Counting the Time

Precious Morris,

It is strange how one's concept of time changes after a great loss.  I haven't looked at a calendar in weeks, but I find myself counting down the days and weeks relative to the events surrounding you.  Yesterday was 3 weeks from the day we learned you were gone.   Next Tuesday will be 4 weeks from the day we saw your beautiful face for the first time.  The Wednesday after that will be 5 weeks from the day that we had to say goodbye to you.

I've also noticed that I assign things into categories - things we did or that happened while you were still alive and things we've done or that have happened since your death.  Someone else who lost a child warned me about this, although I had noticed myself doing it before she mentioned it. The last time we did such and such Morris was alive.  This is the first time we've been here or there since Morris died. I find myself thinking this way about the simplest things...like the first time we get off a particular exit on interstate or the first time I go into a particular store. Your daddy tells me to try not to think that way because he knows it causes me pain, but it happens subconsciously and I usually only catch myself after the thought is out.

Doing something for the first time since your death is always hard for me.  It's like ripping off a band-aid - working up the courage to do it takes time. Once I've done it though, I can face doing it again and the pain lessens each time.  There are things that I've done for the first time since your death that only God could have given me the courage and strength to do.  Just a week after your delivery, I walked down the halls of the doctor's office and past the ultrasound room for the first time since they told me you were gone.  Later that same week, I walked into the hospital where we said our goodbyes to you so that I could visit your great-grandfather.  "You will keep in perfect peace him whose mind is steadfast, because he trusts in you."  Isaiah 26:3.  

There are things that I wonder if I'll ever do again without thinking of you. The day before I knew you were gone, I went to church, to Costco, to the grocery store, and watched the Superbowl.  I don't know exactly when you passed away that day, and I'll always wonder where I was and what I was doing in that moment when you drifted away from us forever. I hope that what they say is true and that time will ease the pain, but I don't think that the Superbowl commercials will ever be as funny to me as they once were.

My best friend's baby had surgery yesterday. She sent me a beautiful text telling me that she had said a prayer and asked God to send you as a special Guardian Angel to watch over him.   She wanted to remind me that you have a great purpose.  It meant so much to me.  I sent up my own prayer right then and asked God to give you lots of important jobs to do in heaven.  You have already made us so proud.

Love,

Mommy

Bringing You Home

Hello sweet baby,

It's snowing again today.  It is so white, so pure, so peaceful outside.  I think of you each time I look out the window.

We brought you home this past Sunday.  The funeral home called the Thursday before to let us know that we could pick up your ashes.  We didn't go right away.  Please forgive us.  I just wasn't ready to face that we would be bringing you home for the first time in a tiny box instead of in your car seat like I had always imagined.

When I woke up on Sunday, I had this overwhelming urge to go get you.  I couldn't stand the thought of you being in that funeral home or alone any longer.  It was so bitter cold that day.  I took the blanket that we wrapped you in after you were born with me in the car.  I know it sounds silly and completely irrational, but I wrapped the tiny box with your remains up in that blanket so you wouldn't be cold.  Your daddy probably thought that I was crazy, but to his credit, he just smiled at me.

As we were leaving the funeral home, I asked your daddy if we could go visit your great-grandparents' grave in the cemetery across the street.   I know your great-grandfather would be so very proud to know that you share his name.  We stood there for a few minutes and I asked them to take good care of you, although I already know that you are safe and happy in heaven.

After we left the cemetery, we drove around for a while just looking at houses.  I've lived here my whole life, but your daddy took me down streets I'd never been on.  He pointed out the houses where someone he grew up with had lived.  We talked about the houses that were our favorites and the ones that it would be neat to live in one day.  If the tiny box with you inside hadn't been sitting on my lap, it could have been like any other Sunday drive.  I know it seems odd.  I think in that moment, we just needed something to seem normal since what we had just done was anything but.

