Looking Back: A Reflection on Seeing the Specialist

This post was originally written on 8/3/13. 

Seven days after our first ultrasound, we left the girls with a friend (the one person in real life who knew what was going on with us) and headed to the MFM specialist.  I'd had plenty of time to consult Dr. Google and know more about what we were facing and came prepared to talk to the doctor.

Before we met with him, we had to talk with the nurse who, of course, needed to update my medical information from the last time.  She initially appeared very confused as to why the computer was showing that I was 60 weeks pregnant - clearly I wasn't here for happy reasons last time and it isn't physically possible for me to be that pregnant.  So, I would have honestly hoped that her powers of deduction might have solved that quandary.  Nope - I needed to explain that Aaron was born in February and had died.  Following that exchange, we then got to listen to her repeat to herself THREE times as she updated information, "Okay, four pregnancies, two living children." "Four pregnancies, two living children."  "Four pregnancies, two living children."  ...My husband is an exceedingly patient man, but by the time we had heard that three times - even he was shaking his head in frustration. (She was a very sweet lady, but obviously not at all thinking about the words coming out of her mouth in front of two people who recently buried a child.) Finally we finished that step and the doctor came in.

My first question was "Why do we even need to do this ultrasound - it's going to cost us a small fortune and won't it show the same thing as the last one?" His response, in a nutshell:  "We are certified for just exactly this reason and I don't trust other people's pictures...so in order to give you my input, I have to see it."  Okay, made sense to me.  (He also added a few comical details that just reinforces what I've said all along about his bedside manner - he is simply incredible.)

For the next hour, he stayed in the room to talk with us and made us honestly feel like we were the only thing  that mattered in that time frame (impressive, given that I know that they are a very busy practice).  Within the first few minutes of the ultrasound, and while he was still sitting across the room from the screen, he was able to tell us that our baby looked perfectly normal.  He asked the ultrasound tech what she was getting as official measurements and she wasn't even close to the upper range for acceptable limits.  He took the time to explain how the nuchal translucency can be easily measured incorrectly and said that roughly 30-50% of the cases like ours are simply a result of bad positioning or honest error.  He walked us through all of our available testing options and explained what he would recommend, if we chose to do any additional testing at all (at this point, our risk returns to approximately what it would be for the general population anyway).

We will see him again in September for the usual 20 week anatomy scan.  Typically this is done in the OB's office and I was initially a little grumpy about having another expensive ultrasound done, but after time to let it all settle - I'm actually glad that we'll be having it done at their office.  You see, I made the mistake of continuing my quest for knowledge and stumbled upon the ever-growing list of things that can become apparent on ultrasound between 12-20 weeks.  This is truly one of those cases where ignorance is bliss.  I was much better off when my information was "Your baby has a perfectly shaped little head and just the right amount of fluid behind his or her neck."  I should have stopped there.

Looking Back: Our Pregnancy and The Girls

This post was also written on 7/15/13 - before we were ready to announce this pregnancy. 

We have had the discussion regarding, "What will we do if this happens again?" Despite all that we have been through, we would make exactly the same decision that we made with Aaron. My biggest fear here is not what it would do to me or to Chris, but what that means for our children.  We have not yet told the girls that we are having another baby, but that doesn't mean that the topic hasn't come up.

Abby started it...about a day after this new life began to exist, she climbed up on top of me on the couch and asked about the babies in my tummy.  I told her that there weren't any babies in Mommy's tummy and reminded her that Baby Aaron was in Heaven...but the kid was insistent that there was "a boy and a girl in your tummy!"  Honestly, I told Chris about it that night and we sort of dismissed it from there.  About two weeks later, on a Saturday morning as I was changing after work, Abby came running in, slapped both hands on my belly and yelled, "A boy and a girl in your tummy!! Babies in 'nere!"  At that point, it really wouldn't have been time to take a test but I thought I'd humor myself and give it a shot.  Sure enough, it was almost instantly obviously positive.  We'll know more in a few days at our ultrasound...but apparently she knew something was up. 

Then about a week ago, we had a much less enjoyable discussion with Tori.  I'm not even quite sure how the discussion came up, but I think it started because she was upset that God doesn't talk back to her when she talks to him.  That must have led into talking about Baby Aaron being in Heaven which prompted Tori to tell us that she wanted "a new brother or sister that gets to come home and stay here with us."  I think that was one of those moments where I could actually feel a little piece of me die on the inside...to hear an expression of such complete heartbreak and clarity from a four-year old is not something that I will soon forget.  We told her that we would do everything we could to have a healthy brother or sister for her sometime soon.  She got very excited and said "I want one to keep and not one in Heaven like Baby Aaron, ok?!"

I simply don't know what challenges lie ahead when it comes to this pregnancy and the girls.  I have a feeling that we are going to somehow have to balance alleviating their fears without offering them too much promise that "things will be okay."  At this point, we know better.  We have lost a child and I have talked with countless other parents who have also lost a child.  We have entered that realm where a healthy baby is no longer something that we take for granted...it is something we hope and pray for, something we wait anxiously for, but something we no longer feel is a guarantee.  We don't want to offer them promises of a healthy newborn that we are not in control of providing...we can do everything in our power to try to make that happen, but even then there is no way we can ever control for every variable.

That is the whole issue we, and the girls, are facing right now.  We have seen firsthand that even when you do everything right, you aren't guaranteed a happy outcome.  I know that Wednesday's ultrasound will help ease our mind at least a little, but it won't guarantee that everything will be okay.  No one can do that.  Please please don't try to tell me in the coming months that you are "sure everything is going to be okay."  I know that your intentions will be good, but they are empty words because you have no idea what else to say.  It's okay...neither do we. 

Looking Back: Three Days Before Our Ultrasound

This post was written on 7/15/13 - before we were ready to announce Aaron's little brother or sister. 

My intention for the last eight weeks had been to create posts and save them in draft form until I was ready to publish them.  We found out in May that we are expecting a new little one to join our family in January.  I had wanted to carefully document our experiences and feelings during these last two months so I could share them in a back-dated series once we were prepared to share that news.  Unfortunately, that hasn't happened.  Here I am, three days before our first ultrasound, and I am just now sitting down to put words to my feelings. I didn't want to wait until after the ultrasound because I'm not sure I would still be able to accurately capture all that has been going through my head after that point, so I want to do it now. (Though, by the time you are reading this we will have had the ultrasound and will have a better idea of what path we will be walking from here.)

I know there are plenty who are going to have opinions regarding our timing and say that it's been too soon since we had Aaron.  To that, I can only say that our lives apparently run on God's timing.  Given that I know my own heart and where my own fears were leading me, I have to trust that He had a hand in the timing for one reason or another. 

