tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56035817734441395412024-03-18T20:01:44.468-07:00April's PlaceAprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03302976055318744201noreply@blogger.comBlogger81125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5603581773444139541.post-78877255195993809862018-09-08T04:04:00.000-07:002018-09-08T04:04:16.530-07:003 Years Have Gone So FastThree years ago I never thought I’d make it through this. Three years ago I struggled more than I ever had before. Three years ago it never occurred to me that I’d survive or smile again.<br />
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As much as each anniversary hurts my Momma heart so deeply, I could never trade those memories and special heavy grief days for more “pain free” days. It hurts because I knew him, and I love him. And, given the same options, I’d choose him again, even if it meant losing him.<br />
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When you lose a child, you expect that your grief will last forever. The same type of grief that debilitates you, and feels like your heart is constantly being stabbed. You want to feel the pain, but you also beg for just a moment when it would stop. But, it doesn’t remain forever; and that also feels like betrayal on so many levels.<br />
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You somehow keep living in the same moments you wanted to escape from only a few years ago. It’s a step forward, a shaking off of the grief; the same grief you held onto so tight to survive. We had Thomas, and he needed us to keep moving forward. He gave us hope, that there could still be good in our shattered world, and that helped me tremendously, more than he’ll ever know.<br />
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And, as with anything in life there are always two sides to every story. Nothing is perfect. But there has also been a lot of healing. I am so blessed and thankful for every step and moment that has brought me to this admittedly good place; a place in which I am genuinely happy. It took some time, and there were a lot of people praying for me (and some that still are). I stayed hopeful that one day God would do something beautiful in me. He allowed me to be mother again, and I am beyond grateful for allowing Marlowe into my life. She is truly our beautiful bright shining rainbow that brings us so much joy.<br />
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If there is anything I could say to a recent loss Momma, it would be that I am truly, deeply sorry. Your world will never be the same. It will take time to learn to live a normal life when one of the most beautiful parts of you is missing. There will be days where it will hurt to breathe the air your precious baby does not. Cry, yell, and scream, whatever you need – but heal. Better days are ahead, I promise.<br />
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I didn’t think I’d make it to where I am now three years ago. I didn’t think I’d survive, but I’m so glad I was wrong.<br />
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Isaac, I still think of you every single day. Thank you for allowing me to be your Momma. I’ll continue doing all I can to ensure that you aren’t forgotten, and I’ll continue trying to make you proud. Happy 3rd birthday in heaven my beautiful boy. I love you.<br />
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Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03302976055318744201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5603581773444139541.post-67442319789963494882017-10-13T12:56:00.000-07:002017-10-13T13:06:34.635-07:00What I think you should know about stillbirth<div class="MsoNormal">
People often ask me what I want people to know about
stillbirth. As Pregnancy and Infant Loss
Remembrance Day is approaching on Sunday I feel I’m finally ready to share what
I would want people to know. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Stillbirth happens way more often than people think. 23,600 families are affected by stillbirth
every year in the United States. That
equals out to about 1 in every 60 pregnancies.
That’s one baby out of every sixty that won’t have first birthday
parties or laugh for the first time.
That many families will have to plan funerals instead of welcome home
parties from the hospital. That many
families will leave the hospital without their babies in their arms, and will
forever feel empty.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Those affected by stillbirth will most likely always have
questions. Why did it happen? What caused it? Why me?
What did I do wrong? Could I have
prevented this? And for some, they have
most of those questions answered. Then,
there’s me that didn’t get answers.
There was no explanation as to why.
Sure, the actual cause of Isaac’s death was Placental Abruption. That is normally caused by heavy drug use or
trauma; such as a car accident or fall.
None of that happened to me.
Sometimes if there’s bleeding they can catch it in time to save the
baby. I had none of that either. The way Isaac’s placenta was, the blood was
trapped behind it so there were no indications something was wrong until it was
too late. Questions. So many questions I’ll never have answers to. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I would also want people to know that the guilt you feel
when your baby dies is suffocating. You question everything. Our innocence is gone. There will never be a “normal” pregnancy
again. Every time someone announces they’re having a baby I immediately hope
theirs doesn’t end like mine did, and their baby lives. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I would want people to know that the silence sticks with you
forever. Yes, the room was completely
silent when Isaac was born. There were
no cries of life or laughter that you did it.
It’s actual silence. But, more
than that there’s also the people you thought would be there to support you
that weren’t. How angry that can make
you. <o:p></o:p></div>
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On the other side there are those few people that you never
would have guessed would step up and be there for you. The surprise heroes who stood by you and let
you cry, talk or just sit with you and say nothing. The people that not only stood by you, but
figuratively held you up when you didn’t think you could keep going on your
own. Those are the people I like to
surround myself with now. If they stuck
around for my worst they are keepers forever.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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One of the biggest surprises to me after losing Isaac is
that everyone is worried about the mom, but most forget that the Dad lost their
child too. I can count on one hand the
number of people that reached out to Tom to ask how he was. Most people would text or call him and ask
about me. <b>Please, please remember the Dads</b>.
They are the ones holding up the moms, making important decisions, like
burial outfits and what color casket so the Mom doesn’t have to. They are barely holding on as well, and they
need just as much support. Take them out
for a beer or coffee. Send them a card. Or even just a text or call to say you’re
thinking about them would go so far. <o:p></o:p></div>
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You should also know that grief doesn’t go away. Being two years out from losing Isaac,<span style="color: red;"> </span>I still have days where I can’t move past that
sinking feeling. How it would be easier
some days to just stay in bed and not face the world. The simple thrown around question of “how are
you?” is so hard to answer most days so you just say “I’m okay” or “I’m good”,
when deep down you want to scream “my baby is still dead and not with me – I’m
not okay.” Most people wouldn’t be able
to handle that so we just smile and say we’re fine. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I would also want you to know that the members of the “loss
mom” community are some of the strongest, most compassionate women that I’ve
ever met. We would do anything in our
power – literally anything – to make it so another mom doesn’t have to become
part of our group. These women are the
ones out fighting and making other people aware of infant loss in hopes they
won’t have the same thing happen to them. <o:p></o:p></div>
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We don’t constantly
bring up our deceased children for attention.
We’re afraid our child will one day be forgotten. We bring up our children and show some of the
few pictures we have because it’s <b>ALL</b>
we have. We don’t have the memories or
the smiley pictures. We have a lifetime
of love in our hearts and we want to share that with you. Please don’t look at the picture or post and
think “she wants attention again” or “she’s already posted that picture so many
times before.” We’re literally sharing
with you, our friends and families, the only thing(s) we have to share of our
children. <o:p></o:p><br />
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If someone you know loses a baby or has a miscarriage <b>run</b>, don’t walk to them. Be there for them. Hold them.
Love on them. Let them cry. Let them scream and yell. Let them just sit and not talk. Whatever they need, just be there. <b>Show up</b>.