I haven't been ready to think about or make decisions for a memorial service.  How do you go from planning for a life to planning for a funeral?  I still don't know.  Your daddy and I have talked about it, but we don't know yet what we will do with your ashes, when we will have a service, or what type of service we will have.  I keep hoping that much like Sunday when I woke up just knowing that it was time to pick up your remains, we will wake up one morning and God will have placed in our hearts the right way for us to honor your memory.

Morris, I'm sorry if these letters are mostly sad right now.  You've only been gone three short weeks and the pain is just too fresh.  I hope you know that I'm not always sad when I think of you though.  There are times when I am able to rejoice in the happy moments your daddy and I had with you.  When we talk about you, we are often able to smile and sometimes even laugh.  You are still our sunshine.  I know in my heart that one day these letters to you will be more happy than sad.  And I also know that one day we will see you again, and on that day, there will be no more sadness or tears for any of us.

Love,

Mommy

Your Nursery

Dear Morris,

Shock, sadness and despair, anger, emptiness and longing, fear, numbness, joy and happiness...it doesn't seem possible that a person could go through such a range of emotions on a daily basis without going completely crazy.  At the end of most days I feel physically exhausted and emotionally drained, but unfortunately sleep doesn't come easy.

The night before we went to the hospital to deliver you, I asked your daddy to move all of your things to the nursery.  I didn't want to come home to the reminder of the highchair you'd never sit in, the swing you'd never fall asleep in, or the stroller we'd never push you in.  I asked him to close the door to your room, hoping that if the reminders weren't there then maybe the pain wouldn't be either.

Since then I've realized that your memory is not limited to your nursery or to your things...your memory is everywhere and in everything.  And while there is pain in these memories, there is also love, joy, and happiness.  Your nursery, the last place I thought I would want to be after your death, is actually one of my favorite rooms in our house and the room where I now find the most comfort and peace.

Your daddy put so much effort into making your nursery a special place for you.  He painted the walls gray. And not just any shade of gray, but a beautiful soft gray that matches the small canvas baskets with elephants on them that hold your toys and books.  We went to Lowes three times for paint samples before we found the perfect shade.   He spent hours assembling your crib, that while beautiful, came with terrible instructions. Your daddy was down in the basement several nights tediously painting an old changing table gray and white to match the chevron print rug we bought. He refinished an outdated dresser from our spare bedroom in the perfect shade of dark gray to match your crib. He helped pick out the fabric for the curtains we had specially made for your room and for the glider we had recovered.  He even got out tape measures and levels to make sure that pictures were hung in the exact right spots on the walls (the only pictures hung with that much care in our entire house).  There is so much of your daddy's love for you in this room, and that's one of the reasons I love to be in here.

The moments that I feel the angriest and the saddest are the moments when I think about the fact that you'll never experience your daddy's love from here on earth.  He loved you from the moment he knew about you, probably even before that, and he is the perfect daddy.  I grieve for both of you over the words you'll never get to say to each other and the things you'll never get to do together.

While I grieve the relationship you'll never get to have with your earthly father, I know that you are with the Heavenly Father who loves you and us more than we could ever imagine.  As beautiful as your nursery is here on earth, I know that it doesn't come close to the room in Heaven that was prepared specifically for you by Christ.  I can't wait for you to show it to me one day.

Love,

Mommy

"In my father's house there are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you.  I go to prepare a place for you.  And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there you may be also.  You know the way to the place where I am going."  John 14:2-4  

My Tiny Valentine

My tiny Valentine,

Your Gramy bought you this book not long after we told her about you.  It was your very first book.  I never dreamed when I was reading it to you all those times that our love would have to reach up to heaven to find you.

Your daddy told me the other night that he never knew it was possible to miss someone that you got to spend such little time with so very much.  I know exactly what he means. This longing to see you and to hold you again...I know that it will never go away.  You were inside of me for 8 short months and in my arms for only hours, but you will be in my heart forever.

