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

Faith Over Fear: Take Two

31 week sonogram on February 19

Just like that, we are well underway with our third, third trimester. Given that I've been pregnant during the busiest time of year for us, I knew it would feel quicker, but this has truly flown by. The third trimester represents such a simultaneous composition of excitement and preparation, but for me it is also coupled with an impending fear of the unknown and the memories of what has happened before.

I haven't done a lot of writing this pregnancy because when I write, I go to a place that can conjure a lot of emotion. It can bring on all kinds of thought trails that at this point in time, I don't want to go down. I was in a different point of my healing process when I was pregnant with Hadley. It was a time that I needed to go to that place because I was still working through so many facets of grief and the expression helped in the release of the build up of fear and stress. I need to share through writing because it helped me and in turn, it was helping others who were also walking the same path, or those who just wanted the insight to better understand. This pregnancy, I have tried to silence my fears and anxious voice. I've viewed myself as someone who embraces my grief, wasn't afraid of it. However, throughout this pregnancy, I have tried to ignore my grief - unsuccessfully. I haven't wanted to go to that place of emotion in an effort to control my stress and anxiety, but I don't feel that it has done me any favors because it very much exists, just as much as my first pregnancy after loss with Hadley.

I had actually started writing and readying a post that was what this experience has brought the second time around. What is the same, what is different. I was waiting to get through our 30 week appointment last Thursday to finish it out. Now, it's changed a bit to include what is going on with this baby right now and how it is impacting my second pregnancy after loss.

I think a common thought to most people is that once you have a living baby after a pregnancy after loss, you are "back to normal" and the fear that was once there is now gone, or that you are no longer at risk, subsequently meaning that another pregnancy is easier. To address that, yes - I guess you can say that I am one and one now. I've had a stillbirth and now a live birth. But - I've had a stillbirth, I've still had a baby who has died, so that will always overshadow the fact that I've had a healthy live birth. We will always err on the side of caution and that fear is still very much present. I am high risk, I am at-risk, and that hasn't changed.

One of my soul sisters - a friend who I've met because we are both mothers of loss - is also pregnant with her second baby after loss and we are due within a few weeks of one another. In a text recently as we updated on our current states, she gave the perfect example. She said that she tells people that this is like surviving a plane crash that happens at landing. You'd be terrified of every other flight you are on, and the anxiety of ever experiencing turbulence while on the flight. The stress doesn't ever go away, but you just find ways to cope with it.

I think because grief is evolving, I'm in another heart and head space than I was in that first pregnancy after loss with Hadley. I know more, I've seen more, I've experienced both, certain things still trigger, others don't.  This time I've faced a different set of triggers because there are a lot of similarities to life circumstances between this pregnancy and when I was pregnant with Hudson. They trigger those memories that take you back to the dark place. There's a trauma that exists and a fear that takes hold after you've experienced a loss like we have. That's "our" normal.

In my pregnancy with Hadley, I celebrated each week that I was still pregnant, I checked the box on each step and milestone. I had high anxiety, my pregnancy with her wasn't completely carefree, we had scares, every sono caused me to hold my breath until I saw or heard the heartbeat. I had to shut down the fear with faith, and that was my mantra faith over fear. Through it all, deep down I felt like she would be in our arms, living and breathing. She had to. We couldn't do this again. Faith over fear. That feeling drove the confidence in our medical team and in that end result of her getting here safe and sound.

Faith over fear. 

Now let's talk about this pregnancy.

This time the fear set in almost immediately for many reasons that I discussed in my first post about this baby. It wasn't until almost the 21 week mark, when I started feeling legit continuous fetal movements, that I felt much more at ease. To be honest, I was very at ease up until about three weeks ago. What changed? We entered the third trimester, we started getting closer to our week of loss mark (32/33 weeks), and movement has been stressing me out. This little one's patterns of movement have changed from when I first started feeling them and are not as continuous, but more so, they are different than Hudson's and Hadley's. This one moves mostly at night and in the morning, and if doing a kick count, I get to the 10 kicks within an hour at those times of the day. Yet during the day, more often than not, we are very quiet and still. So quiet and still that it has really freaked me out at times. Some days are an exception to that but most days the fear creeps in and I wonder if everything is okay. It quickly escalates past wonder and goes to action mode. I grab a little Dr. Pepper or a handful of chocolate covered almonds to try to get some movement started. Sometimes it will work, but a lot of times it doesn't. Truth be told, I've had a lot of sugar the past few weeks - and not out of craving this time but necessity in my mind for sanity, sugar actually gives me heartburn - just to get some movement going and feel like everything is fine. Until 29 weeks, I hadn't used my fetal heart monitor since 21 weeks, but now it is in my bag with me at work. One afternoon I raced home to use it because I had a Dr. Pepper to try to get some moves, and then an hour later a chocolate chip cookie but nothing had happened in two hours. So now, it comes to work with me, that's how in my head I've gotten, in case I just need to know now and can't wait to get home later. Waiting isn't an option when you've been through what we've been through.

Enter the mantra again.
Faith over fear. 

So, let's talk about our 30 week appointment last week on Thursday. Our appointments have been every 2-3 weeks since 16 weeks. By this time in our first pregnancy after loss, we had started going weekly, but I've been doing okay with the current set up. However, it had been a busy and stressful two weeks since my last appointment and on top of what's been going on in life in general, my anxiety has been building as we inch closer to the week of loss mark from Hudson. At that 30 week appointment, I had planned to go ahead and ask for us to start weekly appointments going forward if she didn't suggest it already. It was just getting to the point that I wanted to be monitored more closely and needed that weekly check in.

Last Thursday, I took my mom and grandmother to my appointment with me because Max was in New York for work. After the sonogram, we met with my doctor who shared that the blood pressure levels within the umbilical cord were elevated - just like Hadley's were at this exact point in my pregnancy with her. There is not a black and white, clear-cut reason for this. Just a lot of it could be's. It could be due to a compression, restriction, or some kind of stress on the cord. It could be due to cord placement and size. It could be an issue with the placenta and not pulling enough oxygen. It could be my stress levels, even though my blood pressure is fine. The latter is what my doctor had concluded with Hadley and what she leaned towards again with this baby.

