Another Year Around the Sun. Six.

Each year Thanksgiving comes around and then it ends and then it's December 5th. It's almost like the days in between aren't even there, because they are a rush of time.

This morning I spent my time running six miles for my firstborn on his birthday. At each mile, I wrote one of these wherever my feet landed. In six different places around my neighborhood, I left a mark for him.

I also spent the morning registering my rainbow baby for Kindergarten. Irony sure does enjoy smacking me right in the face. My would-be Kindergartner and my upcoming Kindergartner with worlds colliding. It's rare this happens, so I guess it's a sweet wink. (It would be even sweeter if the school wasn't going to a year-round calendar. Which likely means we're moving to another school zone.)

Tonight we will enjoy dinner out and quite a bit of dessert-eating and present opening, all to remember that boy who first made us parents. I miss him with everything in me. To think of how he would've shaped who is younger brother is and how happy it would make his little sister to have a great big brother to love and play with.

What I miss most, though, is knowing who he would be. How our lives would be different with him here and what he would grow to become. I really miss everything.

Thanksgiving Fun + Tree Adventures

About a month ago, my husband got word that you could cut down your own tree in the wild with the purchase of a $10 permit. That's it. You hand over $10 to the National Forest Service and they give you an official sticker and map of places you're allowed to cut.

We had a full weekend of fun, starting with a 10k Turkey Trot with our little turkeys in the stroller followed by dinner at some friends' house and asleep in a hotel bed at a cute little Inn in Incline Village, Nevada (it's on Lake Tahoe). Night one, we all take a swim in the amazingly heated (like spa-temps!) pool and find ourselves in bed late and then quickly awoken to the sound of vomit coming from the kids' bed. Mmmhmm. The shared bed. Benjamin didn't wake at all.

We grab Claire up and clean her up, manage the bed as best we could and put her back. She promptly vomits again. We clean her up again and the rest of the night was quiet, except I never slept much because I anticipated that terrible sound again... #momlife also, #vomitistheworstpartofparenting

She was good for the following day, so we explored three different ski resorts and I got a massage in Squaw Valley from my birthday gift stash. We explored South Tahoe and eventually made our way back for another warm swim and some Christmas shows on television before a good night of sleep.

Saturday was a day for more swimming, sledding and more exploration before heading back down the mountain and grabbing our tree permit for the following day.

We trekked about an hour south of our home into the Northern California Toiyabe Forest and promptly found ourselves in a winter wonderland that also made for some fun adventures trying to get our new Subie out of the deeper-than-we-estimated snow. We finally found a suitable spot and trekked about 1/3 mile into the snowy woods and crossing a stream to find our tree. There are just so many great memories from this, but probably not from Claire's perspective since she refused the gloves we tried to put on her. Instead she spent the better half of the adventure screaming, as you can see from the quintessential family picture here.

We'd been tree cutting at farms in the past, but nothing compares to trekking through the wilderness with just a map and your senses to find the tree! it's a wild tree, so it's not the perfect spruce trees you expect when spending $ at the tree lots, but it's perfectly ours and we love it. Benjamin was 100% into this adventure and wanted to be a part of everything. He complained nil and it was so awesome to share that adventure with him.

We typically wait until after Andrew's birthday for the tree presentation in our home, but our kids were excited and it's getting harder to hold them back as they get older. Plus, our weekends are getting more and more booked as the holidays approach and we had a free afternoon. Still feels foreign, but being from nature and in the mountains where I feel closest to him (and God), it almost felt like he was with us, exploring, adventuring and indulging in this excitement. Plus, an added bonus is having his ornaments up for the whole month of his birth.

It was quite the weekend and nothing short of memorable. Seriously, how have more people not found out about Reno? Most people give  me the confused look or question when I mention it, but I honestly bet you would be amazed... as amazed as we are. It's like a best-kept secret of the West and we're in love.

Fall of Remembrance :: Footprints Blog Tour

October 15th is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day. This post is dedicated to Share's Walk of Remembrance and the Wave of Light, shattering the stigma of infertility and child loss. Fifteen of us bloggers are participating in spreading the word with our own words about our personal losses.

                                                                                                                                               ***

As soon as September hits, the weather changes ever-so-slightly, even here in the desert. I quickly transition my mood as it changes. I'm feeling it. It's another step closer to his birthday and the cooler months, with plentiful tears as December returns.

I feel closer to Andrew here than I did in Illinois. You'd think living three miles from the hospital and driving past the funeral home where we picked up his ashes nearly 6 years ago would have provided obvious closeness, as those are the only places his body visited outside of mine. But really, it's out here in nature and on our trail walks and explorations in the mountains that feels like my home and where I believe Andrew is now-- in beauty and glory. It's the calmness, peacefulness and lack of negative feels. While that same hospital Andrew was born into also brought us Benjamin and Claire, I still felt a pit in my stomach every time I would drive by. I couldn't shake it. I'd sort of avert my eyes every time I found myself on Washington Street in Naperville. Nevada is a clean slate and clean state.

On frequent nature walks with the kids and trail runs alone sometimes, I plant little A's out there for Andrew. We construct them of sticks and branches, pine cones and flower petals. We walk and run and explore, always remembering the first of our babies, leaving behind a little bit of the love he brought to our family.

Benjamin is attending a Christian preschool here and the daily line leader gets to pray before lunch. He's had the opportunity to be line leader now and carries these practices to our home life. His prayers are the most adorable I've heard, complete with thanking God for his family, including Andrew almost always. It makes me feel like we're doing the right things with them in displaying their brother's beautiful sketch drawing in our living space and talking about death and love and their brother in heaven. It shouldn't be out of fear or sadness, but out of love always.

