"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.

Frogs

I don't necessarily have anything inspirational or amazing to share tonight, but I had to share an experience I had this afternoon with Aaron's big sisters. 

We went to Hobby Lobby to pick up a few things I needed for bracelets and ended up browsing the store, like we usually do...because, really, who doesn't love Hobby Lobby?? We wandered over to the outdoor decorations area and I asked if the girls wanted to pick out something special to take to the cemetery for Baby Aaron next time we go.  They were thrilled!! Tori immediately spotted one of the big center islands decked out in frog decor and snatched up one of the little guys.  She ended up passing that one off to Abby and choosing another one of her own. 

I suggested we keep walking to see if there was anything else they thought Baby Aaron might like or if they thought he'd like to keep the frogs.  So Tori holds her frog as high as she can toward the ceiling and yells, "BABY AARON!!!  DO YOU LIKE THESE FROGS?!?!" ... ... "Yes, Momma he says he likes these."  :)  So then Abby yells, "Baby Aawon!! Like deese??"  (Sadly, Abby's first frog had a bit of a frog-tastrophe and met with an untimely demise when she dropped him.  She was a tad devastated, but the worker was very kind and we found that frog's identical twin instead.  She clutched him tightly to her chest through the rest of the store telling me "Breakaful. Breakaful."  He was safe until we reached the cashier where she got distracted and dropped him too...thankfully, this one survived with only a missing toe from that unwise leap.)

The girls also discovered a shiny blue pinwheel that they thought Aaron might like...so we left the store with two little frogs and a shiny pinwheel.  :)

I can only imagine what our conversation must have sounded like to anyone else who overheard...a year ago, I'm not sure what I would've thought about a young mother and her two little ones talking so calmly about buying things to take to a baby brother in the cemetery.  On one hand, I hate knowing that my girls are already so familiar with death.  On the other hand, it has given us so many opportunities to help them learn and grow.  They are young enough to ask whatever is on their minds without being embarrassed or inhibited, so we are able to truly address where they are at any given moment.  And although they say occasionally that they are "sad about Baby Aaron" or that they miss him, they seem so happy for him to be with God and Grandma in Heaven. They don't see it as something to be afraid of; it's just the way it is for them. 

I know that the girls have helped us cope with Aaron's death in so many ways; this is just one of them.  Their unfailing confidence in his happiness in Heaven is astounding.  We should all be so lucky. 

Still Standing

I know my updates are a little infrequent these days.  I don't really have a good explanation for it other than the fact that I just haven't had any ideas come to me that seemed like they were worth sharing.

Yesterday, however, I had one of those experiences where an entry just kind of writes itself in my head while I'm supposed to be doing something else.  I usually try to make sure those get published, because I assume there is a reason that they have written themselves.

I recently had a bit of a confrontation with someone in my life who was contemplating making some pretty destructive decisions in the face of intense stress.  We had talked at length regarding all of the things leading up to these decisions and the consequences of making specific choices.  It became apparent throughout the course of a number of conversations that this individual considered suicide as the only solution to the problems at hand.

Finally, I simply said, "You remember that baby I was pregnant with?  He died.  We have known since October that he was going to die and he was stillborn almost six weeks ago.  And I'm still standing here.  It has been the hardest thing I have ever gone through.  It has sucked and I would never wish that pain on anyone.  I know that things are awful for you right now too and I know you are struggling with all that you are facing.  I understand what it is like for things to suck and to not know what you are supposed to do.  I realize that you feel like this is your only choice, but I am standing here going through the crappiest thing I have ever experienced but I'm still standing here.  I'm not asking you not to kill yourself; I'm asking you to give yourself some time.  I'm asking you to wait until things don't suck so much and you aren't overwhelmed by everything you are facing.  If you still want to die at that point, then we can talk again but at least then I'll know that you aren't making a decision out of desperation."

It's not the most orthodox approach to someone in crisis, and I typically wouldn't share something so personal in that context...but sometimes there are situations where someone is able to benefit from hearing something spoken from the heart regardless of whether or not it is what you are "supposed to" say.

And I think that is the main reason that I am so compelled to share this story.  I still think about the mommy friend of mine who committed suicide at the beginning of the year and I think about the countless other moms, myself included, who sometimes struggle to make it to the end of the day.  It's normal and it's painful and it's hard to do, but I'm proud to still be standing at the end of the day (because, let's face it...even on the days when we have to sit down for a bit...we're still standing).