They checked a few different places of the umbilical cord and the level they want to see is between a 2.75 and 3, the spots that were checked were all 3.75 and 3.9, which is enough of an elevation to warrant caution. We talked about stressors, the last two weeks there have been a lot going on - our dog having sudden surgery to remove cancerous tumors, construction project in our house, Hadley's been sick, I've been sick. As she told me that this was an issue again, I was strong, but I cried. My doctor said moderated bed rest until Monday and I'd come back on Monday, and we would now begin appointments twice a week on Mondays and Thursdays.

We left, I felt okay, everything turned out fine with Hadley when this happened, we were going to monitor twice a week and I know the drill. I know the plan. If it gets to a point where it is more risky for baby to stay in than to live on the outside, we would take baby then and there. Following the appointment, I had lunch with my mom and grandmother. I texted Max an update. However, leaving lunch, things weren't sitting right with me. I called my nurse and said that for peace of mind, I want to see the specialist at the hospital's Fetal Care Center like we did last time when this happened with Hadley. Because lack of movement has also been a heavy thought on my mind for two weeks now, in order to stay as stress free as possible, I'd like to have this additional layer of assurance using their advanced imaging to be positive there is no restriction in the cord causing this. They tried to get me in between patients but it wasn't happening, so I was sent home to rest and landed an appointment time on Friday at 1:30 PM. I know from last time that this is a gradual issue, it isn't over night. If there had been restriction or compression of any kind, baby's size would be impacted and there would be more signs, like fluid on the brain. These things were not present, I could wait 24 hours.

Max had come home from his work trip and was able to head to that appointment with me on Friday. The specialist was very thorough and we were able to conclude that there did not appear to be any pressure on the cord, it wasn't knotted, wrapped or a cause for distress. Levels had lowered from the day before but we still needed to watch them. We will focus on my rest and try to keep stress down as much as possible because that's the only answer I am given. She said we needed to monitor twice a week. She suggested we induce at 37 weeks this time. She was the same specialist who last time said that we could wait until 38 weeks. The fact that she is willing to go a week earlier this time had me a little off kilter. What wasn't I being told?

Faith over fear. 

The fact that the unthinkable happened to us once before and that anything can change in a matter of seconds is not at all lost on me. The previous trauma is always in the back of my mind, the fact that I've been down this road of having a seemingly perfect pregnancy only for the lightening to strike and have this teeny tiny percentage of a tragedy occur. When my mind is overcome with that, I have to remind myself the really unfortunate difference between then and now, as another way to calm myself.

With Hudson we had the first sonogram to confirm the pregnancy, we had another quick one at 14 weeks because my nurse had a spare machine and we were waiting for my doctor to return so she did it for fun as we waited, then we had the anatomy scan around 20 weeks. That was it. I wasn't high risk and 3 years ago, in my doctor's practice at least, for a normal pregnancy, it wasn't routine to have another sonogram if you didn't need it. Maybe I would have received another with a 3D/4D option if we had made it to the 34 week appointment and beyond, I don't know. But between 20 weeks and 33 weeks, a problem developed that wasn't seen at the 20 week anatomy scan, couldn't be traced through simple blood tests, belly measurements or listening to the heartbeat. I didn't have a fetal doppler at home to listen to his heartbeat to see if something wasn't right. I didn't get the attention we receive now where I get a 2D then a 3D/4D sono at each appointment and look at everything in immense detail. We didn't know the umbilical cord was a problem, but we would now. So in that, I have some peace but I'll never forget that anything can happen at anytime and because we've experienced it, you just feel more susceptible to it and it's always a tender point, sometimes a downright raw patch.

That is where this fear and stress derives from. But again, we channel faith over fear. 

Part of that is getting ready for a baby that you have faith will be here, even though the fear of what happened once is etched in your heart and mind. But even after the loss of Hudson, I didn't let that stop me from readying Hadley's nursery. His things were comforting and therapeutic for me to be around. In my heart, if something happened to her, I would still have this space that I could be close to her. By 22 weeks, we had the majority of her room ready and just finishing touches to complete until she arrived.

Compared to the other two pregnancies, I feel very far behind on getting ready for this little one's arrival. In some ways, we already have so much of what we need because we will be able to reuse a lot from Hadley. If it is a boy, I have things from our preparation for Hudson that I will use for this baby. Before last week's appointments, I conquered a little PTSD earlier in the week briefly mentioned above. At this point with Hudson, we were a few weeks into a large home renovation project, one that involved his room. In our new house, we needed to do a little reno project for this new baby's room and it was the sole reason for the work we are doing. Back then, we added a door to Hudson's room. Now we are removing doors and adding a wall in this baby's new room, taking it from an open office to a private space that better converts it into a bedroom. I've had some questions in my heart like, should we do this or just wait until the baby is here and safe in our arms? But trying to do a home construction project with a newborn and a toddler seemed like a terrible plan, so I put that fear on the shelf with my grief and we decided to get this done now. The fear was if something were to happen, that room would be very much a bedroom. I love the office the way it was, it had beautiful french doors that opened to the dining room. If we closed that off, turning it into a bedroom, it was now that baby's room. It would haunt me if this baby didn't come home. But, the estimated 2-3 day project took 1 day. It's done and we concentrate on moving forward and the optimism and happiness  to bring this baby home to his/her own space. I see it all in my mind and it helps my fears to begin preparing it.

We started the nursery this past weekend. I stuck to my orders of rest and monitored as Max built the crib and Hadley tried to "assist". Monday's appointment went well and levels had dropped back in the range we want them in, just like with Hadley's. Sunday marked 31 weeks. Next Sunday will be 32 weeks and that is a very emotional place in a pregnancy for me to be. That was the last week I was pregnant with my first baby. Reaching it brings sadness, brings the memories of tragedy, bring the fear that you are trying so hard to overcome with faith. I'll take it gladly and be thankful every single second of it, even through the challenging times that pregnancy after loss brings but I'll tell you it is defeating. It is defeating to not have answers for this cord issue that has happened with Hadley and now this baby. It's defeating that there's something your body is doing or not doing that creates risk or warrants caution for your baby. It's defeating that it is happening in a space that is supposed to nurture, grow and protect but for me, I worry my body will fail me. I worry it can betray me again and harm my baby. I want reasons but there aren't any they can give me that are a sure thing, so what's left?

Faith over fear. 

