The Anonymous Poet

My Dear Morris,

Your daddy and I just got back from visiting with Jackson. It was our third visit since leaving the hospital the night he was born. His mommy and daddy have welcomed us with a smile each time we've visited, and if they are tired of seeing us, they have been kind enough not to tell us. I feel closer to Jackson's mommy than ever, and I continue to be amazed by her unselfishness in sharing her beautiful son with me. My heart still aches for you and desperately wishes you were here, but Jackson has brought a happiness back into our lives.

In all my excitement about Jackson's birth, I forgot to share with you about the Anonymous Poet. Thursday morning, I woke up overwhelmed by sadness. I laid in bed for a long time, and the thought of getting up and going into work seemed impossible. I just wanted to lay in bed and cry. But before long, Abby jumped out of bed and anxiously waited for me to take her outside, so I drug myself out of bed to let her out. 

As I stood in the cold waiting for Abby, I remembered that I hadn't checked the mail the day before. In the mailbox was several pieces of junk mail and a manila envelope with no return address. Curious, I walked back into the house and opened the envelope first thing. Inside was a letter addressed to me. The letter was from a women who said that while she had never experienced a loss like mine, as a mother her heart grieved for me. The letter said that when this woman heard about you, God laid a poem on her heart. She hadn't been sure that she would share the poem with me at first, but after reading my blog, she decided to send it. The letter was signed anonymously "Sister-in-Christ".

I cried as I read the enclosed poem. It was so beautiful. It contained your name, and it told our story and our love so perfectly. The last few lines of the poem said:

May Your grace surround me

As I go through each day

Remind me Dear Lord

You are only a prayer away

Help me Lord

See me through

I choose this day

To trust in You

As I read those words again and again, the hopelessness that I had felt since waking up disappeared. I felt strong enough to get in the shower. After saying a prayer in the shower, I felt strong enough to go to work.  

Two months ago, God put beautiful words of love and hope on someone's heart in the form of a poem. A few weeks after that, the Holy Spirit prompted that person to put the poem in the mail to me. I checked the mail on the exact day I needed to hear those words. Many people would call it a coincidence that on the day I needed encouragement, there it was. But these things didn't occur by accident or by chance, and calling them a coincidence doesn't give credit to the One who deserves it. 

There have been times in my life when I've felt the Holy Spirit speaking to me about a need, and instead of taking action, I've ignored what was being said or put off doing something about it. It breaks my heart to think that someone may have missed out on a blessing because of my selfishness or lack of courage. I'm just grateful that in my time of need, so many others have had the courage to follow through.

Love,

Mommy

Joy in the Mourning

Baby Boy,

I woke up this morning and cried, but for the first time since losing you, the tears I cried were tears of happiness. The bible promises us that weeping may last through the night, but that joy comes with the morning (Psalm 30:5). Last night, God gave us joy in our mourning. After a long and heroic effort by his mother, our Godson Jackson is finally here.

Your daddy and I have always loved children. Your daddy is so amazing with little ones. I can't count the number of times that we've been out somewhere and your daddy has disappeared only to come back a little while later with someone's baby in his arms and a huge grin on his face. After we lost you, I wondered if all that would change. I thought it would hurt him too much to be around other people's children when we didn't have our own child. But two days after we returned home from the hospital without you, I watched your daddy on the floor playing with your cousin Abigail.  As he laid on his back and tossed her up in the air, and I listened to the two of them giggle, tears of relief filled my eyes. Just a few days later, I heard him tell our friends that we wanted to be present at their son's birth - something that the two of us hadn't discussed - and my heart filled with pride for this man that you are lucky enough to get to call daddy.

As I watched your daddy with Abigail that day, I vowed that I would not let Satan steal our joy. I know that withdrawing ourselves from the children in our lives would be letting Satan win. Satan would like nothing more than for there to be no more happiness or laughter in our lives, for there to be no more precious moments spent with the little ones we love so dearly, for us to view birth as a painful reminder instead of the miracle it is.

When I shared with people that your daddy and I wanted to be present when Jackson was born, a lot of people were concerned for us. They worried that it was too soon for us to walk into the hospital where we said goodbye to you and say hello to another baby boy. I've put on a big face about the topic, but I'd be lying if I said that I hadn't agonized about it myself. If I hadn't doubted that I would have the strength to follow through. Thursday, when I got the news that Jackson might be on his way, I broke down and cried. The reality that Jackson would be here and you wouldn't be hit me again, and it was hard. I called your daddy for support. Then I pulled myself together, and I walked up the street to a friend's house. This friend cares for her child and several other children in her home, including your cousin Abigail. I was greeted at the door with Abigail's huge smile, and within a few minutes, I was sitting on the floor playing race cars with three beautiful children. It was the reminder my heart needed about why we wanted to be at Jackson's birth, and I walked back home with renewed strength and determination to be there for my best friends and Godson.

Jackson certainly made us wait...his mommy endured 31 hours of labor. Your daddy and I spent 12 of those hours at the hospital. We got to spend an amazing few hours sitting with our friends as they anxiously awaited Jackson's arrival, and then we headed out in the waiting room. It was several hours later before we got the text that he was here, and another few hours before we got the text that he was ready to meet us.

