Jude's 2nd Christmas

Jude makes everything amazing. His presence enhances even the smallest detail of a day. He adds joy where it's missing. This year, Christmas was a bit of a sore spot in our family with Poppop gone. It was our first Christmas without him. Poppop always loved Christmas and you could see the joy on his face as he sat back and watched his large family enjoy his gifts and each other. There was definitely a void this Christmas Eve... I'm so grateful Jude is here to distract us from those that are always missing. My little girl. My grandpa. Holidays can be rough, but they can also be so beautiful.

Jude with my amazing cousin, Rachel

 

 

My sweet Grammy and my Dad. She looked so beautiful in her lovely new coat. She kept talking about how much she enjoyed watching her family and she marveled at the fact that all of the people in the room were there because of her and Poppop. So many lives exist because the two of them came together. What an amazing thing to accomplish in life, to build such a legacy through such a large family. What an honorable thing to do with your life. I wish I could do the same!

 

 

Our family. This was the best we could get Jude to cooperate. There were way cooler things going on at the moment than smiling for yet another photo! ;)

 

 

Beautiful boy in his Santa jammies.

 

 

My parents got Jude some very wonderful gifts. Of course, he loved playing with the wrapping paper and boxes, like most children do! He seemed more interested in opening presents when they were in my room waiting for him for Christmas, than when they were purposely put before him to open. But that's okay! I'm sure he will tear into them next year!

 

 

Jude loved his new truck from my parents! He laughed and squealed the entire time we pushed him around in it. I love his joy.

 

 

Christmas dinner with Daniel's family. Jude enjoyed his fun gifts from Daniel's parents. He loves "singing" into that microphone!

 

Another Christmas has quickly come and gone. I'm a bit sad that it's already over and we're returning to normal life. I can't believe 2012 is coming to an end. It's been another crazy year. Hoping next year will finally be the uneventful year we've been waiting for! Regardless, I love my little family and I love sharing life with them. There's nothing better!

 

 

Just wait til he starts walking

People keep saying that to me lately.

People I know. Complete strangers. They just keep telling me that same thing, in that same warning tone, as if my world is about to shatter and all hell will break loose as soon as my little boy is completely mobile. As if it's about to be the worst thing that could happen to me.

And each time I hear it, I bite my tongue to what my instincts retort in my head. I feel a tinge of anger build up, as if I'm supposed to defend my little boy. Because to me, each time I hear these generalized, empty warnings, I feel as though that person is trying to talk me out of how much I love my child. As if I'm stupid enough to think I enjoy my son because I have no idea what bothersome perils await me once he can get around on his feet (or turns 2). That soon he will become too inconvenient to love and enjoy. Or something like that.

This all may seem so petty, but my number one pet peeve is taking children for granted. My children (dead and alive) are sacred to me. I do not believe in publicly slandering them in any way. I love every aspect of motherhood. I cherish it, even the challenges. It's exactly what I signed up for when Daniel and I decided to embark on the road to parenthood. I take all of it in. I embrace it all as a gift. The gift of being a mother to an amazing boy who's growing each day into the man he will become. I honestly don't find any of it to be an inconvenience. I could never sit and complain about the trials of parenting my living-breathing child. He is literally my dream come true. I nearly died for him.

And I know the alternative. I know what it's like to bury my baby. I know what it's like to clutch nothing but emptiness in aching arms. I know what it's like to pine for a screaming needy baby to keep me up at night, instead of flashback-plagued insomnia and my own miserable tears. I have a baby that never got to cry and she definitely won't ever start walking and apparently turn my world upside down. She turned my world upside down in a very different way, one that actually deserves complaint and discomfort. I'd much rather deal with her walking.

As for Jude, he is my sweet preemie. Because of that alone, his milestones are precious. They are never on time due to his prematurity, and this is something I struggle with. I try not to worry about what he is or isn't doing. So when Jude started taking steps, we were overjoyed! Disdain was the last emotion I'd ever visit. We encourage him to learn to walk, trying to get him to take steps back and forth between Daniel and me. We count the steps (so far his record is four steps before falling) and we clap and cheer when he does fall. He gets so excited as he's taking these precious steps because he knows he's accomplishing something amazing, something he's never done before. Something his prematurity could have very well taken away from him.