And that's what we hold onto to get this baby in our arms safe and sound.

The Darkness of Grief at the Holidays

In those first six months after Hudson died, the darkness had a way of always winning in most circumstances. It was harder trying to fight it than just succumbing to it and letting the sadness take hold. There were times it would come out of nowhere, and other times you could feel it, as if it were under your skin, boiling and waiting to erupt at the right time. The darkness would set in when I was alone with my thoughts, like in the car, the shower, and at night as I tried to drift to sleep.

The darkness would differ. Sometimes it would be flashbacks to the hospital, moments that were really painful and ones that I never did write about or talk about. Like the elevator ride from Labor and Delivery to the anti-partum floor. They wheeled Hudson and me through the service elevators for an attempt at privacy, yet another doctor happened to hop on as the elevator was closing and I sat there in my wheelchair holding Hudson, trying to shield him from view. The doctor was on his phone and without looking at us, simply said congratulations, beautiful baby. Nurse Katie was horrified that it happened, the look on her face scanning mine to see my reaction, let me know that. I stared at the back of that doctor’s head until they got off the elevator with a mix of horror and hatred. Or how from the moment Hudson left our arms for the last time, I could hear a baby crying constantly from down the way as we waited in that room to be discharged and go home. Little details like that would surface and replay over and over in my mind. It would also surface as recollections of emotional breakdowns I would have from triggers resulting from his passing. It would be thoughts of what would our life be like right now if he were here? These are the ways the darkness would seep in.

The darkness has a way of inserting itself when it isn’t welcome or wanted. No matter the amount of self care or proactive work you may be doing to keep it away while trying to stay happy and thankful for the blessings in your life. It just shows up sometimes and refuses to leave. 

The darkness is cruel. It has a way of distorting your feelings of sadness into anger, which can then become jealousy, and then bitterness, and back to sadness. It can make you see a situation differently far later on and become newly emotional, changing your perspective when it’s something you thought you had worked through.

The darkness still finds me. The opportunities for it to find me are fewer and farther between than they used to be to allow it to creep in and settle, but every now and then, it takes hold. Last night I couldn’t fall asleep and I was thinking about the new baby wiggling away. I flashed back to specific times I remember Hudson moving and then I became so consumed with thoughts of him and fears of something happening to this baby. Though we had just had a wonderful appointment with no flags raised. Yet there were these intense moments of my pain, and realizing I was still in a lot of pain that I’ve hidden away until it needed to come out.

For families of loss who do have a living child, either born before or after their loss, there seems to be a common misconception from the outside world of non-grievers that that living child fills the void the non-living child/children has left, or because the parents have them, it makes things better and their grief has passed. Just like putting a time frame on grief, that’s simply incorrect. Having Hadley helps the grief, but she is not "a cure" for it. She is one member of our family, just like the new baby is, but we have a child that will always be missing. If you have children, I ask you to imagine the holidays without one of them. What if your first baby was born, but you never got to take them home with you? What if one of your children was gone from your life altogether? A piece of you would be too, regardless of the others you do have. 

Our first Christmas as bereaved parents, I was living in the darkness and the week of Christmas, I remember carolers coming to our door. I believe it was the neighborhood early childhood PTA group and as they would arrive to your house, you were to join in and follow for this big group of holiday cheer door to door. Something my non-grieving self would have jumped at the chance to do! I was watching TV and cuddling George on the couch, Max was outside working in the garage. They knocked on the door and then the chorus started with We Wish You a Merry Christmas. I sat there frozen on my couch and was torn between wishing I felt up to opening the door to enjoy and then wishing they would leave. I couldn't get up and open that door because the tears were falling and I wanted to tell them there was nothing to be merry about this Christmas, my baby was dead and I didn't know when we would be blessed to have a living child. I thought if Hudson were there, how fun to stand on the big porch together, bouncing him on my hip as we sang along, and then put him in the carrier to go caroling as a family with the group. They kept singing and went onto song two which was Silent Night, a Christmas song that was now very hard for me. The windows in our front door made it impossible to get up and walk out of the room without being seen, so I just laid there crying until they moved onto the next house and I could move to the back of the house to not hear the echos of the carols on the street.

Two days later we left on a trip to escape Christmas and the pain of not having Hudson by making Christmas completely different than what we traditionally do. Instead of the normal routine we knew and the pain of his glaring absence from it, we traveled just the two of us to Quebec, only to end up lost in a cemetery on Mont Royal and our escape down the side of the “mountain” to civilization again. A dark-humored account I shared in this post.

Last year I had compartmentalized my grief and was really caught up in life transitioning from newborn to infant craziness. I had little time alone and was soaking up the joy that she brought, I did a pretty good job of ignoring the darkness and pain that was looming. Finally, on Christmas Eve, I was tired of staving it off and as I held my two-month-old in a room lit by only our Christmas tree, I was overcome by grief wishing for our family to be in its entirety, with Hudson there too.

This year the darkness snuck in and on Tuesday, December 5, I had an emotional meltdown in the aisle at Target at 12:53 PM.

I was there to pick out the Christmas gift for an underprivileged child who we were assigned through a community organization that is important to me. They have an annual toy drive and after preparing my heart for it since last Christmas, I was ready to do it in Hudson’s honor and be assigned a boy his age. I had a few other things to get at the store so I let that distract me from the true reason I was there as I moved about the aisles, checking things off my mental list. Then came time to grab that last item, the toy. I could have Amazon Primed the gift to our house, but that was taking the easy way out. I wanted to pick it out, it needed to be personally chosen for this child. This little boy’s description said he loved music and toys that would light up. He wanted a Leap Frog Music Beats Activity Table. I told myself, okay, we have one of those at home, I can do this because I wouldn’t be picking that toy out for Hudson right now. We got one for Hadley at nine months, so surely, this is something we would have already had for a long time if Hudson were here.