                                                                                                                                                       ***

In the fall, we come together with families across the world and light a candle as a Wave of Light to remember all of our children. We walk in unison, together, in a Walk of Remembrance as an act of love for our children and those children we love in other families that have impacted our lives.

If you're walking to REMEMBER and shatter that stigma, we'd love to see those photos posted using hashtag #ShareWalk2016 on Social Media from wherever you are around the world. In addition, light up those candles on Oct. 15th for the Wave of Light at 7 pm (#WaveOfLight and #PregnancyAndInfantLossAwareness) and post those photos. Spreading love and awareness and light in the unfortunate lonely and dark reality of Infertility and Loss will shatter the barriers and bring to light the importance of support and love for so many families across the world. Infertility and Loss affect people from all walks of life, socioeconomic backgrounds, genders and races. No one is safe. Chances are, someone close to you has fallen victim. You do not have to be victim to support and create awareness.

Check out Lisa's post from yesterday and tomorrow Lindsay is sharing about her own journey of loss.

December Blues

Faking it.

Gotta be honest...while Christmas and all the happy cheer IS a lot easier to manage with two living kids, I'm still definitely faking my interest to participate in all the festivities. I'm ready for a turn of the calendar.

I don't want a tree with sparkling lights. Luckily our kids haven't taken much interest either, but it does sit in our foyer, basically dead and ready for tossing. We have a few more days before that's deemed acceptable, but I presume it will be gone before the weekend is over. We're literally the only house on our block that doesn't have a single Christmas decoration adorning our house. We usually have wreaths and garland, but with the kids breaking things left and right (do we have anything left?) and December always hitting me like bricks, we sit here on the 22nd having not quite gotten our acts together.

December still totally grates me. I think of myself in complete and utter despair 5 years ago and how other families are out there mourning losses right now. I open the inbox for Faces of Loss to see a mom who lost her daughter at full term just December 3rd of this year. That was like three weeks ago. And I remember when that was me. And it's still me, just 5 years later. It will be an honor to post her story, but still completely heartbreaking.

I know it's not about the presents and sweets and lights and decorated houses and it's really about family and the birth of baby Jesus, who five years ago, I was even jealous of. How can someone be jealous of the Virgin Mary and the Christ? Well I was. 

I sat wrapping presents last night after my kids were just horrible kids all day long. Made me really want to give them nothing and just put the rest on the curb. I wrapped in a fury, slapped on some cheap and metallic bows from a jumbo pack and called it good. Felt nice to get that over with. I do remember a time when wrapping presents was a joyous occasion.

My last innocent Christmas has all sorts of beautiful memories attached. We traveled all around Europe by car with both of our families and spent Christmas Eve night in Berlin, Germany. We didn't have a tree and we didn't give presents; we just traveled and took it all in. 

This year was a doozy. We had so many changes and more to come. Some were good, some were bad. I'm ready for you, 2016. But December, you're not invited to the party.

The Day Before His Golden Birthday

It's the kind of birthday that comes only once in a lifetime...

Andrew will be 5 tomorrow. I know it's a bit dramatic to say, but can you just imagine for a moment (with me), what it would be like celebrating a 5-year-old? Some of you have children that age, so you already know. I don't know.

I can just imagine. Turning five and it being a golden birthday is really cool. Something about five means you're like, super big. Almost kindergarten status. In fact, I had already started kindergarten at his (would be) age.

I've lamented this birthday for a long time now. Five is half a decade. And just plain big. It's a long time since I held that baby boy body and birthed my very first child. I would do anything to go back and hold him again. More now than ever. It feels like he's so distant, because he is. Five years is a long time since seeing your child.

Benjamin has been talking about Andrew a lot lately. Their grandparents sent the book, Someone Came Before You and Benjamin refers to it as Andrew's book and asks for it to be read all the time. At the end, it mentions lighting a candle for the baby. Benjamin chose a cookie candle and we've been lighting it the past two days because he wants it lit for Andrew. He knows Andrew's birthday is tomorrow. We discuss it all the time, especially on the way to the children's museum (like yesterday) when we drive by the cemetery. There is always lots of discussion surrounding the flowers and wreaths and "big things sticking out of the ground."

Five seemed big enough to have a really great thing planned. Initially I thought about planting a tree in a local park in his honor. I was SET on this idea and thought it would be perfect. But, I'm not sure Illinois is our forever home, and I don't want to leave the tree and miss seeing it frequently if we do move in the future.

As he grows older, I'm going to continue to long for things to memorialize him, because that's what parents do. They want to make their children happy, or at least honor their lives in some way.

I just couldn't think of anything else. Nothing would suffice, anyway. So, on his 5th tomorrow, we'll probably go grab him some cupcakes, have our traditional dinner out at a restaurant and be together as a family.

Tuesday, we'll attend the remembrance ceremony we attend every year.

He'll get his tree eventually and when he does, I know it will be perfect.

Missing you and loving you forever, Andrew. I always, always will.

He said it.

We had friends over this morning for a water table and outdoor flour paint playdate. My friend has a daughter Claire's age and her second daughter passed away nearly three weeks ago, an hour after she was born premature. We were on the deck and the kids were playing away.

There was a conversation about friends who continued to be pregnant at a similar gestation after our children died and how it's still hard seeing them, and for me, seeing their living child growing and learning. I said something along the lines of "When Andrew died..." because that's what happened and that's often the segway into a story about emotions and grief.

