but it has to be close!):

It just so happened that the CEO of my company was flying to Pittsburgh the same day I was going to be driving there. He invited me to come with him so that I could save the 5 hour drive. I told him that I'd let him know, not really anticipating that I'd decide to take the flight.  At the risk of sounding all Dr. Seuss-y, I heard God asking me this question over the next few days:

"Will you trust me in the big things and in the little things?  

Will you trust me in the big planes AND in the little planes?"

I began to feel more confident, and I was determined that my faith would be stronger than my fear.  I told the CEO I would be joining him on the flight. I wish I could say that was that, and I got on the plane with no anxiety a few days later.  But that isn't how this story continues.

By Sunday morning, I was in a panic.  I was in the car, and I began praying for a sign (hopefully one telling me not to get on the tiny plane). As I finished my prayer and began to consider my alternate options for getting to Pittsburgh, a song came on the radio, and I heard these words:

"You make me brave.

You make me brave.

You call me out beyond the shore into the waves."

"You make me brave. 

You make me brave.

No fear can hinder now the love that made a way."

 "You make me brave.

You make me brave.

No fear can hinder now the promises you made."

(You Make Me Brave, Bethel Music)

That sure seemed like a sign...for about an hour or so.  Again anxious, I called the only open rental car company to see if they had a car available.  "I'm sorry," she said, "but I don't have anything available for pick-up today or tomorrow."  (Seriously?! Where are all you Valley people traveling that you need a rental car?)  

I thought about taking my own car, but as I began calculating the route and the time I would need to leave to get to Pittsburgh on time now that I was leaving the same morning that I had to be there, I realized driving was just not an option anymore. Later that evening, still searching my brain for some other way to get to where I needed to be the next morning, I nervously scrolled through Facebook to find this post by a friend at the top of my newsfeed:

"Sometimes you just have to step out of your comfort zone and take a leap of faith."

And so I gave up.  I drove to the airport the next morning, and I very anxiously strapped myself into the world's smallest plane. And you know what? It was a beautiful morning and the flight could not have been a more awesome experience.  When I landed, after profusely sending up prayers of thanks, I proudly texted Aunt Becca and my friend the picture above with this message:

"Faith > Fear"

And I really meant it.  But the next day, when it was time to fly home, I was scared again. Then I saw a post from a friend about a couple she knew who had to say goodbye to their baby girl only hours after saying hello. After arriving safely home, I turned on the news to the nightmare in Paris. In the early hours of the next morning, I learned that a little boy's fight with cancer just got harder. Considering all that, conquering my fear of small planes just didn't seem to be a big deal anymore.

I found myself on the floor of your nursery at 4:30 AM on Wednesday morning, sobbing and offering up the most desperate pleas to God.  Flashback to a little over nine months ago, and I was in the same place, only desperately praying for my own miracle that you would be born alive. Those prayers weren't answered. It is an agonizing and heartbreaking reality that in the moments when I turned to God with the one prayer that I wanted and needed answered more than any prayer I've ever offered, He didn't give me what I asked.

In moments like these, when our miracle doesn't come, when evil lurks everywhere, when grief is always knocking on the doorstep of those we love...how can we still believe?  How can we continue to offer up prayer after prayer when it feels as if no one is listening? How can we still trust God?

The only answer I can come up with is this:

Faith > Fear

Our faith has to be greater than our fear that God won't show up.  Our faith has to be greater than the fear of the unknown and the things out of our control. I know that for every time in my life when it felt like God didn't show up, I can name a hundred more times when I saw Him, when I felt Him so strongly in the midst of everything. And I'm beginning to realize that in those times when it seemed like He wasn't there, He was - just maybe not in the way that I expected or wanted. That doesn't take away my pain, and it doesn't heal my broken heart, but it helps me trust again. 

I don't know what special jobs God has given you in Heaven, but I know so many people who could use a sign that God hears them right now.  My sweet angel son, if you can, will you send them one?

Love,

Mommy

"As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways and My thoughts higher than your thoughts." Isaiah 55:9

The Work of Grief, Remembrance, & Love

Hi Angel,

Yesterday was Aunt Judy's birthday. Mamaw called me early to let me know she had decided to host a family dinner to celebrate.  Luckily, Daddy and I didn't have plans, so I told her that we would be delighted to help Judy celebrate.