But Target didn’t have it. They were all out of those tables. I stood in the aisle and felt the darkness rising in the form of panic as I tried to think through what to do. I had to get a toy that day because we were headed out of town and there was a deadline to get it to them in order for his wish to be fulfilled by the volunteers at the toy drive warehouse, this was the only time I had to do it before we left. I wanted to pick this out for him, he deserved that personal touch chosen with love, I needed to pick something out for him because I couldn’t personally pick out anything special for my son at Christmas. I had this little boy I could bring joy to, one I could give to, because I didn’t have my own son to do it for. These thoughts continued as I looked around the aisle, scanning it to triple check I hadn’t overlooked the item listed on that card. He likes anything that plays music and lights up, the wish list said, offering additional hints for other gifts if the donor preferred or needed other options. I had readied myself to come pick out that specific item, and my heart was in a place to do just that, but now that item wasn’t there and I was surrounded by other toys asking, what else would this 2.5 year old boy want? Well I don’t know, my 2.5 year old isn’t here. I should have one here and I should know what else I could pick out. I stood there trying to stop the tears or to at least silent cry but unable to hold back as the darkness won.

A man in a Target red shirt tapped me on the shoulder and asked me if he could help me find something. I turned around and by the look on his face when I did, I knew it was apparent I was ugly crying. His face changed and just said softly, how can I help you ma’am? I told him I needed to find something special for a little boy who is two and a half, and I can’t find this item that he wanted, so I don’t know what to get instead. I was embarrassed and judging by his reaction to me, I knew I was visibly shaken. I wanted to explain myself but I didn’t want to say anything more at the same time. I wanted to crawl in a hole for standing in that store in the toy aisle, red and blotchy with tears down my face. I didn’t want to cry in public, I hate crying in public. I was frustrated and mad at myself because I wanted to be stronger, I should be stronger. I wanted to feel at peace with this for doing this in Hudson's memory. I wanted to feel warmth and comfort in my heart knowing what it would mean to this little boy who was in foster care to feel loved and receive something special, just for him. Yet, grief wasn’t allowing that in the moment. Now there were more people shopping the aisle and I wanted to give up and go but I felt trapped.

I held out my paper, to which he took and examined, then told me to follow him. We went four aisles down and he apologized things were out of order, they were in process of unpacking new shipments as the store was going through a remodel and they were expanding the section for the holidays. They didn’t have the Leap Frog, but this was a new Fisher Price display on an aisle that was transitioning from sporting equipment to more toys. We found a similar activity table and he handed it to me. I choked out a thank you and again tried to stop the hot tears. He wished me a happy holidays and said he hopes the gift makes the little boy very happy.

I did the self-checkout and got to my car. My car, a place that was like my sanctuary for emotion and release for a very long time after our loss. It’s where the darkness found me through a song on the radio or sudden thought that would sneak into my head. I sat in my car and gave the darkness the power again. I needed to because finishing that emotional release would allow me to get back to the normal so I could go back to work and finish my day as if nothing was wrong. Maybe I wasn’t ready to do this yet like I thought. Or maybe it will be this difficult but evolving each time, as I always wonder what my son would want/need for Christmas that year. But it was a start to something I have wanted to do to honor Hudson even though it was met with more grief than anticipated.  

With Christmas a few days away, the darkness has continued to try to creep in however it can as I carry one baby, raise another, and still long for our first. It will be our third Christmas without our son and each year is proving to be a new kind of difficult. In addition to the Target meltdown, last week we had a Christmas program for Hadley’s school. I had worked with some other parents to get the Potluck lunch organized for families of the school and wanted to be there for the whole thing, though Hadley's class was too young to really perform in it or take part in the lunch. As each age group came up to do their thing, I had to excuse myself due to the inability to calm the emotions from watching the 2 year old classes perform. The thoughts whirling around wondering would Hudson be like the kid in the red sweater hugging his teacher and crying through the whole performance? Would he be like the one on the end jumping around? Would he be like the curly head one shouting the lyrics and giving the audience big smiles? Then there was the program title, Because of a Baby Boy. I find that to be a very emotional part of the holiday for me, the various references to the baby boy. Finally, there was our sweet little girl brought in with her class dressed as an angel, to my surprise. 

The darkness will continue to seep through at times the heart is vulnerable throughout the year. It will infiltrate the holiday cheer, and weigh heavily because someone who is incredibly loved is terribly missed. No amount of other children or distraction will take the place of that. As I organize our home office containing Christmas gifts, I can’t help but picture what is missing. I see that toy aisle from Target in my mind as I scanned it for other 2.5 year old gift options and wonder what I would have grabbed for Hudson, what I'd be wrapping up or building out with Max for Christmas morning for him. I still can’t listen to Silent Night. If it comes on in the car, I change it immediately. I anticipate excusing myself early at the Christmas Eve service on Sunday because it is always the last song sung. This year we will travel on Christmas to visit family. A Christmas we haven’t done since we announced our pregnancy with Hudson. I anticipate the darkness, because that memory is still a hard one, but at least I expect it. So maybe I can prepare mentally for it. Maybe it will just find me in the quiet moments alone to myself. Maybe I need that.

For those struggling this holiday due to loss in your life - however distant or recent it took place - know that you are not alone in that. It is my hope that the magic of Christmas can outweigh or at least counterbalance the darkness that may arise, the pain that will be present in your hearts. Here's to finding tidings of comfort and joy through the darkness in a world full of light. 

Baby HJS the Third

So, our family has a little bit of big news, we are expanding again! We are nearing the seventeen week mark and had an appointment last Friday to see HJS the Third, or more affectionately referred to as little Squish, our go-to name for baby during each pregnancy. If all goes as it should, we will induce somewhere between April 1 and April 8. I'm pulling for April 4 for 4/4. I'm 8/8, my dad is 12/12, we need to pass this onto the next generation.

But you just had a baby! I know, and she’s a year old now. The answer to the first question we are asked and I'm sure on the brains of those who haven't asked is, yes this was planned, yet we were still surprised.

Let me back it up a bit.

In June we went to see my doctor for the 8 month postpartum check up. Max and I were already thinking that we were ready and wanted to expand our family again, but I had some mental hangups that I wanted to talk through with my doctor first. As some may recall, when we delivered Hadley, there was an abnormality with my placenta. I actually didn't know anything about it until Nurse Katie sent me Hadley's birth photos and there it was. The giant placenta blob in all its glory. Not what you anticipate seeing as you are hormonally looking through the memories of those special moments of bringing this eagerly awaited baby into the world. Baby, baby, baby, placenta, baby, baby...wait, what?