For the first six weeks, I didn't even want to call the doctor's office because I knew that would make it feel too real.  I know that isn't going to make any sense to anyone who hasn't been there, but in my mind...once I called the doctor, that started a countdown to the day when we would have to go in and have an ultrasound that would tell us whether this new life was one we got to keep or another where we had to say goodbye.  (Even the woman who set up my appointments was a little irritated that I had waited over a month to call in...but how do you adequately explain to someone that just making the phone call nearly sent me into a panic attack without sounding like a lunatic?)

Turns out, I was exactly right.  I was initially so positive and felt so certain that we would be blessed with a healthy baby this time.  As time goes on, I become more and more convinced that we are going to have to figure out how to make it through all the agony again because we aren't going to get to keep this baby. 

When I let my mind wander and I think about having to walk into the doctor's office and into that ultrasound room, I usually have to stop myself because my chest gets tight and it takes everything I have not to completely fall apart. That day was easily the worst day of our lives...worse than the day he died, worse than the day we said good bye, worse than the funeral.  There was nothing good that happened that day - our rug was yanked out from under us with no cushion whatsoever.  When he was born, we got the joy of seeing our son for the first time.  When we said goodbye, we had the memories of the time we spent with him.  When we buried him, we had the peace of knowing he was at rest.  I remember practically every detail of what happened leading up to the words our doctor said...and as I think about going in for this next ultrasound, those are the moment that keep playing over and over in my mind.  (As a matter of fact, after just typing this paragraph, I had to get up and walk away from this entry for a little while.)

As we approach the twelve week mark, there are only four people besides the two of us that know I am pregnant.  Two are close friends that have been unbelievable pillars of support for me, one is a woman who has also been incredibly supportive since we received Aaron's diagnosis, and the other had a whole different set of reasons behind my choice to share.  We plan to share our news at some point after Wednesday's ultrasound, but this gives us a chance to make sure that we are able to process whatever we see before we are pressured to share with other family and friends. 

Announcing Our Rainbow

"The term Rainbow Baby is the understanding that the beauty of a rainbow does not negate the ravages of the storm. When a rainbow appears, it doesn't mean the storm never happened or that the family is not still dealing with its aftermath. What it means is that something beautiful and full of light has appeared in the midst of the darkness and clouds. Storm clouds may still hover but the rainbow provides a counterbalance of color, energy and hope."

Here is our "Rainbow Baby" due to arrive January 31, 2014.  

It's taken fourteen weeks and two ultrasounds, but we are finally ready to share the next leg of our journey.

During the last few weeks, I have been creating a series of posts that have been hanging around in draft form detailing what these first few months have held for us.  I honestly have not yet decided whether I will choose to share those here, in Aaron's space, or whether I will create a new space for sharing this part of our journey.  Part of me believes that this next step is very much a part of Aaron's life, as he is still very much a part of ours.  The other part of me doesn't want to overwhelm the place that began for him with the story of his baby brother or sister.

I suspect that, in the end, I will choose to continue on in this space because it would be impossible to separate the story of this pregnancy from the story of our first son.  And I wouldn't want to, even if I could.

The Midnight Orange - Christopher's Story

I have so many of my own words to share and hope to do so soon, but for now I want to share a beautiful story that I recently stumbled upon.

Many of you who know me personally have seen me share the sculpture works of The Midnight Orange on Facebook and although I don't yet own any of her pieces, I find them so simply breathtaking that I couldn't help but find myself reading the story of why she began such intimate sculpting...here it is:  (Yes, it is lengthy but I promise you that it is worth every single word.)

http://themidnightorange.blogspot.com/2010/04/why-i-sculpt-child-angels.html

FRIDAY, APRIL 23, 2010

Why I Sculpt Child Angels

Christopher Brown was really little. In a class of third graders he was teeniest among all of us. He was also the most spirited. I adored him, so we fought constantly. I was a masochist for those bickerings and used to stare at the small gap between his front teeth as his mouth moved around them proving me wrong in little bursts of animation.


This is not a story about childhood love. It is not a story about friendship. Despite the presence of these things, this is pure ache and a lesson that broke my heart to learn. I will not go into sharing the details of what made Christopher a spectacular being wrapped up in the package of an 8 year old boy. I trust you find me credible and will believe this. I also ask that despite the longevity, in Chris' honor you read this.


On the first day of summer in 1990, Christopher was playing baseball with his brother, sister, and babysitter in his back yard and the ball went over the fence into a neighboring construction site. He climbed his swing set onto his father's shed, then jumped from the shed roof over the fence to get the ball. I cannot picture this in my head (either because the logistics are not clear or because my mind is protecting itself from this visual) but when Christopher jumped the fence his hand hit a latch on a crane which released two cement highway dividers. He fell and they fell on top of him. A very cherished 8 year old lost his life that day.


There was no closure. My mother felt that attending the services would be too traumatic and kept me from saying goodbye in person. I understand, but still. I agonized for years about this, even into young adulthood. So many blanks I could not fill in. I did not know where he was interned, when his birthday was. The specific day he died. Every milestone I had, I wished for him. On first days of school I would find his seat in class and then mentally spite the child who sat there. On last days of school I would be sick at the excitement around me. I'd imagine Chris's thoughts as the final bell rang and he dreamt of ponds and trails and popcorn at the drive-in, not knowing he would die by next nightfall. For years I just carried him with me. The night before my high school graduation I dreamed of him approaching through the crowd, as grown as I, and hugging me. In tears I type this.


In my second year of college I became desperate, not for closure, but for closeness to Chris and wanted so badly to connect with his family. With such a common last name they felt impossible to find. All I could do was speak of him often and hope someone connected. One day this exact thing happened, and by fate a woman scrawled an address on scrap paper and sent me away with it. I finally had a portal to his family and despite years of longing for contact, I had no idea how I could begin to express my heart to them. 


Honestly I do not recall the specific details of the sentiment that I poured into 7 handwritten pages, but my message was strong and clear. I missed Christopher, I loved him still, and I REMEMBERED. Always I remembered him. The letter I received back I held with trembling hands, but never could I have been prepared for what Christopher's mother would share with me.


She spoke of the myriad of emotions that my letter brought forth, and I expected that would be the case. She broke me down entirely when she went on to write that receiving my letter was a true miracle that had breathed new life into their son.  She shared that tragically, the loss of Christopher was so painful for others that he became rarely spoken of.


To hear that Christopher not only lost his life but also his legacy was the greatest shame imaginable. My small but bursting childhood friend had become lost to the world. Was truly buried. I cried for days. She later wrote that the greatest gift I had given them was sharing his memory with other people and allowing him to live on in this way.. Mary and I stay in touch and I am smiling this moment over the profound friendship I found in Christopher's mother.