Aunt Judy is a kind and compassionate woman who always puts the needs of others above her own.  She is a loyal and fierce friend. She has been an amazing support to Daddy and I in the last few months, and her gifts have been among the most touching that we've received.

On Mother's Day, she gave me a rose and a card with the words that you weren't able to say, "....my wish for you on this Mother's Day is to be happy and make the most of everyday, for I will always be with you. Love, Morris".  She did the same for Daddy on Father's Day, with a gift of golf gear and a card that read, "...the next time you play golf, hit a ball to me. Love you, Morris".  I cannot even begin to tell you what these cards meant to us - it was a gesture that many would have been afraid to make, but Aunt Judy knew that it was just what we needed to feel complete on those days. At the dedication of Morris Park, Aunt Judy gave us a sweet gray elephant with your name and date of birth that she had worked on for weeks to get just the way she wanted. He sits in the center of your crib.

The sweet elephant that your Aunt Judy gave me.

At Aunt Judy's birthday party, I got to meet your cousin Penelope for the first time. In fact, all 6 of your cousins were together for the very first time.  Judy wanted to take a picture with all of them, and I'll admit, my heart was sad that you would be missing. I gathered my courage a few minutes later and joined everyone as they were taking photos in the living room. My eyes teared up when I realized that Aunt Judy had found a way to include you - she had gotten the picture of you from her room and asked your cousins Abigail and Ava to hold it. It was absolutely beautiful to me and meant more than she will ever know.

Aunt Judy with all her great nieces and nephews. <3

A little later, another beautiful thing happened.  You might remember from my early letters that just a week after your still birth, your great papaw had a stroke and was in the hospital for a week. He hasn't quite been the same since, but he has his good days. Yesterday was a good day, and he was more talkative than he has been the last few times I've seen him. Towards the end of the night, I was standing in the kitchen with him. Your cousins and their mother had just left, and papaw was worried that they were driving home in the dark. As I tried to reassure him, he put his arm around me, leaned in close and said, "If your baby was here, I would worry about him too. That baby is very special to me."  His words took me by surprise because I hadn't been certain that he really remembered you. It meant so much to hear how much he loves you. I've come to learn that many of his generation were taught not to talk about these things after they happened and that it was best for everyone to just "move on".  Knowing that makes his words and recognition of your life even more special to me.

I read an article not long ago that was written by a mother who lost her daughter to stillbirth. In it, she said something that really hit home for me:

"I have missed her in the most everyday, common moments, when there suddenly she was - Luna, forever absent, missing. Yet, somehow, so fully present.   

My now 5-year-old explained to me the other day, in his gorgeous lispy Spanish, full of invented verb tenses, how if Luna hadn't died, he wouldn't have to think about her so much. 

Ah, yes, my sweet son, the work of grief, of remembrance and love.  It is hard and it sucks."

I hadn't thought about grief and remembrance being "work" before reading that article, but I've come to realize that it is. Most new moms have the "work" of changing diapers, doing laundry, getting up for nightly feedings, and playing with their baby. My work as a mom is to remember you. It is a job that I take on willingly and without question, because really, I can't fathom any other way.

November is the month that we take time to recognize and appreciate all the blessings in our lives. This Thanksgiving, I am so grateful to have a family who understands and shares in the work of keeping your memory alive.

Love,

Mommy

Remembering You

Hi Baby Boy,

It's been two and a half weeks since my last letter.  It's the longest I've gone without writing you, but of course I have thought about you constantly. Last night, we held trick-or-treating in Morris Park. It was awesome. Kids played on the playground, adults gathered around the fire and we handed out lots of candy and goodies to the trick-or-treaters. I dressed up as a Zookeeper, with you and my Godson Jackson as my herd.

Mommy being a Zookeeper for my Morris elephant and Godson Jackson.

