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