Three Years

Hudson,

My little guy, my baby boy, my only son. Today is your third birthday. It's been three years since I last got to look at you, to hold you, and give you kisses. Three years since we got to meet you. Three years since we said goodbye to you.

These three years since you left us, I feel like I've lived another entirely different lifetime. I look back and sometimes am still in disbelief that this has been part of our life and our story. That we really endured the loss of our son, and it has truly changed every part of me. I spent time the other day going through your things and your pictures. I look at it all and it doesn't seem real. In those pictures, I look at myself and your Daddy, our tears and the pain stricken faces. I feel it all over again as if I was right back in that moment. It still hurts like hell and rips my heart apart, feeling the raw emotion as if it had just happened, all over again.

It's another year you've been gone and life has continued on. Life does that. It does continue on. Something I couldn't fathom three years ago when ours halted to a stop. Since that time, we've done quite a bit of growth and change. We've moved, we've switched jobs, we've gone on to welcome two babies. The healing your baby sisters have brought us is immeasurable, but my heart will always feel the void of my son who isn't here with us.

When times become difficult, I try to find you in ways to know you are watching over us. All month I've seen a blue jay in our yard perched on the fence or fluttering throughout the yard and the trees. One day there were three of them chasing each other around. Your magnolia tree has grown so much since it was planted a year ago, but the majority of growth has been throughout May. It started budding toward the end of April, but on Mother's Day the first bloom opened and it's been blooming ever since. A neighbor had a party and a blue balloon danced into our yard and just kind of hoovered a bit before it popped on its own. These are the little Hudson Hellos that I count on to get me through the hard days, and there have been a lot of hard days. Even this morning, as I fought back tears, the moment we turned on the car, our song came on the radio. Immediately I had peace and a warmth in my heart as Wagon Wheel played. 

I will always wonder what our life together would have brought. There were a number of little boys born around the time you were, and it was painful to see them for a long time, but now when I look at them and others, I try to picture you among them. They look so grown up and aren't babies anymore. I realize that I have no idea what my big boy would look like right now and that is a very sad thought for a Mommy to have. It takes my breath away to see another Hudson or hear the name called out by someone else, meant for someone else. I look at our family photos and miss the little boy who should be smiling with us, or proudly holding his sisters. I miss the mother/son relationship I hear is so special and the father/son bond I don't get to watch between you and your Daddy. I am sad for your sisters who don't get to have a big brother here with them to laugh with, learn from, and even to fight with. It is painful that your only boy cousin wanted another boy in the family but you were the only one he would get, and you are gone.

I think about the time I had with you in my arms. I think about all the things I wanted to try to remember, things I felt like I should tell you because I would never again have the chance to, and promises I made. One of those promises was that you would never be forgotten, and baby boy, I try to live by that promise every day. I try to live for you and create whatever I can in your name and continue to weave you into the fibers of our family. I want to make you proud.

Recently, I had allowed myself to go through everything we had collected for you. In preparation to find out if this third baby was a boy or a girl, I allowed myself to go there and prepare for a boy just in case. I washed everything and had them ready, but on April 2, we met our Hannah. Another sister you hand-picked just for us. Coming home, it was bittersweet because all of those things we had saved, they didn't serve a purpose anymore. We weren't going to have a living son to use them. Coping with that, I realized that it wasn't that I wanted Hannah to be a boy, I didn't. I loved that baby girl fiercely. I realized that the only boy I wanted was you, I wanted our first born. I used to think our hearts wouldn't be complete until we had a little boy, but we do have one and he awaits us in Heaven. As beautiful as it sounds, it still breaks my heart.

Today we took your sisters to the zoo. I thought maybe we'd have a wild and three themed party, so the zoo seemed like something we would do if you were here. Hadley loves animals right now and is learning the sounds they make. I felt like the two of you would be having the best time together, as baby Hannah slept. There were flowers on the church alter today in your memory. I even baked a cake for you! We wrote notes and will send them to Heaven on the three balloons that we will release at the park once your sisters wake up from nap time. We will visit you at your resting place and introduce you to Hannah - it will be the first time she'll be with us to visit. It was hard to get out of bed and have the celebratory spirit to do these things, because all I want to do is cry, but you deserve them, so my pain can wait. Next week we will celebrate you even more at your golf tournament event! We are very fortunate to have so many special friends who will join us in that.

I hope you know how badly you are missed and how much your family wishes you were here. Happy birthday, Hudson. We celebrate you always.

Nosies,

Mommy

This Side of Heaven

Two years ago today started like any other, but it was unknowingly the first day of our new life as bereaved parents. It has been 731 days since life as we knew it for 30 years was altered and we were shaken to our core upon hearing the words that our baby at 32 weeks and 6 days didn't have a heartbeat. It was the day we learned that our precious Hudson had already left us and would not be born into this world for us to love him, raise him and parent him in our arms. The way it should have been and is for most. Instead, we would give birth to his silence, to the sound of our cries, and say a goodbye that no parent ever should. Instead of the life we dreamed of as a family, we carry him in our hearts as we live on without him and only the idea of what should have been.

Loss parents have different milestone days that resonate, we may call them different things. I call today, the day we learned he had passed, Hudson's Heaven Day, and tomorrow, the day we gave birth, his Birthday. I honestly don't know which day is more difficult.

Two years ago I entered this hospital completely unsuspecting that I'd be leaving 24 hours later without our baby. Though I've been back here again many times since, it was a different kind of experience to walk through those same doors again, just like I did two years ago. While my answer to these hard milestones has been to escape, to be "vacation us" instead of loom in the "everyday us" where he is noticeably absent the most, this time on his Heaven Day we get to see his legacy in action. Today we did the official celebration and Cuddle Cot dedication to Baylor University Medical Center, the place that holds our only memories of the time spent with our son in our arms and where we brought his sister, a representation of so much joy and hope, into the world as well.

While we never want this Cuddle Cot to be used, the sad reality is that it will be. During this month, I've been introduced to or made aware of six families of stillbirth that have occurred in May alone. Six babies gone to soon. Six parents whose lives will never be the same. In addition to this Cuddle Cot, the funds given to Baylor University Medical Center at Dallas by the One Wing Foundation have gone to provide aid for families who cannot afford proper burial arrangements for their stillborn baby or NICU infant, and to create a renovated private space in Labor and Delivery for families giving birth but will either never hear their babies cry, or they will have a short time together before that baby takes its last breath.

Guys, this just isn't the way life is meant to go, but sometimes it does. There is not a rhyme or reason. Not a divine plan when someone's child dies. It is not the natural circle of life.You may feel differently, I did before this happened to me. Now, I believe that sometimes the terrible-awful happens. It just does. While we can't change it, we can provide for it. We can be the community that catches those parents in loving arms, without platitudes, when they have faced the most difficult obstacle of burying their baby. It is a wound that may reopen from time to time, and one that doesn't ever really heal. Because that's child loss.

I know it's ugly and unflattering sometimes. I know it's not what people want to see because it's sad. I know that every time I post about it, someone cringes. But he's my child, just like Hadley is. He will be recognized too. I may not have cute pictures of him covered in food, smiling in the bathtub or grabbing his toes - because those were robbed from me when his heart stopped. This is what I have for him. This is how I parent him - my son who should be turning two tomorrow.

Waking up two years ago on May 26, it was any other day until it wasn't, and our path changed for good. As difficult as this road has been, can be, and will continue to be at times, I take solace in continuing to parent my son in any way that I can, and One Wing Foundation is that way. I felt him in my heart, the love and support in the room through the incredible Baylor staff, I see him in her eyes sometimes - the eyes I never got to look into.

Happy Heaven Day sweet boy. You got there before us and we know we will see you again on the other side.