October was Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness month, and October 15th was the official remembrance and awareness day.  But for me personally, this month, particularly the week of the 15th, carried even greater significance. On February 3rd of this year, at 36 weeks gestation, you were born still.  The week of October 15th marked 36 weeks since your death. You've now been gone longer than you were here. The realization made me feel angry for a little while, which is I think why I've haven't written until now. I don't like to write you from a place of anger or bitterness.

Anyone who has ever been personally impacted by a particular cause with its own awareness month or day (pregnancy and infant loss, cancer, autism, suicide, diabetes, AIDS  - the list goes on and on) will tell you that for them, every day is awareness day. Still, it is important that we recognize these causes as it helps increase knowledge, support and resources for the cause. It also helps connect people to one another so that they know that they are not alone in the challenges and struggles they face.

I have been touched by how many people have remembered you in some way this month. When I went into work on October 15th, I found my desk covered in elephants. My best friend Stephanie had left me a new laptop bag and a new coffee mug with elephants on them, and  there were four tiny silver elephants holding pictures of my Godson Jackson and my recent Stearman flight experience. I was overwhelmed by the the gesture, and I appreciated it more than she could know.  Not long after that, I got a message that said I had been tagged in a photo - my sweet friends and their children had released balloons in your memory (that started the tears!). Later that morning, my friend Kaitlin texted me a picture of a small storage truck she had bought me with elephants all over it.  She said she saw it and knew it would be the perfect thing to hold some of your treasures. That evening, Aunt Becca gave me a beautiful elephant necklace in your memory. Two tiny charms that dangle from it - an amethyst and "M".  I love it, and I've worn it often in the last few weeks. I've received several other gifts in your memory this month from a variety of coworkers and friends - a scarf, a Christmas ornament, a bottle of beer (it has elephants on it!) and two little elephant statues. Your Great Aunt Nancy gave me a purple and gold hippo that she was knitting you before you passed away. She recently finished it so I could have it. A few nights ago, your Aunt Becca, Uncle Dustin, and cousins Ava and Abigail surprised me with a pumpkin carved with an elephant on it.  Finally, just last night, I was given a starter for a bleeding heart plant from a dear, sweet woman who knows the pain of losing a child to stillbirth.

My desk decorated with elephants on Pregnancy & Infant Loss Remembrance Day.

Many of the sweet gifts I received in your memory this month.

The precious pumpkin carved with an elephant by Aunt Becca in your memory.

The night of October 15th, Daddy and I attended the Annual Sadie Rose "Remembering Our Babies" walk. Your Grami, Aunt Becca, Uncle Dustin, Ava, Abigail and friends Joe, Michele and Dylan came too. Every year on this date, candles are lit around the world at 7 PM. This creates a "wave of light" to honor babies who have died.  Before the walk began, we lit our luminary bags and I shared "The Brown Star" story with the attendees. My cousin Bob, who lost his son Robert several years ago, shared this story with me on my birthday earlier this year (a week after your still birth). He said the story had brought him comfort, and I found it comforting too because you will always be part of my life, and you will always part of my hopes and dreams.

Aunt Becca, Uncle Dustin, Izzy, Daddy, Grami, Ava, Mommy, Joe, Abigail, Dylan, and Michele sitting will all of the Morris remembrance luminaries (and the luminaries for your friends Analise and Adelin) at the Sadie Rose Foundation's Annual Remembering Our Babies Walk.

Mommy & Daddy with all our Morris luminaries.

The most incredible gift that I've ever received was given to me this month by a friend in the form of a letter to you. This letter has helped rid my heart of the anger that I was feeling. I've read it several times in the last two weeks, and I know that I will pull it out to re-read hundreds of more times in my life. I've told you about the prayer book that I read during my pregnancy - the one that contained a prayer for every day. It was that prayer book that changed the morning of your still birth and made it a day that we were able celebrate and rejoice in the miracle of you. That book also contained prayers about the type of person you would grow be - a person of faith and love, someone who would open the door for Christ in other's lives. In my friend's letter, it is clear that prayer has been answered. My friend says this:

"I watched a movie shortly after your passing, and it talked about the light going out in a way that I didn't understand till you.  The quote was this:

'Sometimes the devil allows people to live a life free of trouble because he doesn't want them turning to God. Their sin is like a jail cell, except it is all nice and comfy and there doesn't seem to be any reason to leave. The door's wide open. Till one day, time runs out, and the cell door slams shut, and suddenly it's too late.'