Nurse Katie let me know that she wanted me to have a picture for documentation if needed. The pathology reports came back that the abnormality was a 5 cm blood clot but that I didn't test positive for any of the blood clotting disorders that would have been a common reason for it, nor did I present with the other usual suspects such as gestational diabetes or placental abruption. So it remained a mystery and one that I was rather unsettled about. At my 6 week postpartum check up, my doctor said she had yet to find a medical reason for it, but that she was going to run a few more tests and research a few more things and we would revisit it together at the 8 month postpartum appointment.

That takes us to June and it is time for that appointment. We decided to look at my uterus and ovaries not pregnant and found that I had a blueberry-sized cyst on my only working ovary and a number of pea-sized fibroids occupying my uterus. We learned in our fertility struggle last time that my right ovary is the only one that releases eggs, and now it was inhabiting an unwelcome guest (and an unharmful one, which is important to add). Additionally, we revisited that whole placenta-blood-clot question. Something that had weighed on my mind was when we had the umbilical cord scare with Hadley around the 31 week mark, it was an unexplained issue that was chalked up to my stress and anxiety. So we initiated a moderated bed rest and increased appointments with scans to twice a week. With the blood clot coming to light after delivery, coupled with the now existing UFO's (Uterine Foreign Objects, ie cyst and fibroids) we decided I would go see a Maternal Fetal Medicine Specialist for another opinion. I had that appointment the first week of July and after reviewing it all, they felt that the blood clot happened either during labor or during delivery, but sometime after they broke my water. Without getting too graphic, the reasoning for this was because if there had been a blood clot in my placenta prior to that time, there would have been blood in my amniotic fluid when they broke my water - but there wasn't.

Leaving that appointment, the specialist said she didn't feel we should do anything differently or be concerned with another pregnancy, we have a good plan. We will do a blood thinner just to add another layer to our next high risk pregnancy artillery as a precautionary measure and will continue on with the frequent appointments and scans when the time comes.

The week after my eight month appointment, I had my first postpartum cycle. However it didn't return in July. For eight days at the end of July, I think I took a test every other day, just in case, but they were all negative. In late August, I still had not had any sign of a cycle and was feeling "off". I remember it vividly. It was a Monday, I had a few work related errands to run, and on my way back to the office, the thought crossed my mind that I needed to take a pregnancy test. It was very similar to the urgency I felt the morning I hopped out of bed at 6 am, bundled up and marched out the door to drive to the store. That was when we learned I was pregnant with Hudson. So, I popped into Walgreens to grab a box of pregnancy tests again. I got back to the office and at 3:42 PM, two lines immediately appeared on a stick. I laughed. I laughed hard. I couldn't believe my eyes and I was in shock. So I chugged water and did it again. I was pregnant alright!

We had started trying, but I couldn't believe we got pregnant when we did. We thought we would be putting time on the clock and go back in to see our doctor around the beginning of the new year to talk options. There was no charting this time, no acupuncture, no special herbs that people swear by, no gluten-free diet to get more hormones in check, no Clomid or other fertility help. Add the cyst on my ovary and we thought for sure that we were embarking again on a long, challenging road to another baby. I even asked myself if I would feel fulfilled with my family as it stood today - my son in heaven, my daughter here with us - as a defense mechanism against the pain of the potentially pending fertility struggle.

I was in disbelief, it was followed by overwhelming emotion and joy, but then I felt guilty. For pretty much the whole first trimester, I felt guilty. My road after loss put me in a new segment of the population of women who have a mother's heart but not a baby. Whether that is because they've lost a child or they can't get pregnant, it's an excruciating trial in life to endure. This time around, I have a number of friends who I love and care for who are walking the road of fertility struggles, others who are unable to carry a child again, those who would do anything to realize they were pregnant. It gave me intense guilt that I had Hadley, but now had been given another opportunity too, while they were still waiting for a living baby or had been trying for much longer.

I felt guilt because I then had this overwhelming fear of opening my heart again to another baby. This is a very scary road, there are a lot of what if's, and a lot of sorting through the trauma from a third trimester loss. I had a hard time connecting to the fact I was pregnant again, I was doing this again, this was really happening and it was happening now. With Hadley, though there was fear, it was hope and faith that won the struggle. Through the doubts that would creep in, I just knew she would be here with us, because she had to. We could not go through what we had been through before. Finding out I was pregnant later than I had with both other pregnancies and with my UFO's I had also convinced myself this pregnancy wouldn't stay viable. I just felt like I shouldn't get attached to the idea of it and that feeling lasted until we hit the twelve week mark. We waited longer to tell people, I struggled with if we make an announcement, but in the end, we felt this baby deserved to be celebrated, too.

Rewinding back two years, when we were fresh from loss and on the road to picking up the pieces, I told myself that, as much as it hurt while going through it, my heart needed to have enough distance between Hudson’s birth and becoming pregnant again so that it could have been possible had he lived. I struggled really hard with the feeling that I needed to know that Hudson and Hadley could have both been here. Personally, my heart couldn’t handle that the only reason she was here was because he died. That just wasn’t in my scope of understanding for my personal healing.

After Hudson, I no longer believed that everything happened for a reason and that it was not God’s intent for him to die of a cord accident, for us to give birth to him not living. That is just not a place my belief system or my relationship with God will allow me to go to. I felt like they absolutely could have been 17 months apart, it was possible, I would have them both here. Now becoming pregnant again in the time frame in which we have, it is further testament to that. But, that’s where I also started to get hung up again. I felt like if I had both Huds and Hads 17 mo apart, would we be pregnant now with this baby, making Hadley and new baby 18 mo apart? That thought circled in my mind those first few weeks, hindering me from connecting because I was grieving the son who wasn’t here and the sadness for reaching a point now that I felt like it would have been a life with Hudson, or a life with this baby but probably not both. I’ve had to make myself stop going there, and stop thinking about it like that. I will continue to see him among our family in my mind, however that looks at any given time in the future, but I had to finally set a personal emotional boundary and stop going to the other place of question. It’s just more than my heart can take anymore as life after loss continues on. 

There's also been a fair amount of post traumatic stress, and more of it will occur as the pregnancy progresses. I talked about that a lot in my posts from my pregnancy with Hadley. That pregnancy had terrifying moments, especially throughout the third trimester, because the loss of Hudson was still so fresh. There were a lot of emotional hurdles to clear, going down that path again. But even in the midst of it all, there was a peace. Like an ever-present feeling that, okay this may be scary but we are going to get her here safe and sound. Because we have to, we just do. There wasn't another option in my mind, we couldn't and wouldn't endure that loss with her. 