There are only 4 babies that I have had the honor of holding just hours after they were born: my nieces Ava and Abigail, you, and Jackson. Each time I have reveled in the miracle I was experiencing. But maybe because the miracle of holding you didn't go as we had planned, holding Jackson last night filled my heart with more joy than I thought possible. The moment that everyone, including me, thought would be bittersweet was only sweet. I will cherish those few minutes we spent with Jackson and his mommy and daddy for the rest of my life.

On our drive home, I waited for the bitter feelings to come. I waited for the overwhelming joy and happiness I felt to be replaced with an overwhelming sadness and jealousy.  But the sadness and envy never came, and the tears I cried this morning were tears of love and redemption. Our minds cannot comprehend the strength and peace that the Holy Spirit will give us if we only ask. We can't imagine the blessings we will receive from choosing to find joy in the midst of life's biggest sorrows. Morris, that is something I will be forever grateful to you for teaching me.

Love,

Mommy

Unqualified

Hi Pumpkin,

I've had a good first two days back at work. Every once in a while, I'll realize that I haven't thought about you for a little while. Oddly enough, I don't feel guilty about this like I thought I might. Thank you for letting me have a peace about it.

In the past week, I've had two people tell me that their relationship with God has been changed through our story and my letters to you. To think that someone's faith could be impacted by me is laughable. I am a girl who has only a handful of scriptures memorized, and I probably couldn't give you the reference for a few of those. I am a girl who usually misses part of what the pastor is saying because I am still fumbling to find the passage in the bible that he just referenced. I am a girl who sometimes goes a whole day without remembering to pray. I am a girl who often chooses to catch up on the episode of Grey's Anatomy I missed instead of taking the time to do a daily devotional.

If I had known that God might use me to speak to others in some way, I would have been better prepared. I would have equipped myself. I would have read my bible more, and I definitely would have prayed more. But I think that sometimes unprepared people are God's favorite kind of people to use. It is the David and Goliath story. Saul on the road to Damascus. By using someone so unqualified, so unworthy really, it is clear that the work He is doing could only be done by Him. And as an added bonus, it gives the person He is using the desire to become better equipped.

I've realized that God doesn't need me to be perfect; the only thing that He needs me to do in order for Him to be able to use me is to obey. To pay attention when I feel the Holy Spirit nudging me. It is that simple and that complicated. For someone who has always worried about what others think about her, sharing my heart so honestly and openly is difficult. But losing you has made me realize how little it matters what other people think of me. I have the courage and freedom to say things and to do things that I would have shied away from before. So despite all the things I lost when I lost you, I guess I gained something too.

Love,

Mommy

Back to Work

Hello Buttercup,

I'm going back to work part-time starting tomorrow (well today by the time I finish this letter). The company I work for is an amazing company, and they would understand if I wasn't ready to return. They have shown me so much support and compassion throughout this tragedy. But I know that going back to work is like so many other firsts that I've faced since losing you...I'll never feel ready to do it.  If I can just make it through the first day though, the next day after that won't be as hard.

I've thought about returning to work often over the last week. I feel relieved to be going back to a routine. I figure that having a routine will make me feel somewhat "normal" again and will distract me from the heartache I feel. I feel happy about returning to familiar and friendly faces. I've been alone a lot over the past several weeks.  But I also feel anxious...a lot more anxious than I thought I would feel.

My best friend came over for dinner tonight and we talked about my return to work. In our conversation, it dawned on me why I feel the way I do. For the last two months, almost everything that I have done has revolved around you. I've thought about you. I've cried over you. I've sat in your nursery gazing at all the keepsakes I have to remind me of you.  I've written to you. I've talked to others about you. I've read books on grief and loss to help me cope with losing you. I've searched for ways to honor you.

You have been my full-time job.

Now that I'm returning to work, I won't have as much time to devote to these activities. Activities that I've poured myself into to ensure that your memory stays at the forefront of my life. Giving up some of the time that I've devoted to doing these things makes me feel like I am going to lose you all over again. I worry that you will begin to slip away from me even faster than you have already. That scares me so much.

It makes me wonder if it is too soon to be doing something as ordinary as going to work each day. If it is too soon to give up time that I could be spending on all these activities. But I know that no matter how much time passes, whether it is 2 months or 2 years, it will always be too soon. So instead of giving in to my fears, I push myself to keep moving forward. To keep making progress day by day. To remember that as one season ends, another begins.

I go over and over every thing I can remember about the time we were given together in my head, and I write it all down. The more I do that, the more I realize that your memory will never fade away entirely.  I won't let it.

Love,

Mommy

My Testimony

Sweet Baby Boy,

If someone had asked me a year ago to share my testimony, I'm embarrassed to say that I don't know what I would have said. I grew up in church, I accepted Christ at an early age, and I up until now, my life has been pretty great. I actually used to pray that God wouldn't give me one of those testimonies...one of those testimonies that I might feel obligated to share. When I was anxious about finding a job out of college...God, please don't let unemployment be my testimony. When we struggled to conceive you...God, please don't let infertility be my testimony.  When your papaw was undergoing tests and the "C" word was mentioned...God, please don't let losing my dad to cancer be my testimony. I didn't want to be someone with a "powerful" testimony, someone with a story of how something terrible had happened in my life and God had gotten me through.