I visit his grave when I am happy and seek to share that with him. I go there when I am hurt so I can have solitude but not be alone. My husband and I picnic with our young daughters there and they like the bells that softly chime in the fir overhanging his grave site. He is truly my forever friend, and my gift to him is ensuring that despite his life being stifled, his legacy never will be. Now you know Christopher. He was small, mighty, and magnificent. I would be beyond humbled should anyone repost his story as daily I fear that in his 8 short-lived and bittersweet years of childhood, not enough people had the chance to know his name.


This was a gift I could not stop giving to Chris and his family, and with it I achieved the opposite of closure. It burst open a door for me and truly inspired fire in my heart, because it was then that I saw a very clear window into the lives of bereaved parents. One of the things that stood out profoundly to me was need. The need for their children to be acknowledged, celebrated, spoken about. The need to know others remember. The need for a LEGACY.

Sculpting the ever-present bond between parents and children who touch the stars too soon is truly my heart's work and daily I startle at the extreme honor of being so blessed to be able to do this. My goal was to create something for parents to display for others which would then evoke conversation. I really wanted to be able to create some tangible way for parents to show others that it is okay to talk about their children and for my sculptures to be a “starting place”.  In my heart of hearts I pray that people see these pieces and realize that despite the overwhelming pain in losing a child, there is healing for parents to simply know people remember.


http://www.etsy.com/shop/TheMidnightOrange
https://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Midnight-Orange/105314011660

Just one of my personal favorites...

"I Will Be."

I know that I've been quiet on here for a few weeks now and I wish I had a really good reason for that.  The honest explanation is that I just haven't really felt moved to write anything.  This past week has been one of the really bad ones and although I know those are the times when I really need to sit down and get some thoughts out...lately, those are the times when I am least likely to do it.

There hasn't been one specific thing that has me in a rut, but rather a combination of things I think.  Life had actually been going really well until a week or two ago, but then all of a sudden - it sort of seemed like we fell apart again.  I had my eight week check-up at the doctor (my actual six-week visit got postponed) - their office was wonderful as usual and they made the visit as easy as they could, but something about showing up to your postpartum visit with no baby is bound to unhinge the most stable mom at least a little bit.  That same week, Aaron would have been two months old (hence, the eight weeks) and it's hard not to think about what life with a two-month old would look like right now.

We also received the paperwork to get Aaron's memorial ordered.  The woman who designed it did a positively beautiful job and she worked so hard to make sure it is exactly what we wanted it to be (odd phrasing really, considering we don't want to have to be selecting one at all).  She walked us through the entire process, then spent time to custom-create an image because the one we selected wouldn't have worked very well on the stone we had chosen.  I simply can not say enough good things about working with her, but still...seeing his name in a sketch for his headstone is really really difficult.

Mother's Day is also looming in the not-so-distant future.  I have two beautiful, healthy, amazing little girls and I thank God for them every single day...but hear me clearly when I say this: That does not take away the pain of knowing that I don't get to celebrate Mother's Day with my only son.  I'm pretty sure that is a pain I will feel in every Mother's Day for the rest of my life. 

As for the girls, they have also been asking lately about when there is going to be another baby in Mommy's tummy so they can knock on it and feel baby "knock" back.  It is so cute and so sweet...and so gut-wrenchingly painful all at the same time.  I want them to have a baby sibling; I truly and sincerely do.  I want them to have Aaron.  We are reasonably sure that we will eventually have more children (on the good days, I'm certain...on days like today, it's just too scary to contemplate), but it wouldn't be for at least several more months to allow my body time to heal and the folic acid time to build up in my system. 

As I sit here with tears streaming down my face, I have to confess that I had a different last paragraph typed up for this post...I always argue with myself when it comes to posting anything about the bad days (I've said before that the reason I do it is because it isn't fair to only share the good times).  Chris came in and asked me "Are you alright?"  Without thinking, my first response was "I will be." As soon as the words left my mouth I actually felt a little better and took a few minutes to process that.

I will be sad.
I will be heartbroken.
I will be depressed.
I will be angry.
I will be hopeful.
I will be healing.
I will be joyful.
I will be grateful.

I will be okay.

Grief's Background Music

I know I feel like writing tonight, but I'm not sure I'm going to have much success in figuring out what exactly I want to say.  I am such a mess of emotions tonight that I'm not sure anything is going to come out right.  But, that's never stopped me before. :)

Today, we have been celebrating Abby's second birthday.  Tomorrow will mark one month since we first held Aaron in our arms.  This weekend, we are having Abby's party with family and friends.  Tonight, all I can do is cry.

I know that each of the little milestones that you would normally associate with having a baby will be difficult - each new month, each birthday.  So I have been expecting a struggle as his one month "angelversary" came up.  I guess I wasn't expecting how quickly it would sneak up and surprise me.

Honestly, if you had asked me a week ago about how we were doing I really could have said that we were doing pretty well and actually meant it.  I know that part of that is because we do truly believe that Aaron is at rest and we have been so very comforted by the love, prayers and overwhelming support we have received.  Part of it is because we have been staying busy and don't have a lot of time to lay under the covers and mope.  And part of it is a tiny bit of avoidance I think...I don't mean that we avoid thinking or talking about Aaron because his name is heard multiple times every single day in our house.  But I do think that we make a pretty conscious effort to keep the grief at bay most of the time because if we let it all in at once, we would simply be drowning in it.  It's almost like our minds know that it is too much to handle all at once, so we work at balancing a "normal" life while still processing little bits of our grief at a time.

Right now, that means the balance has tipped a bit in grief's favor and we're struggling a little.  We are so excited to celebrate Abby's birthday and it is such an incredible blessing to be able to watch her with icing all over her face because she dove headfirst into her cupcake.  But it is impossible not to feel the sadness of knowing that our son will never get those moments with us.  It is impossible not to think about the fact that I gave birth to her brother a month ago and there will be no baby for friends and family to pass around at her party this weekend.  It is impossible not to get overwhelmed a little bit when the reality of his absence presents itself so firmly in front of me.

For me, letting the grief in bit by bit is the only way that I will make it through each day.  I am always aware of the fact that I miss him, but most of the time it is more like a constant background music.  Then there are days where it becomes this blaring cacophony that I can't step away from until it has decided to quiet down on its own; there is no volume button.  I do believe that those deafening moments will probably lessen in frequency, and hopefully in volume, as time goes on, but right now it's so loud that it's all I can hear.

Trigger

It's been a few days since I have had the urge to write about anything...things have really been pretty much what you'd expect and I just haven't taken the time to say anything about it.  We've also been keeping ourselves fairly busy with the girls, repainting the kitchen, trying to undo the disaster that our house became in the last three weeks, contemplating some life changes, and working on the memorial project that I decided to start (more on that coming soon).  Today, though, I need this.

I have known since we first received Aaron's diagnosis back in October that our lives would never be quite the same again.  I knew that, for the rest of our lives, there would always be someone missing from our family and that, no matter how we heal, we will always be aware of the son that isn't with us.  I knew there would be good days, neutral days, bad days and really bad days. 