This time, I’m having more flashbacks to my pregnancy with Hudson than I did with Hadley and a lot of that derives from our life aesthetic. It has now been almost two and a half years. A number of the moms I was pregnant with then are also getting pregnant again now, or similar situations we were going through three years ago when we first got pregnant are present again now. When life from a time that resulted in tragedy begins to mirror the present day, it pours some rubbing alcohol in the re-opened wound because the last time some of these things were going on, our baby died. When it came to those other families, it was really hard for me to face them for a long time. It was a lot to work through to get to a point of comfort around kids within a 6 month age range of Hudson, and it's still a work in progress. To be clear for a minute, they did nothing wrong, it was all me and my heart. It was too hard for a long time and sometimes it is still too hard. At this moment in time, I’m forced to face the reality of what I’ve been avoiding. I see him in our daily family life when I allow myself to go to that place. Right now, when I see the families with kids near his age - who he'd be in class with, who we were "pregnant friends" with - I am forced to see what I've been trying to avoid. That we could’ve been raising our babies together this whole time.

We were up at the swimming pool near the end of the summer and ran into some family friends. We had grown up together and they had a son within a month of Hudson’s passing. When their son was born, I had to unfollow them on social media because my heart couldn’t take seeing him grow up. It wasn’t in malice, it wasn’t to be cruel, it wasn’t out of jealousy. It was simply doing what I had to do to emotionally protect myself because it hurt so bad to see little boys his age. Seeing them now didn’t hurt as bad as it would have a year ago, but it still took me aback quite a bit. I could manage a smile and small talk, but I couldn't sit facing them. I had to go to a different section of the pool to play with Hadley and avoid the images my mind wanted to take me to of what my son would look like, what he’d be doing, how I'd be juggling both of them. This may be something that someone who hasn’t lost a baby cannot fully understand and I don’t expect you to, but I do think it is needed insight. These are things that I still live with, things that are still difficult and hit differently. It takes me back to then and that is just a fact of Pregnancy After Loss. That’s something I have to work through in my way and I continue to, in my own time. I am still a work in progress. 

These things are the triggers that take me back to feelings I don’t want to feel. Panic I don’t want to have. Anxiety I don’t want to face. Grief I want to run from. That’s post traumatic stress derived from loss.

Being a third trimester mother of loss, I know that getting through a first trimester doesn't mean that you are safe from the unexpected or unimaginable. Anything can happen at any time. When it comes to this pregnancy, we will have the same approach as last time. The umbilical cord will continue to be watched closely. Hudson’s was very long and very thin, making it easy for him to become wrapped. Hadley’s was a marginal insertion which carried risk-factors of its own, but when monitored closely can be harmless. A marginal cord insertion happens when the umbilical cord attaches on the side of the placenta instead of in the middle (like it is supposed to). For this pregnancy, I’m praying for a normal cord placement without any issues.

At our appointment on Friday, we did learn that I currently have placenta previa. This means that my placenta has attached itself over the opening of my cervix. The good news is that this is something that has the ability to correct itself and that about 90% of the time, it does. We will go back in four weeks and find out if it has moved or not. It is a big prayer right now that this self-corrects and we can have a completely boring, uneventful pregnancy. I was told not to google placenta previa, but I did because, I'm only human and I'm not going to worry about those things unless we are faced with them. To save you the google search, it doesn't necessarily mean anything life-threatening to the baby and that is what is most important.

I’m praying for health and blessings on this little one. I’m praying that he or she will thrive.

You said you were 16 weeks, so what about the gender? That's the second question we get. This time, we aren't finding out until delivery.

From the time we got married and started dreaming of a future family, we said that if we already had a boy and a girl, if we were to have a third, we wouldn't find out the gender and would let it be a surprise. I am a perpetual planner and never really thought I could do that unless I was prepared either way. After Hudson died, I remember people who told us they felt like they "knew" Hudson. That finding out his gender, naming him as early as we did, it made me feel so connected to him, and others shared the same sentiment with us. I said at that time that we would always do that.

But, my grief continues to evolve. I'm in a different place now than when I was two years ago when I felt we needed to always know. A place where I think I need to not know, so that for once, I don't overthink and get carried away with the emotions of those thoughts. I'm in a place in my grief that I'm almost afraid to go through the emotions of knowing that I'm having a baby boy throughout a pregnancy. I imagined what life with Hudson would have brought us. When Hadley arrived, I got a good indication of everything we had missed - but it was different, girls and boys bring different things and different experiences. Planning for a boy again, I think it would bring on waves of grief and added stress that I really want to keep at bay during a pregnancy. I know myself and I would compare the two boy pregnancies and drive myself crazy with worry. On the flip side, I think if I were to know right now during the pregnancy that I was having a baby girl, there would be emotions of mourning a life as parents to a little boy after having been so close to it once before.

I don't want to cause myself more stress or anxiety than what there will inevitably be throughout a third trimester. Since we still don't know what caused Hadley's cord flow issues for sure, and it wasn't the blood clot because that came later, my stress is the top suspect. Therefore, I want to be as peaceful and calm as possible this pregnancy - especially if the placenta doesn't correct itself and I do end up with placenta previa and the complications that could come from that.

We are prepared to welcome another baby, either a little girl or little boy into our lives. We have already had one of each - maybe not in the way that we had planned, or the way that some would recognize, but in a way that allows us to hold true to the pinky promise we made on our honeymoon five years ago. I feel like once this baby arrives, regardless of gender, we will have the same reaction of relief to be holding a healthy baby, of pure joy to welcome them into our lives, and the feeling like our family is complete. I think having that moment to look forward to is what we need for this second Pregnancy After Loss and what will be our last pregnancy experience. I've heard it described as the ultimate gift and one of the last true surprises in life. Hudson is our angel, Hadley is our rainbow. This baby is our grand surprise and I think that is perfectly fitting and special for him or her.

October

It’s here again. October.

A month that was my favorite month for a long time. It was an exciting month. It was typically my busiest month. College football season in full swing. I always feel most inspired by fall cooking and decorating. It's a month full of events that I either attend or manage through work. It had become the new wedding season. There were costume parties for Halloween. The weather would become the perfect kind of perfect. 