I am ashamed to say that it took losing you to make me realize that I've always had a powerful testimony. For the 32 years before I lost you, God was actively doing things in my life. I struggled here and there with small things, but nothing that seemed major. Because my life seemed more like a fairy tale than a horror story, I didn't think my story was poetic enough to share. Why is it that we often wait for something terrible to happen or almost happen in our lives before we feel like we can share what God has done for us?  It is like we believe that unless our story is tragic, unless it comes with some measurable pain, heartache or anxiety, it isn't worth being told. As one prayer after another is answered and nothing bad happens to us, we lose track of the all things God has done in our lives and we forget about the details. Oh sure, we say things like "I am blessed" and "God is good" when our lives are going well, but the truth is, we often say them as a happy expression. It isn't that we don't believe those things to be true, it is just that some of us don't believe those things are really our testimony. We don't believe that God can really use a story that comes without the drama of a daytime talk show to do anything significant. When someone asks us to share our testimony, we gulp and try to think back to the last important thing God did for us that might seem meaningful to the person asking, something that will pull at their heartstrings and make our God seem big.

But our God is already big. He is big even in the little things. He can use all the parts of our story that to us seem too insignificant to share. It must be so frustrating to him. I imagine that he looks down at all of us and wonders, "Don't they get it? Don't they get that I don't need them to orchestrate a beautiful story to tell in order for me to be able to use it?" To God, all of our stories are significant, and he knows someone who needs to hear each one. If we let him, he will use our story. Even the stories that don't include being unemployed or being infertile or having cancer or losing a child. Even the stories that have no tragedy in them at all.

I don't think I'm the only one who has ever had this misconception that my testimony wasn't valid if it didn't come with a big parade and fireworks. I think I'm writing this letter as much for others as I am for you and me.  Maybe in the hopes that the next time one of them says, "What a powerful testimony!" to someone else, they'll look inside and realize that they have a powerful testimony too.

Morris, when someone asks me what my testimony is now, I hope I remember that my testimony isn't just about you. Yes, you are an amazing part of my story, and I know in my heart that God has big plans to use you. He is already using you. But my testimony is so much bigger than just what God is doing for me today. God has done and will continue to do great things in my life, and some of those things will come without all the tragedy and heartache that make for a good story. So if you look down and see me overlooking something God has done or is doing in my life that should be part of my testimony, please give my heart a little tug so I don't miss it.

Love,

Mommy

New Normal

Hello Darling,

Someone told me the other day that I was an overachiever even in grief.  We laughed about it, but afterwards I realized that the statement had some truth to it.  I keep looking for some confirmation that I am doing this grief thing the right way, for some reassurance that I am handling things better than those around me expect. I keep pushing myself to be ready to do certain things and to get back to "normal" as fast as possible.

But nothing about losing you is normal. People tell me that things will never be normal again, that I will find a new normal as time goes by. I know that that they are right, although I've come to the realization that as I go through different stages of grief, I'll probably go through lots of new normal's. Right now my new normal is sitting in the rocking chair in your nursery starring at your empty crib. It is taking multiple showers a day just because I find the warm water running over me comforting, and it is sleeping with the blanket that we wrapped you in after you were born. It is looking for small trinkets, like things with "M" on them or angel figurines or anything that reminds me of you, hoping that one day I'll find something that somehow fills this void I feel. That is what my new normal looks like today. I don't know what it will look like tomorrow, next week, next month or next year.

So many people have told me that they find our story inspirational and that they are amazed by my faith. I am flattered by the compliments, but in all honesty, my faith wasn't nearly as strong before this happened. You changed me. I looked at you on the day you were born, and I just knew that you had inherited only the very best parts of your daddy and I. To me, you represent everything that is good and pure and beautiful in this world, and I have to believe that if God took you, it is because there is some magnificent purpose that can only be fulfilled with you in heaven. Maybe that is faith, but it is also my selfish desire as your mother. I want for you to be known and for your life to have a great purpose.

Despite my selfishness, God continues to bless me. He has allowed people to share with me how much you mean to them, how much your short life has changed theirs, and how feel fortunate they feel to be connected to you in some way. My heart bursts with pride every time I hear someone say your name. I am so incredibly humbled and honored to be your mother. And no matter how much time passes or what stage of grief I'm in, I want you to know that those feelings will always be part of my new normal.

Love,

Mommy

Unwavering Faith

Good Morning Darling,

Grief is exhausting. I read that somewhere recently, and it couldn't be more true. I'm so tired. I'm so sad. I'm so tired of being so sad.

We went back to church for the first time yesterday. I woke up feeling the need to be there. But as I stood there and listened to the congregation singing around me, I just felt empty. I mouthed along to most of the songs, unable to sing, my eyes filling with tears.