The House That Built Me

"A house is built with boards and beams, a home is built with love and dreams." 
First house photo taken the week we moved in, June 2014

I remember the first time we saw it. We drove down a tree-lined street to this little blue-grey house with a front porch and a white porch swing. It donned an American flag and the blooms of a crabapple tree finished the craftsman style ideal. The house, built in 1922, was well kept and maintained its character with gorgeous original hardwoods, glass door knobs, clawfoot tub and 10 ft ceilings throughout. As we walked through, we both ditched the check list we had in our minds of our "perfect house" because truth be told, this was far from our idea of perfect and it didn't have our shared top three musts. However, it had something that none of the 20+ houses we had seen by that point had. This one had the feeling of home. 

It may have only been three years for us, but we lived a significant chapter of our lives in this little house. It was our first house together as a married couple. We painted walls, slowly finding new pieces of furniture to fill the rooms. We planted new bushes and flowers in those flower beds with our own hands. We rocked on that front porch swing countless times. We renovated and saw our ideas come to life. We adopted a dog and gave him a loving home. We celebrated anniversaries, birthdays, hosted holidays and various dinners. We found out we were pregnant in that house, twice. We dreamed a life for those babies in that house. It was where we returned home to, with broken hearts and bare arms when our first baby died. It became my sanctuary when I couldn't bring myself to face the outside world. It is where we prepared for our second baby's arrival and emotionally brought her home to. Those hardwood floors have soaked up countless tears. If those walls could talk it would tell many stories of a combination of our love and pain, deeply absorbed within them.

We don't need to move but there has been an itch. An itch for change. That little house felt even smaller once Hadley arrived, but we were content. However, as I scrolled through neighborhood listings with a friend, I saw it. I remember the house from when we were looking for our current house and loved it then. Looking at it again, it felt like us the minute I laid eyes on the pictures. When we were able to get in to see it, I walked through with Hadley in my arms. I saw us there. The birthday parties, the holiday gatherings, the space for the larger table to set. I stood in that kitchen, envisioning a busy morning scene of getting ready for work, packing snacks and lunch - lined up on the island ready to go. I could see the patio doors open with my husband on the grill, me cooking in the kitchen, Hadley and hopefully future babies playing somewhere in between. I saw the Christmas tree next to the mantle with stockings hung, the family snuggled by the fire in the fireplace. I saw the traditions we will continue and new ones we will start. We fell in love with it and decided to go for it - and now here we are. Proud owners of our new family home, sellers of our first family home.

Over the weekend, I took some time to walk through and pause in each room, taking them in before we started to pack them up and they will no longer be the way we have had them. We've done a lot to the house to make it ours, but the room I will miss most is the nursery. It is a beautiful space, in many ways, that has so much sentiment tied to it. I've written before about how the first time walked the house, we identified that room as the nursery. I thought it would be the kitchen, but its the nursery that I will remember most about that house. We put in the contract that we are taking Hadley's chandelier with us so she can have a piece of her old room in her new room - a symbol of the room that was meant for both our babies. Before there were pink lines, there was the vision of who would occupy that room. I didn't know the road we'd take to get there. We always saw that house as our starter home and we'd hope to have two babies there, then we'd probably outgrow it. I guess you can say that's where we are now, though different than we thought it would look.

What gives me a great amount of peace and comfort to this process is that I feel like, if Hudson were here, we would be doing this right now, moving to this house. The timing became right for us to do this now, and I think it would have been right now if both our babies were here too - part of me wonders if that is where the itch came from, an inherent feeling that we'd be doing this anyway. As Parents of Loss, we do have our own parallel universe that we picture our other child/children in. I find that it can be painful sometimes when what is happening in our reality doesn't mesh with what would be going on if the parallel life was our reality. But when big life events happen and you feel they would be happening with or without the missing person, it's healing to the heart and soul. In that world, we are moving our almost 7 month old and almost 2 year old to a new house that will become our family home for quite some time. In our reality, we are doing the same but with our almost 2 year old as a memory of what could have been.

It is emotionally difficult to close the door, both literally and figuratively, on that little blue-grey house on Woodlawn. It would be hard even if we hadn't lost our first born, if we weren't leaving the only house he "experienced" but I know that adds to the connectivity. The time we made this house our home the most was when we were pregnant with him and preparing it with him in mind. Not just the renovation work but the things we bought to get ready for our growing family. I cried uncontrollably when it was agreed on in our selling contract that we'd leave our washer and dryer. The washer and dryer we bought with a gift card my in laws gave us for Christmas because we had just told them we were expecting Hudson and they told us we'd need a good new washer and dryer for that baby. I realized it is only a washer and dryer, but they carry a large amount of sentiment! The washer and dryer set revolved around him.

The 30,000 foot view regarding this move is that it feels like we are leaving a piece of us behind, but I remind myself that this is another part of our story as a family. It is a chapter of our book that we continue writing. While it was the only home that Hudson "experienced", I look forward to weaving him into our new family home blueprint. I envision creating a special corner in the new game room where I can maybe utilize some of his nursery decor that I've kept packed away in hopes to use again. It's a corner where his rocker will go with Hadley's books and toys. A place for her to play, hopefully with future siblings, some day. We have left our mark on our first family home, it will be a special place to us always. Come this weekend, I'll sit in our house for the last time with it empty, the way I did when I first entered it. Three years ago it I was in this empty space with the excitement of what the future holds. This time it is with tears, recounting the precious memories made there and how it went from a house to a home. We'll close and lock that door for the last time. Goodbye sweet little blue-grey house on Woodlawn. Hello to what our future holds for our family in our new home just ten blocks away.

Somewhere Over the Rainbow

Your big brother gift to Hadley, your hospital blanket made into a special snuggle bunny, 

with the initials you share.

Sweet Hudson,

I'm writing you today because my heart is consumed with you right now. Today I felt a strong urge to need this time for you. I'm sitting in your chair, your lamb in my lap, trying to feel as close to you as I can. While October is the month of its awareness, tomorrow is the special remembrance day for Pregnancy and Infant Loss. I have your Our Bud Hud candle ready for the Wave of Light at 7 pm and it's by the hospital bag, just in case.

I know other mamas cherish the last few days with their first babies, they do something special with them before life changes for everyone with the addition of a brother or sister. If you were here we would be doing that. Maybe your Daddy would have made you pancakes today and we'd go to the park together. Maybe we'd curl up and read to you, enjoying sweet cuddles. We'd give you a bath and hold you until you fell asleep, soaking in these last moments of you as an only child before you were officially a big brother. You've watched over us, and you've watched over her. I've had rough moments throughout this pregnancy, but when I come back to you as my center, it brought me peace and comfort throughout this time because I've felt you in my heart.

We've planned to make you apart of this experience in special ways. If Hadley comes when she should, we plan to have Nurse Katie, who helped deliver you, there as our doula throughout the labor and delivery process. Just like she took your pictures, she will take Hadley's as well as she comes into the world and we can capture those first moments together as a family. We have the most special gift to give Hadley from you, one that will be passed down to each of your siblings when they are born from their guardian angel brother. Your hospital blanket was made into a stuffed bunny, then inscribed on the foot are the initials you all will share. Around its wrist is a special bracelet with your name. It is to let them know that some bunny very special loves them and is always with them.

You and Hadley will be 16 months apart and it would have been so fun to watch the two of you grow up together. My heart aches because that's not the case. I know the course of our lives changed the day you died, but I also have to tell myself that we very well could be here right now with you and with her. It is absolutely possible. My heart can't choose between the wish of having you here and the reality of Hadley or any other future babes we are fortunate to have some day.

In this world of loss, your sister is referred to as a rainbow baby. I want you to know that you were never the storm, it was the aftermath of losing you that was the greatest personal storm we could face. You were the brightest light there was, but that light went dim for a little while as we tried to wade through the waters of our grief and sadness. Eventually we found a new path to head down, one that honored you the best we could and continued to give your life meaning. Your sister brought light again of new life into the darkness that was losing you. We have two babies who are the lights of our lives and you both shine so beautifully and differently. I am so thankful for you, what you've taught me and what you've done to my heart.