So am I a bit sensitive? Do I take nonchalant, typical statements too personally? Possibly. But in my life, on the road I've walked, I'm so tired of people treating parenthood and children so typically. It's not a typical occurrence. To some, it's incredibly sacred. It does not come easily. In some cases, like mine, it took multiple near death experiences (among other things) to get a breathing child into this world. I don't take Jude's accomplishments lightly. I celebrate them with everything inside me because I know we nearly buried him as well.

We'll never see Avery take her first steps and she'll never run around and play. But Jude will and I can't wait to see that sweet, silly toddler waddle. I can't wait to chase him and hear him squeal with joy. I'm so excited for what's to come. Suggesting any other response is an insult to what I've been through, no matter how ridiculous that seems.

Not everyone possesses the same ideals or views. Sometimes a thoughtless, seemingly simple comment can evoke so much emotion. What some call inconveniences, others call victories.

Wild Wonderland

Last night, Daniel and I took Jude to Lowry Park Zoo, where they had their Christmas event, Wild Wonderland. The moment we walked through the gate, we knew we'd made a good choice. I hadn't known what to expect. I hadn't been to the zoo since I was a kid. But they went above and beyond my expectations and the night was amazing! Jude loved every little bit, even for a 16 month old. It felt magical and exciting, the perfect thing to do as a little family enjoying Christmas time.

 

 Just like last year, Jude didn't show much interest in Santa, maintaining a straight face the entire time. He did seem a little confused as to why we were handing him off to some strange, hairy, red and white character. I wonder what he thinks of all these things. :)

 Jude also got to experience his very first ride last night! The three of us rode the carousel together. Jude got to ride a zebra and he loved it so much. We could just see the excitement and enjoyment on his face as he gripped the bar and kicked his legs. He looked all around at the lights as the zebra went up and down and we went around and around. I savored the simple moment, just watching his face.

A random stranger was nice enough to stop and ask if she could take our picture for us. I thought that was so kind of her. She told us Merry Christmas and that we were the cutest little family. How nice that there is still warmth in the world, when lately it seems so full of cold darkness.

Jude's absolute favorite part of the night was the fake snow flurries. They were really little sud clusters, but they really did look like snowflakes. Jude kept reaching up for them and trying to grab them. It was the highlight of my night, again watching the joy on his little face, experiencing something new and exciting for the first time.

The night went so quickly. I wished it could have lasted forever! We will definitely be making this an annual trip!

I love sharing these special moments with Jude. It's so beautiful. To be a parent and watch your child learn the world for the first time. To experience things he's never seen. It's the greatest gift there is.

Merry Christmas, Darling

We've been spending a great deal of time lately 'decking the halls' and shopping for gifts. Christmas has always been my favorite time of year but for the last two years, it's been both happy and sad. Both joyous and lacking. I savor all of the warmth the season brings into our home and the excitement that hangs in the air, but another emotion lingers over us always during these festive days.

Avery isn't here.

Her stocking hangs between mine and her brother's. She has several ornaments gracing our tree. But she will never share in this special holiday with us. The closest thing to having her here was when I was pregnant with her for Christmas of 2009. I kept saying excitedly how it was our last Christmas without our baby when actually, it was our only Christmas with her.

As I watch Jude marvel over these new and amazing sights, I wonder how Avery would love it all. What would be her favorite parts of our traditions? What would be on her Christmas wish list? Surely, she would have helped us decorate the tree last night. Even if she dropped and broke a few ornaments, I'd be glad to let her help. To see the twinkling lights illuminate her little face. To watch her smile in awe as she watched the tree come to life with color and beauty. I know she would've enjoyed it. The Christmas cookies we'd bake. The Christmas movies we'd watch. The Christmas dresses she'd wear. I'm sure she would have looked beautiful on our Christmas card, nestled right in between us, next to her brother. And she'd probably help Daddy plug in the Christmas lights outside each evening and light up as the lights did.

Christmas, although beautiful and magical, will always be missing something. I'll always wonder about that empty space in our family and my imagination will always fill it as I drift off into the 'if only's. I especially wish that Jude could share the excitement of Christmas with his sister, just the way I always did with my brothers. It makes me sad for him, though he'll never know differently and won't realize what he's missing. But I will. It'll always be there in the back of my mind. His singularity, his technical only child-ness.