What I wasn't really prepared for (although I had been warned by plenty of other moms) is how unexpectedly something would trigger a breakdown.  It was kind of a given that it would probably be difficult to see other babies for a while and I have seen plenty of them in the three weeks since Aaron's birth.  They do catch my attention and I find myself looking at them a little longer than I used to.  I am acutely aware of the sadness in my heart, but most of the time I just say a little prayer for their health and go on with my day.

Last weekend, we went to the library with the girls and saw a mom about our age with two little girls who looked to be about 6 and 4 and a little boy who was probably 2...exactly the age spread that ours would have been.  It caught my eye and I paused for a few minutes while I just watched them all head out to the parking holding hands.  Mercifully, I was busy putting on Tori's coat and she distracted me almost immediately.  Today, however, was a completely different story.  While I was checking out our books, a mom came in with a baby carrier on her arm and  two little girls who were probably the same age as Abby and Tori.  Then I hear her say to the younger one, "Come on Abby, let's go over here."

I just lost it.  Standing in the middle of the public library with tears just streaming down my face as I'm trying to hurry up and finish scanning our books so we can get out of there as quickly as possible before I start actively sobbing.  Despite frantically trying to wipe away the tears before the girls noticed, I hear Tori ask loudly from the boat where she has been busily steering away from imaginary marine obstacles "Mommy, why are you crying??" Crap.

Trying to placate her with "It's okay sweetie, Mommy's fine." is pretty much a lost cause, so I had to take her aside and explain to her what was going on.  I let her know that Mommy saw another baby and it made me sad because I still miss Baby Aaron and wish he was here with us.  We went through the usual routine of explaining how it's okay to be sad and to cry when we need to.  She was fine with that answer and dropped it after that. 

I, on the other hand, find myself crying again as I write about it.  I assume today's encounter was so much more difficult than last weekend because it is much easier to imagine myself with the baby that is supposed to be in my arms rather than the toddler that I won't be chasing in two years.  I know this won't be the last time something floods in and reminds me so painfully of the little man that we are missing, but that means it also won't be the last time that I thank God for the opportunity that I had to hold him in my arms, even if only for a little while.  It also won't be the last time that I am reminded of the opportunities that I have every day to hold the girls, help them remember their baby brother, and let them know how much they are all loved.

Kind of Jumbled

The last few days have been a struggle...not that I think that's going to surprise anyone, but I've been a little surprised at way that those struggles have presented themselves.  Honestly, I initially had no real intention of posting anything tonight because I am simply not thinking clearly enough to be sure that I can write anything that makes sense.  But I got some encouraging words from one of the moms I met online recently who made it a point to tell me that my words have been helping her as she prepares for the birth of her little angel in just a few weeks.  That made me remember how difficult it was, in all of the blogs that I stalked before Aaron's birth, to find anything that other mommas had written in the days immediately after their babies left them.  I suspect the reason for that is because most of them felt exactly the way I've been feeling lately.

Of course I am sad and of course I am grieving for my son, but I am also struggling to figure out how to incorporate that into my daily life.  If Aaron had been our first child, I kind of feel like I might have just spent the last ten days curled up in bed but the fact is that Tori and Abby still need their parents.  If we sat around and cried all day, they would be terrified and probably traumatized, so we try our best to save most of our emotional moments for the evening after they've gone to sleep.  I've said before that the world hasn't stopped turning just because our baby died (though I certainly wish it could've paused for me to catch my breath) so we are left trying to figure out where we fit in a world that is still basically the same, while we will never be the same again.

Those of you who know me personally know that I really really like my "to-do" lists and my Post-It notes.  For whatever reason, I thought that last night would be a good time to sit down and start making a list of all the things that will need to be done in the near future...turns out it was actually a really stupid idea and just caused me more anxiety than I need.  I know that it is my way of making sure that things don't get forgotten, but I probably could've waited a bit to put it all on paper.  It also makes me realize that I don't actually want to do any of the important stuff that I should be working on...the only things from my to-do list that I feel like doing are the ones that are much less critical.  For example, I don't want to pay bills or look at taxes.  I don't want to wash the dishes or tackle our mountain of laundry.  I don't want to sweep the floor or unpack our hospital bags.  I want to work on the blankets I've been making.  I want to sort all of the kid clothes in the garage so I can finally take some to a consignment store.  I want to scour the internet finding stuff for Abby's birthday party.  I want to shop online for supplies for the bracelets I've started making.  I want to spend several hours Facebook-stalking and talking to the other moms I've met in the last few months. All of the things that I want to do are just busy enough to keep me distracted, but don't really require a lot of brain power. 

I am trying to be kind to myself and just try to roll with whatever doesn't send me into a panic...as long as I've got the bare minimum done right now (by that, I mean we're all bathed, fed and clothed and the bills are paid on time), I figure I'm going to try to cut myself some slack.  That's actually what we've been trying to do yesterday and today - we haven't left the house and we haven't done much besides color, read stories, bake cookies, and watch cartoons.

So Many Questions

One of the hardest conversations I have ever had in my life started this afternoon with my oldest child telling me, "Mommy, I just want to cry because I miss my baby Aaron so much."

I have posted several times in the last few months about how we have handled all of this with both girls and our approach has always been pretty straightforward.  Despite the honesty that we have maintained with them, we are still very careful that they will rarely see us cry about all that has happened.  It isn't because we want to hide the sadness or tears, it is because they are still babies themselves and we don't need to add any stress beyond that which is unavoidable.

So when Tori climbed into my lap this afternoon with tears streaming down her sweet little cheeks and told me that, I was caught a little off-guard.  Thankfully Chris and Abby were both nearby and we got to turn it into a fairly positive family moment, but it was a rough one.  I scooped her up, hugged her tight and told her that it was perfectly fine if she felt like crying because it's okay to be sad.  We let her know that Mommy and Daddy are sad too and sometimes we have to cry just like she does.  We also made it a point to tell her that it's okay to be happy too, because Aaron is safe in Heaven with God and knows that we love him very very much.  Abby was snuggled into Chris's lap and would occasionally come over to pat my cheek or look up and say "Heaven? God? S'okay Momma."  

I honestly can not remember the whole conversation or exactly how it went because I was so moved by her emotions and overwhelmed by my own - my intense grief over the loss of my son, but also the equally intense love I have for all three of my children.

We ended up spending nearly 45 minutes comforting her and answering so many questions.  She wanted to know if God was going to hold him and snuggle him for us, if he would give him kisses good night, and if God had a special crib waiting for Aaron in Heaven.  She wanted to know how Aaron got from here to Heaven and if someone had helped him get there -- then she said she thought that maybe Grandma used her wings to fly down and pick him up because if he tried to get there himself he might get squished by a car or truck when he crossed a road.  She wanted to know if Aaron could hear us in Heaven and wanted to know why we can't hear God talk to us but He can hear us talking to him.