I think of what you would look like now and who you would be growing up to become, your little personality and characteristics. I wonder if I'll see you in her when I look at her, or how different you two may look. I hope you are the reason she smiles in her sleep, the extra twinkle we see in her eye, and the joy she finds in her heart - always.

I love you with everything I have. My first born. My precious son.

Mommy

231 Days

32 weeks

Today is day 230 of this pregnancy. That's 32 weeks and 6 days.

Day 230 was the last day of my pregnancy with Hudson and day 231 was the day we delivered and said goodbye. As we entered 32 weeks, there has been an ominous weight I've felt, a presence of sadness. The scare we had with Hadley's umbilical cord two weeks ago seems to have curbed the anxious feelings and fear during this tough milestone week of loss, but the sadness remains. The modified rest has kept my stress levels low and the twice a week appointments have helped me feel more at ease knowing she is doing well. Reaching this day is something I've anticipated since before I knew we were pregnant again. The time of loss. You try to keep it out of your mind but it is always in there, looming. I am so thankful to have this day sandwiched between appointments, giving me peace of mind and comfort in my heart to get through it. Yesterday we got to see Hadley, her levels were not elevated, she was doing wonderfully. They measured her and estimated 4 lb, 11 oz. Today I woke up in a funk but as soon as I started moving, so did she, providing immediate comfort entering this day. Before I left for the office, I listened to her heart beat which was strong and steady, the additional little push I needed.

Over the last week, Hudson has weighed so heavily on my heart. I find myself trying to remember everything I can about that last week I carried him, unknowing that it was our last together. I wish we had this chance with him, this chance to make sure his life wasn't in jeopardy. He deserved that, but we didn't know. We went to visit him over the weekend and standing there at 32 weeks with his sister, staring at his name in stone, was both painful and healing. Watching my husband put his hand on Hudson's niche and say we miss you buddy, as I kiss the stone saying we love you with tears falling, holding onto one another through that pain and the release. One day we will bring Hadley and visit him as a family.

Today as I was getting ready, I was looking through the "maternity dress" section of my closet and came upon the dress. The navy maternity dress I wore on day 230 last time. I have avoided it ever since, and haven't worn it again. I always skip right past it on purpose, but today I took it off the hanger and folded it. It's not a dress I want to have anymore.

Tonight we attend the newborn care class at our hospital. A class we had enrolled in previously but never got the chance to take. Tomorrow I go back to my doctor again for the 33 week visit and I enter a new phase of this Pregnancy After Loss, the part I didn't get to last time. At 33 weeks I was delivering our son and saying goodbye, leaving the hospital without my baby and entering our home empty and broken. This time I will wake up on day 1 of 33 weeks and cling to the belief that we will meet our living, breathing daughter within 5 weeks. It will be day 231 of this pregnancy but the first day of a new week we didn't get to experience previously.

We will celebrate it.

We will have faith in it.

Grief: A Year in the Life

A year and a month ago on June 18 marked my first blog post. I started simple with a few posts that told our story and Hudson's birth. Finding the healing through writing everything I could recounting my pregnancy and then those hours as the tragedy unfolded. From there, I started sharing my soul a bit more through my grief and essentially documenting my journey.

July of last year is when the darkness of our loss was beginning, as we approached his due date. The original due date was today, July 18, but as we progressed further into the pregnancy, he was measuring a few days ahead and our file read July 15. Somewhere between those days is when we expected to welcome him into the world and into our lives.

Max and I just got back from an incredible babymoon to Germany and Austria. It was to conquer fear, celebrate the anticipation of our rainbow Hadley, the restoration of hope and healing to our hearts, and have some special time together doing what we love. On that trip, I had several moments of reflection. I realized how just a year ago, the darkness was infringing around me and that was the beginning of my grief struggle with "the uglies."

Every grief journey is different. Over the past few months, I've sat face to face with Mothers of Loss newer in their journey. I completely identify with the struggles of feeling like some of the deep pain will never end, not understanding how just last week, or heck, how just yesterday I was "okay" and today I can hardly function. Or today a newborn triggered me but yesterday I could be in the same room as one. The hardship of feeling the weight of society's "grief timeframe" on my shoulders and feeling like I'm going through life inappropriately adds extra stress. There were times that felt so isolating and I desperately wanted to feel differently, but I couldn't. It wasn't time yet, I had to cycle through.

Having patience with yourself to go through that cycle is excruciating and exhausting.

You want to just snap your fingers and not care about whatever the trigger is that is making you sad or angry. Each person does the best they can with their inner and outer struggles for an undisclosed amount of time because it varies. As I've said before, the loss of a child is a forever kind of thing, therefore, so is the grief that accompanies it.

This post is my reflection on a year in the life of my grief, one I've been working on since May but have had to stop and come back to several times. Today is the second milestone anniversary of Hudson's due date and I didn't anticipate it to be difficult. I thought I had come to peace with his birthday and heaven day on May 27, that July 18 wouldn't register to me anymore as a loss milestone. However, that's not the case. I found myself in tears this morning thinking that by this time, we would certainly have a one year old - whether we could have saved him last May somehow or had he come when he was supposed to without the cord accident. Today felt right to share.

This may be spot on for others, it may differ substantially, but if you are on your journey know you aren't alone, wherever you are.

Month 1 - June:

A sad fog. I've said this before but I was experiencing a false acceptance of our new reality and what it meant. I cried every day and I was very sad, but at that time it was just sadness. There were even some moments of normalcy because I was still getting used to the new reality, I almost had to ease into this new life that I wasn't pregnancy anymore and my child who I had carried for 8 months was not here with us, nor would he ever be. The weight of what was to come and how ordinary things would be so painful, had not hit. I was still positive, I gave grace to others, I assured myself and the outside world that we would be okay. I swore to myself that my joy for others would not be robbed. We saw a grief counselor and I felt like I was doing this "grief thing" well, we would be fine with time, we were strong.

I had no idea what lay ahead.

 

Month 2 - July:

I would say the first part of July was still a bit in the sad fog, still trying to outwardly express strength and that we would be okay, but the anger was brewing. As we approached the week of his due date, I found myself constantly thinking would he be here now or would we still be waiting? I searched for peace but anger kept encroaching. The anger at that time was toward the situation only. I was angry our baby was gone, that he was taken from us, that he wouldn't be joining our family as we had joyfully anticipated. As soon as July 18 passed, I was in full anger mode, with jealousy simmering below the surface. In counseling we were made to feel completely normal and justified, so I thought we were just going through all the motions we needed to for healing, and we didn't really need the sessions anymore.

Month 3 - August: 

I started to become a walking guilt-ridden-anger storm. Much of this month was spent feeling guilty because our baby should have been there at this point. We would have delivered in July and we would have been adjusting to life as new parents. Everything we did in the month of August became the thought that we wouldn't be doing this if Hudson were here. I didn't want to celebrate my birthday but then decided I needed the distraction so I did what lifts me out of everything and I planned a last minute something to help what was happening in my head and heart, then had an emotional breakdown because I wouldn't have done it otherwise.

The "shadow babies" (a term in the loss world of babies of the women you were pregnant with) started coming and the anger was redirected from the situation to actual people and into resentment. I felt guilty again for resenting them because in no way was it their fault or was there any logical reason to feel that way towards them, it's just where I was in my process. There was a jealousy rising as a third musketeer to the anger and resentment. I was jealous they got to have a textbook birth experience, that they got to welcome a child into the world and experience all the joy that surrounds it, that they got to leave the hospital with their baby and take them home. I was jealous of all the pictures that suddenly seemed to be all over my social media feed of new babies and their happy parents. That joy for others that I had been afraid to lose, had promised myself wouldn't go away, well it was gone. 

At the end of August, we went on our Healing Trip and it came at the right time. I came back feeling refreshed, more at peace and incredibly thankful for the relationship I have with my husband. I felt like I was on the upswing of the grief battle and the ugliness and dark days were over. I could get to a better place now, I beat grief. After all, it had been three months, it was time.