In his sermon, Pastor Todd spoke about the Holy Spirit, about its sheer power and strength. He asked if we could definitively say that we had felt the presence of the Holy Spirit in our lives in the past year. I know I have. The Holy Spirit was with us the day you were born, coming to us as a result of the prayers sent up by so many that day. It is the only reason that we were able to focus on the joy and beauty of your birth instead of the pain and sadness.

Maybe it was the reminder of that experience, but when the invitational song came, I finally felt like praising God. I lifted my hand in the air as the tears rolled down my face and the congregation sang, "Oh praise the One who paid my debt and raised this life up from the dead."  In that brief moment, my heart felt full again.

I thought about it later, and I wondered how my heart could have possibly felt full when someone as important and precious to me as you is missing. It prompted me to do some searching this morning.  I came across this passage in 2 Samuel 12 (16-23):

"David pleaded with God for the child. He fasted and went into his house and spent the nights laying on the ground. The elders of his household stood beside him to get him up from the ground, but he refused, and he would not eat any food with them.  

On the seventh day, the child died. David's servants were afraid to tell him that the child was dead, for they thought, "While the child was still living, we spoke to David but he would not listen to us. How can we tell him the child is dead? He may do something desperate."  David noticed that his servants were whispering among themselves and he realized the child was dead. "Is the child dead?", he asked. "Yes," they replied, "he is dead."   

Then David got up from the ground.  After he had washed, put on lotions and changed his clothes, he went into the house of the Lord and worshiped. Then he went to his own house, and at his request they served him food, and he ate.  

His servants asked him, "Why are you acting this way? While the child was alive, you fasted and wept, but now that the child is dead, you get up and eat!"

He answered, "While the child was still alive, I fasted and wept. I thought, 'Who knows? The Lord may be gracious to me and let the child live.' But now that he is dead, why should I fast? Can I bring him back again? I will go to him, but he will not return to me." 

David knew that God was the only person he could rely on and trust to make his heart complete. David had unwavering faith in God's promises, and because he knew that he would be reunited with his son again in heaven, he worshiped and ate that day. The scripture doesn't say if David ever grieved over the loss of his son again, if days later he broke down in tears or if weeks later he screamed at God for taking his child. The selfish part of me hopes that he did.  Hopes that even a man of such great faith as David had times when he greedily wished that his son was with him instead of with the Lord. The other part of me....well, it hopes that I might one day have that unwavering faith.

Love,

Mommy

Grami’s Memory

Hi Sweet Morris,

I miss you all the time. Everyday is hard, but some days are harder than others. But each day I get up and try my very best to make it an okay day. I know it is what you would want your daddy and I to do.

Just the other day, Grami brought us a beautiful painting as a tribute to you. The quote on it sums up exactly how I feel about you..."I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach!"  The painting is hanging in our entry way so that everyone who enters our home will know how much you are loved and missed.

Your Grami wanted to preserve her memory of your birthday.  She wrote it down and shared it with your daddy and I.  It is such a beautiful memory of that day that I wanted to share it with you too.

Love,

Mommy

Grami's Memory

"My memory of Morris’ birthday is bittersweet. It was a long day waiting at the hospital, but Keri and Ryan were so strong. I am incredibly proud of them. They sensed that the baby was a boy all along (Keri always gravitated toward the little boy things). It seems strange to me now (because we knew the baby would not come home), but in those long hours of waiting we were still so anxious to know whether the baby was a girl or a boy.  

It was a bittersweet moment to meet our precious first Grandson, Morris Keith. We are so honored that he received part of his Grandfather’s name. I still relish the memory of watching Morris be baptized and the look of pride on his Daddy’s face. It is a moment etched in my memory. It was beautiful how the Holy Spirit filled that room and provided a peace that could have only come through His presence.  

What happened when we left the hospital that night though sealed in my heart that we had indeed been in the presence of the Holy Spirit. Earlier in the day, I had mentioned that Jupiter would be aligned with the moon that same night. It is odd how I was sharing tidbits of news during those heartbreaking hours, but this particular item lead us to another moment of unexplained peace. The walk out of the hospital in those early morning hours was heartbreaking. As we stepped out into the dark, Rebecca was the first to notice the sky and point out Jupiter. When I looked up, I noticed a huge ring around both the moon and Jupiter. It looked like a ring of clouds, but like no other I had ever seen. It hovered over the entire hospital. It was in that moment I thought about a passage from Hebrews 12:1, “since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses…”.  I thought about our brothers and sisters in Christ and the prayers that had been offered on our families’ behalf and how those prayers had helped us find peace. I looked closer and realized that the center of the circle appeared so pure and clear, like a peaceful night sky that formed a funnel to Heaven.  It was as if Heaven had opened up to welcome our sweet Morris home. We stood there in awe of God."  

The sky on the night you were born

Purpose

Hi there Baby,

I woke up a little after midnight. My heart was heavy. My shoulders were tense, my muscles ached, my head was cloudy. Losing you weighed on me. I tossed and turned for a while trying to get back to sleep, but I finally got up and came into your nursery to sit. The weight feels lighter in here.