My jail cell was nice and comfy. There was no reason to leave. Then there was you."

My friend says that they had always been a person of proof rather than faith, but that you changed that for them. My friend credits you for helping them find the keys to their jail cell. The letter ends in this way:

"One day, I will go to Heaven, and I will request your presence...because you made me the person that I am today and a follower of God. I will forever and always be indebted to you for that."

People sometimes say "God must have needed another angel" as a way of explaining someone's death.  I don't really believe that. I don't think God needs us in order to accomplish His works. But it is an honor when He allows us or someone we love to be a part of a great work that He is doing. I'm proud that because of you, my friend will greet us both in Heaven one day. I know that you will be as overjoyed as I will be when the three of us are reunited forever.

Love,

Mommy

Transformed

Sweet Morris,

A few weeks ago, I was contacted by a friend that works at the Shenandoah Valley Airport. She told me about Fly-Hope-Dream, an organization founded by Gareth Williams in memory of his son Timmy who passed away at 12 years of age from a rare cardiopulmonary disease. Fly-Hope-Dream has a mission "to transform the loss of a child from tragedy into legacy, one family at a time." One of the services they offer to families is free rides in a 1942 Stearman. During World War II, the Stearman was the standard trainer for pilots in the US Army and Navy. A whole generation of pilots earned their wings on this type of aircraft, learning primary, advanced and aerobatic flight techniques. For the era, the Stearman was a highly sophisticated and well-made machine.

When my friend told me this organization was coming to the Valley and asked me if I wanted the opportunity to take a flight, I told her thanks but no thanks. I believe my exact words were, "I'd be scared to death to go up in one of those things." Those who know me well know that it wasn't that long ago that I overcame my fear of commercial flying and that I much prefer larger aircraft to the smaller version. I promised my friend that I'd ask around and see if anyone else in my family would be interested, and I helped her pass on the information to my friends at the Sadie Rose Foundation.

On Sunday, when I saw pictures from another friend's experience up in air, I began thinking. I thought about how you'd never get this experience, and about how I was only getting the opportunity for this once in a lifetime experience because of you. I thought about all the times I've promised myself that I will live my life in honor of you, and I realized that facing my fears might sometimes be required in order to do that. I reached out to Gareth on Monday morning feeling brave and full of courage, although I will admit that when he told me he could fit me in for a flight, my reslove wavered a just a little. (It wavered a little bit more when I saw the actual plane I would be getting on!)

I called Grami that morning and told her about my plans, and I think she was quite surprised. She called later and said that Papaw had decided that he'd like to take a flight too.  So, Papaw, Grami, Ava and Abigail all came to the airport. Ava was my cheerleader and supporter as always. I think Abigail would have happily taken my place if I had chickened out. When my turn came and they sat her on my lap for a picture, she started waving and saying "bye" to everyone below. Good luck to Aunt Becca and Uncle Dustin, because I think cousin Abigail is going to be a little daredevil! Later, my friend Kaitlin and even the CEO of my company came by to wish me good luck.

Several people were taking flights, so there was a lot of waiting. When my turn finally came, the plane's engine flooded (nothing that impacted the safety of the plane), and so there was a little more waiting.  Before I got strapped in the second time, Gareth took some time to tell us about the plane and about his organization. I had read a little about Fly-Hope-Dream when my friend first told me about the organization, and I had thought at the time that it was pretty cool that God could use someone's talent of flying in such a unique way. However, I have to admit that prior to the experience, I couldn't quite make the connection between flying and healing. Then Gareth explained it in such an amazing way.

He said to him, grief is like standing in front of a really tall building. The building stands dauntingly in front of you, and it is everything. You can see nothing else except the building...there is nothing beside it, nothing behind it, nothing around it. It's sheer size is overwhelming, and it seems impossible that anything else in life could exist.

But when you get in the air, suddenly your vantage point has changed. Yes, the building is still there, and it always will be, but it is smaller now and you can begin to see around it. There are so many other beautiful things around that building, and that gives you hope.