A minute or so later, Benjamin turns from what he was playing with and said, "Did Andrew die, Mommy?"

"Yes, Benjamin, Andrew died."

A couple hours later, Elliot came home for lunch with us (rare treat!). About 10 minutes into our casual lunch and lots of cuddles, Benjamin told Elliot, "Andrew died." It was totally out of the blue, but it's true and Benjamin now knows it.

We hadn't withheld this information before. I'm sure we've explained to him that he died, but we didn't explain what dying actually means, because that's too abstract for a child so young who hasn't personally experienced it with a close family member. He knows he has a brother and that his brother was born before him. He sees his pictures in our home regularly and even picked up his ashes the other day (cue the anxiety). He knows that he is in heaven, but what does that even mean for a child of three-and-a-half years old?

Well. He said it. I wonder what that really means to him and I wonder when more questions will come. Regardless, I'm proud to be a mom who shares love and heartbreak with her kids. After all, it's because of love that heartbreak exists and that itself is beautiful.

The New School Park Experience

Benjamin starts at a brand new preschool on Tuesday. Four days a week this time. I'm stoked. He's stoked. He's mostly stoked because he gets chocolate milk every day (and he'll tell you that). It's probably his favorite drink ever and when I noticed about three-quarters of the kids in his class also signed up for chocolate milk, I knew there was no chance I was getting away with signing him up for the white milk. He wouldn't drink it anyway. It's going to be great leverage for those rough mornings.

We went to preview day last week. After, the kids played at the park in front of his preschool. People slowly trickled out until there were about 4 kids left. I was nearby when a kid asked his mom to get on the other side of the see-saw. It was one of those newfangled ones that is on springs and didn't require leg work. Super chill. When she replied that she couldn't, I explained that I go on it frequently with my kids and it's so much nicer than most. She replied, "No, I just had a baby."

I rescinded my comment. Of course I wouldn't be getting on that thing either (and probably shouldn't have said anything). Through further conversation with the mom, I learned that she was a surrogate for a (stranger) family an hour away. She has two biological children and then carried another baby to term, all vaginally. She plans to have more kids of her own.

I found myself instantly uncomfortable. Jealous even. It was entirely directed at her innocence in birthing babies and understanding that there is an absolute living birth at the end. Maybe she doesn't entirely believe that, but I'm sure birthing a full term deceased baby wasn't in the forefront of her mind when she considered surrogacy. I told her about Andrew because I felt like leveling the playing field when she told me she birthed three babies. ME TOO. That, and I just talk about him because he's mine.

One thing we had in common: We both had breastmilk arrive a few days after birth. I asked her how that went. She told me it wasn't a big deal and just went away after a few days. She did mention that it felt weird because she breastfed her two boys, but was otherwise fine. That milk devastated me. In common, but NOT same-same.

I'm so grateful for surrogates and have friends who have used them to bring children into their families. I just never actually spent time talking with one. I didn't realize my emotions would be so involved and my grief would play any sort of role.

School is going to be an eye opener for the both of us, I presume. Kleenex ready.

Sky Love Lanterns for Papa & Andrew

We'd been looking forward to our family vacation at Cape May, New Jersey beach for over half a year now. When we booked our flights and the beach cottage rental, we were on total countdown mode.

In the midst of this planning, we said goodbye to my husband's incredible, sensitive and amazing grandfather, Papa. We hoped he would be there to celebrate family and life with us in the flesh, but he was surely with us in spirit.

In order to remember him and hold him in our presence, I wanted to bring him there to the beach with us, just as we planned. Papa's favorite color is red (so much that he asked Gramie to wear a red dress when he returned home from the war!). I'd been wanting to send a Japanese lantern to the sky for Andrew for years now. My parents had sent one to him last year, but I had yet to experience it myself. Sending a red one up for Papa just seemed like the right thing for the occasion and the perfect opportunity to send one for Andrew. We were at the beach and the landscape would be beautiful.

On the evening of our lantern release, it began to rain during dinner. I had given up hope that we would be lighting them that evening, until the rain stopped as soon as it started. We made the effort to write a few notes to our beloveds and loaded them into the car. Benjamin and Claire had their hands traced on the thin paper while the rest of us (Samantha, Kay, Steve, Ray, Gramie, Benjamin, Claire and I) wrote notes of love.

As we were all piling into our cars to make the approximately 5 mile trip to the Cape May Lighthouse, we saw a full rainbow in the sky. It was present when we arrived, too.

Papa and Andrew were there with us. We could really feel it.

We walked halfway down the beach as Gramie and Kay waited and watched up on more even ground as we lit the lanterns. At first, they weren't catching fire quickly as we'd hoped... but eventually... a minute or so later... Papa's red lantern was ready to take flight. Andrew's lantern followed and there was a glimmer of red and blue in the sky on the beach at sunset on that Thursday evening, July 30, 2015.

Papa's lantern taking flight.

Family of five.

Andrew's lantern taking flight.

Both lanterns here are visible. Papa's is almost exactly center and Andrew's more visible to the right.

The lanterns were incredibly beautiful and so peaceful. We set them off not only near a lighthouse during sunset with a full rainbow in the sky, but about 500 feet from a World War II bunker on the beach. Papa served in WWII and it was just an added piece of warmth to tie into the moment. May Papa and Andrew always feel the love we have for them, deep in our hearts.