I try not to focus on the negative aspects. I want to enjoy our blessings more than grieve our losses. It's not as raw as it used to be. The first Christmas without Avery was agonizing. It was ugly and anything but joyful. The season's beauty practically mocked our pain. I'm so grateful that our hearts have come a long way since then, but our love has not faded. The way we miss our little girl has not changed. We'll always wish she was here. I guess in a way she is, living on in the spirit of her little brother, who is here because of her.

I often think about where Avery is spending Christmas instead. And I think about what Christmas is all about in the first place... Celebrating the birth of Christ. Avery gets to celebrate the birth of Jesus with Him. She is there with Jesus Himself, among the songs of the angels, sharing in His birthday celebration. What an amazing joyous sight that must be.

Merry Christmas darling, we're apart that's true
But I can dream and in my dreams, I'm Christmas-ing with you...

Fear and healing

I never dreamed fear could have a positive outcome. It has plagued me through so many seasons of my life in the past nearly three years. My fear has kept me from so much joy. It's caused anxiety, paranoia, and even hypochondria. But this time, my fear actually set me free.

How could that be? Fear is not from God. Perfect love drives out fear. (1 John 4:18) But in this case, I believe God used my greatest flaw -- my uncontrollable, sometimes paralyzing tendency to worry and fear -- to heal a very broken piece of my being.

This terrible, unnecessary fear set deep within me four days after Jude's seizure. He had a follow up appointment with his pediatrician two days after that horrific ordeal. Everything looked great, his ear infection had even cleared up already. Jude's doctor looked through the charts from the hospital and was not pleased with the practically inconclusive blood test results from the ER. They hadn't been able to get a good sample of Jude's blood so it clumped up a lot, throwing off some of the results. He wanted us to take Jude to get another complete blood count (CBC) just to be thorough. We did just that and I didn't think much of it because Jude seemed fine and it was just a precaution.

Two days after the test, Jude's doctor called me and told me that his levels were a bit off, some varying drastically since his ER lab results just two days prior. His platelets were low and so were his white blood cells. As soon as he mentioned white blood cells, my mind immediately shot to cancer. I felt so sick with worry. The doctor explained that he believed they were both low due to viral suppression from the high fever, seizure, and ear infection. He spoke to a hematologist, who happened to specialize in oncology, just to verify and she completely agreed with him but she wanted Jude to get retested in two weeks to make sure his levels returned to normal. Cue the longest, most fearful two weeks of my life (well... Since the 31 weeks I was pregnant with Jude).

Before hanging up with Jude's doctor that afternoon, he assured me it wasn't time to worry. He expressed his belief that it couldn't be due to any cancer (because you know I asked him about it!) but he confessed his concern. When I hung up, I was close to tears and felt no peace at all. There was no way I could refrain from worrying.

All day, I had a knot in my stomach and that night, after Jude went to bed, I couldn't stop crying. I couldn't help but imagine his next results being no better or even worse. What would it mean? What if something was horribly wrong inside his little body? What if the seizure was a gift from God, so we could find out something was wrong with him before it was too late? All of these morbid fears forced their way into my thoughts. My imagination reeled with sickening visions of losing my baby. I suddenly felt like I was no longer guaranteed a life with my son. I felt like all my mothering duties may be temporary. It was a sick and awful feeling and I tried so hard to push it all away. But over the two weeks, it kept rearing its ugly head.

During that time, Jude started cutting two molars and one incisor all at once. Before we realized this, Jude's appetite changed and he wasn't eating well. Of course, my fear caused me to think something was wrong with him, that he was getting sick from whatever horrific thing was brewing inside him. Noticing the swollen gums, I felt some relief but nearly everyday, Daniel had to convince me that Jude was okay for one reason or another.

For those two long weeks, I felt like I was holding my breath. I was dreading the day we'd have to take Jude back for more blood work. I was dreading the phone call that would proceed. I imagined how my stomach would drop when my phone would ring and I'd see Jude's doctor on my caller ID. I pictured our conversation going so many ways, but naturally, against my will, what I pictured always left me feeling sick to my stomach. But then there was another side of me that couldn't wait to get it all over with. I wanted to be able to really enjoy the Christmas season and I couldn't manage to really do that with all of the fearful unknown looming over my head.

Finally, the day came and went. I prayed so much everyday leading up to it that Jude was healthy and strong. And he is. I burst into tears of relief on the phone with Jude's doctor. He knows me well enough by now and was not surprised by my reaction.