They are living their worst possible nightmare and need all of the
support you can give them. If you’re
scared you’ll say the wrong thing, just don’t say anything. Bring meals to them. Take their older children out for a few hours
of fun. Do their dishes. Just <b>DO</b>
something. <o:p></o:p></div>
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And when and if a loss mom gets pregnant again, please
whatever you do – do not tell them “at least you got another chance.” We wanted that chance. We wanted our child that died. And being pregnant again is the most
terrifying and traumatic thing they can go through after losing a previous
child. Let us be anxious. Let us talk to you about every little detail
and fear during this pregnancy. And reassure
us it’s<span style="color: red;"> </span>okay if we call our OB again (for the
fifteenth time) just for peace of mind. <o:p></o:p></div>
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This Sunday is Baby and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. I’d like to invite you to join me and light a
candle at 7 pm and leave it lit for one hour to help us remember our babies that
were taken too soon. If you keep your
candle lit for one hour in whatever time zone you’re in, there will be a
continuous WAVE OF LIGHT over the entire world on October 15<sup>th</sup>. <o:p></o:p></div>
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These are the main things I would want people to know. Stick with us. Be there for us. Say our child’s name. Remember our child’s birthday. And, please understand that our grief will
last a lifetime. </div>
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President Ronald Reagan said it best “When a child loses his
parent, they are called an orphan. When
a spouse loses her or his partner, they are called a widow or widower. When parents lose their child, there isn’t a
word to describe them.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03302976055318744201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5603581773444139541.post-39295417582964137572017-09-08T05:25:00.002-07:002017-09-08T05:25:50.906-07:00Two Years<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">How has it already been two years? Two years since I gave birth to you. Two years since I last saw your face. Two years since I said hello and goodbye on the same day. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">A lot has changed since last year on your birthday. You sent us your baby sister who has mended a lot of the hurt, but she will never take your place. Seeing her and all of the new things she's learning and doing is a constant reminder of all that we missed out on with you. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">I would give anything to have you here with us. Not a day has passed in the last two years that I haven't thought of you. Not one. I wonder what your laugh would sound like. What your voice would sound like. If you still looked like your Daddy, when your brother and sister look like me. I wonder what characters you would love, and what would make you smile. I wonder what your favorite food would be. Would you need sung to at bedtime each night? Would you try to do all the bigger kid stuff Thomas was into? Would you two fight over the same toy? So many unknowns. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">That's what your life is to me - unknown. I still don't know why you had to leave us, and I probably never will. I just have so many questions. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">I still have days that I'm angry you're not here. Not angry with anyone in particular, just angry. I still sometimes ask "Why me? Why did God take you?" And as angry as I am on those days I'd still do it all over again to have those precious thirty four weeks with you. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">I also have days that I'm filled with so much gratitude that I was chosen to be your Mom. Every child is a gift from above, and I was hand picked to be your Mom. </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Children are a gift from the Lord, they are a reward from Him. - Psalm 127:3</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Two years. Two years since I gave birth to you. Two years since I last saw your face. Two years since I said hello and goodbye on the same day. But, also, two years full of never ending love, and that's what pushes me to keep going. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">I hope you're dancing in heaven my boy. Happy Angelversary. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Momma</span></div>
Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03302976055318744201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5603581773444139541.post-73269792333083193542017-09-07T08:22:00.000-07:002017-09-08T08:23:08.110-07:00Tomorrow....<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
I don’t know what to say. </div>
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How do I describe the rippling ache whose circles widen but never disappear?</div>
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How to communicate that he is an important part of my family, my life, even though he is dead?</div>
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How to celebrate his birthday when he is not here to enjoy it, when the decisions I must make of how to remember here are incapacitating?</div>
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And how do I describe just how much he has changed my life, my thoughts, my heart? </div>
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How do I put into words the love and gratitude I have for this tiny little boy that never breathed?</div>
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Tomorrow is his 2<sup>nd</sup> birthday, but he’s not here to celebrate. He died. I birthed him. I held his body and said goodbye, but it was not really goodbye. It was an end, and a beginning. I carry his memory and my love for him with me always. </div>
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Some days it’s beautiful to be a mother to a son that died, that I was chosen for that purpose. Other days it’s an eternal aching, knowing I’ll never see him grow up. </div>
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Today is one of those days. </div>
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I don’t know what to say. </div>
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Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03302976055318744201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5603581773444139541.post-2002727195306409322017-07-26T09:17:00.000-07:002017-08-11T11:42:39.532-07:00Marlowe's Birth StoryI was scheduled to be induced on Sunday, July 16th around 5 pm. That entire day I was an emotional mess. I was so worried about leaving Thomas for three nights, how having Marlowe here would affect him, what having a breathing newborn would feel like again, and every other possible thought that could have run through my head. The day seemed to drag on forever, which was a blessing and a curse. I was tired, but my mind was too busy to allow me to sleep so I decided to finally pack my hospital bag. Nothing like waiting until the very last minute. About an hour before we left both boys and I laid on my bed and talked, and laughed, and laughed some more. Thomas thought it was funny to tell us that after Marlowe we should have 17 more kids. He wanted a lot more brothers and sisters. After we kept laughing his number kept getting higher - all the way up to 9 7 6 kids. Hearing him laugh and enjoying that last little time as a family of three still brings tears to my eyes. <br />
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We dropped Thomas off at my dads house around 3:40, and made it to the hospital and onto the maternity floor by 4:30. Yes, we were early, but Tom said he'd rather have me there early than run into traffic. I think he was just anxious to get it all started. As soon as we dropped Thomas off I started to get excited, and the sadness went away. Could this be really happening? Would we bring home a living, crying, breathing baby? As odd as it sounds, I hadn't let myself believe that was actually going to be our reality during my pregnancy. <br />
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We got all checked in and I was hooked up to the machines. The nurses seemed to be amazing and very nice. One nurse in particular, Debbie, went out of her way to take great care of us. It was just Tom and I there until around 6:45 when my Mom got there. She was going to stay the night and stay until Marlowe was born in case we needed anything. They started the meds to soften my cervix at 6:30, and told me they'd use that medicine every four hours until I was 2 cm dilated. Of course, I was only at 1 when we got there. My OB was on call that night from 6 pm until 6 pm on Monday so I was very excited that he would be the one to deliver her. It was what I had been praying for. He came in to see me around 7:30 and said he was so relieved we were finally at the hospital being monitored, and he would do everything in his power to get her here safely. <br />
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I tried to sleep that night, but no sleep was had. I was too uncomfortable on that rock hard bed, and nurses came in periodically. At 2:30 am the anesthesiologist came in to go over all of the risks and questions of the epidural, and the nurse checked and I was 2 cm - I thought things would start moving much quicker and she would be here within the next few hours. I had no idea. After I hit 2 cm's, they told me they'd see if there were any significant changes on it's own, and if not they would start the pitocin around 5 am. My contractions were every two minutes at the point, but I wasn't even feeling them. <br />
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Pitocin was actually started at 5:30 am. At 9:15 my doctor came in and checked me and I was between 5-6 cm dilated, and fully effaced so I decided why wait for the pain to get worse, and got the epidural. That was when my OB also broke my water. Not sure how after that, but I finally got about an hour nap, which was much needed after not sleeping all night. <br />
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Around noon I was checked again and I was 7-8 cm dilated. They were upping the dosage of my pitocin by 2 every 20 minutes at this point. The contractions were definitely stronger, as I could feel all of the pressure with the epidural. Mom and Tom took turns holding my hand during the contractions which was nice. Not sure I could have done it without them. <br />
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At 2:15 I was checked again and I was finally at 9. That was also the moment I had an emotional breakdown. We were so close, but I was so afraid something would happen, and we would lose her too. Tom just held me for what felt like an hour (really only minutes I'm assuming). My OB came in to see my around 2:30 and said it wouldn't be much longer. <br />
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At 3pm exactly my day nurse Kristen came in and checked me. She said I was at 10, and ready to push. The next 20 minutes were such a whirlwind. By 3:05 my OB and two nurses were in the room and I was starting to push. After one contraction I heard my OB say that she was face up. Of course any and all of the the horrible possible outcomes came rushing to my mind. They kept telling me to take deep breaths, but I finally said "I can't get a deep breath!" I shouldn't have said that because then I had an oxygen mask put on, and I definitely hate those things. The strong smell of plastic is gross. I pushed through two more contractions and I could hear my doctor saying stuff but wasn't really focusing on it. I was turned over on my side, and I had no idea why and didn't push through one of the contractions. Apparently, (thank you epidural), with every contraction my doctor was turning her around so that she would come out face down like normal. During the fourth contraction after everything started I heard my doctor say something about a judgement call and he was going to use the vacuum to get her out. Little did I know that Marlowe's heart rate was dropping with each contraction. During the fifth contraction (the fourth one I pushed through) she was finally out. I waited and I swear you could hear a pin drop in the room. For the first time I looked around and the room was full of doctors, nurses, and two pediatricians. <br />
<br />
The next sound was hearing her cry, and I honestly can't even describe the feeling of relief that overtook me. She was here, and she was alive. I did it. She was born at 3:20 - only 20 minutes after it all started, and pushing through four contractions. I remember looking into Tom's eyes and saw how happy he was. The tears were there in his eyes as well, and I could tell he felt the relief too. My OB asked him if he'd like to cut the cord, and with the biggest smile I'd seen from him in a while he said "Absolutely!" <br />
<br />
I asked to hold her, and that's when they told me that due to her being face up she had swallowed some fluid, and the pediatricians were working on her. I just laid there listening to her crying and thought it was one of the best sounds I'd ever heard. <br />
<br />