We have tried several different times to try to explain what will happen at Tuesday's funeral and struggle with explaining the casket to her, but we've let her know that we'll be going to church to pray to God and ask him to always keep Aaron safe for us.  We've let her know that when people die, their angels go up to Heaven and we bury the box so their bodies can rest safely here.  (To this, she responded adamantly that Aaron was in Heaven, not still here.  So we left that one alone for now.)  She knows that the toys she and Abby got for him were sent to Heaven with him.  She and Abby both plan to release a balloon for him at the cemetery on Tuesday...Tori thinks he would like a blue one and Abby insists that he's getting pink. 

She also decided tonight that he needed something else to to snuggle, so we suggested that we could get him something and put it on top of the ground where we will bury his box.  She tapped her chin thoughtfully for a minute and informed me, "Umm...no I don't think that's going to work.  But, we can do this - let's bury them in the sand next time we go to the beach when it gets warm and then Aaron and Grandma can come get them from the beach!!  But you have to put them in a box first so it doesn't get dirty!!!"  I have no idea where she came up with that plan, but it seemed important to her...so looks like we'll be burying something on the beach next time we go.

She did eventually get settled down and we went on with our day.  There were a few more random questions since we went to purchase a crucifix and a rosary for Sunday's service, but overall she seems to be satisfied with her answers for now. 

Time Marches On

I'm not sure I even know what it is that I need to say tonight, but I feel like I have to try.  I can almost guarantee that it won't be eloquent and it might not even make sense, but that's okay.

It's been three days since we had Aaron...in some ways, it feels like it's already been ages ago but in other ways, it still seems like it was just yesterday.  In an even bigger way though...it's hard to believe that we had him at all and that he's really gone. 

We weren't exactly prepared for him to make his arrival as quickly as he did, so I think that contributes to the feeling of shell-shock that we both have right now.  It just seems that, all of a sudden he was here...and then he was gone.  And in reality...that is kind of what happened.  Although we were incredibly blessed and grateful to have 22 hours with our little guy, that is still just the blink of an eye when it comes to spending time with your child. 

It just doesn't seem possible that our baby died three days ago and yet life continues to go on in such a normal way.  What I'd really like is for the world to just stop for a little while to give me a chance to sit down and cry and not have to continue doing all of those things that need to be done.  There is, however, a part of me that knows if I allow the world to stop for too long, it just might not get started again too easily. 

While I feel like silently falling apart on the inside, the world continues moving on.  It is almost like I am watching everything happen in front of me, but I'm underwater and just moving forward takes so much extra work.  I see everyone else going on with what appear to be very normal days, but for us there is nothing normal about them at all. 

Today, we decided that we had to get out of the house for a little while.  We stopped at Burger King to grab lunch and we were "those people."  The ones with the two year old who keeps trying to sneak off and the four year old who had a total meltdown and cried loudly in the middle of the restaurant; she has never, ever done that before.  She freaked out because we packed up their food and told them they could finish in the car because lunch was taking so long and we were nearly out of energy to handle it well.  As we walked out of the restaurant, three different people commented to us, "Aww...someone's upset."  and "Aww, the little queen looks unhappy." and "Aww...must be naptime."  We said nothing, just smiled and kept walking.  But what I wanted to scream was, "No! She isn't tired and this isn't a tantrum...her brother is dead and we all feel like screaming and crying just like she is doing."  Then we went to Target to pick up my prescription and a few groceries (oddly, they were part of an extreme coupon trip that Chris and I had planned to do on date night Tuesday).  The girls weren't particularly well-behaved there either and we had another meltdown, but to anyone watching us...it would have appeared just the same as any other toddler freaking out on any normal day. 

I have been so absorbed these last few days in this whole list of things that need to be done and phone calls that had to be made. I'm a little more okay when my mind is busy and I'm actively working on something, but when I stop and have time that isn't occupied by details or by my girls...that is so much harder.  A perfect example - I didn't go to bed last night until 5am.  I was up working on drafting his birth announcement/memorial card, finalizing funeral selections, sending emails ...I wouldn't have been able to sleep anyway, so I thought I should at least put that time to use.  My hope had been that I would be so tired that I could just fall into bed and sleep, but it didn't happen that way and I'm glad I have a husband who is always there for me.

I knew ahead of time that this period would be hard, but I wasn't prepared for how much "normal" would still try to exist.  I think that is part of what is leaving me feeling so unsettled right now...our life has been forever changed, but when we came home from the hospital...everything still looked the same.  Our daily routine hasn't changed much, our bills still need paid, our pets still need care, our children still need our love, the laundry still needs done, the dishes still get dirty...and the list goes on.  It feels like the world doesn't even know that our precious baby is gone and it hurts so much to try to figure out how to function in that world. 

I know it isn't entirely rational and I know that we have literally hundreds of people who are praying for us and hurt deeply for us.  We are truly and deeply grateful for all of those prayers and there is no doubt in my mind that those prayers have helped carry us through. It's just hard to stand here and watch life continue to swirl around me while I feel so lost.

Aaron's Day

This is part two of our son's story.  It is even longer than part one, but he deserves every word and more.  I don't ever want to forget a single moment that we spent with him and wouldn't dare to leave anything out here. These words are as much for me to remember his life as they are for me to share them with you.  We thought that once he passed, we would only get to spend 10-12 hours with him before it would be time to say our goodbyes and lay him in the arms of the gentle men from the funeral home.  Instead, we were blessed with twenty-two incredible hours with our little man.  In the time span of less than one day, our lives were forever transformed and we were graced with feeling all the love that should've lasted an entire lifetime.

Aaron was placed on my chest right after he was born so that Chris and I could see him.  (Chris even got to cut the cord like he did with both of his daughters.) I don't think there is any love in the world quite like the love that a parent feels for a child.  Even when that child appears less than perfect in the eyes of the world, when you are looking down at the life you created, all you can see is beautiful.  You might register that something is different and you take note, but it is just another part of the child that you love.

He was wrapped up in a hospital blanket and was sporting one of the hospital's hats (still didn't have all of our bags in the room at this point!!) We continued to hold him while everything from labor was finished and cleaned up.  They took his measurements (16.5 inches long) and brought in a scale to weigh him - he looked so chubby that we couldn't believe he really only weighed 4lbs3oz so the nurse weighed him twice to be sure! (Unfortunately, he wasn't a candidate for any kind of organ or tissue donation, but it is a comfort to know that the transplant organization was contacted.)