And then 2015 rolled around. That year I had became a statistic and the month of October took on a new meaning. One that made that particular October dark and difficult. That year, I was one in four women to experience pregnancy and infant loss. I was 1% of women whose pregnancy resulted in stillbirth. I was 5% of that 1% (that’s a thing? yes, it is a thing.) whose baby died because of an umbilical cord accident. October is an awareness month for many things, Pregnancy and Infant Loss included. 

In October of 2016, we gave birth to our daughter, our blessing after loss, a baby that the Pregnancy and Infant Loss community term a "rainbow baby." My grief that followed Hudson's death was very much a storm. It was tumultuous and scathing. In the throes of it, it was like a hurricane-tornado-tsunami super storm all in one. To be clear, Hudson was never the storm, but the aftermath of his passing very much was for me - more so than anything I had ever experienced in my life. The hope of new life through our pregnancy with Hadley was that light needed, the faith needed, the redeeming love from loss needed. To me, the term rainbow baby is very indicative and symbolic for her and one I use.

So now October takes on a new meaning again. It is a month where my grief and my joy live together intertwined. See, she wasn't just born in October, she was born on the International day of remembrance for Pregnancy and Infant Loss, October 15. Last year in the hospital, it was such a bittersweet, beautiful testament. We were completely exhausted, emotional, and relieved to have a living, breathing baby in our arms. This year, as we celebrated her birthday, it was a little difficult. I wanted to honor him, but it was her day. I don't want her to grow up in the shadow of the brother who came before her but who didn't get to stay. There is his memory that we honor, but she is her own little person. While he is and will continue to be ingrained in our family through special ways of acknowledgment, I struggled with how that will look on her day that shared a meaning in the pregnancy and infant loss world that we were apart of. I struggled with the guilt of if I didn't acknowledge it and that of if I did.

The Wave of Light is an International movement that takes place across every time zone on October 15 at 7 pm. Throughout the day, I didn't think about it, the focus was all on her. Then her bedtime rolled around and that happened to be 7 pm. All day we had fun with her and made special first birthday memories. In the 7:00 evening hour, she was in bed, the house was quiet. With her day drawn to an end, it was time I could allocate to my firstborn. In my mind, I feel like that's the way it would have been if he were here. Little sister to bed first, a little more time with him before his own bedtime. In 2015, my coworkers at the time had made special candles and gave them out to people on the team, surprising me with it as a way to recognize Hudson together. One by one I saw their photos pop up that night on social media, or received texts of a photo with their candle lit. That candle inspired us to create special One Wing Foundation versions made by our Hudder Putter Classic volunteers for our Care Boxes for parents to personalize to their child. I keep that original candle close and with his hospital blanket bunny, lit it in a quiet space in the house. We had finally experienced the first birthday we had so longed for, and there was a lot of emotion attached to that on this particular evening. We had completed a year full of firsts and reflecting on that was really difficult to do because it was a reminder of everything we didn't get to have with him, while still radiating in the thankfulness that we did get to have it with her.

Parenting after loss has been full of a lot of moments like that. Experiencing something together as a family, or with Hadley that we'd been looking forward to doing, or didn't realize how much we had missed doing by not having him here. It's meeting people who have kids that would be in his class and thinking how our lives would have already intersected by now. It's doing family activities and attending events we never did previously because they were family-centric and now we have a little one to take to things, or one that will garner the invitation. It's in the life celebrations, now adapted because of a baby/child in the family. It's all the wonderful ways our lives have been enriched because of her. It's all the little things she does, how she learns, and develops, all the little milestones we experience with her. As we experienced those things, it was so exciting, but there was the thought - every single time - that I missed the chance to see him do it. Some of those light bulb moments are harder to swallow than others. Those times as parents that have been more challenging, my mind says this shouldn't have been the first time you are experiencing this and learning how to handle. Then people say, you are a first time parent, you'll figure it out and the next one will be a breeze. I hate being categorized as a first time parent - though okay, yes it is our first time to experience this - but to a Parent of Loss, most of us feel like we shouldn't be, this should be our second time around.

I have struggled to find my writing voice since early this year because I know that my writing is strongest when it comes from a place of pain. The pain that I had drawn from previously hasn't been as prevalent. Sure it has been there, but I have wanted to stay in the happy because we had this baby that had been so incredibly yearned for. I didn't want to seem ungrateful. Unappreciative. Like I was dwelling in the pain. That I couldn't enjoy the now. However, there is a truth to this side of it and it's okay to shine a little light on it. Especially for others who are walking this path and know they aren't alone in those moments that make them catch their breath a little bit, the things that can trigger the broken heart of loss, or the times grief could take hold for no reason other than because that love will always exist for the one who isn't here, too.

October represents a lot. For me, it is now my month where I can celebrate how hope was restored from the ultimate pain of loss, through the most beautiful gift of our daughter.

Two Years

Hudson,

Baby boy, today is your birthday. Somehow two years have come and gone. I sat with a friend the other day who asked me - doesn't it feel like it's been ten years and only five seconds all in one? I thought I'd be better this time around. I thought I'd have more peace. I thought having lived this loss after one full year and now a second would have given my heart more resolve on this day.

I thought wrong.

I've avoided my emotions for a while now. I've felt them building, the anxiety that can come with it, but I wanted to stay in the happy and not go to the place where the pain that you're not here is too overwhelming to bear sometimes. In this second year, I've talked about you more freely. I have smiled through the pain when I say I have one in Heaven and one at home. I can speak about loss now without tears every single time. I can smile when I say your name. But when I'm alone with my thoughts, or look long enough at your sister in my arms, the emotions I've tried to shut out begin to catch up to me. The life we didn't get to live and the memories we didn't get to create consume me.