We gave away the last of your milk yesterday. The milk that was supposed to feed and nourish you. I had known all along that giving it away wouldn't be easy, but I hadn't expected it to feel like such a physical loss. I know that giving it away was beautiful and meaningful and brought some small amount of purpose to all of this, but giving it away still hurt.

In the early days after coming home from the hospital, pumping was comforting. It was a routine, something to focus on other than the pain. It was the one thing I could do that reminded me I was still a mother. Your daddy was such an amazing support. He sat and talked with me while I pumped; he cleaned parts and labeled bags. Together we would count down the next three hours until it was time for me to pump again. But as the days turned into weeks and our freezer filled up, pumping became less comforting and more of a reminder that you weren't here. I decided to stop, but it is a decision that hasn't come without guilt or heartache. In some ways, I feel like a connection with you has been lost, one that I will never be able to get back.

From the time we made the decision that I would pump, I had in my head that your milk should go to a sick or very premature baby...a baby that could "really use it". It felt like that was the only way for there to be purpose in doing it. When I hear myself say that aloud now, it sounds selfish and silly because one baby's life isn't more valuable than another's. But letting go of the idea was hard for me. After days of agonizing over what I should do, I finally realized that I was trying to control something that I needed to put in God's hands. Right before I posted the milk for donation, your daddy and I prayed that my post would be seen by the right person and that your milk would go to the baby that God intended. Within minutes of our prayer and my post, I received a random thinking-about you text from a friend that included this bible verse:  "Many are the plans in a person's heart, but it is the Lord's purpose that prevails." (Proverbs 19:21)  Talk about getting a reminder when you really need one.

It turns out that God had two babies in mind for your milk. Not surprisingly, they are both baby boys around the same age as you would have been.

We know the parents of one of these babies, although not very well. Their son shared a due date with you but was born two days early. They offered to let us meet him the other night when they came to pick up the milk. He was the first baby that I had held since you. As we stood in your nursery with his parents, my eye caught a small stuffed giraffe in one of your toy baskets. I knew that it was supposed to go to him. It gives me comfort to know that it will be played with instead of sitting idly with your other toys.

We didn't get to meet the other baby, and we probably never will. But I know that he must be a special baby boy too.

Love,

Mommy

Your Best Friend

My Dear, Sweet Morris,

The little boy who would have been your best friend here on earth is going to be born very soon.  You would have been his best friend, but now you'll be his Guardian Angel.  It is a bittersweet thought.

His mommy is one of my dearest friends, although we haven't known each other long.  We met just a little over four years ago at work.  She and I share the same birthday just one year apart, so a great friendship was bound to bloom.  Before we both got pregnant, we would talk about how much we wanted each of you.  We made big plans for the both of you long before you were conceived.  

Then, incredibly, we got pregnant just 3 weeks apart. She was one of the first people to know about you, and I was one of the first people to know about her little one. We shared every moment of our pregnancies together, every symptom, twinge, craving, and worry. We talked about the two of you constantly. We even shared the news with our co-workers together. Outside of your daddy, she probably knows more about you than anyone. She was one of the first people who knew that you were gone. 

I was so afraid that she might pull away from me, that she would think being around me was too upsetting. But I should have known better. I look at her, and I know she feels my pain.  Her heart breaks with mine because you are gone. Because the dreams we had together are shattered. Because the things we thought the two of you would share, you won't. 

In her pain, she has given me the most incredible gift. She and her husband have unselfishly offered to share their sweet little boy with your daddy and I in such a special way. They have asked us to be his Godparents. I am so overwhelmed that they would ask us to play such a meaningful role his life. He won't take up any of the space in my heart that is reserved for you, but I know that my heart will expand to make room for him. It already has.  

Your daddy and I want so much to be there in the waiting room when this precious baby boy is born. To be among the first group of people that get to meet him, get to see his beautiful face. We are not naive; we know it will be hard. Some have even told us that it will be impossible. While I understand their concern and doubt, I know deep in my heart that this will be good for me.  I want to experience joy in this time when so much of it has been taken away.  My heart wants so desperately to witness a miracle.  

I know that you'll be with all of us when Jackson's big moment finally comes, and that you'll be celebrating with the rest of the angels in heaven when he is born. 

Love, 

Mommy

Twenty-Six Thousand

Morris,

Since you've been gone, I've read a lot about stillbirth. I don't really know what I'm looking to find. We already have the how answers, and I'll never be able to find the why I'm looking for in some article.

I read that stillbirth occurs in about 1 out of every 160 pregnancies. When you do the math, the chances of it happening to you seem non-existent. And yet, here we are. In the US, there are 26,000 babies stillborn each year. If I had read that number before you, I probably would have felt sad, but I would have thought that it was a small number compared to all the babies that are born healthy. Now when I see that number, all I can think about is 26,000 babies that look like you, 26,000 mommies and daddies who had to say goodbye before getting a chance to say hello, and 26,000 families who will forever have someone missing from their family photos. I guess your perspective changes when you are the statistic.