I was wrong.

Month 4 - September:

A probable chemical pregnancy occurred to start this month and everything I came out of feeling from our Healing Trip was undone. A chemical pregnancy is defined as a very early miscarriage. We cannot be completely sure, but that was what the nurse said was probably happening. In our June follow up appointment, our doctor had told us we probably wouldn't feel normal or back on track again until we conceived. We started trying again in July, as soon as we got the go-ahead, though I can say now our hearts were nowhere near ready.

We weren't trying to replace our son, we were just trying to fix ourselves and be on the way to welcoming a baby again. To get back on the course we had been on before the unwelcomed detour. Therefore, the answer was to get pregnant again and we thought the pain would ease because we'd have new hope for a new life. We had no problem conceiving Hudson, so this started a very painful experience that lasted for eight months.

September began the strong longing for the life I so desperately wanted but was taken from us so suddenly and without warning. A life as "mom" that I saw people having all around me and had a hard time accepting that though we were all on that pregnancy journey together, they had that as their reality but we didn't get that as ours. I was really immersed in the fog again and the withdrawal was starting. Being around expecting mothers was a trigger for me and something I protected myself from as much as possible. Most of their bumps had exceeded the size that mine had and it made me sad that I hadn't gotten to that point. It was hard to be around pregnant women because naturally conversation steered toward all things baby. It was too hard to hear about. Unless they were my comfort zone of inner circle friends, and not pregnant or had a baby, I became completely withdrawn from others as a way to protect myself. In a way I was wanting to protect others too from my triggers and emotions. I didn't want to show them, more so, I didn't want to feel them so I thought hiding away from the situations and people that could bring those on was the best solution. The truth is, I felt them anyway.

Let me expand on the emotions that were bubbling up in August and by September were fully developed. In no way does a parent of loss ever want someone else to experience the same type of tragedy that they have. We just wish that without having to go through our tragedy, the outside non-grieving world could truly understand the pain we are feeling and walk with us through it, however long that takes. Grieving parents endure a lot of loss. They lose their precious child, they lose friendships when people can't show up anymore for them as they fight their toughest emotional battles, they lose a sense of the people/person they used to be. When people who you lean on as support stop showing up for you, it makes you want to retract the grace you are extending. And that's what happened to me.

By the end of September, I was losing my grace for others.

Month 5 - October:

I started to recognize my depression and this is where the tug-of-war became most intense. It was around this time I felt judged for having a difficult time in my grief, people didn't understand why I was still struggling so much at this point and more so, why certain things were really hard for me like pregnancy announcements, babies and pregnant women - these were my emotional triggers. Society was telling me I should have dealt with my grief and be "okay" by now, it made me feel ashamed.

All I wanted to do was sleep, whether I could or not. I wanted the quiet, the darkness and the solitude. I had this intense feeling of failure. I hated the way I felt, I hated the way I looked, I really hated myself because in my mind, some how I failed Hudson and because of that, I felt like I had failed my husband. I felt like I had caused him this pain and because I couldn't pull out of it, I was ruining his life and already had because our son died in my body. Therefore, it was somehow my fault because I didn't know anything was wrong. I didn't have the strength to see past that self-loathing or have the energy to make a change. I didn't have the energy to help myself. The desire to want to make a change didn't overpower the feelings of wanting to do nothing - yet. This is when I should have gone back to grief counseling. This is when I really had things to start working through, but I didn't have that will or the want to do that for myself at this time, I thought I could fight it on my own not realizing how badly I was losing that inner struggle.

Even though I thought I had made peace with Hudson's passing and there was nothing we could have done differently, I still felt like I failed him as a mother. I didn't feel worthy of my husband, I didn't feel worthy of those who were kind enough to look past the ugly exterior I was giving off when I couldn't hide it anymore, I didn't feel worthy of any of the good that was in our life. I wanted to be sad all the time because that's where I felt closest to my son. Being around other Mothers of Loss were helpful to me and I started channeling my grief energy into distractions that would give Hudson's life purpose and meaning. I started connecting with the other Loss Moms more because it was Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month, something I had never been aware of before but every day that month it weighed on me and with them I didn't feel alone or judged.

I had a huge project at work that rode on my shoulders and despite the way I felt most of the time, I couldn't let that flop. I had to pull it together and I did for a little bit, but when that depression creeps in, you are pulled back and forth between the high-functioning member of society that you want others to see you for and then the way you feel all the time, which is the opposite. Through the conversations I was having again with others in this Dark Sisterhood, I was feeling understood and finding hope. I didn't feel so alone and could see how some of them had made it back over to the other side of their grief. It channeled a little bit of positivity again, but not enough.

Something also heavily attributing to my depression was that I have a hard time being a "day by day" person. I am constantly looking to what is coming up, planning for the future. The holidays were right around the corner and it made me a mess to think about. The holidays were a time that I had been pregnant the previous year. It was the time we had used to announce Hudson with family and then friends. It was the happiest we had ever been, enveloped in a period of time that brings so much joy to others. And now? Well, I was in my personal version of hell.

The fact that we had conceived in October of the previous year was also doing all kinds of things to my emotional state. Since we had been trying for a few months now, not completely sure if we had miscarried or not, there was an immense amount of emotion surrounding that. My Hudson day was the 27th of each month and within that week is when I'd find out if I was pregnant again or not. Each month it became more and more of an emotional battle.

I was so fixated on my emotions surrounding becoming pregnant again, coupled with Thanksgiving and Christmas, that when the month ended with Halloween, I was shocked at how it sucker-punched my heart and emotions unexpectedly. I shut myself in our room and cried for hours. I had to put my phone outside the room so I wouldn't look at it and see all the precious kiddos of all ages and of either gender in their costumes, or families posing together in costume before trick or treating. It broke my heart that we didn't have Hudson to be in his little cowboy costume with George as his horse. I pulled myself together late in the day to hand out candy to neighborhood kids and the worst was yet to come.

Month 6 - November:

It was now officially the holiday season and I was flailing in my grief. I didn't know how to reign it in or pull out of it, I was almost always succumbing to the darkness of it. I was so inundated with looking ahead to these holidays which derived the greatest pains of not having our son with us. This was the month that I found out we were pregnant the year before so it was a whole different emotional struggle that I was pregnant a year ago, that baby is gone, we don't have our son, and we aren't pregnant again. I was desperately needing hope but couldn't find a way to seek it again. My bitterness was winning, my depression ruled everything, I was completely socially withdrawn, I was having a hard time hiding it from people and pretending to be okay. I clung to my husband. The only thing that made me happy was when I had the energy to work on Hudson's legacy.

I was realizing that I couldn't work through all of these feelings on my own, I had tried and I wasn't succeeding. I will share that Max and I had one of the first come to blows of our marriage the week before Thanksgiving. We were grieving differently and needed a big conversation to figure out how to best help each other. Compromises needed to be made, honest feelings needed to be shared, walls needed to come down. We made a plan for the holidays that gave us both what each other needed and also, allowed us to support one another in the best way possible. In doing that, something in me lifted a bit and I could breath a bit easier.

November 27 was the day after Thanksgiving, the 6 month mark, and it was the wake up call that it had been half a year since we said goodbye to our son. Half a year. I couldn't spend any more time feeling this terrible. I had become very concentrated on becoming pregnant again, every negative test fueled the depression and anger more. After five months of trying, my doctor gave me a prescription for Clomid to help boost my reproductive system and give it the additional push it needed. I thought for sure this would work immediately and we will be pregnant again in no time. I thought maybe this will be our Christmas present and end this terrible year with a new blessing.

Every month seemed to become a little bit worse than the one before it and I finally felt like I had hit rock bottom. I couldn't afford for December to be any worse than November was. The want to take action was finally there as a new month began.