See, after having and losing Isaac the sound of the room when he was born was silent. Not even the doctor or nurses spoke. So hearing the room buzzing with people cleaning up, her crying, the pediatricians talking, and my OB talking to me while he stitched me up was a completely different feeling. That's when I started sobbing. I was instantly releasing every emotion I had held in for I didn't even know how long. Tom held me again (our new normal) and kept telling me she was beautiful. I asked if she had hair and was told yes, but they wouldn't be able to tell what color until after she'd had a bath. Ha! Tom went over and took a picture of her so I could see her. <br />
<br />
While the pediatricians were doing her vitals I heard one of them say "Boy!" I immediately freaked out and asked if she had said it was a boy. The room erupted in laughter. Apparently she had said "oh boy" because Marlowe was such a big baby. My OB then says while laughing - "Congratulations, your daughter grew a penis!" The tension was gone at that point, and within a couple of minutes she was on my chest. <br />
<br />
She was perfect. She was beautiful. She was everything and more that I hoped she would be. I didn't see or hold her for 25 minutes after she was born, and that felt like the longest moment of my life. I held her for a little bit, and then I let her Daddy hold her. To say we were instantly in love is an understatement. <br />
<br />
Thomas came up to the hospital a little bit later, and his face lit up seeing her as well. He even fed her a bottle - he was so proud!! <br />
<br />
Thank you to everyone that prayed for us, checked in on us, and sent well wishes. Our journey with our precious girl has only just begun, and I can't wait to see where it takes us. <br />
<br />Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03302976055318744201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5603581773444139541.post-3397794619515925642017-07-15T19:57:00.000-07:002017-07-15T19:58:59.736-07:00Countdown to Baby, with all of my mixed feelings and emotions<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<div style="font-family: '.SF UI Text'; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">So many thoughts running through my mind. Seventeen hours until we're supposed to go to the hospital to be induced. It's still hard for me to believe we get to bring a baby home this time. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">I worry about Thomas, and how having a baby at home will affect him. Although, truth be told, he will be fine - he's wanted a baby sister since before I was even pregnant. I worry about him being away from us for three nights or so - the longest he'll have been away from us. I worry about him being jealous. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: '.SF UI Text'; line-height: normal; min-height: 20.3px;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="font-family: '.SF UI Text'; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">I wonder how the delivery will go, and if the memories of giving birth to Isaac will pop up, and make me miss him even more. I wonder if it'll happen faster than with Thomas - good lord I hope so. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="font-family: '.SF UI Text'; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">I worry about how things will change between Tom and I. Not that I'm worried it won't be good in the end, but lack of sleep is always hard and tempers run shorter than normal. This is mainly on my part. He's much better about not snapping. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: '.SF UI Text'; line-height: normal; min-height: 20.3px;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="font-family: '.SF UI Text'; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">I wonder what she looks like, what type of temperament she'll have. I wonder if she'll look like her Daddy, her brothers, or me. In the end it doesn't really matter - she'll be beautiful no matter what. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="font-family: '.SF UI Text'; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Just so many emotions and feelings going on tonight. Every day that I've been pregnant this time I've been waiting for the bad news, for the sad look on a doctors face and the words "I'm sorry." </span></div>
<div style="font-family: '.SF UI Text'; line-height: normal; min-height: 20.3px;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="font-family: '.SF UI Text'; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">We've prayed for the baby for so long. It's just hard to believe it's finally time to accept that it's really happening. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="font-family: '.SF UI Text'; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">I've had a perfect pregnancy by the books. No gestational diabetes, no blood pressure issues, some swelling, no weight gain (still down 16 pounds from when I got pregnant), but not enough to worry. I wouldn't have been put on bed rest if it wasn't for the anxiety and stress related to losing Isaac. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: '.SF UI Text'; line-height: normal; min-height: 20.3px;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="font-family: '.SF UI Text'; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Every day I've still been pregnant since June 10th when I hit the 34 week mark is another milestone I made it past. And, as of now, this is the longest I've ever been pregnant. I had Thomas at 39 weeks at 4:05 am. That was this morning. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="font-family: '.SF UI Text'; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">I'm proud of my body for what it has done to bring our girl safe. I doubted my body, I doubted I could safely do this without messing up all sorts of things. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="font-family: '.SF UI Text'; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Will she be the right fit for us? I admit I didn't try to bond with her as much as I should have while she was still inside. That, to me, was keeping my heart guarded in case something happened again. I couldn't let my heart be broken into a million pieces again. So I've done my best, and talked to her, and loved her from afar. It's all I had to give at that moment. She has deserved so much more. My hope is that I will able to give her all of the inner parts of me that I've held in since September of 2015. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="font-family: '.SF UI Text'; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">In the end what I want is for my family to be complete, and extremely happy. Our goal over the next few days, weeks, and months is that we all come together and bring our family full circle to where we're supposed to be and life will be normal again. </span></div>
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<div style="font-family: '.SF UI Text'; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">People have babies every day, and life goes on. I just need to know that this pain, sorrow, desperation, longing, love, and weakness have all been worth it. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: '.SF UI Text'; line-height: normal; min-height: 20.3px;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="font-family: '.SF UI Text'; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">I need to hear her tiny baby cries and hold her, because i think that's when I'll allow all of these walls of fear and uncertainty to fall down, and I'll be so over the moon that our little girl - the one that was chosen for us from her brother Isaac, will finally be ours. It will be time to relax and know our baby girl has finally safely made it home. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: '.SF UI Text'; line-height: normal; min-height: 20.3px;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Sweet dreams baby girl - I'll definitely miss these strong kicks and movements, but I'm looking forward to seeing you on the outside so I can hug, and kiss, and hold you for hours. I'll memorize every little part of you that I missed out on doing with your brother. Rest tonight my love because tomorrow night you and I have a lot of work to do. In the end, I pray it's all worth it. I love you so much already. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">~Momma</span></div>
</div>
Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03302976055318744201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5603581773444139541.post-91225220589983718282017-05-09T05:18:00.001-07:002017-05-09T05:18:18.297-07:00Choose Love over Fear<div class="MsoNormal">
It isn’t our ability or our disability that divides us.<br />
It isn’t our gender or sexuality. <br />
It isn’t our religion or politics.<br />
It isn’t our wealth or poverty.<br />
It isn’t our race or family background.<br />
It’s fear.<br />
Fear divides us.<br />
Fear keeps us separate and alone.<br />
Fear builds a wall but love breaks it down.<br />
Fear stays safely away, but love opens the door and says<br />
“Let’s journey together.”<br />
Love doesn’t have to be right.<br />
Love doesn’t have to be perfect.<br />
Love doesn’t need everyone to be the same.<br />
Fear divides. Love unites.<br />
Therefore, I choose love.<br />
Three things will last forever – faith, hope, and love – and the greatest<br />
of these is Love. 1 Corinthians 13:13<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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<br />
Faith takes the first step.<br />
Hope believes the path leads to healing.<br />
Love makes the journey beautiful.</div>
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<o:p></o:p>Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03302976055318744201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5603581773444139541.post-88680015095305871682017-05-03T09:00:00.000-07:002017-05-09T05:11:35.356-07:00Another first...<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<div class="m_-3805650144468627170p1">
<span class="m_-3805650144468627170s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When some of your best friends have a new baby boy, you do everything you can to go show your support and see the beautiful baby. But, what do you do when they had their healthy baby at the same place you lost yours? <span class="m_-3805650144468627170Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="m_-3805650144468627170s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="m_-3805650144468627170p1">
<span class="m_-3805650144468627170s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last night for the first time since leaving without Isaac on September 10th 2015, I faced my fears and went back inside the place I was completely broken apart. And guess what?<span class="m_-3805650144468627170Apple-converted-space"> </span>I survived. Sure, thinking of Isaac was on my mind the entire time, but I wasn't there for me last night. It also helped that the few days I was there with Isaac I never once saw what room number I was in, or even remembered what floor I was on exactly.<span class="m_-3805650144468627170Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="m_-3805650144468627170p2">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="m_-3805650144468627170s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="m_-3805650144468627170p1">
<span class="m_-3805650144468627170s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This was the third baby we've gone to visit at various hospitals since we lost Isaac. And every single time we were back safely in our car I lost it. Not because I wasn't happy for them, (because I definitely am happy for them) it just brought up the "why us" question again. I wouldn't wish what happened to us on anyone, especially those closest to us, but why did they get their happy ending when we didn't? <span class="m_-3805650144468627170Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="m_-3805650144468627170s1"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="m_-3805650144468627170s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Just when I think I've handled every "first" that I'll have to go through as a loss parent another one pops up.<span class="m_-3805650144468627170Apple-converted-space"> </span>And as long as I keep looking forward, I'll keep going to visit friends and family, and tell them congratulations, even if it still hurts. Because in the end, I'll survive. I have each time so far.<span class="m_-3805650144468627170Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
<span class="m_-3805650144468627170s1"><span class="m_-3805650144468627170Apple-converted-space"><br /></span></span></div>
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Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03302976055318744201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5603581773444139541.post-91974875255983022652017-04-25T13:36:00.000-07:002017-04-25T16:38:47.384-07:00Pregnancy after Loss<div class="MsoNormal">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1gcY_Qt6a7G_QxMQvfg-sT1ktoYpQYjTkaCrnJkuYDA-Uxjs-tTrSB3O8LOlb09aZlGw8FZ67_RHrLiY9-KNYZuRpMarVg-gldU7x8djWeU6Iz9owp4HJwEkdnbkaBBw-YbpiRd8d5Zt3/s1600/17796047_10158593589580531_1892879963259246702_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1gcY_Qt6a7G_QxMQvfg-sT1ktoYpQYjTkaCrnJkuYDA-Uxjs-tTrSB3O8LOlb09aZlGw8FZ67_RHrLiY9-KNYZuRpMarVg-gldU7x8djWeU6Iz9owp4HJwEkdnbkaBBw-YbpiRd8d5Zt3/s320/17796047_10158593589580531_1892879963259246702_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Pregnancy after loss.