I believed in my heart that Jude was fine but my fear kept telling me I was wrong. It kept whispering ugly lies and planting that seed of worry. It really ate a hole. It festered and tormented. It was so unbearable at times. I felt so weak. I was disappointed in myself for folding so easily. Like it didn't take much for me to fall apart. That I couldn't face the situation with faith and trust, boldly and gracefully holding my head high like a dignified woman of God. But after weighing all of the things I've suffered through concerning my children, I decided to give myself a break. It's okay to be scarred by what's happened to me. I need to be patient with myself. It will take time to live confidently and to shake that paranoia.

So how did all of this fear and obsessive worry actually benefit me? During all of the stress, I kept thinking to myself how hard it was to worry so much about one person. To have so much of my heart, life, and love invested in one person. If I had to worry so much about the well-being of just one person, how could I manage that much more worry for the well-being of even more? The way I started to see it, the more children you have, the higher the chance of something awful happening to one of them. And half of my children are already dead so the odds don't look so hot. Morbid "humor" aside, I think I've endured too much for my heart to handle worrying for so many lives. I carry enough concern for Jude.

The other way the fear helped was in how much I despised the way our normal life twisted into a huge fear fest. I desperately wanted to return to our normal days. I wanted our old life. I missed it. I missed my biggest problem being how I couldn't have all the kids I wanted to have. I decided I'd gladly take that problem over there being something wrong with Jude. I willingly surrender the dreams of my future children for Jude in all his perfection. I'd much rather have "just" him than the possibility of others.

For the first time since I found out I couldn't have any more children, I am content with it. I never thought I would say that. That is the healing the fear brought. It was the lesson it taught me. Jude is enough. He has always been enough but I always longed for more as well. Now, I'm okay. Of course I would have a few more children if things were different and I still wish that were so, but It's okay that I won't have Jonah or Uriah or Ezra (a new beautiful favorite). It feels amazing to accept that. I feel more whole than I have felt in a long time. If it was even possible to love Jude more than I already did, I do.

I feel like the wounds from the babies that were taken away (past and future) have finally stopped bleeding. I feel like I can live my life now. Like I can be happy. That I don't have to be defined by my grief or my suffering. Yes, I am a baby loss mom. Yes, I have two children. Yes, my daughter is in Heaven. But I cannot live in that devastation anymore. Life is beautiful. My family is beautiful. I have so much, despite what I've lost. I know the Glory of God and the love of a husband and son. With humbled and gracious tears in my eyes, I know full well that I am blessed.

 

 

 



Jude's 2nd Thanksgiving

I miss how magical the holidays felt when I was a kid. It seems now, I spend more time in disbelief that the certain date has so quickly rolled around once again than I do really feeling festive! Maybe that's just part of growing up. Don't get me wrong. I look forward to these times. It's my favorite time of the year. I love and thoroughly enjoy all the decorating and the baking and the family gatherings. But now it's my job to make sure Jude feels the joy and the magic that every kid should feel. To remind him to be thankful for what he has and who he is. He's too young now to understand but I'm looking forward to the years to come, to see the excitement in Jude's eyes on these special family days. All the beautiful memories we're going to make together. What a blessing. So much to be thankful for!!

This year, Thanksgiving was different for my family with Poppop gone. It was the first thing I thought about as the day loomed. It would be the first time our family gathered without him. I must admit, as I mixed the filling for my pumpkin pie bars that morning, and "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas" was playing in the living room, I lost it. The line "Through the years we all will be together" was what did it. Through the years we all have been together. Now it's changed. It's another new normal that we have to accept in life. Just like having a dead daughter has become normal for me. But for now, it's sometimes unbelievable. That all of Jude's firsts were all of my grandpa's lasts. Life is strange and hard and sometimes very ugly, but it's also very beautiful. And family is the best part.

Things may not always be as magical as I imagined they would be when I was a kid, but no matter who or what I have lost, no matter the struggles or triumphs, there is always always so much to be thankful for. There is love and life in my home. And that is more than enough.

Seizure

Yesterday was one of the scariest days of my life. There are a few horrifying days in my memory and this is definitely at the top of the list.

Yesterday, Jude had a seizure.

Jude has been completely healthy since he's been born, despite his nine week early entrance into the world. Yesterday, he showed no signs of sickness, no indication that anything was wrong.
Jude and I went with my parents, my grandma, and my aunt to the cemetery to visit my grandpa.