Then it was time to give our little man a bath and get him ready to meet the family.  (Somewhere along the way, Chris had managed to communicate to our families about what had happened in the last hour and they were able to head for the hospital.) We didn't get to do the baths for either of the girls, but knowing that this was going to be the only bath that Aaron ever got from Mommy and Daddy made it such a special experience that I will always be grateful we got to share with him.  The nurse stepped out and we had all the time in the world to clean him off, admire his long brown hair (seriously, it was almost 3/4" long!), cover him in lotion (though I have to admit, I had forgotten how little it takes to lotion such a tiny body and he may or may not have ended up with a bit much!) and get him dressed.  He got to wear one of those impossibly tiny newborn diapers and a special "Little Brother" onesie that we have had just waiting for nearly three years to be brought out for our firstborn son.  (Since none of the ultrasounds had ever been 100% positive on gender, we decided a few days ago to pack some boy items just in case!)  We covered his little head with fresh gauze and put on one of the hats that his Mommy made for him (his Mommy can admit that while they were certainly not crochet-perfect, there was one that fit his tiny head just perfectly).  Then we swaddled him in a soft little blanket that we picked out nearly five years ago when we discovered that we were expecting Tori...we were so excited when we first found out I was pregnant that we bought an outfit and blanket for each gender.

After Aaron was all dressed, Chris headed out to find those sweet big sisters so they could meet little brother.  They came in so enthusiastically and couldn't wait to jump up on the bed with Mommy and Baby.  We explained right away that we had gotten a surprise baby brother instead of a sister and although Tori had been adamantly opposed in the past to a baby brother, she didn't seem at all troubled by the change.  The girls really didn't ask many questions, but the questions they did ask were so very very sweet.  Tori wanted to know why he was sleeping, so we explained to her again about the baby's boo-boo, how he had died and gone up to Heaven to be with God.  Abby kept pointing and asking, "Seeping? Baby seeping?"...then "Shhh.  Momma Shhh!!  Qiet! Qiet!" She may not be terribly big, but she was awfully determined that we were going to act appropriately around her new baby brother!  While it was just the five of us, a local priest came in to say a few blessings and offer his sympathies. (The nurse who had been with us through the labor was also a Catholic and called her own priest to come over for us.)

After thoroughly checking him out and discovering the new baby dolls he brought for them, Tori was ready to bring her "friends" back to meet her brother.  She was determined that Auntie Julie should be first, but we convinced her that maybe we should let Mamaw meet Aaron first.  So the girls and I walked out to the lobby to meet my Mom and bring her back.  From that point on, Tori pretty consistently introduced her brother as "Baby Karen" despite a bunch of reminders that his name was Aaron (at some point, I'm pretty sure she decided to just be silly and ignore what we had to say...because she's almost four and that's kind of what they do).  After Mom got to spend some time with her newest grandson, we let Tori choose who came next (truthfully, that way we didn't have to choose order!) and each of the aunts and uncles got to come say hello to her "Baby Karen."  Tori and Abby served as little tour guides and were delighted to get to walk through the halls to help bring everyone back to meet her baby. 

When everyone had been in to meet our son, my sister-in-law (who also did our maternity photos not so very long ago) was ready to get some absolutely precious pictures of us and our new baby.  I said it before with our maternity photos and the same is true of our newborn pictures...she did such an incredible job of showing just how much joy we all felt for this little life even among all the sorrow.  I honestly don't think I will ever be able to find words that will accurately describe just how much these photos mean to me; she took the time to send us a few tonight so I could share them with those who were eager to meet our little boy and I can already get a sense of how much I will cherish these pictures for the rest of my life.  As I type this, it has been only eight hours since he left our arms and seeing his little face pop up in my email tonight meant more to me than words can describe.  I could sit and just stare at his perfect little lips and tiny smushed-up nose for hours and having the pictures to let me do that is absolutely priceless.

By the time we finished with our visits and all of the photos, it was past 11:00pm and while the girls were clearly getting tired (Tori even climbed into the corner where we had all of our bags and sort of crashed on top of them for a few minutes), they were so well-behaved and so excited to meet their brother.  As a mother, I could not have been more proud of them and how well they have handled everything.  We got ready to say our "good nights, love yous and sweet dreams" and get our hugs, kisses, nose rubs and head-butts.  As Tori climbed up on the bed, she took my face in both of her little hands to tell me, in her most grown-up little voice, that she was very sorry but it was time for her to leave right now and she would see me tomorrow. 

After that crew headed out, we had a few hours to eat some of the OB floor's famous turkey sandwiches and drink the Coke that our nurse specially requested for us at nearly midnight (they typically have only Sprite and juices on the floor but since I had initially asked for one, she made sure to go find four of them for us).  After a little relaxing, we got a wonderful late night visit from one of my closest friends who came to meet our little boy and check in on us. 

We knew we wouldn't sleep much the rest of the night because we honestly didn't want to miss one second with him and I don't think he left our arms for more than a moment from that point on.  So we got in quite a few hours of snuggling and watching some particularly awesome late night TV...by that, I mean some "Home Improvement", "George Lopez" and a little "That 70s Show."  We did get to curl up in the bed for an hour or so to take a quick nap before breakfast though.  Shortly after that, another friend of mine came up for a visit on her way to work and dropped off an amazing keepsake pendant kit for us - turns out the timing was perfect because it had just arrived in the mail the day before!

We initially thought we would only get to spend about ten or twelve hours with Aaron and had been expecting to say our good-byes early in the morning.  As it turns out, the hospital really truly recognizes the value of the time that parents get to spend with their baby and placed absolutely no official limit on our time with him.  So we spent the morning snuggling and making all of our keepsakes (handprint impressions, our pendant kit, footprints, and a plaster mold of his tiny little fingers).

My doctor came in to check on us at about lunchtime.  She wanted to know what name we had settled on and we shared with her (because we hadn't known what we were going to name him when she left after the delivery); I had completely forgotten that her own son's name is also Aaron.  She asked how we were doing and gave us our prescription for a really really high dose of folic acid, which I will be on for the remainder of my childbearing years.  (While it isn't a guarantee that it will prevent this from happening again in the future, it would at least significantly reduce the recurrence rate.)  She gave us both hugs and asked to see us in her office in a few weeks.

We talked with the care coordinator/grief counselor shortly after that and decided that we would call her again at 3pm so she could make contact with the funeral home.  I'm not sure I would have ever really been ready for that step, but it seemed like setting a time was the best thing for us to do.  Honestly, we spent most of that time curled up in my tiny hospital bed, dripping tears on Aaron's tiny little hat while we told him all the things we thought he most needed to hear.  At 3:00pm, we called to let her know that it was okay to start the process.  We filled out the paperwork that needed done so she could call the funeral home.  She also made an extra set of tiny footprints for us and then stepped out to wait for the funeral director to arrive.