It’s the one thing I truly want, but am truly terrified of getting.
Before I got pregnant I would lay awake at night hoping, praying, and wondering
when and if I’d ever get my little miracle.
When I found out I was pregnant I laid awake at night hoping and praying
that it won’t end in another loss, and also wondering how I will cope if it
does.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The pregnancy test was only the tiny word "pregnant" on a stick, but
it was enough to induce the strangest fixture of fear and excitement I have
ever experienced. Will I get to bring
this baby home? Please God, let this
baby come home with us. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I feel like going out in public is comparable to a mine
field some days. Will I see someone who
asks Thomas “if he’s excited to be a big brother, when he knows he already is?” Will I see someone who tells me “not to
worry, it won’t happen again?” Or maybe, just maybe, I’ll bump into someone who
gives me a hug and acknowledges that it’s both a wonderful and scary time. I never know what to expect, and sometimes
the unknown is hard. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Ultrasounds are a blessing and a curse. It’s not enough to feel our girl kick all the
time. I need to see the heartbeat before
my own pounding heart will slow down. During
my 20 week ultrasound I felt bad asking, but before she even started I asked if
she would show me the heartbeat first.
That’s all I cared about. None of
the other measurements would matter if there was no heartbeat. Also, instead of enjoying seeing Marlowe on
the screen, I found that I spent most of my time praying that each measurement
is what it was supposed to be, and there were no red flags that something could
be wrong. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Feeling Marlowe move around brings a sense of peace. But some days she moves so much that it’s
slightly annoying, mainly between the hours of midnight and 3 am. Sometimes it’s painful. But I dare not admit that to anyone other
than Tom, because I know how blessed I am to even be feeling these kicks
again. The same is true for general
pregnancy aches and pains. The pain that
I feel as my muscles and ligaments stretch is legitimate, yet I know I need to
be grateful for the pain. It means I
have gotten further in pregnancy than some women do. The bigger the baby, the better chance they
have of surviving, right? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The knowledge that this pregnancy is a gift, a wonderful
miracle, is always with me. But at the
same time, I’m tired of being pregnant.
It takes most people nine months of pregnancy to bring home a baby. By the time Marlowe gets here I’ll have been
pregnant for sixteen months before I got to bring mine home. Pregnancy isn’t a walk in the park, it’s
tough on the body, and I don’t have the baby to show for last time’s effort and
strain. My body is weary, and my mind is
hesitant to accept that all will be okay this time. The simple act of typing that out brings huge
waves of guilt. Don’t I know how lucky I
am? How many women would give anything
to be in the position I’m in? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I have so many unanswered questions. How can people tell me that everything will
be okay this time? They don’t know
that. Why did losing Isaac have to happen
to us? Why do people expect this
pregnancy and baby to “fix” me? Why do
people ask if my doctor is watching me closer this time? There was zero indication that losing Isaac
was an option. They wouldn’t even have
known to look for it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">And finally, why is it so hard to admit all of this? Why does it feel like admitting all of this
somehow means I am not trusting God with this pregnancy? That I’m not grateful for this little
girl? Because I do trust Him, and I am
forever grateful for this baby girl. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Pregnancy after loss is the hardest thing I’ve ever
done. And holding all of these thoughts
in isn’t good for me or Marlowe, so as guilty as I feel typing them out, it
needs to be done. I want this baby girl
here safely more than anything else in the world right now. So I’ll continue to lie awake most nights
hoping and praying that we won’t lose her as well, and our rainbow baby girl
will get to come home with us. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03302976055318744201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5603581773444139541.post-71696974469939668222017-02-24T12:19:00.001-08:002017-02-24T12:19:23.736-08:00Fear and Hope<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Hope and Fear<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Those are the two words that have surrounded my pregnancy with
Marlowe. It’s a delicate balance, and if
I’m not careful I’ll allow myself to go too far one way or the other. Having lost Isaac the innocence of being
pregnant is gone. Just because I’m
pregnant and made it past the first scary twelve weeks doesn’t mean I get to
bring a breathing baby home. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">If I’m being honest I’ve found it very hard to be hopeful
about this pregnancy. I don’t want to
live that way though. I want to cherish
every moment, as I don’t know when or if this pregnancy will end as well. That sounds pessimistic, but not a moment
goes by that I don’t think and wonder how I’ll survive if it happens
again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After talking with Tom the other night, and a friend via
text this week, I’ve decided I will choose to have hope. I started by buying my very first thing for
Marlowe – a simple outfit. But, by
buying this I’m giving myself permission to have hope. And that is a scary, and exhilarating thing. I don’t want to be afraid to bond with her
while I’m pregnant. I don’t want to miss
out on anything that she has to offer. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I’ve also been dealing with the fear that being excited for
this baby means that I’ll forget about Isaac.