Normal

Please don't tell me that you "hope things are getting back to normal."  I know that you mean well and I'm sure that you say this simply because you aren't sure what else to say.  Believe me, I wish things could be normal.  I wish that I was rocking my five week old son to sleep right now instead of typing about coping with life after his death. But the reality is this:  Our lives will never be "normal" again.

We are functioning and we are working on finding a new routine for our family.  We are finding ways to cope with our grief and ways to brace ourselves for the days when the pain becomes overwhelming.  We work to find ways for the girls to remember their little brother while trying to make sure that his death doesn't scare them. 

These things are part of what has become "normal" for us now...but when you tell us that you "hope things are getting back to normal," you have no idea what that means.  There will always be a part of us that is missing and there will always be a scar in our hearts for the son we didn't get to keep.

For what it's worth, I wouldn't want things to "go back to normal."  That would be like acting that Aaron never existed.  He did.  It would be like saying that he isn't loved as much as our other children.  He is.  It would be like pretending that he hasn't changed our lives in a profound way.  He has.

We don't need the pain to go away or the tears to stop.  There is no shame in either of those things, but it would be nice for the pain to ease and the tears to lessen.  It's okay to be hurt and it's okay to need to cry; the ache and the tears will be with us for the rest of our lives.  But that doesn't mean that we can't be joyful or that we can't celebrate the blessings we are given.  We don't need to "return to normal" to feel happy; our "new normal" simply means making room for the grief alongside the joy. 

One Month

I had every intention of writing something special for Aaron's "one-month birthday" today, but words are failing me tonight and tears have taken their place.

So I will simply say "My sweet baby boy, I miss you more than mere words will ever be able to say.  We may never know why you weren't ours to keep, but please know that you've kept a piece of our hearts with you.  You will always live within us and one day, we will hold you again in our arms."

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.

Aaron's Angel Arms

The bracelet that started it all - Chris's bracelet with the Saint Michael medallion.

 The day before Aaron's funeral, we still didn't have something special for Chris to wear in Aaron's memory.  I had a beautiful pearl bracelet from Eden's Wings and we had made tiny pearl bracelets with little heart charms for each of the girls to wear "for Baby Aaron."  We had been looking online for a few days (since we had been staying up pretty much all night anyway, we had time for that) trying to find something manly that we could personalize...as it turns out, there just isn't a lot out there that is geared toward the Dads who have suffered the loss of a little one. 

I don't honestly remember how the idea of paracord bracelets came up, but we bought a package of royal blue paracord  and sent Chris to a Catholic bookstore about thirty minutes away for a Saint Michael medallion (or ten, as it turned out).  That night, with a little help from Professor Google, I sat on the couch and made Chris a bracelet specifically in memory of the son we would be laying to rest the next day. 

As a few days passed, it became obvious to me that making bracelets for other families was something tangible I could do...not just to honor Aaron's memory, but to provide something to other fathers who wanted something in memory of their own little ones.  Even though I knew how much Chris liked his bracelet, I wasn't sure it was even something that other Dads would want so I threw the idea out to one of the baby loss groups I'm a part of...and the response was loud and clear:  "Do it!"

So...nine days after I first made Chris's bracelet, "Aaron's Angel Arms" became 'Facebook official.'  Since then, I have been absolutely amazed at all that has happened. I would have never dreamed that I would be given the opportunity to connect with so many amazing people in such a short time.

We created a blog page to complement the Facebook page and give us a little different forum for sharing.  (And thanks to a very talented sister-in-law, we even have an online order form that makes my life a whole lot easier!)  :)  You can view it at AaronsAngelArms.blogspot.com. 

In these first two weeks, I have sent out 17 bracelets and received orders for over 20 more.  I have talked with other parents from all over the country who are willing to share their own stories of loss and allow me to share Aaron with them by providing a small reminder of our angels.  (As I asked how much shipping would cost to the UK, the woman at the post office even remarked today "Well, you've got 'em just going everywhere don't you?")

I have received offers from several who wanted to help purchase supplies, surprise their husbands, sponsor bracelets for others who couldn't afford them, or purchase a bracelet for a friend and from one who is even creating something special for us in memory of Aaron. 

The bracelet I made tonight for all three of my babies - Tori, Abby and Aaron.

Even though it has been only two weeks, I have already found so much healing in this project.  And although I truly wish that there was absolutely no need for any of us who make things in memory of Angel Babies,  I am truly humbled and honored to get to share in the stories of so many remarkable little babies, siblings, mothers and fathers.