When your daddy and I got married, we had a reading of 1 Corinthians 13 at our wedding ceremony.   Your Aunt Becca sang a song called "Love Never Fails" that was based on the same chapter of the Bible. These verses have been read at almost every wedding ceremony I've ever attended, and they are some of the most well-known verses of all time, yet I don't think I really understood how important these words were until now:

"If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing.  If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.  Love is patient, love is kind.  It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.  Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails."  1 Corinthians 13:1-8

It would be so easy for your daddy and I to be bitter, to assign blame, and to withdrawal from the world and everyone in it.  Don't get me wrong - there are moments when we are angry that you are gone, when we wish there was someone or something to blame, and when we want to just be alone in our grief - and these moments will continue to come.  But we also know that living our lives this way won't bring you back nor will it bring honor to your life.

People have told us that we are so strong, but that strength doesn't come from us.  It comes from the love and support we've received from so many.  It comes from our Heavenly Father.  And last but certainly not least, it comes from the love we share for you.  Morris, you are the best thing that ever happened to us. There are so many things that we will never get to do for you or with you, but one thing we can do is live in a way that brings purpose and light to your short life.  You deserve that much and more, so we will love each other and the world in a way that makes you proud.

As you look down on us from above on this Valentine's Day, I hope you remember this:

"You are my angel, my darling, my star...and my love will find you wherever you are."

Love,

Mommy

Your Beautiful Birth Story

My sweet Morris,

Today marks a week since we delivered you into the world knowing that we would have to say goodbye too soon.  It seems odd that both so much and so little time could have passed since that moment.  It seems even odder that the world could go on spinning without you.  People who have experienced similar losses have told me that journaling helps ease the pain.  I figured it is worth a try.  There is so much that I want you to know and that I will only ever get to tell you in these letters now.  

One day, I'll share with you about the terrible day before your birthday....the day that they told me that you were no longer with us.  But not today; I can't bear the pain of thinking about that day right now.  It seems appropriate that today, on my birthday, I share with you the beautiful story of your own birth.  

I remember every detail of your birthday, the hard parts and the beautiful parts.  The hard parts started early.  Your daddy had set an alarm for just before 6 AM so that we could call the hospital.  When it went off, he went out to the kitchen and made the call.  I laid in bed listening to him on the phone and sobbed.  It seemed so unimaginable and impossible.  Your daddy came back into the room and sat down on the bed beside me.  We cried together for a few minutes before he helped me get up and take a shower.  I don't know how we went through the motions of getting ready that morning. I think we were both still in shock from the day before.  As I got dressed, your daddy packed the hospital bag that I had planned to pack in the coming week.  I don't know how he did it, but he went into your nursery and got the clothes we had bought for you to wear home and picked out a blanket to wrap you in after you were born.  The night before, he had washed and dried the special hospital gown that I had bought to wear for your birth, and even though I didn't think I wanted to wear it, he packed it in the bag just in case.  I'm so glad he did.

When we were driving to the hospital, I remember staring at the oncoming cars and wondering where the people inside of them were going.  Didn't they know that you were gone?  How could they be going to work or to school or to the grocery store like it was a normal day?  I remember saying to your daddy, "It isn't very often that you wake up knowing that today is going to be the worst day of your entire life."

At some point in the drive, I remembered the prayer that I had prayed with you the day before.  I had bought this prayer book when I first found out about you.  It contained a prayer to read everyday for the entire 40 weeks of pregnancy.  The last prayer I had read was on Monday morning before I left for the doctor's office, and it had contained a scripture that at the time seemed so odd to include in a pregnancy prayer book.  I had actually looked up a word from the scripture to make sure I was understanding it.  I got out my phone to re-read the prayer.  The scripture was Psalm 94:19:  "When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought joy to my soul."   I know deep in my heart that it was no coincidence that I bought that specific prayer book to read during my pregnancy, that it contained that particular verse, and that I read that exact prayer the morning prior to your birth.  It was a gift from God.  It didn't happen immediately, but reading that scripture on the way to the hospital changed our perspective. Your birthday went from what would have been a day of sorrow to being a day of immense joy and peace.

We got to the hospital and held hands as we walked through the door and made our way to the Birthing Suite.  Your Gramy and Papaw were there with Pastor Todd and his wife Karen.  I told them about the verse.  There were tears and prayers in the waiting room before we checked in.