My experience in the air was definitely worth all the waiting. I strapped your little gray elephant in with me, and together we took off.  In an open-air cockpit, hundreds of feet above the ground, I didn't feel nervous or anxious at all. I felt grateful. Grateful that my life contains so much more than the grief. Grateful that there are people who use their God-given talents in such an amazing and meaningful way. Grateful to live in such a beautiful and majestic place. Grateful that fear didn't stop me from experiencing a once in a lifetime moment. Grateful to you because you are the reason that it didn't.

Papaw and I were talking after our flights about how odd it is that you can live somewhere your whole life, and yet when you are looking down on it from hundreds of feet up in the air, it hardly seems recognizable at all. Every once in a while, you might get a glimpse of something that seems familiar, but you can't quite get your barrings to figure out exactly where you are.  I realized later that the last eight months of my life has felt exactly the same way... my life often feels unrecognizable from the life I had before you.

When he briefed us for our flight experience, Gareth gave us each a card with a small note from him. On the front was this quote:

"Catastrophic loss will transform us or destroy us, but it will never leave us the same."

My sweet, sweet son...losing you has not destroyed me. You have transformed me, and I am so glad that I won't ever be the same. I wouldn't want to be.

Love,

Mommy

Grami, Papaw, Ava, Abigal and Me. Of course we wore our "Team Moments with Morris" shirts! 

Morris and Mommy strapped in before take-off. I hope you enjoyed our ride as much as I did!

Papaw and Me with Gareth Williams, Chief Pilot and Founder of Fly-Hope-Dream.

How many people can say that they took a selfie with the pilot of a 1942 Stearman while in air?!

Papaw's turn...doesn't he look like Tom Cruise in Top Gun?!

Papaw and Gareth taxing to the runway.

Amazing Grace

My Sweet Son,

I spent the eight month anniversary of your still birthday at an Extraordinary Women's Conference with Grami and Aunt Becca. The theme of the conference was God's amazing grace, and the inspiration verse was Ephesians 2:8, "For it is by grace that you have been saved, through faith - and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God."  It might have been raining and dreary outside all weekend, but the Son was definitely shining inside the colosseum. I was surrounded by thousands of women lifting their hands and their hearts up in praise to God. It was a beautiful weekend, and I came home full of joy and peace. 

To kick off the conference on Friday night, we were entertained by comedian Tim Hawkins and got in some much needed laughter. There is a quote by author Veronica Roth in one of her books that says, "Sometimes crying or laughing are the only options left, and laughing feels better right now." I think I've cried a lifetime of tears this year. It seems odd that it is still possible for me to still laugh, but I am grateful that it is. 

After Tim Hawkins' set, Aunt Becca and I slipped down to the merchant area. I was able to meet one of the Saturday morning speakers that I was most looking forward to hearing speak. Angie Smith is the wife of an artist from the Christian music group Selah (Todd Smith) and the mother of 5 girls. In 2008, Angie was pregnant with her 4th daughter, Audrey, when she and her husband were told that Audrey had a condition that she would not survive. They made the decision to carry her through the pregnancy, and God granted them two and a half hours with their daughter after her birth. Angie began a blog, Bring the Rain, not long after Audrey's diagnosis, and she has written several books and Bible Studies in the years since Audrey's passing. I bought her book, "I Will Carry You" at the conference, and while she was signing my copy, I told her about you. Her eyes brimmed with tears as she told me how sorry she was for my loss. She asked me your name, and she signed my book with the note, "In honor of your sweet Morris."  I was touched by our encounter, and I am looking forward to reading her book, although I know I will cry most of the way through it. 

We ended Friday night with a concert by MercyMe. They are one of my favorite bands, and so many of their songs have touched me in these last 8 months ("I Can Only Imagine", "Homesick", "The Hurt and the Healer", "Finally Home", "Bring the Rain"). I thought I might cry through the whole concert, but I teared up only when the group sang "I Can Only Imagine". Otherwise, they sang mostly uplifting songs, and I was able to enjoy the music and sing along.