Five Year Check-In

That's how long it's been since we boarded that one-way airplane back to the States from our six months in Germany. We were headed back to a new state, about to sign the contract to our new home, buy a new car and get pregnant with a (new, first) baby. We were excited. I was so ready to embrace the change of moving more than 5 miles from the beach (that's how far, or less, I lived my entire life thus far). I was looking forward to meeting new friends and having kids and exploring the land together as a family.

And then Andrew died.

The husband calls me a pessimist. He says I wasn't always one, but crossed over from realist to slightly pessimistic after Andrew died. He's right.

My sister-in-law quickly corrected me when I said something to the likes of, "I secretly don't love living here." She told me outright, "It's not a secret, Brandy. Everybody knows." It's not that I hate it, but I can surely name off a few handfuls of places I'd rather be. But in all honestly, I think much of that stems from the biggest tragedy and failure in my life happening within 9 months of me planting my feet on the ground here in the Midwest. 

It's just... it stings. Every memory we have made here involved Andrew in some way. I became pregnant two weeks after we touched down on U.S. soil, here in Illinois. We had just closed on our house and were hoping we'd have more exciting news to share, and did! I actually remember my mom commenting to us after we told her we were moving to the Midwest from California that she hated that we were moving and we would probably have grandkids right away, to her dismay. And we did-- never intentionally trying to hurt anyone, but carrying on with our marriage and life as mid-late 20s was flowing through our blood and we had careers and a home and a great marriage. It was time. 

It was basically the perfect timeline. Unfortunately, I've lived here over 4 times the amount of time with him dead than he was alive. Hurts.

I remember the walls closing in on me after he died. We have four bedrooms upstairs, 2 bathrooms and an attached office. Among the three floors, we have over 3900 square feet of living space and I felt I was being suffocated by the enormity of the space. We closed the doors to the three additional bedrooms and bathroom upstairs. No natural light flowed in. The space felt so big and I felt so small. I hated the house we were so excited about and spent those 9 months of my pregnancy preparing for our growing family. 

We bought this home with the sole intention of raising kids here. If we never hoped kids were in our future, we would probably be living in a fun loft downtown. Somewhere more chic, less kid-friendly and definitely not residing at the corner lot house with the bus stop on our property. I loathed the buses that drove by after he died. I hated seeing kids get off and go into their houses-- houses that were filled with their well-used toys and things and beds that were slept in. 

So yeah. Chicago is kind of a B-list city for me. It's truly a beautiful city (but we live in the 'burbs, y'all, and the lack of scenery is kind of nonsense). It's just, the worst of times happened here so suddenly, muddling some of the beauty it could've been. Thank goodness for great friends, decent food and rainbow babies. Five years is turning out a whole heck of a lot better than the end of year one. Without a doubt. And those doors upstairs? Well, I can't keep them closed if I tried. We have a three-year-old who just loves making it known that he LIVES here. 

Makes me always wonder what living here would've been like (to my psyche) if he didn't die. If our perfect world remained pretty darn perfect for a little while longer. You know, despite the fact that there are no mountains here (our very favorite). 

When I Wore It Last

not hiding the mom belly. don't care.

My husband's birthday falls eight days after Andrew's birthday. We had intentions to celebrate early (because the baby was coming and we'd be so busy!) using a Groupon at this fun fondue restaurant downtown. We figured it would be awhile before we'd get out to the city and have that nice of a date night for months.

We had a reservation for Sunday evening, December 5, 2010.

It's rather obvious, now, that we didn't make that dinner reservation.

After coming home with an empty carseat, we didn't know what else to do but reschedule that dinner reservation and celebrate Andrew's dad for being born anyway. We couldn't find anything else more important to do.

I was swollen, bleeding, and we were defeated. I wore this sweater for the first ever to that dinner date. I felt so ashamed for having a dead son and failing him. That my body failed him. I wanted to hide all parts of myself that resembled being a woman and especially a woman who was ever pregnant. I remember having a hard time finding something to wear. It had to fit the full criteria of being something: I did not wear while pregnant with him, fit over my swollen belly and didn't look horrible, and was not maternity branded. I hated the thought of wearing anything I'd worn while happily pregnant while in mourning and it took me a long time to be okay with that during Benjamin's pregnancy. Luckily, I borrowed most of the maternity wear while pregnant with Andrew, so they were returned to rightful owners as soon as I could get them out of my house. Not fast enough.

I was left with very little to chose from, so grabbed up this sweater and put it on. Maybe it was grief, but I hated the way it looked on me.

We had fondue. Some of the worst I'd ever had and I remember the very popular restaurant being packed, the dust that was stuck to the lampshade and fake flowers that decorated the poorly lit (romantic?) place. I remember the corner we stood while waiting for our table to open up and how I didn't feel like casually ordering a drink at the bar, though do remember drinking wine with dinner... because WHY NOT? I wondered how all those people could be celebrating and having Christmas get-togethers. I kind of thought they all knew what just happened to us and how I felt like my entire body was exposed. It was really cold outside, but part of me wonders if my grief made it feel colder. We valet parked. We rarely valet park.

I remember thinking it would be a terrible sweater to wear if I were a breastfeeding mom. And it is. One of the worst. Claire is down to three feedings in a day and I never feed her in public anymore, because she is fed around sleeping times. I picked that sweater up today and put it on. It felt just as wrong today as it did that evening. I wore it all day.

It's the last time I'll wear that sweater. I'll donate to the local consignment shop that supports programs that help victims of domestic abuse. Someone will buy it for $2 and wear it, having no clue how much emotion was underneath those fibers at one point. I'm glad to see it disappear.