Over the last few weeks, I have heard so many sad stories from others who have had to say goodbye to a child. My heart aches for each one. Some of these stories have made me realize just how lucky I am to have had the chance to see your beautiful face, to hold you in my arms, and to grieve you in my own way. There are mothers before me who weren't so lucky. They gave birth in a different time, a time when stillborn babies were whisked away the moment they were born, when there were no keepsakes like footprints and handprints given to them to treasure, when it was considered best not to talk about your baby but to "get on with your life".

I am grateful that some things have changed since then, but there is still work that needs to be done to support families struggling with loss and to educate people about grief. Last night I went to a support group meeting hosed by the Sadie Rose Foundation for parents who have had to say goodbye to a child.  There were more sad stories, but there was also hope. Hope, because while saying goodbye is a sad part of every one of our stories, it isn't our whole story.

There was a wall in the meeting room covered with little butterflies holding the names of babies and children, who like you, live in heaven now. As I read over each of the names, I was struck by the magnitude of just how many friends you have up there. It was beautiful and heartbreaking all at the same time.

Love,

Mommy

      

An Innocent Question

Good Morning Sweetheart,

I miss you so much. I saw something that someone posted not long ago that said when it snows the angels are having a pillow fight. You must be having so much fun up there. But I have to wonder if heaven is going to run out of pillows anytime soon.

Your daddy and I got out of the house on an overnight trip for the first time since we said goodbye to you. Like all of our firsts, it was hard, but it was also good for us. While we were away though, it happened. Someone asked the question. The question that I knew would come, the question that I've been dreading. In the midst of a casual conversation, the person asked, "Do you have children?"  It used to be such an innocent question.

Despite all my anticipation and planning over the last few weeks, despite all the answers that I'd prepared in my head and had been ready to say when this moment came, I panicked. I looked helplessly at your daddy and he looked helplessly back at me. Someone who knew our story jumped in with a quick "no" for us and changed the subject. I was so grateful to that person. I spent the rest of the conversation nodding my head and giving small smiles, hoping that the person I was talking with didn't notice that my mind was elsewhere. My mind was on you, of course.

I've thought about it a lot in the last few weeks, and I know that answering the question with a "no" is okay. It is one of the many answers that I've placed in my big bag of possible responses. There will be times, like this one, when I am feeling emotionally raw and when I'm not strong enough to share our story without breaking down. There will be times, like this one, when we aren't in the right time or place to share our story or when the person across from us would be too caught off guard by it. I know that answering the question with a "no" in those situations is what is best for me. And yet, I don't know if I will ever be able to answer it that way without my heart breaking. Without sending a quick prayer up to the heavens and asking for forgiveness.

My love for you is so true, so strong.  It will stand the test of all these simple, innocent questions.  No matter how I choose to answer a question in the moment, I know that you and everyone else who loves me will understand.

Now please sweet baby, no more pillow fights.

Love,

Mommy

Goodbye for a Little While

Beautiful Morris,

The day we said goodbye was without a doubt the hardest day of my life. From the moment they told me you were gone, I knew that goodbye was a moment that I would have to face.  On the day you were born, I pushed the thought of it out of my mind for as long as I could.  I wanted every moment I spent with you up until goodbye to be as happy as it could be.

The day we said goodbye, you looked even more peaceful and beautiful than you had the night before. I held you in my arms and drew you close to me as I rocked you. I kissed your forehead. I stroked your cheek and memorized every detail of your face. You looked so much like your daddy, and you would have grown to be handsome just like him. Just a few days after we left the hospital, a moment came that I will never forget. I was sitting in the rocker in your nursery when your daddy came into the doorway and stood there. I have no idea what we were talking about, but at some point in the conversation, a smile crept across his face. In that instant, I knew that you would have had your daddy's smile. It was a moment that completely took my breath away. As long as your daddy can still smile, I will have a little piece of you here with me.

The day we said goodbye, I held you, spoke to you, and sang to you. The words that I said to you and the song that I sang will stay locked inside my heart, a secret shared by only you, your daddy and me. It was an extraordinary moment in my life, one for which my words could never come close to doing justice, and so it will stay just a memory.

I could have sat there with you for a lifetime and been content, but for some reason Morris, we weren't meant to have a lifetime. When the time came, I gave you over to your daddy and told him that I was going to slip into the bathroom. I know how unfair it was to ask him to face that moment alone, but I needed our last memory to be a good one. I couldn't bear the thought of watching the nurse take you down the hall knowing that I would never see you again. I don't know how many final kissses I gave you while you were in your daddy's arms, but a moment came when I knew that I had to let you go.  I gave you one more kiss, then turned and walked into the bathroom.

Later, your daddy told me that in the exact moment I turned away, a tear escaped from the corner of your eye and rolled all the way down your check before he wiped it away. I know that doctors would tell us that it wasn't really a tear, and they would have some logical explanation for why it happened, but I don't care. I know that it was real. It was the only tear that you will ever cry, a beautiful gift that God let you give to mommy. In the days following, when the pain of letting you go was unbearable and when my heart and arms ached to hold you again, that tear kept me from driving to the funeral home and begging them to give you to me. That tear kept me from ruining the memory of our perfect goodbye.