On Saturday, we heard messages from Max Lucado, Angie Smith, Kasey Van Norman, and Margaret Feinberg.  Margaret's message was about finding joy in the midst of pain and sorrow, so it was particularly meaningful to me. I recently finished reading her book, Fight Back with Joy, and it has reminded me to put things in perspective and to look for God's grace in everything. All of the messages on Saturday were beautiful and touching, but Angie's message spoke to my heart the most. 

I wish that I could remember everything she said, but I'll share with you a few highlights and things that stuck out to me. Angie spoke about how she came to know Christ and about her life as a mom to her sweet girls. She ended her session talking about Audrey. As she began sharing Audrey's story, she asked every woman who had experienced the death of a child, no matter the circumstances, to stand. There were so many women, too many women, who stood along beside me.  It broke my heart, and I could tell that it impacted Angie too. There were tears in her eyes and in her voice when she told us how very sorry she was that we were all on this journey. I stood in line later at her booth just to tell her how much her testimony meant to me. Regretfully, I forgot to tell her the one thing I really wanted to say, which was that I was sorry for her loss. I think sometimes when you are such a strong supporter of others, people can forget that you need support too.

There were a few things Angie said that I will never forget. The first was how much she missed Audrey. It is such  a simple and obvious statement, but when she said it, I could relate. I didn't get the opportunity to learn much about you, and I'll never know who you would have become. But I miss you so much it hurts.  I don't just miss you, I miss knowing things about you. Even the small things like whether you would have been a light or heavy sleeper,  if you would have loved or hated car rides, if you would have had a favorite lullaby. My arms ache to hold you again and my eyes hurt knowing that they won't see your sweet face again while I'm still on this earth. 

Angie also shared about her struggle with prayer, specifically her difficulty praying for miracles after God didn't answer her prayers with one for Audrey. I understand completely. My entire pregnancy, I started each day with a prayer from a special prayer book. Many of the prayers were for your health and safe delivery. I had just started reading "The Circle Maker", a book about the power of prayer, not long before I learned you were gone. In fact, I was reading it in the lobby before my appointment the morning my world was turned upside down. The night before we delivered you, I went into your nursery at 3 AM and prayed the most desperate prayer that you would be born alive. After we lost you, it took a while before I was able to pray again. I never did finish the book. 

One thing that Angie said will forever stay with me, because when she said it, I realized I wasn't alone. She said that she often thinks that when she gets to Heaven and sees God face-to-face, she will just say, "Where is she?" I have thought that same thing so many times. I have struggled with guilt because when I think about Heaven these days, it is not God that I think about meeting first. God is my Creator, my Rock, my Savior, and like the song says, I can only imagine what it will be like when I meet Him. But my heart longs so much for the moment when I will see and hold you again, for that moment when I will know without a doubt that we will never again be apart. I pray that God can understand.

Love,

Mommy

Meeting Angie Smith on Friday evening

Grami, Aunt Becca, and Me on Saturday morning

Reliving the Past

Good Morning Sweetheart,

The other morning, I was getting ready for work when the steady tick-tock of the clock caught my attention and reminded me of the very first moment that I ever heard your heartbeat. I remember how nervous I was that morning waiting for the appointment, and then how excited Daddy and I were when we heard the pit-a-pat of your heart. We are blessed to have captured those moments on my phone's voice recorder. It is a beautiful memory, but sadly, it is often followed next by the memory of the day your heartbeat couldn't be found.

Not long ago, there was quite a stir in the bereaved parents community about an update to the book "Your Best Life Now" by Joel Osteen. In the book, Osteen tells a story about bereaved parents Phil and Judy, who are grieving the death of their only child. He says, "...fifteen years after the fact, Phil and Judy continued to languish in self-pity and self-induced isolation.  Why? Because they don't want to get well...They like the attention too much." He continues, "You must get beyond it. Unless you let go of the old, God will not bring the new. It is natural to feel sorrow and grieve, but you shouldn't still be grieving five or ten years later."