It was warm, but nothing alarming. Jude played on the ground for a few minutes, Then I picked him up and took him to stand under an umbrella to take a break from the sunshine.

Just a moment later, he arched backwards in my arms. At first, I thought he was being silly, leaning back. But when I turned to him, he was making a weird sound. The second, I realized something was wrong, my dad took him from my arms and said he was having a seizure. My mom and I immediately went into hysterics as we followed behind my dad, who was rushing Jude to the car. He yelled for us to call 911. I pulled out my phone and dialed it with shaking hands... the first time I've ever called it in my life. I couldn't believe I was saying "my son is having a seizure."

There was a couple who was helping us, as we brought Jude to the air conditioning in my parents' car. He was shaking and his eyes were rolling back. He was drooling. It looked like my little boy was gone. I couldn't believe what was happening. I was so afraid he was going to die. I pleaded with God in my head as the couple gave us pointers. They told us to drive to the entrance of the cemetery so the ambulance could find us better. I took Jude in my arms, surprised that he felt like dead weight. The woman was telling me how to do CPR in case he stopped breathing. As soon as she mentioned that, I tuned out and started freaking out all over again, not hearing a word she was saying. I couldn't wait to get him to the ambulance. I did not want to be responsible for resuscitating my own baby. I didn't trust myself to do it properly. I didn't want to experience that with him.

Thankfully, the ambulance pulled up to us on the side of the road and I got out of the car, my mentally absent child in my arms, as I cried and shook. His breathing was returning to normal, but he didn't seem at all like himself. A paramedic took him from me and I turned to my dad and asked him if it was possible that Jude could now be mentally handicapped from it. He told me no. I figured my parents knew about seizures, since my younger brother has epilepsy and has had about four seizures in his 22 years of life.

I climbed into the ambulance and my parents followed behind. By this time, Jude was crying and getting upset with the paramedic's prodding. He was looking around at the lights on the ceiling and I felt so relieved. I held his hand and talked to him, so afraid that something terrible inside him had caused his little body to seize. There's no way I could lose him. I'd never survive that.

We finally got to the hospital, and by this time, Jude seemed pretty normal, just very upset and tired. Daniel arrived just minutes later. His temperature was 102.7 and was probably much higher before (somehow, the paramedic had no thermometer). They took some blood from Jude, a urine sample via catheter, and a swab from his nose. They were checking for the flu, and RSV, and also checking his blood count. They did an x-ray of his lungs to check for fluid. He had an IV so his arm was taped down to a little board. He was hooked up to a monitor with leads all over his body. He had a little blood pressure cuff on his arm. It sort of felt like the NICU all over again, with my wired baby.

After putting on a saline drip mixed with a medication for infection and giving him Motrin, the nurses finally left him alone. As the medicine kicked in and he started to feel some relief, Jude fell asleep on my chest. I stroked his hair and cried in the unusual silence, remembering all of the horrific emotions I felt in the last hour, believing I may lose my most precious blessing. The fleeting, quick thoughts that had crossed my mind in those frightening unsure moments... Wondering if the last photo I'd ever take of Jude would be him at my grandpa's grave. Wondering if I'd ever see him smile again. I didn't dare imagine a funeral, but the quick thought crossed my mind with a sickening pain.

Thankfully, it wasn't long before the doctor explained to us what happened to our baby. Jude had a febrile seizure. They can commonly occur in children from 6 months old to 7 years old. They can be triggered by a sudden high fever. Upon checking, the doctor found that Jude had an ear infection and that must have been what caused the fever. What a way to discover your first ear infection! He hadn't even been showing any signs of it! The assumption was that Jude was starting to get a fever in the car while he napped on the way to the cemetery. As we were visiting my grandpa, his fever rose, the outside heat propelling his temperature faster, causing a seizure. Febrile seizures do not cause any damage and aren't neurological. They are not necessarily reoccurring. Jude may never have another one. I pray to God he doesn't!

Jude spent about five hours in the ER yesterday. It felt like forever. Even after learning he was going to be okay, it was still easy for the day's emotions to bring us to tears as any given moment. We're relieved that he's fine, but we'll never forget those fearful thoughts and the horrific notion that we were going to lose our baby. It was so difficult to watch Jude go through all of that pain. I know he didn't understand why people he didn't know kept hurting him. The lab messed up one of his blood tests and they had to poke him two more times to get more blood from him. We had to help hold him down as he screamed and fought to break free. It was awful.