As your daddy was about to head out the door and give you to the nurse, our midwife Mary came into the room. She asked if she could hold you, and she sat and rocked you with tears streaming down her face. There are no words that will ever describe how grateful I was in that moment to know that you were loved by the person that helped to deliver you into the world. It was and still is breathtaking to me. Your daddy came into the bathroom to hold me, and as we cried, Mary quietly slipped out of the room with you. She saved your daddy's goodbye, and now his last memory with you is a perfect one too. It is a debt that I will never be able to repay her, but one that I hope that God repays on my behalf one day.

Leaving the hospital without you felt so surreal. They wheeled me down the hall, onto the elevator, and into the lobby with a little satin box filled with your footprints, handprints, and lock of hair on my lap instead of you. For the first time since Monday morning, your daddy left my side to get the car. I sat there overwhelmed with emotion. When we got in the car, I sobbed and wondered how on earth we could ever leave the hospital with you still inside. Your daddy gently reminded me that we weren't leaving you there, we were only leaving your body. You were already in heaven...already my beautiful angel.

That day we said goodbye, but it was only goodbye for a little while. I am dreaming of and waiting for the day we will say hello again forever.

Love,

Mommy

The Guide

Dear Friends and Family,

I thought Morris probably wouldn't mind if I wrote a letter to you today instead of to him. It is hard to believe that this much time has passed, but today marks one month since we said goodbye to our sweet angel.

A friend recently said to me that there should be a guide that tells you what to do when your friends go through a terrible loss like the one Ryan and I are going through. She didn't mean an article or a book on grief, although those might give you some generic insight on how people deal with grief and some "dos and don'ts" based on the author's personal experience. My friend meant that it would be nice to have a guide that told you how the particular person you love was feeling about their loss and what they wished that you would do or say.

I've been thinking a lot about what she said.  As more and more time passes, Ryan and I will start to venture out of the house more often than we have in the past few weeks. If you live in the valley, chances are that we'll probably run into one another at some point. The first time we see each other might be hard for both of us. You'll probably be wondering if you should approach us. If you decide to, you'll be wondering if you should acknowledge our loss. If it is okay to give us a hug. If you can say Morris' name.  If you should mention how you've been feeling. I hope you don't find this presumptuous or offensive, but I thought it might be helpful if I answered a few of these questions.

If you see us out somewhere and you want to say hello, please do. We want to see you. And when you say hello, it is okay to acknowledge our loss. We know that you worry about upsetting us, that you worry bringing up our son when we appear to be doing okay might remind us of the sadness. But I promise you that your words won't be the first thing on any given day to remind us that we've suffered this unimaginable loss. We wake up every morning with the realization that we've had to say goodbye to our precious son. I don't say this to make you feel sorry for us or to make you feel sad; I say it because it is true. I say it because I want you to know that if a tear rolls down my check when you give me a hug and tell me how sorry you are about Morris, it is not because you have "reminded" me of him. It is because I love him and miss him. It is because I know that you are hurting for us.  That tear may even be a happy tear because you have been the first person that has said his name aloud to me all day. You can ask us about him or talk about him if you want; it means so much to know that others are thinking about and missing our sweet Morris. But if you don't have the words, that's okay too. We know better than anyone that sometimes there are just no words.

There may be a day when you see me out somewhere and start to make your way towards me only to see me head in another direction. You will probably wonder if I purposely looked the other way when you caught my eye or if I picked up my pace and ducked into the next aisle to avoid running into you. And honestly, the truth might be yes. It isn't because I'm angry at you or upset with you; it doesn't have anything to do with you. I'm just having one of those days. One of those days when I'm trying so hard to keep it together while trying to remember if we need toilet paper or if we are out of milk. One of those days when I'm worried that a simple hello from someone I know might make me lose it right there in the dairy aisle of the grocery store.  So please don't take it personally or hold it against me if you see me out somewhere and I don't stop to talk. Be patient with me. Send me a text or a message later and let me know that you saw me out and didn't want to intrude, but that you want me to know that you are thinking of me. That will mean the world to me.

You have been so supportive over the past several weeks, and we are grateful for everything. This isn't the path that we would have chosen for ourselves, but it is the path that we are on now. We are trying to navigate it the best way we can. We appreciate your continued understanding, prayers, and love as we figure it out.

Keri

A Grateful Heart

Hi Sweet Pea,

Oh, how I miss you. This time of the day always reminds me of the little kicks and jabs I'd feel from you after I'd eaten breakfast and had my morning orange juice.  Morris, I think you would have been a morning person like mommy.  I would have treasured those early mornings cuddling and cooing to you more than anything in the world.  But you aren't here, so instead I spend my time thinking about you and writing to you.

I've been feeling grateful the last few days.  I'm surprised about feeling this way to be honest; it is hard to believe that the last few weeks could have given me anything about which I could feel grateful.  Yet my heart is full of love and thankfulness.