That will never happen. And this
baby won’t replace him in any way. He
was very much longed for and loved just like Thomas and Marlowe. We’re still making our way through that storm
in our lives, but are enjoying the rays of hope that are coming from being
pregnant again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A rainbow baby is the understanding that the beauty of a
rainbow does not negate the ravages of the storm. When a rainbow appears, it doesn’t mean that
the storm never happened or that the family is not still dealing with its
aftermath. What it means is that
something beautiful and full of light has appeared in the midst of the darkness
and clouds. Storm clouds may still hover
but the rainbow provides a counterbalance of color, energy, and hope. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So over the next few months I will be trying not to live in
fear of the what if’s, and know that God has a plan for my life. Just like He had a plan for Isaac’s and now
Marlowe’s life. I will do my best to not
let myself go to that dark place of fear, and stay there. It’s a scary place, and it’s not where I want
to be. So, fear and hope. Hope and fear. If I have to choose, I choose hope. Hope that someday sooner than later I’ll be
holding my living precious baby girl. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2zBHp8_N9PLvzMbxfD_D2AtJxaQnzKVtnC8XasD_scnofsS7E0D4NiTuf0FST3BDK_xfIJ7xnZMiV740TTNFHROpGFh8EsF5KJtRGfJYc_sTR53rR1EIRH4PxpIVUYivenQ2E_nkvOlD7/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2zBHp8_N9PLvzMbxfD_D2AtJxaQnzKVtnC8XasD_scnofsS7E0D4NiTuf0FST3BDK_xfIJ7xnZMiV740TTNFHROpGFh8EsF5KJtRGfJYc_sTR53rR1EIRH4PxpIVUYivenQ2E_nkvOlD7/s320/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="199" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
(<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Marlowe's new outfit</span>)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03302976055318744201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5603581773444139541.post-18057269482516974382017-02-02T17:29:00.002-08:002017-02-02T17:29:29.520-08:00Marriage<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq7BEU57BI85tuVu8qOSRI10oGdia68jVYQ1rkU47dZWqdGEYvMKCkUjre9whGG4qYoI1HTsSDofUJOWG24gvJMQZz9ay49__Mbhd59SoJCuhJcpBqCj0KxktSl8GakWVGk19NAbIYa4He/s1600/us.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq7BEU57BI85tuVu8qOSRI10oGdia68jVYQ1rkU47dZWqdGEYvMKCkUjre9whGG4qYoI1HTsSDofUJOWG24gvJMQZz9ay49__Mbhd59SoJCuhJcpBqCj0KxktSl8GakWVGk19NAbIYa4He/s320/us.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="m_3592459459765951569p1">
<span class="m_3592459459765951569s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="m_3592459459765951569p1">
<span class="m_3592459459765951569s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="m_3592459459765951569p1">
<span class="m_3592459459765951569s1">Marriage is hard work.<span class="m_3592459459765951569Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
<div class="m_3592459459765951569p1">
<span class="m_3592459459765951569s1">Even if you're married to your best friend it is hard. So when it seems you hit EVERY bump in the road, you must hold on to each other tightly and fiercely.<span class="m_3592459459765951569Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
<div class="m_3592459459765951569p2">
<span class="m_3592459459765951569s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="m_3592459459765951569p1">
<span class="m_3592459459765951569s1">Marriage is amazing.<span class="m_3592459459765951569Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
<div class="m_3592459459765951569p1">
<span class="m_3592459459765951569s1">You have a partner to travel life's scariest paths with.<span class="m_3592459459765951569Apple-converted-space"> </span>Together we fight the grief and the sorrow. We save each other again and again from the pits of despair. And together we keep wishing and hoping. Trying to make each other's dreams come true. You have someone to laugh with, about nothing and everything all at once.<span class="m_3592459459765951569Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
<div class="m_3592459459765951569p2">
<span class="m_3592459459765951569s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="m_3592459459765951569p1">
<span class="m_3592459459765951569s1">Marriage changes.<span class="m_3592459459765951569Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
<div class="m_3592459459765951569p1">
<span class="m_3592459459765951569s1">This isn't just specific to couples who have lost a child. We change every day. For better and for worse. And we flip flop the two depending on the moment in the day.<span class="m_3592459459765951569Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
<div class="m_3592459459765951569p2">
<span class="m_3592459459765951569s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="m_3592459459765951569p1">
<span class="m_3592459459765951569s1">I find that I fall in love with Tom over and over. I fall in love with a new person every time. Sometimes it's the young guy I met at the movie theater, who made me laugh. Then it was watching him become a dad. Reading to my belly and talking to our boys, and now to our little girl.<span class="m_3592459459765951569Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
<div class="m_3592459459765951569p2">
<span class="m_3592459459765951569s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="m_3592459459765951569p1">
<span class="m_3592459459765951569s1">After Isaac died I needed Tom more than ever. I fell in love with the man that took care of me and slowly helped pull me out of my fog of grief. He tried so hard to make me laugh in those first few months. Even though his heart was broken too.<span class="m_3592459459765951569Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
<div class="m_3592459459765951569p2">
<span class="m_3592459459765951569s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="m_3592459459765951569p1">
<span class="m_3592459459765951569s1">How do you continue loving when your heart is breaking?<span class="m_3592459459765951569Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
<div class="m_3592459459765951569p2">
<span class="m_3592459459765951569s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="m_3592459459765951569p1">
<span class="m_3592459459765951569s1">We have our ups and downs. And we fall in love with each other again and again. We fall in love with the new versions of each other.<span class="m_3592459459765951569Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
<div class="m_3592459459765951569p2">
<span class="m_3592459459765951569s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="m_3592459459765951569p1">
<span class="m_3592459459765951569s1">We are parents. We are partners. We keep growing and changing. Fighting for our dreams, living for both of our boys, and our little girl that isn't here yet.<span class="m_3592459459765951569Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
<div class="m_3592459459765951569p2">
<span class="m_3592459459765951569s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="m_3592459459765951569p1">
<span class="m_3592459459765951569s1">Losing a child changed us forever. We had to learn to cope together. We learned how to rescue each other from sadness. And always, always we held each other up. The one thing that could have torn us apart made us stronger. There's no one else I could have gone through this with.<span class="m_3592459459765951569Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
<div class="m_3592459459765951569p2">
<span class="m_3592459459765951569s1"></span><br /></div>
<ul class="m_3592459459765951569ul1">
<li class="m_3592459459765951569li1" style="margin-left: 15px;"><span class="m_3592459459765951569s1">Yes, marriage is hard...but it's also amazing, and I can't wait to see where we are years from now. <span class="m_3592459459765951569Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></li>
</ul>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
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Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03302976055318744201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5603581773444139541.post-42835904317214777692017-01-08T10:05:00.001-08:002017-01-08T10:06:13.411-08:00Mixed Emotions<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<div class="m_2292616702924233976p1">
<span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">We got the call, baby number 3 doesn't have any defects, and we were told it was a girl. I've always wanted a daughter of my own for as long as I can remember. I had a permanent smile for at least the first twenty four hours. I couldn't wait to tell anyone that would listen that we were going to have a girl.</span><span class="m_2292616702924233976Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"> </span></div>
<div class="m_2292616702924233976p2">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="m_2292616702924233976s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="m_2292616702924233976p1">
<span class="m_2292616702924233976s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And then almost as fast it hit me like a ton of bricks that if Isaac had lived I wouldn't be having my little girl. Talk about the biggest mix of emotions I've felt in a while.<span class="m_2292616702924233976Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="m_2292616702924233976p2">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="m_2292616702924233976s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="m_2292616702924233976p1">
<span class="m_2292616702924233976s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I'm very thankful for this baby, and I'm just as thankful for Isaac. Without him I wouldn't have realized that it was possible to love another child as much as I loved Thomas. Without him I wouldn't know the eternal cycle of grief and joy, and how they intertwine.<span class="m_2292616702924233976Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="m_2292616702924233976p2">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="m_2292616702924233976s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="m_2292616702924233976p1">
<span class="m_2292616702924233976s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I also know that having this baby won't take Isaac's place. No one could ever do that. I'll always have an Isaac shaped hole in my heart. I also, deep down, believe that Isaac helped hand pick this specific baby sister for our family, and I'll forever be thankful to him for that.<span class="m_2292616702924233976Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="m_2292616702924233976p2">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="m_2292616702924233976s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="m_2292616702924233976p1">
<span class="m_2292616702924233976s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Marlowe Alexis - you are so wanted and have been prayed for, for a long time.<span class="m_2292616702924233976Apple-converted-space"> </span>Please know that by being here we are going to be simultaneously overjoyed and I'm sure slightly sad at times, because every new thing you do will be a reminder on what we missed out on with Isaac. But, in the end, I'm sure extreme happiness will take over.<span class="m_2292616702924233976Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="m_2292616702924233976p2">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="m_2292616702924233976s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="m_2292616702924233976p1">
<span class="m_2292616702924233976s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I love all of my babies with all of my heart. As much as I wish that our story looked a little different, I'm happy with the blessings that I've been given, and don't take them for granted. <span class="m_2292616702924233976Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
<span class="m_2292616702924233976s1"><span class="m_2292616702924233976Apple-converted-space"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
<span class="m_2292616702924233976s1"><span class="m_2292616702924233976Apple-converted-space"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="m_2292616702924233976s1"><span class="m_2292616702924233976Apple-converted-space"><br /></span></span></div>
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Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03302976055318744201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5603581773444139541.post-56232097019440802762016-12-30T07:30:00.001-08:002016-12-30T07:30:18.175-08:002016 vs 2017<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sad<br />
Angry<br />
Broken<br />
Confused<br />
Happy<br />
Anxious<br />
Cautious<br />
Defensive<br />
Depressed<br />
Drained<br />
Envious<br />
Hopeful<br />
Lonely<br />
Loved<br />
Mad<br />
Numb<br />
Peaceful<br />
Restless<br />
Tired<br />
Annoyed<br />
Strong<br />
Calm<br />
Crushed<br />
Disappointed<br />
Brave<br />
Excited<br />
Good<br />
Heartbroken<br />
Guilty<br />
Terrified<br />
Rejuvenated<br />
Thankful<br />
Content<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have felt all of these emotions at least once in
2016. This year has been a year of
extreme highs and extreme lows for me. Navigating
life after loss is harder than I ever expected, but it has also taught me so
much more about myself. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At the beginning of 2016 I never thought I’d feel hopeful
and truly happy again. Month by month I slowly
started laughing again. At first I would
feel guilty for laughing and having fun, because to me that meant I had moved on,
and that pushed Isaac further away from me. But, I had to learn that moving on
was the only way that I could honor him completely. He wouldn’t have wanted me to stay in that
deep dark place. That wasn’t fair to
anyone. By the end of 2016 I feel like a
completely different person than I started out this year. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">With our new baby on the way I’m so excited, and hopeful
that this baby will get to come home with us.