Letters to Andrew

Dear Andrew,

I cannot get the memory of sitting in our car after finding out you were a boy out of my head these days. It had nothing to do with gender, and still doesn't. It's all about the person you were that made your identity known to us in that moment. We fell in love, so in love. We're still in love.

I was writing an email to someone named Andrea the other day and could not prevent myself, even while being very conscious, from slipping and writing your name instead. One letter off and something I'm so familiar typing. Your name. Not so much in manuscript, but typing, often. I loved making that mistake. 

No matter the distance and no matter the amount of time we had with you those short 38.5 weeks, you are always missed. Every last inch of you is missed and even the (many more) inches you would be now. The words you would be speaking, the food you would be enjoying, the birthday party theme you'd choose and Halloween costume you would select. All missed.

Your brother saw a picture of your little feet this morning and immediately said, "Those feet are Andrew's." You may have never been introduced, but the missing is not an ounce less. In fact, it's grows with each sibling we've added to the family, one more person missing your daily presence.

Mom, Dad and your younger siblings, Benjamin & Claire miss you.

Love (Abundantly),

Mom

Naptime Scare

Claire's Friday nap brought me a big grief scare. These don't happen much with Claire, but we used to have daily scares with Benjamin. If he were to fall asleep in his carseat, he looked dead. I can't tell you how many times we pulled over the car to jerk him so we could see if he would flinch. If we had a false alarm from the AngelCare (hooray for the double sensor pad fix!), we were practically brainstorming his obituary. It was pretty horrible and quite neurotic. Sadly, we couldn't do anything to fix our fears. We were re-wired that way on December 5, 2010. 

I burst into her room at 4:00 p.m. on Friday afternoon after staring at her on the Dropcam and seeing no movement as her brother spent the better half of thirty minutes yelling loudly, slamming doors and playing around upstairs. Classifying my kids, Benjamin is the heavier sleeper and she's the lighter. She is almost always awake by 3:30 p.m. and nearly always because of the noises from her big brother. Friday, she wasn't even flinching and this noise-making session went on for 1/2 hour. I ran into my room to grab the AngelCare parent unit before I made the decision to storm her door, but it wasn't charged. I was convinced I had forgotten to turn it on or it had malfunctioned. 

Instead of heading downstairs for the second unit, I had to get in there. I ran in and immediately rolled her over. She was on her stomach in the same position she was when I left the room at 1:00 p.m. I knew that from the Dropcam. I immediately felt warmth, but didn't trust it. Finally, she moved. She was zonked. But alive. Of course she was alive. She is 13 months and the majority of babies who make it this far are alive. Then she cried the cry of a baby who was pretty pissed I'd just woken her up from a deep sleep.

But that PTSD? Came right back in like it had never left. 

I put the most recent story of SIDS I've been editing for Faces of Loss to blame for this one. Sometimes I just can't shake the fears that are clearly still harboring in my bones from losing Andrew. There's nothing I can change, and yet, I spent the greater part of an hour after that literally shaking. 

And smothering my kids with kisses. 

(Even the Littlest) People Matter.

I feel like I need to talk about other things than potty training and my naughty toddler. As a quick update, the toddler is still naughty, but he's totally potty trained for day and naps and it really was fine and good after five days. We're now on day 13 of zero diapers and totally set. We're about to throw his butt in pull-ups for nights though because Mama needs to sleep and do less laundry, but anyway. We have two living children and that's all that really matters.

We'll be celebrating our daughter's first birthday exactly 10 days from today. In six days, about 40 people will cram into our home to witness her baptism and first birthday festivities. Four days later (on her actual birthday!), we will be flying to Whistler for skiing, spa indulgences and fun with our good friends and fellow babyloss family who are also parents to Jack, Grace & Piper. Jack's fourth birthday was on New Year's Day. Who would've thought we'd be renting a ski condo in Canada with friends who also have a dead son, four years later? If you asked me on December 4, 2010, I would've called you a lunatic. But we're so grateful to have such close friends who literally carried us through some tough days in those first months of loss and still have so much support to offer.

Just a few days before Christmas, Andrew's print arrived in the mail. We decided on a professional pencil sketch for his 4th birthday. Like so many of our babyloss friends, we wanted something to display in our homes that would show the true beauty of our children while still keeping them sacred and protected from gawking and ill responses. We first caught a glimpse when I was sent the initial sketch two days after his birthday. I was so happy to receive this during his birth month.

When it first arrived in my inbox, I was underwhelmed. It was stunning and drawn with such care, but it wasn't the boy I held in that hospital room-- nothing one dimensional could possibly contain all that he was in our arms that evening. There were tiny changes I requested she make (space between fingers as I remember & skinnier nostril cartilage). It was beautiful, but I found myself underwhelmed because it wasn't really him, as if what I expected was to have him back in our arms for the cost of a pencil sketch. We will never have more of him and never another portrait or photograph or experience with him. This was it.

This was shared on her facebook page, and now here. Andrew, spitting image of Claire. 

                                                 
After a day or so, I kept staring at his portrait and just fell in love with it. We received the professional copy just a week or so later and had it professionally framed. We picked up the framed piece two days before Christmas and it now has a place among our family photos. It is a cherished piece. We also ordered four copies that will be given to our families when they arrive this week.