So when Jude finally smiled again, it made my heart sing. Tears filled my eyes and I felt so happy to see that my little boy was coming back and that his spirit was still joyful even after all of the torture. He even managed to bounce around and laugh and babble, just like he always does. He was so happy. It was the greatest sight I could ever imagine.

It was so wonderful to bring Jude home. By then, he was completely himself. He crawled around and played. You would never know he had a seizure just seven hours before. Jude's now on medication for his ear infection and rotating between Motrin and Tylenol to make sure he doesn't get another high fever. So far, he's been great, just slightly fussy at times, probably when his ear is hurting him. He goes to his doctor tomorrow for a follow up.

I am so beyond grateful that Jude is alright. I would much rather that the seizure never happened, but I'm so thankful that God protected him and that he recovered quickly. I'm so glad that it wasn't triggered by something serious or life affecting. I already cherished and loved my little boy to a ridiculous degree, but somehow, my love has grown even more. He is amazing and strong and I'm so proud of him.

“Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.” - Elizabeth Stone

Jude's 2nd Halloween

I have to say that I'm not completely crazy about Halloween. My brothers and I grew up trick or treating and wearing costumes each year. I never thought about it until high school when I had a teacher who made us watch movies about how evil Halloween is. So now, in my adulthood, having children of my own, I question what I'm to do with Jude and how to approach the day each year from here on out. Especially as the world gets uglier, how much can you trust strangers who are handing out candy from their front steps? I do not judge anyone that takes part in Halloween festivities. We just haven't decided if it's for our family.

On the other hand, I am so afraid to miss opportunities and to miss memories with Jude. I do not ever want to look back and have regrets. I don't want to wish I did something differently. He is all we get. I don't have a chance to learn with him and do things differently with my third, fourth, fifth child.

That's why we dressed Jude up last year. He was a candy corn. Such a tiny little thing, about 13 weeks old, but only 4 weeks adjusted. We didn't take him out, just to my parents' house to show off his cuteness.

This year we did the same, sort of. At the last minute, we went looking for a costume, but really couldn't find anything that was his size, that we liked enough, that wasn't a massive rip off. We settled on a Superman shirt with a cape on the back from Target. He can wear it whenever because it's just a regular shirt. I love that much more than blowing money we need on something silly he would wear for a couple hours at best. I must say, he was a very cute Superman.

I'm not sure what we will do next year when he's old enough to trick or treat and he's walking and talking. I guess we'll just have to see.

Capture Your Grief : Day 31 // Sunset

Today concludes the Capture Your Grief project for Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness month. The theme for the last day is sunset. Now I have to be honest. Because of it being Halloween and spending time with my family, I wasn't able to make it outside in time to capture the sunset. But I do have a lovely photo of a sunset from a few days ago that I will share.

This month's project made me think a lot about my grief journey. I'm really glad I participated. It was  good to get some thoughts out and articulate some feelings. This journey isn't over. I'll carry this for the rest of my life. But being able to express myself and have a voice has made a lot of difference.

Capture Your Grief : Day 30 // Tell the world

If I could tell the world one thing about grieving a lost baby, no matter the gestation, is that it's a real, legitimate pain. That our babies are real and they still belong to us. We don't mourn for just a moment. We lost them for a lifetime and that's how long we have to cope without them. I wish people were more willing to be empathetic and just imagine being in the shoes of a bereaved parent. Most say "I can't even imagine what you're going through." Why not? Just picture what it might be like, imagine the horror and the agony. For anyone who's ever loved a child, it's not hard to imagine that life would be hell without them. No one would ever want to erase the joy and the beauty of the years with their child, just like we did not want to give up those years.

Above all, I desire for everyone to count Avery. If I consider her my child then there is no question. It's not up for discussion. It's not for anyone else to decide. Just because she wasn't here long or because some didn't have the chance to see her, it doesn't change how real she is and that she existed. Her heart beat on this earth beneath mine. She is in Heaven waiting for us and we will be with her again. Jude does not replace her. Death does not erase her. Time does not erase her.

I long to know she is remembered. I long to hear that she's missed. I love to hear her name and to know she's crossed someone's mind. That is such a gift to any bereaved person. No matter who you have lost. The first horror is losing them. The second horror is that they will be forgotten.

I have two children. Not just one. Someone very special came before my sweet boy. She is the reason he is here.