But, to be honest, I’m also terrified.
What if the unthinkable happens again?
Would we live through it a second time?
I can’t dwell on those thoughts though, as I don’t want to slip into
that dark place again. Instead I’m
choosing to be hopeful, and pray that things will be different this time. I know being scared and stressed out isn’t
good for the baby, so I’m doing my best.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If I had to choose one word off of my list that would
describe how I want and plan to live in 2017 it would be strong. I’ve never considered myself a strong person
before. Not physical strength, but
emotionally strong. With every day that
passes I hope to be strong enough to put one foot in front of the other and face
the new day. I will be strong enough to
get through this pregnancy, and love this baby as fiercely as I love Thomas and
Isaac. Yes, there will be days where strong is the
last thing that I could feel, but my hope is that those are the days I’ll be
able to look back and see how far I’ve come, and realize my strength is what
got me through. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What word would you choose to describe how you want to live
in 2017?</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03302976055318744201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5603581773444139541.post-37450365429438395712016-12-21T06:54:00.001-08:002016-12-21T06:54:23.840-08:00Fifteen Years<div class="m_3144717277808308619p1" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">How does one even come to terms that it's been that long since you heard the best news you've ever been given?</span><span style="font-size: 12.8px;"> </span><span class="m_3144717277808308619Apple-converted-space" style="font-size: 12.8px;"> </span></div>
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<span class="m_3144717277808308619s1">I remember the exam room they sat us in. I remember that everything felt so sterile, and how nervous all three of us were waiting for Tom's doctor to open the door. Tom and his mom made chit chat trying to pass the time. After what felt like forever the doctor finally walked in. He didn't smile right away so I assumed the worst; the chemo didn't work. He sat down and said "The good news is that your cancer is completely gone.<span class="m_3144717277808308619Apple-converted-space"> </span>The bad news is there's only a 1 in 5 chance that you'll be able to have kids someday."<span class="m_3144717277808308619Apple-converted-space"> </span>All of the wind was forced out of me - Tom was cancer free!<span class="m_3144717277808308619Apple-converted-space"> </span>We were all so relieved that I don't think the possibility of not having children some far off time in distance didn't even phase us.<span class="m_3144717277808308619Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="m_3144717277808308619s1">The three of us went out to eat at MCL to celebrate, and then called the rest of our families to tell them the good news. I was on cloud nine. I wasn't going to lose my fiancé before he would become my husband.<span class="m_3144717277808308619Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="m_3144717277808308619s1">I'm forever thankful to the doctors and nurses at IU Hospital that took such good care of my man, and kept him positive during some of the hardest days of his life. But, most importantly I'm thankful for a man that didn't give up when things got tough. I'm thankful he's still here and still by my side, fifteen years later. I wouldn't want to do life with anyone else. I'm also glad they were wrong about the possibility of not having children because we do make pretty cute kids.<span class="m_3144717277808308619Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="m_3144717277808308619s1">I love you babe - happy 15 years cancer free! <span class="m_3144717277808308619Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03302976055318744201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5603581773444139541.post-12060562729131679402016-12-08T07:15:00.000-08:002016-12-08T14:56:53.382-08:0015 Long Months<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I know what it’s like to have pain slap you across the face – fierce, cold, and confusing. I know the desperate longing for someone to come close, but the fear of being hurt if they don’t handle you with the deepest care. I get the panic that comes with rejection. I get how a conversation can make your chest cave in and leave you breathless.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And sometimes there’s no space to stop. No time to fall apart or come undone. No one who understands and the despair that no one ever will...what happens when everything inside of you is too complex to even explain? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">What happens is one day you can’t stop crying. And the heart-breaking reality sets in that you can’t outrun yourself. And you finally fall flat on your face. Then, the mystery and miracle coexist – death brings life. The bottom of the barrel becomes your lifeline, second chance, and where you start over. Prayer, like breathing, ushers you into grace. Grace wraps you in and out of love. Love, washing over you and making you whole again. And, when you least expect it, you realize you can breathe, and although the pain is still there, you’ve learned to trust that it isn't permanent.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It’s so easy to trust the Lord in the light, but trusting His plan in the dark takes courage, hope, and faith. These are the moments in life when all I can do is breathe and trust. Breathe and trust. These are the moments when our faith is tested the most, and hopefully, these are the moments where our faith will prevail. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">If I’ve learned anything over the past fifteen months, it’s that where there is great pain, there is also great love. Even with all of the pain, loneliness, anger, and hurt I would choose Isaac again. Every. Single. Time. The brief time we had with him brought us so much joy, and I wouldn’t want to live without that. </span><o:p></o:p><br />
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Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03302976055318744201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5603581773444139541.post-30494986739039912592016-09-08T16:39:00.000-07:002016-09-08T16:39:54.281-07:00Dear Isaac<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Dear Isaac,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I can now say that I’ve handled all of the “firsts” that can happen in the first year since losing you. I’ve gone through every holiday, your due date, baby announcements, births, and of course, now your first birthday in heaven. I thought I’d be in a different spot by now. I don’t even know exactly where I thought I would be, but this wasn’t it. I still have more questions than answers, and some days I feel completely lost. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I think of you every single day (all day), and I miss you like crazy. I keep thinking of what we should be doing with you at each age. You would be most likely walking by now. It’s those little things that are the hardest. It wasn’t just losing you a year ago, we lost out on every single milestone you should be having. That’s the hardest part because most people don’t understand that. They assume since we didn’t know you that we’re okay, and we should have moved on by now. Instead of planning your first birthday party, I’m trying to hold onto every kick I felt, and every memory I have instead. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Your brother, Thomas, talks about you all of the time. You never got to meet him, but he’s also an amazing boy. He tells me that you talk to him, and that you’re happy with Jesus. That breaks my heart. Over and over again. He loves you and wanted you here from the moment we told him about you. He also uses you as an excuse not to do things. He says “my brother says I don’t have to take a nap.” At the beginning that was tough to hear, but now I realize he’s having the only kind of relationship with you that he can. And, for what it’s worth, who am I to say that he doesn’t actually see you or talk to you? And, even if he doesn’t, I’m not taking that away from him. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Isaac, if this first year is any indication, I doubt the hole in my heart will ever go away. That place is there especially for you, and even if you’re not here nothing or anyone will ever take your place. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Your passing brought your dad and me closer, as we were both strong for each other during our darkest days. I’ve heard it said that child loss either strengthens a couple or tears them apart and thankfully your dad and I are stronger than ever. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Your headstone was finally placed a couple of weeks ago. It took us almost seven months before we could even talk about what we wanted it to say. I guess it felt like the final thing we had to do, and we just weren’t ready. Well, it was placed about two weeks ago, and we knew we’d wait to go see it until your first birthday. We hope you like it, birthday boy. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Just because we’ve not handled all of the “firsts” doesn’t mean we’ve forgotten. Quite the opposite my boy. We love you, and we always will. You’re still wanted, and missed so much.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Ecclesiastes 3:1-4</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"For everything there is a season, and time for every matter under heaven; a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I so hope you're dancing in heaven my boy. </span></div>
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Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03302976055318744201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5603581773444139541.post-26892477939919685352016-08-11T11:33:00.000-07:002017-08-11T11:36:29.953-07:00My story isn't over"My story is not over." This phrase keeps coming back to my mind as I try to find adequate words to honor God through the loss of Isaac. God is not done with me yet. I don't know what God has planned for my future, but I do know that He is sovereign and His purpose for my life is far better than anything I could ever plan on my own.<br />
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Through losing Isaac, God has taught me many things. He taught me to draw nearer to Him than I've ever been because I cannot stand on my own. He has made Himself known even when His will is not mine - even when His answers to my prayers are not the answers I wanted. He has taught me to try to be patient and wait for more of His plan to unfold. He has taught me that, even though my heart will never be the same after losing a child, there is hope in Him. He has taught me how important grace is. In the time since we lost Isaac, I have thrown many fits during my talks with God. I have not earned His grace, yet He gives it to me. Every time. He has taught me to find peace with His plan, despite the pain. <br />
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God will continue teaching me how to navigate grief until He calls me home. He will not cease because I am His and He says my story is not over. Isaiah 43:1-4 says that we are His people and He called us by name; He will not forsake us; He loves us. As much as I love my son and long to have him here with us, God loves and longs for me many times over. God has not abandoned me, but carried me through the toughest time in my life, because He loves me. <br />