We took this time to get Aaron ready for the next step in his journey.  We gave him a fresh diaper, changed the gauze on this head, trimmed some of that long brown hair, and changed him into the outfit that we wanted him to wear.  Neither of us were particularly concerned with what babies are "supposed to wear" when you bury them, because truthfully, you just shouldn't have to bury a baby.  So we chose the outfit that we picked out so many years ago that we would've brought our first son home in...a little baseball onesie that said "Daddy's Home Run Hero" and some little red and gray pants.  We left his tiny feet bare because none of the rest of his family likes to wear socks...so why would he? We wrapped him in the blanket that I made and the blanket that my mom made and just held him tight until the funeral director arrived. 

He came in and talked to us for a few minutes, then stepped out to give us a little time.  We said a prayer together, just the three of us.  We told him for the hundredth time how much he is loved and always will be.  We covered that sweet little face in kisses.  Then we had to tell him Goodbye.  We handed him to the care coordinator who laid him in that little bassinet and then they left.

To see your child go through a door and know that you will never feel his weight again in your arms and never get to kiss his tiny little face is a feeling that I'm not sure I even want to describe.  It's an important part of the story and I don't want to leave it out, but even sitting here typing it is almost more than I can bear.  It is to feel the very physical pain of having a piece of your heart leave your body and being powerless to stop it.  Believe me, I wanted nothing more than to jump from that bed, tear him out of that little cradle and never ever let go again.  In those moments after he left, my arms felt so utterly empty.  Chris brought me the blanket that we'd had him wrapped in and it was at least some comfort, but I'm pretty sure that empty feeling is here to stay for a while.  Despite the fact that we have been trying to prepare for this for months, it is impossible to prepare for that kind of pain.

The door closed behind them and all we could do was sit and sob for a little while.  What else makes sense in that moment? Once we got calmed down again, we began to pack our things and get ready to come home.  Once again, the care coordinator was there to help us and she even 'overlooked' the rule about being discharged in a wheelchair...honestly, being wheeled off of that floor with no baby in my arms would have nearly undone me and I think she understood that.

We made it home and were greeted by our beautiful little girls, a very enthusiastic dog, a very stressed-out cat, my mother and my brother-in-law.  Tori immediately wanted to know about the baby, so we reminded her that he had gone to Heaven and didn't get to come home with us.  Thankfully she was satisfied by that and went on with whatever she was doing.  Abby saw the blanket I had held on the way home and asked "Baby in nere? Baby in nere?"  So we had to show her that it was just his blanket and told her about the baby being in Heaven too...I doubt she really grasps it, but that seemed to satisfy the matter for her.

Tori made sure to let my mom know that "Mommy and Daddy are home now, so you can go ahead and leave."  So we got the girls dressed, headed to FedEx to drop off our info for the Duke study and decided that we were all going to Applebee's for dinner.  To be sitting in a restaurant having dinner just 24 hours after giving birth and just three hours after watching your baby be wheeled away by a funeral director is an almost absurd experience, almost like a bad dream from which you hope to be awakened any minute. We didn't wake up though; instead we came home, hugged our girls tightly and put them to bed.

Chris headed to the garage to make a little wooden car to have put in the casket with his first-born son (when we were expecting an Aurora, he had been working on her music box) and I sat down here to record what has happened in our journey during these last 32 hours.

Despite the pain, despite the tears and despite that nagging empty feeling...I still know that we were blessed by the time that Aaron Michael was in our life.  I have no regrets about choosing to carry him for as long as God allowed, even though that meant the pain of having to say goodbye.  Even when the tears have fallen or the sobs escaped, I still felt an indescribable joy in the blessing of carrying such a perfect, innocent little life. He will always be our first-born son and will always be in our hearts. 

Mommy Guilt...in the middle of the night.

It's just past midnight and I can't sleep.  Even though we went to bed almost two hours ago, here I am wide awake with a mind that just refuses to give up and get some rest.  At this point, the only thing more irritating than being awake when the rest of my house is quietly slumbering is the fact that I'm not exactly sure why I'm still awake.

After reading all the news stories I could handle on my phone's tiny little screen, I decided it was time to just get up and see if I could figure out exactly what is on my mind.  I'm not sure I'll discover anything terribly important, but at least maybe after I get it all out, I'll be able to get some rest.

We had a doctor's appointment yesterday that went reasonably well.  The last week hasn't gone especially well, pregnancy-wise, and I was pretty anxious going into the office, but overall things are going as well as can be expected.  The doctor ordered a non-stress test as a precaution and, while it didn't necessarily ease my mind, she seemed to think it went okay. So there isn't anything specifically baby-related that's eating at me.

I know I'm a little peeved that I forgot to pay one of our bills on time and got hit with a $35 late fee..but that's not the first time it's happened so I sincerely doubt that is the cause of this ridiculous insomnia.  I have always tended to freak out a little over stupid things like that, especially when there is no good reason for me to have forgotten, but again, not that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things.

Chris and I also talked a lot tonight (before his body finally gave in and fell asleep) about some of the random things that have been frustrating me lately.  I know some of it is just the normal hormonal grumpiness that happens when you're 38 weeks pregnant; unfortunately it's just amplified by about 1000 given all the factors that have come into play with this particular pregnancy.

To be fair, some of the irritability is totally justified (ie- when people say one of the countless stupid things that people tend to say when they just don't have anything useful to offer) but some of it is pretty irrational.  I suppose that at least I can recognize when I'm being ridiculous and tend not to snap back at those times, but I have found myself having to walk away from more than one conversation simply because I wasn't sure what was going to come out of my mouth if I didn't.  I do know that people mean well and want to help, but when I get in this mood sometimes I just wish everyone would leave me alone so I don't have to try to respond tactfully.

I actually think my role as a mother is probably pretty near the top of my list of "funk factors" right now.  With everything that is going on in our lives and fighting the constant battle of my own emotions, some days I can't help but feel like a complete failure as a mommy.  There are quite a few days where we will sit in our jammies (or Cinderella gown if you are Tori), watch movies all day and do nothing resembling anything educational.  There are days where I know I am short-tempered and don't give them the patience and kindness they deserve.  There are days where the only thing that I really want to accomplish is to get back in bed.  On those days, I hate myself and I hate the fact that my kids don't have the mom that they should.  It's not that I actually climb back into bed or that they are ever mistreated, but I can feel myself falling far short of who I want me to be.  My resolve is always "Do better tomorrow."  Sometimes, that works and there are days where things are wonderful and you would never know that there was anything out of the ordinary in our household.  Unfortunately, that isn't always the case.

This is one of my biggest frustrations with this entire situation.  It doesn't just affect me or Chris or the baby...it affects Tori and Abby too.  (For the record, I know it also affects our parents, siblings and extended families but I am no mood to further contemplate that right now.)  As much as we try to strike a balance between shielding them from this entire awful reality and trying to use it as a learning opportunity for dealing with life, emotions and loss...sometimes it feels like we couldn't be doing a worse job of finding that balance.  I know that it isn't entirely reasonable to expect that the girls wouldn't be affected by all of this, but it seems like there would be some way better than just stumbling along blindly and praying for the best. 