Month 7 - December:

On December 1, I called the psychologist I had seen over the summer as the start to grief counseling. At that time, we were still in the "light" of grief, it was before the darkness set in and I just didn't have anything really to talk about outside of feeling sad, his birth story, and the optimism of being okay again. When "the uglies" started, I thought I could work through them on my own but by doing that, the spiraling continued further. So in December, I started going back to counseling and didn't realize just how much I needed that and how much it would help. I started mindfulness exercises when I felt overwhelmed at work, at home or when I couldn't sleep. I made it through the tough days I was dreading and while they were still hard and brought on anxiety, we made it through and were okay. Christmas was really tough but we had our plan and it was what we needed as a couple and as individuals. We spent the holidays together, just us, in a winter wonderland of Quebec. We were kept busy as needed, we had healing time as needed, we had "us" time as needed. That was the solution that was best for us.

Another negative pregnancy test ended that month, on the 7th month mark, and that was a hard lump to swallow but I had possessed a glimmer of something again that I hadn't had in a very long time.

Hope.

Month 8 - January:

The fog had really lifted a lot. It wasn't completely gone, but it was the best I had felt in a long time. I made it through everything I had been dreading. I was channeling my energy more and more into something positive to help others who would walk this road. I was doing it for Hudson. One Wing Foundation had become a reality and through the closer relationship I was building with another Mother of Loss and the warmth our hard work gave my heart, I was on an upswing. For real this time.

I had created purpose for myself again and a way to feel like Hudson's life mattered. It was never part of a divine plan, it was never the reason for his passing, but it was a blessing extended from tragedy and I was grasping to it with everything I had. We were in our second month of fertility drugs, I was creating healthier habits again, I was coming out from the social withdrawal and starting to feel an inkling more like myself. I was learning to let go of things I couldn't control, working through "the uglies" in counseling and through reflection, letting go of the people in my life who didn't need to be in it. In addition to the counseling, I started fertility acupuncture this month and swear it did positive things for my sleep patterns and anxiety. It was my highest functioning month since our loss and my social and emotional anxiety had begun to get better.

I was seeing progress but it was still a struggle. I still couldn't be around babies that Hudson would be close in age to. They were still too hard for me to see because it flooded me with the emotions of what I was missing. Not just my child at that age, but going through motherhood with that friend. For some, our kids being at the same daycare, or playgroup. Seeing a baby from someone I was pregnant with was a trigger I just couldn't do yet. Many didn't understand that and it was hard, I felt their cold shoulder but I was giving it too. I was struggling through the want to become pregnant again and feeling like everyone else around me was. It was a terrible feeling to not feel joy for those friends but it only intensified my pain. For me, trying to retreat from it and ignore it altogether made it somewhat easier.

Month 9 - February: 

Month three of fertility assistance and it was taking a toll. It doesn't help that fertility drugs can make your emotions a little out of whack. I was learning how to squash "the uglies" when I'd feel them come on but it didn't always prevail. I still struggled through certain things. I was making an active effort into being social again and putting myself in positions that had previously made me run the other way because I was afraid and anxious. I could fully control my triggers in public and release after the fact if needed. I was challenging myself to do more with people and learn how to be okay with my previous triggers, through the pain.

I was channeling positive energy into things that made me happy and that I felt could honor Hudson. I surrounded myself with the people in my life who lifted me up, not those who made me feel guilty for the grief journey.

Though there were some setbacks, for the most part February was a very good month. I was happier, I was experiencing things in ways I had pre-loss, I was in a better "head space" altogether. I wasn't the same person and I was okay with that, but I had come into my post-loss self and accepted it with more self-awareness and confidence.

Then on the last day of the month, leap day, a pregnancy test read positive.

Month 10 - March:

I entered March pregnant which meant I was overjoyed yet scared out of my mind. I lived every day as though I was just holding my breath and waiting for the other shoe to drop, yet there was such a huge weight that was lifted just knowing we had created a new life. It was far enough out from Hudson's passing that I could feel like this is a baby that could be here if Hudson had lived. Though I wanted to be pregnant again so badly from a much earlier point, in the back of my mind, I felt like I needed to get through some significant hurdles of grief and into a better place to go through a pregnancy after loss.

The 10 month mark without Hudson fell on Easter and that hit me a little hard. The start of the day was very tough but as the day went on, my heart felt peace. I was 8 weeks pregnant with new life and we shared with family members that we were expecting again, so it made the message of Easter just that much more meaningful.

Hope was continuing to build and true happiness was experienced again. I was finding Hudson in the joy rather than the sadness.

Month 11 - April:

I was in a great place this month. I was still working through things with my therapist, conquering more situations that had previously felt impossible or too difficult. I was regaining confidence in myself overall. I felt genuinely and truly happy again. Though I carried pain with me, the joy was pure.

There were fears that would sometimes overshadow due to experiencing a first trimester and risks all pregnant women have during that time. We continued to share with extended family, followed by friends throughout the month and our support system of prayer for this new baby was growing. As it grew, I felt more at peace. That power of prayer we had experienced early in our loss was lifting us and doing the same things to our hearts as it had 11 months prior.

I had anxiety over learning the gender, I didn't know what my heart could handle. Before becoming pregnant again I thought for sure I would need this next child to also be a boy, that I wouldn't know how to switch my mindset to a girl. However, once I found out I was pregnant again, those feelings had dissipated and almost immediately, I knew in my heart that this baby was a girl. Though I know our family will never feel complete without a little boy, a little girl is what our hearts need right now to help differentiate the pregnancies and the experiences. To help that this is a new experience, hopefully a different outcome.

Toward the end of the month, anxiety started to succeed the joy. I realized what was coming, some tough milestones were right around the corner and suddenly, they were very consuming and daunting.

Month 12 - May:

In May, I regressed a bit. I was in a much better place to deal with it, but it didn't keep the sadness and anxiety out. I found myself pining for my son. I was distracted a lot, my hormones were all over the place due to the pregnancy, and I was grieving again - hard. There was a lot going on that month to tug at my emotions. I was heartbroken on Mother's Day and I spent most of the day wondering what our life would be like if he were there. I kept thinking about how it had almost been a year and at times it felt every bit of a year but for the most part, it did not at all. I wasn't ready to reach the point of 365 (okay really 366 days, thanks to leap year) without my child. I had some really dark moments again and felt ashamed for feeling right back to that place again after all of the personal grief battles I felt I had worked so hard to conquer. However, I could also realize I was just going through another season of mourning.

Like we did for the holidays, we created a plan for getting through the one year milestone. We escaped somewhere new for us and planned to enjoy that time away together. One Wing Foundation was exploding in preparation for the inaugural events. Hudson's namesake golf tournament was around the corner and what kept me going and happy through the tough times. That was the birthday party we didn't get to have, it was how he was celebrated.

Following the big consecutive milestone days (day we found out he was gone, day we met and said goodbye, his funeral), the One Wing Foundation events occurred the next week in early June. I thought a big grief crash would take place, but it wasn't as bad as I had anticipated. It was more of a feeling of relief because we made it, we survived it, we ended it on a very high note - as high as we could given the circumstances. Anticipating all of the milestone days are much harder than the actual day itself. Yes there is sadness and heartache, but there is also a peace that comes with it as well, as if the one who is gone is embracing you for comfort.

Looking back on that first year of grief, this was my healing journey. It lasted much longer than I would have imagined and yes, there are still battles, but we made it through the darkest of times. Though I was not a version of myself that I liked for most of the year, I feel we've come out of it better people than we were before. Our hearts still ache, they will always ache, for the little boy who isn't here but hope has been restored. I can now say with pride and conviction look how far we've come. 

Confessions of an Anxious Mama: Pregnancy After Loss Edition II

 

As I tearfully packed away a drawer in the nursery, at the very bottom under the hospital blanket was this tray. Along with the single angel wing, this was another one of the sussies my mom gave me the week of Hudson's due date. I put it in a special drawer with his hospital and funeral service keepsakes. Today, I needed this little sign from him to know it's okay and to give me hope for her.

