Sharing

I don't post as often anymore but I do still write from time to time.  Many of those things are written in such a dark place that I'm just not as comfortable sharing them.  But yesterday, I had an experience that was so touching I felt that I just had to share.

I almost always go to the same small post office when I mail the packages for Aaron's Angel Arms.  It is the closest to our house and the ladies that work there are simply fantastic.  They recognize me, chat kindly and nearly always have a smile.  In the course of the last ten months or so, I have literally mailed hundreds of packages through their hands. 

Yesterday, one of the ladies asked me about what I was mailing (it's been briefly mentioned when filling out customs forms, but I've never really elaborated).  This time, however, the office was empty and I was given the opportunity to tell her about Aaron and about the items that I've sent out around the world in his memory.  She was visibly moved and said that she would have to share her story with me some time.

As her computer slowed to a near halt, she then began to tell me about her only child that was born nearly forty years ago, but unfortunately her machine quit altogether, the office began to fill up and we didn't get to finish talking.  I am truly looking forward to another quiet moment in the post office when she and I will get to talk more about her own journey down this road. 

I have said it before, and will likely say it again, but sometimes I am simply speechless when confronted by the sheer number of parents who have had to go through the loss of a child.  It is one of those things that makes people so uncomfortable that many parents are terrified to mention their own loss because they simply don't know how others will react.  The fact is that every single person reading this knows at least one person, and probably more, who has had to deal with the death of a child - whether it be a miscarriage, a stillbirth, an infant loss or the death of an older child. Though each loss presents itself a little differently, they are all devastating.

It is easy to underestimate how much it means to one of us when you simply give us the opportunity to mention our deceased child.  I have made it a point to include Aaron whenever I feel the need to do so; though I do not always choose to include him when someone asks how many children I have (I often simply say "I have two little girls at home.").  He will always be our third child, but because the question is often so casually asked, I don't feel like having to explain.  Other times, when I feel like the conversation warrants it, I will include him...what strikes me is that I am nearly always met with a parent who has their own story of loss that they seem relieved to be able to share.  I am always glad to listen and allow that parent to let their own child live out loud in that moment - do you do the same?

All we ask is that you listen intently to what we would like to share.  We don't need you to fix anything or offer the perfect words of healing.  We don't need you to fidget or change the subject.  If we have chosen to share the memory of our child with you, it was a conscious choice.  Just choose to be present and remember our little one with us in that moment. 

Tiny Little Shoulders

I have been reading through the dozens of posts that are sitting in "draft" right now and realized that I never came back to share the story of our anatomy ultrasound.  Obviously, things went well and we are now just four weeks from our due date but it seemed a story worth sharing.
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Thankfully, everything went wonderfully and we got some extremely clear pictures so there is really no doubt that we will be welcoming another little boy into our family soon.  Provided that all goes well in the weeks to come, there should be no reason for us to have to visit the specialist again.

While we were there, the ultrasound tech asked the girls if they thought they were getting a little sister or a little brother...despite the fact that they have both said "boy" several times throughout the pregnancy, they both enthusiastically indicated that they wanted a little sister.  Much to their dismay, the picture paused on the screen overhead told a different story.  To our surprise, Tori stomped her little foot and reacted pretty strongly to the news.  Thankfully, it was short-lived but she was visibly displeased for the rest of the ultrasound.  We were a little puzzled because it was pretty out-of-character behavior for her, but she was at least quiet for the rest of the appointment.

We stopped at the restroom on the way out of the hospital - Tori came with me while Abby decided to stay with Daddy.  That gave me a quiet moment to ask her about why she was so upset with the news that we would be getting another baby boy...there was nothing that could have prepared me adequately for her response.  When most parents ask that question, they expect any number of answers ranging from "I don't like boys" to "I want someone to play dress up!"

What I discovered in that quiet restroom with my nearly tearful four year old was that she had become convinced that "all little brothers go to Heaven" and that this new development meant that our baby wouldn't get to stay with us this time either. I think I literally felt a piece of me die inside when I realized the magnitude of the grief and anxiety that the tiny little person in front of me was shouldering.  What on Earth was I supposed to do with that?

The only thing I could do was to pull her close, hug her tight, tell her that this little baby was as healthy as he could be right now and that we would do everything we could to get to bring him home.

Notice anything about those words? I couldn't bring myself to promise her that this baby would be okay. I couldn't offer reassurances that we would get to bring a baby home this time.  I can't tell my little girl that everything is going to be all right.  I want to believe that all of those things are true and I wish with all my heart that I could make those promises, but the best that we have to offer is that we will try.