I think that is the part that non-grievers misunderstand or sometimes even choose to not understand the most about grief. When it comes to grieving someone who was such an intimate part of you (whether a child, spouse, parent or other loved one), missing that person and feeling sad is often something outside of your control. Sure, there are days when you might be having a good day, and you willingly make the choice to pull out pictures or listen to songs that you know will bring you pain. But I can promise you this, dwelling on what you've lost is never a sign that you "don't want to get well" or that you "like the attention too much."

Maybe in the midst of an otherwise good day, survivor's guilt has caught up with you. Or maybe an old photo catches your eye as you walk down the hall or a song comes on the radio that sends you down the path of looking at all of your photos and listening to a hundred more sad songs. I bet everyone reading this letter has had the experience like the one I mentioned above where a sight, smell, sound or touch has transported them back in time to relive some moment of their life. For the non-griever, these experiences are often spent reliving happy times. For the griever, these experiences may be spent reliving happy times (which are now bittersweet) or they may be spent reliving terrible times like the day they received the news about a loved one, the last precious moments that were spent together, or the heaviness and pain that overtook them immediately after their loved one passed when it felt as if it might be possible to die of a broken heart. These experiences may even be spent imagining moments that should have been possible but that became impossible the day their loved one died.

I have said time and time again how lucky I am to have friends and family that somehow "get it" and who have been an amazing support in my time of grief. I mean that from the bottom of my heart, and there is not a day that goes by that I don't thank God for the support system He has given me. But my heart breaks for the many new grievers I meet who have no support outside of complete strangers they meet on their journey, whose only comfort comes from experienced grievers offering them compassion, understanding, and advice for navigating this new world they live in. These new relationships are valuable and important because there are things that just can't be understood about profound loss until it has been experienced. But I wish with my whole heart that some of my new friends also had the support they needed from the people in their lives who matter most to them.

I get constant messages from people who are praying for Daddy and me, and I am so very grateful for those messages and prayers. I know without a doubt the difference prayer has had on our lives these last 7+ months. And so I'm hoping (and asking) that whenever someone says a prayer for us, they send one up for all our grieving friends too. As Billy Graham once said, sometimes it's the people we know the least that need our prayers the most.

Love,

Mommy

Where At Last We Will Not Part

Hi Sweetheart,

I went outside to stare up at the stars tonight, but it is cloudy out. Earlier this week, there were nights when the sky was so clear, I was almost convinced that if I reached up I would be able to touch the stars. Nights like those make me feel like heaven might be closer than it seems to be most of the time...like you could be just on the other side of those stars. It reminds me of a quote I heard that says, "Perhaps they are not stars in the sky but rather openings in Heaven where the love of our lost ones shines down to let us know they are happy."

I've been thinking a lot lately about what to do with your nursery. I remember that right after you died, I couldn't bear the thought of packing away anything in your room.  A friend gave me the good advice not to do anything right away but to wait until the day came when I knew it was time. I used to go in your nursery and sit all the time, but a few weeks ago, I realized that I haven't been in there to sit in a while. Izzy follows me around everywhere, and I don't want her to track dirt into the room, so I guess over time I've just stopped going in there.  As hard as it is to think about, I know that one day we will wake up and decide to pack away your things.

Daddy and I have been thinking that we might re-purpose your room into a spare bedroom. We'd leave the paint color, curtains and rug, some of the wall hangings, and most of your keepsakes.  That makes me feel a tiny bit better about the change, but still I tear up at the thought of taking down the crib and the changing table that your Daddy put so much love into for you. We'll store those and many other items in the hopes that one day, when the time is right, you'll pass them on to a little brother or sister.

I invited a few family members to come spend some time in the nursery on their own if they wanted. I know that it is a room that holds meaning for more than just Daddy and me, and I didn't want anyone to be taken by surprise if they came to our house one day and we had changed it.  Grami said she wanted to come sit for a while and say some prayers. She came on Saturday while we were away. Just a little while ago, I went into your nursery to put something away, and I found a poem she had left in your crib.  I hope she doesn't mind if I share it with you; her words are too beautiful of a gift not to share:

"My Sweet Morris

Those moments that I held you,

Will never be enough.

I looked at you with loving eyes,

My heart was breaking so very much.

We were not meant to share this life.

You were made for so much more.

For God so loved you Morris,

That he saved you for a SPECIAL chore.