Big things are happening on this journey and it's not just my growing belly. My faith over fear mantra has been prevailing for the most part. Hadley has been moving around more and more, now her movements can be felt by hand as well. I have my fetal heart monitor and I use it about once a week, at times that I need that little extra reassurance between appointments that she's still there. I've been actively trying to enjoy this pregnancy, trying not to wish the time away to just let it be October already, and allowing myself to prepare for Hadley's arrival little by little. This weekend we took big steps that were full of happiness and excitement in the moment but afterwards it did bring on significant emotions. We bought her crib, the glider and ottoman, and some pieces of decoration for her nursery. At almost 22 weeks, I let myself go there.

I went there with Hudson. I purchased a rocker and picked out a crib but we were waiting until his room was done to bring it home so it wasn't yet another thing to store during the renovations. I had all of his décor ready to hang and assemble but I didn't get to do it - at least, not the way it was supposed to be done.

For her nursery, I decided I needed a different rocker because the one I had purchased previously, well that was his. It was the place I went to rock in anticipation for him, then became the place I went to mourn him, to feel close to him. For Hadley, I need something different. I reached a place of acceptance, where I was ready to relocate it. I moved it from the nursery to the guest room, this way I still have it when I need some "Hudson time." As the nursery will slowly transform from his place to hers, that rocker in a different room will still give me a place that is mine with him.

I pulled out the changing pad I had for Hudson and it still had his cover on it. I love that cover but it's not right for her. I replaced it with hers to make sure it fit correctly, that I liked the look of it with the wall color and her bedding. It was perfect but then I felt guilty. What do I do now? Do I pack his away? Do I put both of them in a drawer until October is closer? Do I leave it out and begin to replace? I have slowly started the switching out process.

Over the past few days, I have gone in as I feel ready and pack away a little at a time. In a large box is everything that sat on that dresser for Hudson. Today I removed his special lasso rope cattle brand of HJS from the wall and replaced it with the angel wing painting from the One Wing Foundation's auction event a few weeks ago. My grandmother won it for me as a special gift. It represents his legacy, it is a symbol of hope, one of comfort and of strength. I have kept pieces out that I plan to integrate with Hadley's things. In the closet, clothing for her is beginning to appear. I've moved his clothes over, but soon, I'll need that hanging space and more will join the Hudson box. As I pack things away, I take moments to pause. To look at everything individually, to feel each item, to read the words on certain keepsakes, to express the emotions this brings. I hug things tight to my chest and allow myself to feel everything that comes with the reality of preparing for another child after the death of the one who came before. All of these little things meant for him, the boy who isn't here.

However, in a way, preparing for her brings fresh perspective and an enthusiasm again. There is joy mixed with the uncertainty of the unknown. It is all met with a little hesitation because you know, what if? Faith over fear. Faith over fear. Faith over fear.

Speaking of conquering fear, we've been traveling quite a bit this past month with Hudson's birthday weekend escape to Boston and Cape Cod, a visit to see family in Wisconsin and a wedding in New York. The grand finale happens in less than one week when we will land in Frankfurt to explore the Bavarian region of Germany into Austria. At six weeks pregnant, Max came home to say he had found a great deal on airfare. We entertained it just for fun and then thought, nah, we'll wait until next summer when maybe we are ready to travel again post-baby. Perhaps an early 5 year anniversary trip, we thought. Then we kept thinking about it, and had the flights on hold just in case. I was nervous about overseas travel in my second trimester, for no reason in particular other than the what if something happens? Traveling had nothing to do with the cord accident that ended Hudson's life. In no way was that related to any of the travel we did during that pregnancy. However in Pregnancy After Loss, you are aware of all kinds of different ways a baby may not make it. There is hypersensitivity and analysis to every little thing you do - in your head, and in the thoughts of others.

At my eight week appointment, we talked to my doctor. She said go. I had a list of "buts" and excuses and questions. To each of them, she said go. She told us we can't live in fear, we can't position ourselves within ten minutes away from the hospital at all times. She won't let me travel past 28 weeks, but for the timeframe of 22-23 weeks when I'm experiencing the "sweet spot" of pregnancy, she said go. She said to enjoy this opportunity, a European Babymoon, the special time together experiencing new places. She said at this point, hypothetically, if something were to happen again, this trip would not be the cause of it. Her confidence and her assurance gave us peace. Therefore, we made our decision to go. So we are. We are defying fear and living life to the fullest.

We have an appointment on Thursday to see Hadley again via sonogram and to meet with our high risk specialist for the first time, then to meet with my doctor following. It will give me peace to have this appointment before we leave because I have now started to have anxiety about going. Several have inquired if it's safe and what my doctor thinks? As if this was a decision we made lightly without a thorough conversation with our doctor. These questions from others have stripped away the confidence that our medical professional gave us with the certainty to go and do, to live without fear. I'm trying to regain that again so that I can enjoy our babymoon exploring new experiences with my husband. I will enjoy it because Hadley is with us, along with Hudson watching over.

As soon as we get back, we will have another appointment with the high risk specialist and that will start the weekly visits. As it stands, I have 15-16 more weeks to get through until we will induce for her arrival. That's roughly 105 or maybe 112 days of little victories to keep surpassing. There are some emotional milestones to get through between now and then, such as the second anniversary of his due date approaching and the 33 week mark when last time, our life was flipped upside down.

If you are a religious person, I ask for your continued prayers for Hadley and for our strength to keep choosing faith over fear.

Twelve Months

My Hudson,

We were just shy of 12 hours of labor when you came into the world at 1:47 am. I remember the way my arms shot out for you and I fell in love harder than ever before. You were the most incredible thing I had ever seen and your Daddy and I couldn't get enough of you. Through our deep pain, we couldn't help but marvel at you. You had such long legs and the cutest little pot belly! I couldn't get over the curl in your hair, your precious ears and my favorite, that nose. I rubbed your little feet and toes. I found our matching birthmarks on the bottom of our left foot middle toes. Through the tears, I spent so much time tracing your cheeks with my finger tips thinking maybe, just maybe, he'll wake up.

You were held and loved on by both sets of your grandparents and two of your uncles. You were baptized surrounded by your family in a room filled with love. I watched as your Daddy held you, the way you fit so perfectly in his arms, the way he looked at you, the way he adored you. 

It was 12:26 pm when we said goodbye. After a flood of tears, so many kisses and rubbing our noses together for the last time, I handed you over to a stranger and watched as you were taken away, the door closed behind you, and you were gone. It was the absolute worst moment of my life. I cannot breathe when I think about it and the way my heart shattered even more so than it already had. And now, here we are, one year later. There has not been a single day that has passed that you haven't been on the forefront of my mind. Every single day I've cried for you and said a prayer of bargain just to have one more minute with you again. Every day I wonder what we would be doing if you were here.

I write this between sobs because it's the only way I can. I've sat down to do this so many times but the outcome always ends up that I'm gasping for air, typing through blurred tears. So that's just going to be the way this goes.

It has been a year without you.

A year without looking into your eyes, feeling your skin on mine, seeing your first smiles and comforting you as you cry.

A year without dirty diapers, baths, story time, cuddles, driving around in the car to get you to fall asleep, laughing as you do something new to surprise us.

A year without family memories enriching our lives and wading our way through moments of uncertainty as we tried to raise you as first-time parents.

There is no birthday party to plan. No traditions to create. No gifts to give. There's no smash cake or crib full of balloons. There's no twelve month picture and the chance to look back at each month to see how you've grown and changed.

We've been robbed of this first year with you and all it would entail. We've been robbed of a lifetime with you who you would have been. I miss everything I imagined in my mind with you and everything I never knew to think of. I know this past year with you would not have been perfect. I know that through all the things I've imagined, there are an infinite number of other ways it could have gone. I know this past year would have been challenging, we would have struggled at times, we would have had our difficulties. There would have been frustrations but at the end of the day there would have been so much love and happiness.