In the days immediately following our goodbye, I was so incredibly anxious. My mind constantly thought about who I might lose next. I was particularly worried that I might lose your daddy, that we might not make it through the pain of losing you. You see, I had read somewhere (your daddy calls me the Google Queen, and I don't think he means it as a compliment) that a good percentage of couples who lose a child end up divorced...that the death of a child can put a strain on even the strongest of marriages. I was petrified, because I couldn't bear thinking that I might lose you and your daddy too. But the past few weeks have shown me just how strong the love is that your daddy and I share for you, for one another, and for God. While we might grieve differently, we will always grieve together. And because nothing we could ever go through could be more heartbreaking, more devastating, more difficult than losing you, I will never worry about whether your daddy and I will make it through this life together ever again. 

I also read about the friends, even close friends, that we would likely lose because of your death. Others who have gone through the loss of a child told me that they experienced this very thing. I was told that there would be friends who wouldn't know what to say or what to do, friends who would be uncomfortable with our grief, and friends who would find our loss just too devastating to think about, and that these friends would slowly disappear. I found myself worrying and wondering about which of our close friends might drift out of our lives. I cried about how unfair it was that not only would we lose you, but that we would also lose others we cared about so deeply. It turns out that the worrying was for nothing. While there have been people that we thought we'd hear from but haven't, our close friends have all been here. They have reached out daily in some way - with a phone call, a text or a message, a visit. They have quietly sat beside us in the most difficult moments knowing that there were no words that could take away the pain. They have cried for us and with us. They have said your name aloud, sat in your nursery, and have asked to see your pictures. They have made us laugh and have gotten us out of the house when we have needed it the most. I am grateful from the bottom of my heart for these friends - friends that I don't need to name because you and they know who they are. Although it has only been a month, I know that these friends will forever be part of our family. 

I'm grateful for new friends that I've made in this journey...people who had never met me before I lost you but who reached out and became a beacon of light in my very darkest moments. I'm grateful for old friends that I've reconnected with...friends that I hadn't seen or spoken to in years but who reached out the moment they saw a need they could fulfill. I'm grateful for a friendship with someone that I never thought possible...a friend with whom I now share an unbreakable bond. I'm grateful for a church family and a community that has sent up more prayers on our behalf than I could possibly count.

I'm grateful for our family who loves and misses you more than you could imagine....your Papaw and Gramy, Granddaddy and B-Ball, Aunt Becca and Uncle Dustin,  Aunt Alicia and Uncle Matt, Aunt Amy and Uncle Greg, Aunt Emily and Uncle Ryan, your cousins Johnny, Landon, Rafe, Riley, Ava and Abigail. You have such an amazing family.  They have done things for us in the last few weeks for which we will never be able to find the words to convey our gratitude.  They have been our rock during a time when all else seems to be crumbling.  They have demonstrated the true meaning of family.

It feels odd to have both a grieving and a grateful heart. Only God could put the two together. 

Love, 

Mommy

The Could-Have, Would-Have, Should-Have-Been Day

Good Morning Darling,

Today is the day I've been dreading since the day we left the hospital without you.  It's a day that I had been looking forward to right up until the day you were gone. Today is your due date.  It's a day that could have been your birthday if you hadn't left us too soon. A due date is just a guess really, but March 1st will forever be burned into my brain as the day that you could have been in my arms instead of just in my heart. I can picture the way the day would have went - the way it should have went - so clearly in my mind.

We would have happily loaded up the car with the hospital bag that we had packed full of everything needed to bring you home.  Your daddy would have checked the car seat one last time to make sure it was installed correctly.  When it was time, we would have nervously but excitedly made our way to the hospital.  Our family and friends would have rushed to meet us when they got the call and would have eagerly awaited your arrival in the hospital waiting room.

You would have entered the world with a loud cry...a cry that would have stolen my heart instantly. The midwife would have handed you to me with a big smile on her face.  I would have looked lovingly into your beautiful eyes, and you would have been staring right back at me.  Your daddy and I would have spent the next hour getting to know you and finding it hard to believe that we could be so lucky. When we gave the okay, our family would have rushed into the room to meet you. They would have talked about who you looked like with their eyes full of sparkle instead of full of tears. They would have cooed happily to you as they held you and rocked you. It would have been such a perfect day.

It's not fair. Today should have been a day when your daddy and I cried tears of joy instead of tears of sorrow. It should have been a day full of celebration each year instead of a day full of painful reminders of all the moments that we'll never get to experience with you.

Morris, one thing I've feared so much since you've been gone is that the sadness and pain of losing you might overshadow the light and love that you brought to our lives.  On the day we said goodbye, I made a promise to myself and to you that your birthday, February 3rd, will always be a day on which I seek to find joy in the midst of our tragedy. It is my promise to you that your daddy and I will celebrate your birth every year by doing something special, that we will find ways to smile through the pain, and that we will thank God for the little but precious time we were given with you.

I intend to keep those promises. But your due date will forever be a day of could-have-beens, would-have-beens, and should-have-beens to me. I read somewhere that it is normal and okay to be angry at God as long as you don't stay that way. And that's good, because this day will probably always be a day that I let myself dwell in the sorrow, hurt, and anger that comes from losing you.  But don't worry sweetheart...I promise that I won't let myself stay that way.   

Love,

Mommy

"Today could have been the next day of the rest of your life."

Gone Too Soon by Daughtry