Capture Your Grief : Day 29 // Music

Music has always been such a vital part of my life. I love it, to put it simply. I love to have songs to relate to, to enjoy. When we first lost Avery, I had a hard time even wanting to listen to any music. It just felt wrong. I couldn't do anything that was normal. But I couldn't stay away from it for long. And quickly, I found so many songs that became Avery songs. The best, however, is one I have known for years. I'm sure it's meant for a romantic relationship, but to me it goes perfectly. It's my song for her.

Could It Be Any Harder

The Calling

 

You left me with goodbye and open arms
A cut so deep I don't deserve
You were always invincible in my eyes
The only thing against us now is time

Could it be any harder to say goodbye and without you,
Could it be any harder to watch you go, to face what's true
If I only had one more day

I lie down and blind myself with laughter
A quick fix of hope is what I'm needing
How I wish that I could turn back the hours
But I know I just don't have the power

I'd jump at the chance
We'd drink and we'd dance
And I'd listen close to your every word
As if it's your last, well I know it's your last
Cause today, oh, you're gone

Could it be any harder to live my life without you
Could it be any harder

  I'm all alone, I'm all alone

Like sand on my feet
The smell of sweet perfume
You stick to me forever, baby
I wish you didn't go
I wish you didn't go

I wish you didn't go away
To touch you again with life in your hand
It couldn't be any harder...

Capture Your Grief : Day 28 // Memory

It's been so difficult for me to choose one significant memory that stands out above the rest... the one I want to single out and share. So many moments come to mind immediately. The ultrasound where the tech wouldn't say what we already knew. Calling my mom to tell her Avery was gone... The list is endless.

I think though that the tenderest moment, one that I cannot and do not want to forget, is when Daniel and I were left completely alone with Avery in the hospital room. We were saying our final goodbye to her and spending our last moments ever with our daughter on this earth.

Daniel sat down with me on the bed and took Avery into his hands. We looked at her together, huddled close, tears streaming down our faces. I remember looking up at Daniel, miserably, and saying, "Daniel, what happened to our little girl?" It was almost pleading, begging him to give me answers I couldn't find, but knew full well he couldn't either.

I picked up the camera and took more photos of her, capturing her ink stained feet one more time. As I snapped more photos, I realized how much she was physically deteriorating. It felt unfair to keep taking her picture, as if I was compromising her dignity. I set the camera down and Daniel and I both agreed it was time for her to go. For us to give her up and say goodbye. It was the hardest thing we've ever had to decide together. Something we never thought we'd discuss... Not what color to paint the living room, or what to make for dinner... We had to decide that it was time to say goodbye to our daughter, after just seven hours with her. To give her to a nurse to take away so the funeral director could pick her up and take her to the funeral home to prepare her for her casket. How could we endure that? I still can't fathom it, though I've been living it for two and a half years.

It was God orchestrated that our pastor happened to arrive then to pray with us. He'd been away on a trip to Tennessee and just happened to get back in time, before Avery was taken away. Everyone came back into the room as Pastor John (one of my old high school teachers, my old youth pastor, the pastor who married Daniel and me) prayed over us. I do not remember what he prayed; all I could do was stare at my little girl, desperately trying to memorize every inch of her, the curves of her face and the feel of her skin. I ached to remember her always. Every precious detail.

Daniel made the horrific call to the front desk, requesting that the nurse come take our baby. It was awful. I don't know how I actually managed to hand Avery over to nurse. How I let her little body leave my hands for the last time. As the tears flow now, recalling it, I know they poured then.

After the nurse took Avery, she turned around to place her into the bassinet. I waited for her to move so I could take one last glance at my little girl before she was gone forever. But to my horror, when the nurse moved to the back of the rolling bassinet, I saw Avery was covered with a blanket... just like a dead body under a sheet.

I felt angry and upset that my last chance to see her was taken away. In these moments, this was not a dead body, a stillborn baby... This was my daughter, my precious baby, my little girl. She looked like her Daddy. And in this last second, I was angry on top of my grief. If that nurse could have just waited until she wheeled the bassinet across the room and behind the curtain before she covered her... It probably never occurred to her what a big deal that was. I'm sure she was just doing her job, shielding all of the normal happy moms that might be out in the hallway from seeing my dead baby. But she ruined my last moment. Maybe it shouldn't matter, but to me it does. She was the only nurse who took care of me during Avery's birth that had never experienced a loss. And she was the only one who did insensitive things... more than once.