Now four years after losing Andrew, we're still trying to find our place in this mess of babyloss. We want to contribute and help others. In many ways, we've already done that. My husband has recently signed up to help as a liaison for NILMDTS. My friend Brooke (who is basically a babyloss celebrity and contributing author to Three Minus One and I've had many meals with her and she slept in my house! Are you jealous?) blogged about a company called Sevenly recently. One of their recent campaigns supported Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep. I bought up two shirts immediately and posted a picture of one of them on Instagram. They still have some available in four different prints, so check them out! They've raised over $19,000 in shirt sales for NILMDTS, donating $7 from each shirt to the organization.

We're just so passionate about supporting them and ones like it because it normalizes loss for everyone. It makes losing a child more bearable, less embarrassing and more accepted. It makes families like us feel like human beings with hearts and not looked at like charity cases and lepers. We gifted some local NILMDTS photographers gift cards during the holidays to encourage their efforts and thank them sincerely for all they have done for us and other families. I attempted and successfully managed to use my grant-writing skills to send $1k their way. We shop on Amazon Smile with with 0.5% of purchases going to the organization that is the sole reason we have images of our firstborn son and proof that he was real, ours, and is adored. 

If we ever get the guts, we'll use a NILMDTS photographer to shoot family pictures. We're not ready. Four years and two kids after losing our firstborn child, we still haven't had another professional photo shoot. He's always missing. It still hurts and there's still a void.

I'm considering another volunteer opportunity (because I really do need more to gab about than potty trianing, amiright?), but that's just being discussed and nothing concrete yet. It will probably take a village and in an effort to keep Andrew's memory alive and well within me, it's something I'm seriously considering.

People are still losing babies. I can't do anything about that (and neither can they, sadly), but it's something that hits me hard and something no one should go at alone. 

We Remember, 2014

This is our fifth Christmas since becoming pregnant with Andrew. All five of which he was not here to celebrate with us. Each year I struggle with decorations. Even though we have two children in our house (judging by the looks of the messes they make at the very least!), it's still difficult to hang the stockings (four or five? where? which location will make us the least sad?), buy the tree and find a location (same place as when we arrived home from the hospital in 2010? no thanks.), and go about the whole holiday cheer business. I'm still not there completely. I'm not sure I'll ever be. There will probably never be an Elf in our house and I'm pretty content with that.

Each year we attend a remembrance ceremony held about a block from the hospital all three of our children were born. It's put on by the hospital's SHARE program and is free, funded by the hospital and volunteers. There are cookies and punch at the end, baked by the staff in Labor & Delivery.

This is our "favorite" (odd to favorite a remembrance ceremony?) one to attend and one we like keeping as a tradition for our family, especially during the Christmas season. It is also nice that it's the same week of Andrew's birthday each year. It's specifically for families who have lost children, so it almost feels like a group of comrades coming together who fully understand the magnitude of this type of grief. It's really wonderful and really heartbreaking as the numbers continue to grow.

The sanctuary is full of hundreds of families. Some are childless. Some lost children days, weeks or months before, and some are like us and have lived through this for years now. There are babies, toddlers, children, teenagers, parents, grandparents, family members and friends all sitting in pews listening to the church choir sing and SHARE organizers speak the names of our children, hand us the lighter to ignite our candle and stand near the tree we hang our ornaments.

They open the mic and some people go up to share poems or speak about their experiences and love for their children. One woman spoke about approaching her daughter's first birthday on January 7th, just a week before Claire was born. I could probably tell you what I was doing that day (itching in the OB office, flipping out). In the end, I did birth a live child, and she did not.

One man spoke of this being a tradition for his family each year. In tears, he spoke about how other family members might forget, but it's important they keep their son's memory alive and attend these ceremonies with his people-- us-- other broken families. He thanked his wife publicly for making this important to their family, because he is important and being open about your grief and sadness is important.

Another woman spoke of this being her 14th year at this ceremony and it being a tradition for her family as well; how the grief is easier now, but that it still makes her sad.

Claire spent the majority of the time crawling up to the front of the sanctuary and trying to get her little hands on those shiny ornaments. I pulled her back each time, knowing there were people sitting there, hoping they would have a child accompanying them to future ceremonies. How they wish that were them right now. We've been that family. Claire found a toddler boy and spent her time entertaining him by handing him a Chapstick and then giggling, over and over again. That same mom and son were there the year prior and sat behind us-- they are missing their firstborn son that bears the same name as ours. It's really a comradery. It's not quite the same as my group of blogging friends that dragged me through that whole first year and still are there supporting, but it was nice to see familiar faces, shed similar tears, and nod with the understanding that only a family who has lost a child can really comprehend.

Wearing her rainbow hat, made by the grandma of a good BLM friend of ours who also lost her daughter..
Benjamin first wore this hat along with 14 other rainbows at our first babyloss get together here in Chicago.

Benjamin was practicing his terrible two stage of fun by tantruming in the car for the first 20 minutes of the ceremony. These can last upwards of 2-3 hours lately, so I didn't think they would be coming inside. But, miraculously there was an apology given and they arrived in the sanctuary just as the names were being read. We walked as a family of four to hang an ornament for our five. I lit the candle and Benjamin hung the ornament for Andrew on the tree. That moment was really special {except after he walked down the aisle saying, "I all done...we go now...get cookies."}

No photos from the ceremony of our middle child, but here he is all dressed dapper after nap in his collared shirt and sweater.
(because he refuses to wear any jackets at all and therefore I must dress him in the warmest clothes possible!)