My heart hurts but through the pain I can also rejoice because all I would ever want is the absolute best for you. I can take some solace in knowing you never knew disappointment, pain, sadness, or fear. All you knew is love and eternal life. If you can't be here in our arms, I am comforted to know who holds you in Heaven.

Even still, selfishly I wish you were here. I wish we had this year together. I wish we had a lifetime to create as a family. I cherish you and my heart will always ache for you, the boy we should have had.

We will celebrate you through the pain. This day is for you. If you could, send us a little sign today. I need that extra reminder of your presence on a day like this.

Happy birthday son, I love you so much. I'll be watching...

Nosies,

Mommy

A Year Ago Today

May 26, 2015

I was running late but it was appointment day. I always took a bump picture on appointment day. This was my last one to take and it occurred on the day that changed me forever.

A year ago today I woke up like any morning.
A year ago today was the last time I knew unafflicted happiness.
A year ago today I found out that he was gone.

Throughout the month of May, I've had some really great days. I've also been struck with deep, painful emotion that has put me right back in that place. Did you know that there is a Bereaved Mother's Day? I didn't. Until this year. Because now I am one. Hudson Month (May) kicked off with Bereaved Mother's Day on May 1. That was followed 7 days later by Mother's Day. Then two weeks of fighting anxiety to reach this week. The week of the biggest first year milestones and all things Hudson.

I haven't slept well the last few weeks thinking about how a year ago I was blissfully unaware of what was to come. Thinking about the before life and what we were doing in the days and weeks leading up to everything falling apart. Thinking about the way our lives have changed, our relationships with others have changed, how we have changed. Mostly, thinking about that little boy and that an entire year of him, with us as a little family, is gone. Instead, I pack in my suitcase the remains we have because it's all I have of my child and before we go, we visit a plaque with his precious name on it. I kiss my hand and place it on the letters of his name. I don't get to hug him, hold him, or look into his eyes to tell him how much I love him. I have stone and ashes.

This morning we board a plane. We escape the haunting reality that it's been one year. Today we go somewhere new and get away from everything. We will be busy if we need it and then have a chance for calm and peace if we want it. On the one hand I'm grateful because it's needed. I love any opportunity for any reason to getaway with my husband, he is my favorite person to see and experience all things with. This past year especially, travel has provided an escape from the day to day that should look different had he been here. On the other hand, I would lock myself in Hudson's room and cry if I could. All day long. All weekend long, surrounded by his things. There is a huge part of me that would find happiness in being able to be that sad because that's where I feel the closest to him sometimes, and that closeness is cathartic. That is the darkness of my grief talking. Though it came with time, I have learned now where to find him in my heart when I'm happy and to let him be my joy, but unless you know grief, you don't understand this. Sometimes you just can't stay in the "happy" and you don't want to find the lost one in the joy. You need to feel the weight and pain of the loss. I don't know how else to explain it.

A year ago today our life was forever altered, it is when our after life started. We became bereaved parents as we learned our child was dead and we were waiting to deliver him knowing it would be to say goodbye. It was the beginning of the heartbreak. Just when we thought we couldn't break any more, a million new pieces would shatter. We've spent a year trying to rebuild and put all the pieces back together. We've now reached the most dreaded milestones that occur and they will happen back to back to back. Today is the day we learned Hudson was gone. Tomorrow is the day we met him and said goodbye. Monday is the day we held his funeral. These are the milestone memories I have with and of my child. These anniversaries make up the last weekend of May, coincidentally, Memorial Day Weekend. The memory of my child who never got to be will always encompass this timeframe.

One of my loss mom's told me that once she reached that one year mark, she felt like she was a survivor. Survival, that's what this year has been. From a year ago today starting at about 10:15 to now. I have survived it. My husband has survived it. We have survived together.

Eleven Months

Hudder Bud,

It's the 27th of the month again, my Hudson day. I feel anxious. Anxious that it has now been eleven whole months since you left my arms and next month on the 27th will mark one year since we had to say goodbye. We are about to enter May which means Mother's Day and your Heaven Day are right around the corner. I'm not ready to have been without you for a full year or to come up on either difficult milestone. This past week I was reflecting on this time last year. We were in full nesting mode, the house was a construction zone and I had entered my third trimester with you. Now, here we are one year later and we have entered into a second trimester. Sweet boy I need to tell you something, you are going to be a big brother. 

Ever since I found out I was pregnant again, it has been a roller coaster of emotions. My time with you was so perfect. I got used to our little routines of waking up with you wiggling away, then you kicking me to sleep, feeling you move around at specific times of the day, especially after meals. Then out of nowhere tragedy struck and just like that you were taken away from us. Waiting to go to the doctor, to see and confirm this new life was so hard and felt like an eternity. Having a sonogram again after the last time, the one where they told me you were gone, left me terrified, I couldn't look at the screen until she said "here's your baby, and there's the heartbeat!" Receiving that affirmation, I could breath again but it brought on so many emotions. More than anything, Mommy and Daddy want you here, but we can't my love. We've desperately hoped for our family to keep growing with your brother or sister in our arms and now we are one step closer to that. I'm so terrified of doing this all over again, but I know we need this and we can do this, with you looking on. Sweet baby, our hearts have experienced joy again with this new life. Joy we haven't felt since you left. Our babies are our greatest joys.

Hudson, your big brother duties start now! You are in a very unique position to be able to watch over us, not only throughout these remaining five and a half months but throughout our lives until we are all together again some day. I want you to know that nothing will ever take away from the fact that you are our first born. We will talk to your siblings about you, you will always be their big brother. I like to believe that you know them before we do and that maybe, in some divine sense, they will know you throughout their life, bonded in a way that we will never understand. You are their guardian angel, as well as ours.

As we continue to ask the Lord to work in us, to help us choose faith over fear, I ask you to be a steadfast presence in our hearts. You are going to be the best big brother.

Oh Hudson, I miss you and I wish that you were here.
I wish I could hold you, look into your eyes and tell you all of this.
I love you so very much.

Forever and always,

Mommy

I Can See Clearly Now

I wondered if I'd ever be able to feel pure happiness again after you died. For a long time, behind every smile there were sad eyes. Behind every laugh, the same force that compelled it could sound off sobs at any moment. When I would try to be happy, there was guilt. Showing happiness in front of others was an act that became a chore. For a long time, we had to choose joy, but over time, the choice has lifted and it comes naturally again.

I laughed so hard the other day, I startled myself. It was a laugh without pain behind it and one so deep that I didn't recognize it as my own. I remember it from the old me, but I didn't think it was part of the new me. The light in your Daddy's eyes is so bright again, like the day he proposed four years ago today.

On Sunday he told me he needed my help with his golf swing. He wanted my opinion on what he was doing wrong. We went outside to the net and I watched as he lined up to the ball. It reminded me of one of our first few dates when we went to Top Golf and he had never truly played golf before. I lined him up and tried to teach him to swing. As he eventually started playing the game and taking lessons, getting better and better, he'd still ask me for my help though he had surpassed my skill level. For nearly thirty minutes we played outside, laughing, taking turns, me spouting out advice to sit into the stance, bend the knees more to help with the shoulder turn for better extension, head down and watch the ball leave the ground. All the while, you danced in the wind around us. The special wind chime I was given in your memory played its song the whole time and it brought so much joy that we didn't have to choose to experience, it came naturally.

Until recently, I was afraid that by moving on from my sadness, I was somehow leaving you behind. But, this true happiness I feel is you isn't it? It's you living in my heart and allowing me to experience life with you in a different way. I'm sorry it took me so long to realize it but I do now. I'll let you radiate instead of hiding you away. The new me will always be different, but now I recognize that while always a little broken, it can be more beautiful than before.

I'll let your light shine sweet boy. Thank you.