Despite the nurse's inability to meet our needs, our last moments with Avery were so tender and precious. I felt so much love for Daniel, that we were holding each up through this, facing it together. And even though I felt so sick with grief and devastation, such a sense of dread and reluctance, I still felt so much love for that little girl. I still do.

Capture Your Grief : Day 27 // Artwork

Today's post calls for artwork that reminds me of Avery, or something that was made for her by me or someone else. I pondered for a while, thinking of photos that people have sent me of Avery's name in the sand or carved into a tree. Maybe my Molly Bear or my Heart to Hold. Then it came to me... the most precious and amazing thing anyone has ever done to honor Avery. A song written just for her.

My brother-in-law, Andy, Daniel's younger brother, wrote a beautiful song called "The News Hits Me So Hard." One night last summer, right before Jude was born, he (and his wife) came over just to play it for us on his guitar. Daniel and I were so touched by that. Andy has such an undeniable, God-given talent, and the fact that he used it to honor our baby girl, his niece, blesses my broken heart more than I can describe.

{Listen to Andy's song right here}

The News Hits Me So Hard

By: Andy Feller

 

The news hits me so hard
My brother's baby girl won't make it out alive
This feeling of helplessness overtakes me
I don't know why this happened but I miss you, Avery

Mommy and Daddy are so proud of you
Even though they missed your first word and step
God knows I believe that you're singing and dancing in His holy presence

We love you so much
We hate to say goodbye
Those tiny hands hold our hearts so tight
Don't you worry, we'll hold you soon
But till then, don't forget that

We love you
We miss you
We wish you were here with us

Even when the waves are crashing down
You're still good
God, You're so good

The news hits me so hard
My brother's baby girl won't make it out alive
This feeling of helplessness overtakes me
I don't know why this happened but we miss you, Avery

 

 



Capture Your Grief : Day 26 // Her age

 

 

I began my 25th week of my pregnancy on Tuesday, March 9, 2010. Every Tuesday, I took a new belly photo, waiting to get bigger and bigger. I never knew this would be the last time I would photograph myself pregnant with Avery. Two days later, on March 11th, we found out she was gone.

Avery was 25 weeks gestation. One week past viability. Micropreemie status. Only 15 weeks left to go. Just three months and three weeks until she was supposed to be here. My Summer baby. But instead, she was my Winter baby. Oddly fitting with the chill in the air.

I used to wish that I was much further along if I had to lose Avery at all. I thought maybe she would be considered more legitimately my child had she been bigger and older. That she would count without question.

But she was 25 weeks old. She was perfect. And she is ours always.

Capture Your Grief : Day 25 // Baby shower

I never got to have a baby shower for Avery. I was 25 weeks pregnant when she was born still. There were no shower plans in the making, no guest list being worked on... But we had registered at both Target and Babies R Us. We couldn't wait to do that. We loved it.

We had many things for Avery, waiting for her in her room. Anytime my mom and I would go out on a shopping date, she would buy a few things for her. Each week, Daniel and I would pick up another outfit, and we'd even purchased Avery's coming home outfit -- a cute little brown and pink dress with flowers on it.

All of these things remained in her closet, in her room until we were moving and had no choice but to pack up her things. Even now, they're still in the same box, up in a closet. I still dream of another little girl to come home in that little brown and pink dress.

Capture Your Grief : Day 24 // Siblings

After we lost Avery, I couldn't imagine a day when I'd be okay with offering up my womb to another child. I knew I wanted to have more children one day, but in the depths of my grief, I couldn't fathom emotionally surviving it.

Surprisingly, it was only three months before Daniel and I decided we were ready to try again to make Avery a big sister. It took us nine long cycles to conceive Jude. Each month was another slap in the face. It was easy to worry that Avery would be the only child we could ever have. But finally, on January 21, 2011, we found out Jude was on his way.

It was a beautiful and horrific 31 weeks, but Jude made it. And he came to stay.

I wish Avery and Jude could grow up together, the way that I have grown up with my brothers. Because I had siblings, I always had friends. It makes me so sad to think that it's more probable than not that Jude will grow up alone. Whenever I see a big sister and a little brother together, I can't help but think of my kids and how they are supposed to be together.

We will raise Jude to know who Avery is and to love his big sister as if he knew her himself. She will always be special in our home. She will always be a part of our family. And she will always be Jude's big sister.