Oh Morris, we were so very unprepared for the questions we were asked that morning.  What funeral home did we want to use?  Did we plan to have you baptized after you were delivered?  We had written a birth plan a week prior to your birth, but none of these things were in our plan.  Nothing about that day was in our plan, but thankfully my sweet baby,  it was all in God's plan.

I don't know exactly what time it was, but sometime mid-morning after being induced, I looked up at your daddy and said, "Today is the day that we are going to meet our baby...the baby that we prayed for, the baby that was alive and that I carried for 8 months. I cannot bear for this to be a sad day.  There will be plenty of time for sadness tomorrow and every other day for the rest of our lives.  But I need today to be a happy day.  Our baby deserves a happy day on his or her birthday".  Your daddy, showing the same strength he had shown since Monday, simply said, "Okay.  It is going to be a happy day."  We told everyone that came into our room after that point - the nurses, the midwife, family and friends - that we were going to make the day as happy as it could possibly be.  I wish I could say that it was our strength and faith that allowed us to be happy in the midst of such a sad time, but the credit goes to God.  There were prayers going up from literally hundreds of people all day on your birthday, and that's what made it possible for the day to be one of celebration.  Those prayers led to other blessings we received that day too - my midwife Mary showing up that morning to deliver you instead of the doctor we had just met the day before, the unbelievable care  and compassion that we received from our team of nurses Dylan, Megan and Amanda, and the private waiting room with food that the hospital set up for our family.  One of the biggest blessings is that we were able to get answers after your birth about how this happened.  We will probably never know or understand the why, but knowing the how has at least brought some comfort.

You were delivered into this world at 11:17 PM.  Your daddy watched you being born, and the look of pride on his face when he saw you is something that I will always treasure.  Your daddy was the one to get to tell me that you were a boy - one of the only things that went as we had planned it.  We laughed because we had a feeling the entire pregnancy that you were a boy, and we were right.  Your name, Morris Keith, is so very special to us.  We had other names picked out, but we had decided earlier in the day that they weren't special enough for you.  Your name honors someone who greeted you in heaven (your great-grandfather, Hiram Morris Knopp) and someone who loves you from here on earth (your papaw, Bryan Keith Bottenfield).

I'll never forget the moment I first saw you.  You were so beautiful, so perfect, and so peaceful.  Mary wrapped you in a blanket and gave you to me.  Those first moments with you are etched in my heart forever.

Shortly after your birth, your Gramy and Papaw, Bball and G-Daddy, Aunt Becca, and Pastor Todd joined us in the delivery room.  They all held you and loved you.  Your Aunt Becca helped me sing the chorus to "How Great is Our God", which is the song I sang to you many mornings as I got ready for work.  Pastor Todd performed the most beautiful baptismal service.  There was so much love and peace in that hospital room.   I don't think it could ever really be appreciated or understood except by those of us that were blessed enough to experience it.  After everyone left, your daddy and I spent time holding you, kissing you, singing to you and talking to you.  We said our final goodbyes to you the next morning.  We will have never spent enough time with you.  Our goodbye was a perfect one though, and your daddy and I have such a peace about it.

Your daddy surprised me on Friday with a beautiful amethyst necklace - your and my birthstone.  He asked me if I knew what the stone meant...I laughed because I didn't know that birthstones had meanings.  It turns out that the amethyst is a meditative and calming stone which works in the emotional, spiritual, and physical planes to provide clam, balance, patience, and peace.  All things that I really need right now.  He gave me a gorgeous matching ring for my birthday this morning.  Your daddy is really amazing.

This week has been the hardest week of our lives.  Your birth was beautiful, but the sadness is real now that you are gone.  It sounds cheesy and cliche, but even knowing what we now know and going through all this pain, we wouldn't change things for the world.  Morris, you have made us so much stronger.  I know that we will get through this together and with you as our Guardian Angel.   We love you so very, very much.

Love,

Mommy