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And even though my story isn't over, I know He will sustain me through it all. He knows my tears. He knows my pain. Even though he allowed immense grief into my life, He still loves me and has greater plans that require this to be my path. It was uncomfortable to be open and grieve, but I didn't want to stay in the darkness that had surrounded me. I wanted to be able to feel joy again and to begin healing. <br />
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This is not the road I would have chosen for myself, but I am choosing to praise God in spite of my suffering. I am confident that God will continue to use my story and Isaac's life to bring light to darkness. This is why my story is not over. Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03302976055318744201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5603581773444139541.post-24204450607584405742016-07-29T17:51:00.000-07:002016-07-29T17:51:55.487-07:00Grief - 11 Months Later<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Grief is one of the hardest, most complex things I’ve ever known. I can go from one emotion to another in a second - from guilt, happy, sad, angry, hopeful, and failure. Allowing myself to take the time to feel all of those emotions as they have come, and my faith, are the only ways I’ve been able to slowly pull myself out of the grief fog over the past eleven months.</div>
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I’ve felt guilty since the day Isaac passed away. I’ve blamed myself because my only job was to keep him safe while carrying him in my womb. I’ve asked so many “what if” questions that I’ve lost count. I’ve gone over every scenario with Tom and my doctor, and both have assured me over and over that this wasn’t something I did, or could have been prevented. As many times as I’ve heard that, there’s still a little voice within me that says “You did this to him.” “Maybe I shouldn’t have had caffeine that morning, or danced at my brother’s wedding.” “Maybe I should have lost weight, or realized there was something wrong before it was too late.” All of these thoughts, and more, have brought me to a crumbling, sobbing mess more times than I can count. But, lately instead of asking those questions I’ve been leaning more on this truth I grew up learning:</div>
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<i>And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to His purpose. – Romans 8:28 ESV<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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Maybe losing Isaac wasn’t a punishment for not doing all of the above mentioned things; maybe losing him was just part of my story. Maybe losing him was to make me more empathetic towards others, and to learn to love more, and to learn the hard way that life is too short. Why would I assume that by giving my life to God would mean that I would only have happy moments, and no sadness? I won’t lie, at the beginning I was very angry at God – how could He let this happen to our precious son? I was angry at other moms that had healthy babies. I was angry that the world seemed to keep going when I felt stuck frozen in the moment I lost Isaac. But, through all of that anger, I kept repeating the following verse, sometimes hourly, just to get me through. </div>
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<i>Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial, for when he has stood the test he will receive the crown of life, which God has promised to those who love him. – James 1:2 ESV<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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This little boy has brought forth so much love in his little life. I still don’t know why we had to lose him or go through this, but I know deep down that God chose that little boy for us. And, if I had to do it all over again, to have Isaac with me - even for that short time, I would do it again without hesitation.</div>
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<i>How very softly you tiptoed into my world. Almost silently. Only a moment you stayed, but what an imprint your footprints have left on my heart. – Author Unknown<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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I’ve often thought that maybe I don’t have the right to grieve him since I never met him. I feel like it's taboo to bring him up in conversation because he was never alive outside of my womb. I feel like maybe if he had been born alive and lived for a few minutes or hours that it would be “acceptable” to talk about him, or post about him. However, he was my son, and no matter if I lost him at 6 weeks, 20 weeks, or when I did at 34 weeks – he was and always will be my son. And I have accepted that I have just as much right to mourn my son as one who lost a child that was born alive.</div>
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<i>Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted. – Matthew 5:4<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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As hard as it is some days to tell my story, I’m reminded that I owe it to Isaac to honor his life, and to let the world know that I’m so thankful I was chosen to be his Momma. So as the many emotions of grief take over me, without warning, during the next days, months, and years – I won’t let it keep me down. Instead, I will focus on the love that Isaac brought to our lives, and spread that love to everyone that I can. I’m choosing love over grief, and I’m choosing to focus on my faith in God to keep me going. I will allow myself to feel all of those feelings, but then I’ll pick myself up and <a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a>choose love because love always wins. </div>
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<i>What we have once enjoyed and deeply loved, we can never lose. For all that we love deeply becomes a part of us. – Helen Keller<o:p></o:p></i></div>
Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03302976055318744201noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5603581773444139541.post-29523252319940261042016-07-14T07:17:00.003-07:002016-07-14T08:02:37.202-07:00Terrified of Failing<div class="MsoNormal">
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I’m terrified of failing.
I’m tempted to shut down my dreams because of the “what if I fail” fear. The truth is, if I dare to start a business,
have another baby, mother a certain way, not do what someone wants me to do,
admit I have a dream, open my heart up again, I could fail. It could be ugly and messy and soul crushing.<br />
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I’m slowly learning that it’s not about failing. It’s about what happens if I do try. Failure isn’t the end, it’s the means by
which profound heart work happens. Love –
meeting me in my brokenness, embarrassment, shame, guilt – that is what makes
me deep, resilient, and gives me more compassion for others. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Love is the cushion that catches me if I crash. Failure then becomes a badge of honor – “I
tried. I failed. I was loved.”
That’s EVERYTHING! Failure is the
fire that makes our heart gold. So I’ve
decided to walk out on the water and trust that there is a much bigger
picture. Life isn’t about success or
failure – it’s always about love. So go
try, chase after the dream you have in your heart…and success or failure, if
it’s done in love – you’re already won.<o:p></o:p><br />
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Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03302976055318744201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5603581773444139541.post-33296467697891849272016-06-03T13:37:00.003-07:002016-06-03T19:02:37.833-07:009 months<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Next Wednesday, the 8<sup>th</sup>, will be nine months since we lost our son, Isaac, and our lives were forever changed. It’s also the day that Thomas turns four. Extreme highs and lows to process. For the most part, we’re having more good days than bad days at this point, and that in itself brings highs and lows. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I was 34 weeks pregnant nine months ago when my doctor said the words “I’m sorry” – words you never want to hear from a doctor. The part that gets me the most is we were never given a reason. I mean medically the term “Placenta Abruption” was used, but we were given no reason that the placenta became detached from him and he quit receiving oxygen. I had a perfect pregnancy with zero complications until that moment. He was fine one minute, and gone the next. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">On Labor Day, I had been having severe cramps all day, and they were getting worse. I assumed it was contractions, but I never felt them with Thomas without an epidural so I wasn’t sure. The pain got to the point that it was unbearable and Tom insisted we go to the emergency room. When we got checked in and into a room in the ER Isaac still had a heartbeat. All seemed normal except for the pain. After they did the exam I immediately got dizzy, clammy, yet burning up, and started getting sick. They let me gain composure, and after a few minutes they tried, but were never able to find the heartbeat again. The moment that I felt like the world was ending, it did…just not for me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We’ve relied on our faith and the strength of our families and friends to get us through the past nine months. There were days we didn’t feel like we could keep going, but minute by minute we made it. As the nine month date passes, that only brings us closer to the year mark. Another day that I’m not sure I’m quite ready to deal with. But, minute by minute we’ll make it, just like every other day so far.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">9 months…281 days…countless minutes and not one of those have gone by that we haven’t thought of you, precious boy. I’m hoping we continue to have more good days than bad, but when those bad days do come we will tackle them head on, and allow ourselves to feel all of the emotions. If I’ve learned anything in these nine months, it’s that great loss onl</span>y comes from great love. You are so loved and missed, Isaac. <o:p></o:p></div>
Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03302976055318744201noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5603581773444139541.post-84492976074392189172016-04-04T12:24:00.000-07:002016-04-04T12:24:09.660-07:00Meeting New People<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Meeting new people used to be a lot of fun for me. I’d love to hear their stories and learn who
they were. Since losing Isaac meeting
new people is completely different, and slightly scary. I
met some new people Friday night, and I’ve been processing it ever since. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When having small talk, trying to get to know the other
woman she asked me about children and how many I had. Put on the spot I wasn’t even
sure how to answer it. Do I say two? Or just one and deny that he existed? So, I took the
less invasive, less sympathetic eyes, and said I have an almost four year
old. She then said “oh, that’s it – do you
guys want more?” But, somehow, I held myself together and just said “maybe
someday” and that was it. Then, meeting
another woman that night – same thing. “Oh,
do you guys want more?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don’t fault them for their questions, as they have no idea
the things I’ve gone through in the last seven months. But, when did it become okay to ask total
strangers about such personal things like that?