We are human and I know we will make mistakes, but it is such a helpless feeling to know that you aren't doing what you want to do or being who you want to be.  I want so badly to be in control of all of this and to be able to balance my own grief with that of my husband and the needs of my children.  I want things to be "normal" at home even in the midst of chaos, but when I look around and see that things are still often chaotic no matter how hard I try...it's hard to accept that I am not nearly as "in control" as I would like to be.

(As a side note, I realize that this post got really long and I apologize.  I considered cutting out most of my thought process until I got to the last few paragraphs - because when the tears started falling, it was pretty clear what was bugging me tonight - but it was important for me to walk through it.  Plus, I timed how long it took me to read what I wrote -yes, I am that crazy sometimes...and since it was just about three minutes, I figured that anyone who cares enough to follow the blog would care enough to spare three minutes.)

A Sister's Gift

Chris and I have long had a name picked out that we had always thought would belong to our third daughter.  It's one of the few that we have agreed upon and even shortens to a nickname that would go perfectly with her sisters'.  So when we first found out that we would be having a third child, we knew that if we were having a girl her name was covered.

Before we knew this baby was to be a little girl, we just used "Baby" anytime we talked about the baby in Mommy's tummy.  This included nightly in our prayers with the girls; then one night, Tori stopped me and said "No, no, no!!! Her name is Aurora!!  You have to call her by her name and her name is Aurora!!"

Aurora is not the name we originally had picked out and wouldn't necessarily have been one on our list, but Tori has remained adamant that this baby's name is Aurora.  If she catches me slip up and say "Baby," she will almost always correct me.  If we ask her about the baby's name to see if she has changed her mind, she has remained consistent that little sister's name is, in fact, Aurora (except for a time or two when she told me that it should be "Cinderella"...usually when she is wearing her Cinderella gown).

Given her insistence, Chris and I thought that we should maybe consider Aurora as a name.  We had all but reached a concrete decision, but the other night I started questioning it and wondering how I felt about choosing a name for our angel that we wouldn't normally choose for a baby.  So Chris and I sat down to talk about it...and that man never ceases to amaze me.  He said it so simply, but could not have said it more perfectly:

"Tori isn't going to be able to play with her sister and she isn't going to be able to teach her to walk like she wants to.  There are so many things she won't get to do...but she can do this.  She can give her a name."

I got tears in my eyes then, just like I did now as I retype his words.  There could not have been a more perfect way to sum things up.  So between the wisdom of my husband and the enthusiasm of my oldest daughter, they have picked a beautiful name for our beautiful angel.

Aurora.

"We can only appreciate the miracle of a sunrise 

if we have waited in the darkness."

~Author Not Known~

Making Arrangements

I finally called the funeral home yesterday.  A little over a month ago, my friend Courtney recommended several in the area and had really good things to say about one in particular.  It's taken me this long to call them.  (Honestly though, when you think about it...how eager would you be to make that call if you found yourself in my shoes?  Exactly.)

I was amazed at how compassionate and incredibly kind the man on the other end of the phone was.   I know in that particular line of work...you should expect kindness and compassion, but I'm fairly certain that isn't always the case.  It's a family owned business that has been in the community for nearly 65 years and is currently operated by two brothers and their children.  Honestly, just reading the biographies on their website was touching - they consider their profession to truly be "a calling to the funeral ministry." 

I started out by explaining our situation, which I managed to do without choking up too much, and he expressed his sympathies.  Then he wanted to make sure I knew that they do not charge any fees for children's services and we would only need to worry about arrangements for a plot and burial.  He let me know that he would be praying for us, and since he is also the pastor of a nearby church, he would be asking his congregation to lift us up in prayer also.

There have been only a few times lately when I have been so overwhelmed that I can't make it through a conversation without tears, but this was one of them.  To hear the compassion and genuine sadness in his voice for the loss of our child and to know that they are so sincere that they would donate their services to bereaved parents, I couldn't help but be overwhelmed. 

We have an appointment set for ten days from now - sooner would probably have been better but with three different schedules to consider, it will be soon enough.  The plus side is that it gives us a more focused timeline for finally making some of the decisions that we've been putting off.  I know that I'll feel better once we finally have a plan in place, but actually working toward planning a funeral service for your child is heart-wrenching.

There are so many questions, so many details to put into place and you want things to be just right, but what does that even mean?  This isn't the way things are supposed to be.  Funerals are supposed to be for your 92 year old grandma - someone with a favorite song or flower or poem.  Someone who has had an entire lifetime for you to remember.  You are supposed to be able to tell stories about all the sweet, crazy, funny things she's done in her 92 years.  You aren't supposed to have to bury a baby who barely even got a start at life.  You aren't supposed to have to bury your children at all...this isn't the way it's supposed to work.

  

Overprotective

As a mother (and I would think the same is true for fathers), it is a natural instinct for me to want to protect my children.  They mean the world to me and I would no doubt die trying to keep them safe.  In the last two weeks, I have been amazed at how much more intense that feeling has become. 

Our world was so badly shaken with that ultrasound - up until that day, I was worried about things like needing to have a c-section and whether or not I would be able to breastfeed this baby.  I thought about the whole circumcision issue and whether or not it would be too painful for our son, if we were having a boy.  I wondered if I would be able to labor and deliver again without the use of medications or interventions.  Those were the concerns that were foremost in my mind.  It never consciously occurred to me that our baby might have a birth defect, let alone a fatal birth defect.

For the last eleven days, it seems like we have been waiting for the rest of our world to implode - just waiting for something else to go wrong.  It has forced us to consider our own mortality and that of the two children we already have.  It has caused me to pause every time we get ready to leave the house and wonder if something bad is going to happen.  When we say goodnight, I hold each little hand just a little longer and hug each precious little body just a tad tighter. 

I know that this is a normal reaction to losing a child, but that doesn't make the feeling any less real or any less terrifying.  Despite that, we now find ourselves walking a fine line between carrying on with our normal daily activities and wanting to lock everyone in safe protective bubbles.  I want so badly to protect my children from pain and danger, but I've had to face the fact that all we can do is the best that we are able.

We will never be able to entirely rid our world of danger or pain, but I've certainly become more in tune with my reactions to it.  I can't say that I don't want to lock us all in the house and hide from everyone and everything, but I can say that combatting that instinct has taught me a few things.

*We can try to make something positive grow from each experience.
*We can mend fences, so that we work toward living a life with no regrets. 
*We can be more aware of how precious life is and how important it is to cherish the moments we are given. 
*No matter how hard we try, how much we pray, or how careful we are...we don't know what each day will bring us.  Why would you ever want to waste one second of that precious time?