I knew there were families there that saw our family of four (one boy! one girl! jackpot!) and thought to themselves that we were the lucky ones. We may have lost, but look what we have now. We have hope. And, we do. We truly feel thankful for the squealing little girl who was literally crawling through the pews under peoples' legs during the ceremony and the boy who was thrashing himself in his carseat because I don't even remember why (and neither did he). That first year after losing Andrew, we attended, quite pregnant with our rainbow baby. We saw the families around us with children and hoped that would be us. We even talked about the hope we had to bring our future children there each year to celebrate the life of our firstborn and keep his memory alive in the midst of the present-buying, cookie-exhanging, Santa-picture-taking madness.

Here we are. Hope has arrived. May there be many more (other peoples' rainbow children) in that sanctuary next year and years to come.

Made an apple pie yesterday with initials of December babies we miss, just because. Grief baking and eating + apples that needed to be eaten = humble pie for sure.

Letters to Andrew: 4th Birthday Edition

Just over a month before Andrew was born, we were sitting in a soccer stadium in downtown Chicago watching my cousin's game with my aunt and my cousin's girlfriend (now wife-- Benjamin went to the wedding in 2012). I remember telling her how nervous I was to give birth because it was scary and foreign and sounded, well, painful.

I vividly remember her telling me that no matter how much pain, in the end, we will get to take home the most wonderful gift ever when it's all over. Those words are burned in my memory, because that never happened. All the pain, none of the gain. {Well, the love during pregnancy and beyond is most assuredly a gain, but not without an immense amount of emotional pain that will never end.}

Not pain and then gain. How I wish that were so.

----

Dear Andrew,

You are absolutely missed. Every single day of my life, I miss you. There will never be a birthday that we don't celebrate you, or a holiday, first day of school, soccer practice, park visit, family vacation that you go unmissed.

On your fourth birthday, I miss the preschool-aged boy you would be. I miss the boy who would be starting to read and getting excited for selecting his birthday party theme and blowing out those four candles tonight. I miss every bit of it.

Always Loving,
Mom, Dad, Benjamin & Claire.

It's the Most HAPPY & SAD Time of Year....

We're kind of going big for Christmas this year. It wasn't intentional, but I've stocked up on things throughout the year, visited a toy resale and scored big, and made a purchase that I hope to not regret as a shared gift that will only be unveiled Christmas morning on Instagram. I have to leave some secrets, as you all know I won't be busting out with anymore "I'm pregnant" announcements (which is why most people read blogs in my age group anyway, KWIM?).

Some ramblings of the happy...

• We had a great Thanksgiving. I'll post about that on another day. 
• Benjamin told me he had to use the (public) toilet at the children's museum and he did. We celebrated.
• Claire is now pulling up to a stand, basically everywhere. 
• She's also cruising a bit. We think she'll be walking before 14 months (when Benjamin started).
• I signed up to bake loaves of bread for the local food pantry. Our church selects a local organization each year for an Advent Conspiracy to encourage us to spend less and give more. This year, it's that local food pantry. While I love giving, I've also volunteered there during my pregnancy with Andrew and yowza! Whole Foods hooks it up in there!
• I'm planning to donate toys for Benjamin's school toy drive for Toys-for-Tots. We will also be donating mittens and other items to decorate the tree (and donate) at his school.

Some ramblings of the sad...

Andrew's birthday is on Friday. He'd be four. It's always like a ton of bricks when Thanksgiving ends and all of a sudden it's December 1st. Because December 1st means his birthday is in four days and it sort of just takes the wind out of me each year. Every single day it seems, I meet kids his age. Younger, actually. It shocks me to see their big and able bodies and to know his never grew past the 7lb6oz I birthed.

We will celebrate with dinner at our favorite local burger chain that our kids love. We figure he'd love it, too. I'll buy a special dessert and we'll light candles and especially his candle. My in-laws sent us home with a gift for Andrew's birthday and my mom sent over another ornament for him and decorated a tree special and in honor of him at their house. They will also be setting off four Japanese paper lanterns in his honor this weekend to represent his fourth birthday.

Next Tuesday, we will attend the annual remembrance ceremony at a local church, specifically for families who lost children. I will bring an ornament and hang it. I will then drive back to the hospital I birthed all three of my children and retrieve it in January... the week Claire was born last year.

We will wait, as we always do, to decorate for Christmas until after his birthday is over. It's part of respecting his birthday, and partly because we want to leave space for our grief. Our house was heavily decorated just hours before Andrew died. We will probably never put a tree in that spot again. The first five windows to the Advent House (calendar) we have will remain empty in his honor every year. No decorations will be hung or placed until after we celebrate our firstborn. It just doesn't seem right any other way.

Toddler and Baby Lifesavers

The only reason I'm a capable and relatively happy human being right now is because of Benjamin and Claire. Well, mostly Benjamin. He came after Andrew and saved me from a very dark place. Not that the dark place doesn't still exist, but him being alive and allowing me to perform the duties of a mother literally brought me out of a dark place into some light again.

I often tell strangers about Andrew. At least a few times a week, his life comes up in conversation enough for me to explain things. I usually add the whole bit about being able to talk about him without crying because it's been a long time and I have two living children who carry on somewhat of a legacy for him. They carry some of his traits, features, and quirkiness, I'm assuming. I want to assume. I'm guessing I'd be bawling my eyes out while explaining his story if Benjamin and Claire were not in the picture after losing him, no matter if it had been 4 hours or 4 years like we're approaching in December.

With these kids, I feel like I gained some of my happiness and life back.