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the end, I guess I just hope that people realize that
those questions are very hard for some to answer. It’s not always black and white. So, please if you’re in this situation meeting
someone new – please don’t ask those questions unless they bring it up. You never know what they’re fighting. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03302976055318744201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5603581773444139541.post-39116004588918145182016-03-26T19:06:00.002-07:002016-03-26T19:30:22.965-07:00Comfort zones and new friends<br />
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Sometimes the things that I dread the most turn out to be something so much more special than I ever imagined. I found this to be true again today. My friend Tricia had five friends over for brunch this morning, including me. All of us at that table, except Tricia, had lost a baby. It was so amazing to meet these other women, and know they "get" me, and I didn't have to put up a front on how good I'm doing. There were tears, there was some laughter, but most importantly I saw the love they have for their babies too. <br />
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I dreaded going because social gatherings have been awkward for me since I lost Isaac. I feel like I walk on eggshells so that I don't break down or lose it in front on a group of people. I hate being that vulnerable, but today I didn't have to worry about being the only one.</div>
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When Tricia invited me I loved the idea of meeting these other moms, but this morning I woke up extremely nervous and almost backed out at the last minute. I had this picture of us all sitting around crying, and then leaving. I even had another friend that was ready to call me for an "out" if it became "too much". Instead, I was at her house for almost three hours, and it felt like we had only been there for half an hour. </div>
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What I also saw in that room was a group of ladies that have also had their faith completely shaken, and yet we all talked about how we've grown closer to God since losing our babies. It was so refreshing to see others that have the same perspective.</div>
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What I learned today is that God doesn't want us to go through the rough messy stuff alone, and if we're willing to go out of our comfort zone, there is sometimes great rewards. I'm hoping the women I met today will become friends for years to come. </div>
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Before leaving there today a couple of them told me about songs that have helped them with their grieving and healing. While driving home I was reminded of a song I posted on my blog back in April of 2012. I've listened to that song so many times since this morning. "Even when it hurts, even when it's hard, even when it all just falls apart - I will run to you 'cause I know that you are lover of my soul, healer of my scars."</div>
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And I'm praying that God will continue to bring people into my life that will encourage me to keep going back to Him when life gets hard and messy, and I'm thankful that our friend invited us all into her home so that we could have that time together. Forever thankful.</div>
Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03302976055318744201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5603581773444139541.post-25295552930697920592016-03-20T16:15:00.000-07:002016-03-21T12:30:47.073-07:00Next Steps<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
I feel like I've been doing really well with the grieving process lately. I've been happy and hopeful again. </div>
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This weekend I felt like I was emotionally ready for the next steps. Our awesome friend Nichole Ruhl made Isaac an afghan long before we knew he was gone. She felt the afghan should still be ours so she made it larger with his in the middle. And now it's our family blanket that represents all of us. We've had it in the box it came in until yesterday. We opened it and a feeling of peace came over me as I felt like I now has something to hold onto to remind me of him. I'm so thankful she still gave it to us. </div>
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Today we took it one step further and opened the cd of the professional pictures that "Now I lay me down to sleep" took for us. We've had this cd for months, but just weren't ready to see the pictures yet. </div>
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Today I saw his fingers and toes for the first time. When we were in the hospital he was all wrapped up when we held him and I never unwrapped him. It was too hard. I've regretted that decision almost every day since. So, as hard as it was to see those pictures, I'm so glad we agreed to let them take them. And part of me wishes we had pictures of us with him. That was also too hard in those first moments. Now I'll cherish these pictures. </div>
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The only thing we have left to conquer is the box that the hospital sent home with us which includes a lock of his hair, his hand and foot prints and I'm not even sure what else. That one will have to wait quite a bit longer. I'm not even close to ready to begin looking at all of his personal things that are in that box yet. Someday. </div>
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The loss of my boy is very real and something I think about constantly. As much as I think I'm doing better and having more good days than bad, it's still hard. It's still a choice to keep going, and get out of bed each morning. I still feel like part of me died when he did, and I'm not sure that will ever go away. </div>
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All that being said, I'm still glad I got to be that little boys Mommy. Even when it's hard, even when I have good days, he's always on my mind. </div>
Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03302976055318744201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5603581773444139541.post-64483654924828334642016-03-08T12:53:00.000-08:002016-03-10T05:39:05.698-08:00Six Months / 182 Days<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">That’s how longs it’s been since the day we lost you.</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I’ve learned a lot about life in those
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In the beginning every day that passed felt like a year was
gone. Those days it was hard to even get
out of bed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Somehow each day got a little bit easier, and slowly, without
me realizing it I started to live again.
I didn’t dread the evening when my thoughts would take over. I didn’t wish for time to pass quickly so I’d
“be over” losing you already. And,
somehow in these first six months I started laughing again. Not the “pretend laugh” so that people don’t
feel awkward around me…but real laughs that scared me at the beginning. It was such a foreign sound, but it was in
that moment I realized the old me was still in there, and I needed to give
myself permission to let her out. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Deep down I believe you want me to be happy. I’m now living my life knowing each day that
passes can be a good day, and will bring me one day closer to seeing you again
someday. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I’ve seen unexpected people reach out to me, and others that
I thought would be there for me that weren’t.
Sadness does funny things to people.
They don’t know what to say and don’t want to be around sad people, so
for them it’s easier to just stay away.
I don’t blame them. Just like me –
everyone is doing the best they can. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I also want you to know that I would do it all again. I would choose you. I would choose the love that we have for you,
even if it meant losing you. Pain
changes a person, and I like the new me that I’ve become because of you. You taught me to be kinder, and softer, and to
always choose love. Even when it’s hard,
even when it’s messy…love is always worth it.
You were worth it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Six months have passed, and some days it feels like it was
yesterday that I lost you. I remember
every detail about the doctor trying to find the heartbeat, and putting his
hand on my leg, with tears in his eyes, saying the words “I’m so sorry.” Then, other days it feels like that was an
eternity ago, and I feel like I’m okay.
Grief and time are a funny thing…but somehow we’re making it. One day at a time. Six months, and not a minute goes by that we don't think about you little one. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03302976055318744201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5603581773444139541.post-1505915411754168472016-02-22T10:39:00.003-08:002016-02-22T10:39:47.680-08:00Learning to love myself again<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Learning to love yourself again after a tragedy is a hard
thing to do. To love yourself again, you
have to let go of the anger, frustrations and guilt you’ve put on
yourself. I was <b>very</b> angry after Isaac died.
Angry that God would let this happen.
Angry that this was the path that was chosen for us. Angry that I had to keep going when all I wanted
to do was give up. I was frustrated that
the world kept going and I didn’t know how.
I was frustrated that other people seemed to have everything I wanted,
and they were happy. And I felt a lot of
guilt. Maybe if I hadn’t eaten this or
that. Maybe if I had done this or done
that differently maybe Isaac would still be with us. None of that would have changed what
happened. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I’m so glad that for the most part I’ve worked through most
of those feelings and emotions. That
doesn’t mean I won’t have days where I’m angry, frustrated or feel guilty, but
it means is that I’ve giving myself permission to feel all of those feelings as
they come, and I’m slowly overcoming and believing that better things are
coming for us. <o:p></o:p></div>
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In choosing to love who I am I also have to love the
experiences that have made me who I am.
I don’t love that my son died, obviously. But, I do love that I am slowly emerging a softer,
kinder person because I am his Momma. In
his little life he has taught me so much about love, faith and hope. I’m choosing to love myself because when I promised
Isaac I would love him forever and always, I also promised him that I would be
the best Momma I could be for him and Thomas.
That promise isn’t void because he’s not with me. He would want me to be happy. He would want me to keep going. I’m just lucky that my guardian angel is such
an adorable little guy. And I have hope
that I’ll get to see him again someday. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03302976055318744201noreply@blogger.com0