Ten Months

Hudson,

Sweet boy, today is Easter Sunday. Today marks ten months since we said goodbye. Last Easter, I was twenty-two weeks pregnant with you and received this bunny rattle as a little sussie from your grandmother. I had hands all over me at church gushing over my baby bump. The picture your Daddy and I took that day was the first one where you were truly visible. It is one of the few pictures I have of our family of three.

If you were here with us today you would be in your seersucker best! We'd go to church together, then to the country club for brunch, taking way too many pictures with the Easter Bunny and in the petting zoo. We would start new family traditions together with a sunrise walk around the neighborhood, a bunny pancake breakfast, an egg hunt you couldn't do yet but we'd try and pretend, there'd be an Easter basket filled with your Children's Bible and candy really meant for your Daddy because you couldn't eat it yet. Instead, in our reality, there are Easter lilies in your memory on the altar at church this morning.

Though there is sadness, we choose to focus on the Easter message of new life and rebirth in Christ. As you were to grow up, we would teach you about the meaning of Easter. There is a saying that we are Easter people living in a Good Friday world. On Good Friday, Jesus was hung on the cross and hurt so badly that he died for us and went to Heaven. His earthly family and friends were so sad, just like Mommy and Daddy were when you left us. Jesus was taken down from the cross and buried in a tomb. On Easter Sunday, the tomb was empty, he had risen from the dead and resurrected to Heaven, giving those who believe in Him eternal life.

Sweet boy, we've experienced our own Good Friday in losing you. It has been dark and sad, we were angry and in deep pain. However, God's promise allows us to be hopeful Easter people. Hopeful of new life and that our sorrow will be resurrected. Today, we are Good Friday people, but we are also Easter people who are hopeful. We will celebrate new life and everlasting life with the promise that we will be reunited again someday in Heaven.

Sending you an Easter basket full of love and kisses today.

All my love, forever and always.

Mommy

Hudder Putter Classic is Open for Registration!

I've been a little quiet on here lately and that's because I've been channeling most of my energy into the One Wing Foundation. Today, I'm excited to share that tournament registration for both the Hudder Putter Classic and the Olivia Aldredge Silent Auction & Benefit Concert is now available online! 

Click here for Tournament details and registration information. 

Click here for Auction Party details and ticket sales. 

Additionally, we have a number of sponsorship and underwriting opportunities available for both events! Please contact me at onewingfoundation at gmail dot com if you are interested in doing that on a personal or corporate level, or if you have an auction item or tournament prize you are interested in contributing as a donation.

We have our first fundraiser and awareness event coming up next week on March 9. The generous gentlemen, Cody and Ken, of the Bishop Art's Home on Bishop, Dwell on Davis, and Bishop Ranch are opening the doors of their stores to us. The One Wing Foundation will receive 15% of sales from 5:00 - 7:00 p.m. that evening and we will provide you with wine and heavy appetizers compliments of Cretia's Eatery and Bake Shoppe. 

Please see below for invitation and click here to RSVP on our Facebook invitation page. We hope to see you there! If you are a parent of loss that would like to channel your grief in a way that is meaningful to you, we'd love to have you join us at the Gloria's in Bishop Arts following this event at 7:30 p.m. on March 9 for an informational meeting and support gathering. We will go over the various Leadership Council opportunities that are available for the One Wing Foundation, in addition to how to hold your own fundraiser in honor of your angel baby. 

Nine Months

Little Bud,

I felt like sitting in your room today and writing from your rocker. I close my eyes and wonder what this room would have looked like once completed. Everything was ready to go in, just waiting for the construction to finish. After you left us, I was thankful that we didn't have to come home from the hospital to your finished room waiting for you to arrive. Now, the longer time goes on, I wish we had completed it. Surrounding myself by everything intended for you makes me feel so much closer to you, I wish there was more. Of course, more than anything, I wish I had you sitting right here with me in this chair and I could rub our twin noses together, saying nosies in a voice that you'd love now but be embarrassed by when you got bigger.

I opened your closet when I first came in here and looked at all the clothes we had accumulated for you at every size. I wondered which outfit I'd be dressing you in today. I had so much fun picking things out for you! Any time I was at the store, I found a reason to get you something whether it was for an infant sized you or a 12 month old you, with everything in between. I haven't had the strength to do this until now but this week I had the urge. As I walked past the baby boy section of Target, I bought an outfit that you would maybe fit into right now. When I left there, I then took it to a clothes donation for an organization I volunteered at for Junior League around this time last year. I sat there for hours sorting through donations and folding the baby clothes with you inside my bulging belly, to get them ready for when a family would need to seek out this shelter and pick out clothes because they didn't have any. While it saddened me to pick out something I would have loved for you, it felt like you gave my heart a hug giving it warmth, knowing a little boy your age had something special when in need.

I wonder who you would be right now and what our life would be like with you. I got an email the other day from the playgroup I had signed you up for through the neighborhood association. I did it last May and I forgot to opt out of it after you left us. They were gathering parents with babies 7-9 months old to get together for a play date. My heart sank. Whether it was the 9 month version of you that came on May 27 or the 7 month version of you that should have come around July 18, I wanted to be one of those mamas, with my baby, going on a play date. I want to go on the group stroller walks with you and go to the park, watching as you take the world in.

I need you to keep watching over us, son. Many people don't understand why this is still so painful because we never had the chance to experience a life with you. It's because I love you so much that my pain is still so heavy. It will always be heavy because my love for you will only continue to grow. I'm sad because you aren't here, but the thought of you brings me happiness. You are happiness, you are love, you are ours.

Missing you today and always.

Nosies,

Mommy

Eight Months

Designed with love by Uncle Patrick

Little buddy,

Eight months have gone by without you. I was in my eighth month of carrying you when we said goodbye. You were with me for 231 days. It is now the conclusion of eight whole months without you, 245 days to be precise. I've been without you longer than I was with you. That's not the way it is supposed to be.

Eight has always been my favorite number, it is my lucky number, therefore I've been determined to make this eight month mark the best milestone date thus far. Since you can't be here with us, we have created a way to allow you to live on. On June 3, a week after your Heaven Date, we will hold the first annual Hudder Putter Classic, rhyming Putter with your nickname Hudder Budder. Uncle Patrick used your actual footprint for your tournament logo. See it's your left foot, the foot we both have our middle toe birthmark. As sad as it makes me that I'll never see you with your Daddy, Uncles and Granddaddy on a golf course, this makes me so very happy to be able to do in your honor. We will be raising money so that other families, with angel babies like you, can receive the care they need when they are sad and need help coping. I won't have your birthday parties to plan, so this is something to organize for you and because of you. Something that will help people. This is your legacy, sweet angel. It was never your purpose, but it will allow you to live on in a different way.

I came to see you the other night, just you, me and the moon. It was the anniversary of the day we told people we were having a boy! Hudson, I cannot tell you how special it was to watch your Daddy's reaction when just the two of us found out. We couldn't wait until later in the evening so as soon as the nurse had the results, she sent me a message to call her whenever we were together. I left work and raced over to your Daddy's office so we could call her and hear the news. In my heart, I knew what she would say, I knew you were our little boy. To hear your Daddy's excitement to learn about his boy, his son - it was one of our happiest moments. Sharing that news with family and friends for the first time, we were so proud and so incredibly full of joy. You gave us that joy, you are our joy.

Seeing your name carved in stone takes my breath away every time. It's a sight I don't think I will ever get used to seeing. Mamas shouldn't have to go visit their babies like this. As I sat there in the dark with the sound of the fountain lapping, I watched a family in the glow of the streetlamp across the street - a mommy, a daddy and a baby in the stroller - walking their dog. I closed my eyes and transported myself to a moment in my mind that it was us there - you, me, Daddy and Georgie. For that moment, there was a peace in my heart. I think about you all the time precious boy. The smile through my tears is my way of telling you that I love you more than anything in this world.

Eight months that my heart has ached, but it is eight months nearer to the time when I will hold you again.

All my love,

Mommy