Without them? I would be in a very bleak place, I think. It's because of them and only because of them that living without Andrew is made manageable. It's a little scary to me that they carry so much of that healing burden for me. It's not fair to them, maybe. But honestly speaking, where on earth would I be without them?

Perhaps a dark post for a Monday, but honest. Something I've been thinking about a lot this week. I'll be back soon (after Halloween festivities and Benjamin's first school program!!) with pictures from pumpkin patch adventure and Disney World!

Letters to Andrew + Invitation

If you will join me, please unite in lighting candles to remember the babies at 7 p.m. this evening.

Small Bird Studio

Dear Andrew,

I almost wrote "sweet" Andrew, but really, who knows who you would have been. You might have been spunky, but I presume more circumspect than your younger brother. I think you would've been an intellect and someone who was easy to please. I guess I can't picture you being anything but wonderful because that's the dream I had for you as a baby growing for those nearly 39 weeks.

One thing is certain; the person you would have been has left a gaping hole in our family. I always said I wanted two children, but missing you makes me sure I want three. Except, I have three and you're not here. If I had one more, I would feel like I want four. I will always want you.

Missing and loving and lighting a candle that is not enough, because we love you.

Love,
Mom

Same Old {Grief} Story

We're seriously closing in on four years since Andrew died. The quick update?

I'm still sad and angry about him dying. I know sadness is the primary emotion, but anger comes out most often it seems. Acceptance doesn't appear to be near or even possible.

I don't mask anything well, so if you talk to me on a regular basis, you'll likely sense the anger and sadness when I talk about him. I'm just still so beside myself.

I'm mostly busy and super thankful to have his brother and sister to drive me nuts and amaze me everyday, but if you asked if I was happy or content, I would honestly never choose those words.

Someone asked me the other day if everything was going great with us, as if the alternative was something horrific or saddening. And really, things are going as great as can be with two kids. Except, the obvious knowledge of us really having three means that no, everything will never equal going great like, ever. There's always an addendum, it seems, to our happiness. I know we're not the only ones who've experienced tragic loss, and I'm aware that many people live with that similar addendum.

At nearly 4 years out, I'm still angry with God, even though I don't believe he saves us from harm or is the one who inflicts. I think he is supposed to be a comfort, simply put. I do believe God showed up in other people after Andrew died. The nurses who were doing a lot of the dirty work for us, the friends who showed up in such a horrible situation to offer their presence when they probably just wanted to flee the scene, the strangers who sent cards, and the list continues. I think I'm most angry with God because I don't know who else to be angry with.

I rarely cry. The tears are there occasionally and flood like a river. But mostly, they're absent.

Being at home with the kids can make things even harder, ironically. I have my hands full, but my brain is not full of anything but tasks. The intellectual stimulation is lacking because time does not allow for much of that, which then allows for sadness to creep in. This mom job can be really lonely in itself, and then even more lonely when you know you're missing 1/3 of your kids.

It's a cooler fall day here. The grief season is approaching.

Grant Writing... and Winning!

As summer comes to a close and school starts up soon (Benjamin tomorrow! Eeek!), I am once again reminded of how much I miss the classroom. I miss the freshness of new kids coming in, organizing, planning for instruction, and what I miss the very most, teaching. I just love watching my own kids grow everyday, but I do excitedly dream of heading back to the classroom in the future.

During my teaching years, I wrote a lot of grants. In fact, I was one of the main writers on our team to win our school the California Distinguished Schools Award for the first time. Many veteran teachers had been on the committee before and the school never won after years of trying. They said it couldn't be done. Everyone was discouraged. If you know me, you know I'm fairly determined and not willing to take no for an answer if what I want is something I'm passionate about. Well, we did it. In addition, I won a series of grants through Mobil to be the only classroom on our campus with a SmartBoard, EXPO document camera, students response systems and a variety of other teaching tools, many related to technology. I love writing grants. Maybe it's my journalism background that just gets fired up. Or maybe it's the competition of it all.

Well, it's been a few years. A month or two ago, I randomly saw a program online by JOLLY TIME Pop Corn called the Kernals of Kindess awards program. They were selecting individuals or organizations that "pop up" and make a difference in other peoples' lives. They were giving away 100 grants of $1,000 to keep doing great work in honor of JOLLY TIME's 100th anniversary (of being a 5th generation family-run company... how cool is that?). When I saw this, I immediately thought of Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep and the impact they made on us as a family, giving us the precious gift of Andrew's only photos. Those photos mean more to us than any other gift because that is all we have of our son. We're just so grateful. And we didn't pay a dime for those photos or the 1 a.m. session of that photographer coming into our hospital room and facing us at our worst time. I wanted to support this amazing non-profit and give it a go! I had nothing to lose and only about 15 minutes of my time to sacrifice-- a lot less time than that photographer spent with us that night.

I put my fingers to work and filled out the application, nominating NILMDTS. I don't remember what I wrote, but wish I remembered! I randomly checked my junk mail box last night to find an email announcing I won one of the 100 grants.

Out of 6,620 entries!

The story of NILMDTS will be featured in October and I can't wait to link you all to that when it comes around. Aside from the monetary gift, they are receiving so much publicity that is much-needed for the fantastic non-profit that they run. Conveniently, as my friend Caroline pointed out, they will be featuring the story during the Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness week in October. I don't know if that's just coincidental, but it's fantastic.

While it's just a snippet, just look up at the header of my blog to see some of the art of a fantastic NILMDTS volunteer photographer to know why I am indebted to their kindness and work on behalf of grieving families.