I will see your sweet face again someday

And wonder at your fame,

Knowing God used you to touch thousands

Just from the mention of your name.

Until then my dear, sweet Morris

I will hold you in my heart

And love you through eternity,

Where at last we will not part.

Love Grami"

No matter what we do with your nursery or when we do it, I think a part of me will always feel like I'm waiting on you to come home. But as Grami's poem points out, I guess technically you are the one waiting on me.

Love,

Mommy

Strength for the Storm

My Darling Son,

It's funny how sometimes no words will come for days, and then all of the sudden, words gush out of me and cause me to write to several times in just a few days.  I'm sitting in my oasis this morning, wrapped up in a blanket with a cup of coffee waiting for the sun to come up. A friend gave me a tiny elephant that holds coffee creamer the other day, and it sits next to my coffee cup being used for the first time this morning. It makes me smile; I think it may become part of my morning routine.

I ran into a friend at the JMU game yesterday. He and his wife are expecting a baby any day now. He told me about sleepless nights and anxiety as the big day approaches. He gave me a hug and told me how sorry he was for your death, how he didn't know something like this could happen until it happened to us. I smiled and told him not to worry, that everything would be okay for them, and I know that it will be. This couple is waiting to be surprised like Daddy and me, and this morning I said a prayer for their baby boy or baby girl's safe arrival.

I don't want to worry or scare people with our story. Preparing to bring a child into the world is a scary enough task all on its own. And while I think bringing awareness to pregnancy loss and stillbirth is a job that God has given someone, I don't think it is the job that He has given me. I share our story not to bring attention to the fact that something like it can happen, but because I think God wants to use it for His glory. Personally, I hope that our story helps foster better understanding of grief and grievers. I hope that God uses it to help others who are grieving feel safe to share their stories, to remind them that they are not alone, and to deliver the message that there is always hope.

Another couple attended the game with Daddy and I yesterday.  As we sat eating lunch, my friend asked me, "How do you feel at 7 months? Has your grief changed?"  I told her that I don't think my grief is any different, and yet it has changed. As I once wished a few months ago, my string of "good" days has gotten longer. I keep a Pinterest board full of quotes about grief, and these are the two quotes that have rung most true for me:

"Grief is not linear - it doesn't start off strong and then gradually taper off with time. Instead, like a big storm, it can grow larger or smaller in the same day." (Unknown)

"Grief is not linear. It is not a slow progression forward toward healing; it's a zigzag, a terrible back-and-forth from devastated to okay until finally there are more okay patches and fewer devastated ones. The mind can't handle emotions like grief and terror for any sustained period of time, so it takes some down time." (Beautiful Lies: A Novel, Lisa Unger) 

You can see the theme - grief isn't a straight line from not okay to okay, nor is it a series of stages where you go from one to the next in a perfect progression. For someone who is a control freak like me, that is the hardest part. Never knowing what to expect. But when I think about it, I guess that makes sense. If we spent all our time knowing that the storm was about to get stronger, if we sat in fear waiting for the rain and wind and lightening to overtake us, we'd never get any rest.  Like the second quote says, our minds and hearts need some downtime. There is one more quote that I've pinned on my grief board that sticks out to me:

"The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain."

When the storm is howling, it is difficult to see that perspective and even harder to believe it. But when the winds die down and the downpour turns into a light sprinkle, I feel in my soul that the sediment is true. I told my friend that asked me about my grief yesterday that I believe we are meant to be joyful beings. No matter the circumstances, God is still good.

Just a moment ago, I was interrupted from my writing by a loud buzzing sound. I looked up, and just 3 or 4 feet from me was a beautiful humming bird. After a few seconds of watching it, it was gone. My heart swelled with joy and love from the brief encounter. Seven months and 3 weeks ago, I would have probably thought it was neat to see a hummingbird so up close. Flash forward to now, and I know that the encounter must have a deeper meaning. I look up hummingbirds and one of the first things I find is this: "Hummingbirds pass on to you their energy, zest for life, playful quality, devotion and love of peace."  In other words, I think that that tiny bird (was it you?) was just providing me some strength for the next storm.

Love,

Mommy