Up until October 15, 2016, I only imagined all the things in life we've missed without you here. But starting at 5:08 am when Hadley was born and every minute since, I have learned just how much of the ordinary, everyday life we lost without you here.  I didn't know just how fulfilling the exhaustion of parenting was, just how much love can be felt from a neck nuzzle or smile, and just how much the little hugs or tugs of the finger can mean. I knew what we didn't have but I didn't know the depth of how much it hurt not to have it, until I did have it. I look at her and if I look long enough, it rips at my heart that I never got to look into your eyes. She loves to stare at us before breaking into a smile and it is adorable. Sometimes as she stares, I can't help but wonder what is going through her mind as she looks back at me, and then I think about how you never got to see me, your Mommy. You heard me, as you grew in my belly but you never saw me. I watch your Daddy with her and I get choked up often because he's just so good at it. He's an amazing Daddy and he should have had his son to be that to as well.

I avoided it for a long period of time because there was only so much my heart could endure, but I have allowed myself to see little ones around your age. We see them often now, especially as your sister has started daycare and we see kids of all ages. Whenever I pass a little one in the 2's class, it gives me pause every time. I wonder who you'd look like. Your sister is your Daddy's carbon copy, and you looked like me when you were born, but would you still? How would you and Hadley interact right now? What would you love to play with? I received my first pieces of art work from Hadley and decided to hang it along the new staircase and grow it into the playroom. I wonder how many pictures you would have drawn for us, how many Hudson originals I'd have already hung.

Every night before Hadley goes to bed, I sit with all my loves in my lap - Hadley, Georgie and the Hudson bunny. We rock together, we read stories, we snuggle. Sometimes Mommy cries. I wish you were here with us to make our family whole. I wish our lives had been able to experience your smile and laughter these two years. I want it all back, everything that was stolen from us two years ago when your heart stopped. All of it, I want it, I miss it. My mother's heart will never stop yearning for that life with you here too.

Today I don't want to get out of bed. Today I want to shut everything out. I want to cry until I can't cry anymore - which there are always more tears, I've learned. Yesterday I honored you in a special way. Next week we continue to honor you by furthering your legacy at your memorial golf tournament. But right now? Right now I just want you. I hear them playing in the other room and would give anything to walk in there to see Daddy, Georgie, and both our babies - my two year old and my 7 month old, with a birthday breakfast and balloons. We'd be starting our Hudson Day, your second birthday. I imagine you and see you with brown curls that maybe we'd have let grow out a little bit. I see you with my blue eyes but your Daddy's smile, that matches your sister's. Hadley smiles at you and you make her laugh. You make noises at each other and I raise an eyebrow thinking it's started, your own little language you keep from us. If only I could have five minutes of that on this day. Instead I'll close my eyes, cry the tears and live that scene in my mind. Over and over. I'll allow the warmth it creates in my heart to carry me through today when all I have are the memories of holding you when you were born, then twelve hours later, kissing you goodbye and watching as you were taken in a strangers arms until the door closed and you were gone.

We made you a birthday card and will tie it to a birthday balloon to send you in heaven. We'll have a cake for you that a special friend made for us to have in your honor. We will visit you at the church, and go on a walk trying to enjoy the outdoors where the sunbeams are like your smile, and the breeze in the air is like you playing all around us. I'll hold Hadley a little closer, I'll snuggle Georgie a little longer, I'll love your Daddy a little harder.

My heart breaks all over again on tough days like today, but it beats on. Happy Hudson Day, baby boy.

I love you with everything I have, always.

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.

Comfort and Joy

I started writing this in early December. Writing has been a huge part of my grief expression and sometimes the words just flow and it's an immediate release of my emotions. Other times I have to hit pause and come back over and over again because I need to process what is in my heart. In December, I had a lot going on internally that I needed to process. This time, I needed to hit the pause button a few times.

This holiday season was beautiful. A complete 180 from the year before. However, my grief changed that month. Instead of dealing with it the way I have over the past 19 months - 19 months, he would be 19 months right now - I put my grief on the proverbial shelf. In a closet. Locked on the other side from where I wanted to deal with it. I extended myself to others in their grief and was able to be a solid structure, there to provide support like those who did for me for those walking their first holiday season without the baby they thought they would have, but this year I wouldn't let myself go to my place of grief. I would feel it start to come on but then felt guilty for that sadness because of what we had this year, our daughter, so I wouldn't let myself go there. I had felt it stirring when we put up the tree hung his ornaments, when I got new stockings because I didn't have enough and needed him to still have one, when we took Hadley to visit Santa. When I went to buy gifts for the Angel Tree little boy in honor of Hudson and I stood there in the aisle of Target in a catatonic state, numb and frozen, looking at the things that should fill our home because of the little boy we would have, had the terrible thing not happened. I longingly thought of how the family traditions we were starting should be in their second year, not the first.

After we opened our Christmas Eve family package of pajamas, a book to read together, and a dish set for Santa's Cookies and Milk, I sat by the tree with our little blessing in my arms. What I haven't followed up with here is what we found out about my placenta abnormality. At our 6 week post-partum check up at the beginning of December, my doctor told me that it was actually a blood clot. A blood clot that wasn't detected in the 20+ sonograms we had and was the likely cause of the cord high blood pressure, not the marginal cord insertion, and that it could have been fatal to her and detrimental to me. Our doctor told us she needs to look into this more because I didn't present with any of the usual causes for this such as placental abruption, and my blood work wasn't consistent with a blood clotting disorder, gestational diabetes or a deficiency of some sort. She said we will discuss it more when I come back for a follow up at 8 months postpartum. She said let's enjoy Hadley right now because she is our little miracle. That most likely the clot was a fluke, but it is concerning to have two flukes with both pregnancies.

So I held this baby, the baby we longed for, knowing she could have not made it as well, but she did. I held her with just the light of the tree illuminating the room. Everything that had been building inside of me since around Thanksgiving just came out. I sobbed into her as she slept on my shoulder and Max came over to the couch to hold me. I couldn't verbalize everything in my heart out loud but I simply was able to say that I am so thankful for her and I wish Hudson were here too. I wanted to have our family in its entirety. The days leading up to Christmas, I kept thinking about last year. We did what we could do to try to enjoy the most wonderful time of year, but we did what we needed to survive it.

Surviving Christmas. That was our grief reality last year. That's what many people's realities are when they are missing a loved one for an important holiday. Outside of his due date, this was the beginning of the milestone round of firsts to conquer and they were wrapped up in the holiday season, the most family-centric time of year. We had made the month of December all about baby the year before as we spent the month slowly sharing with family and friends that we were expecting and dreamed of the following Christmas with a third member of our family. A year later that little one only existed in our hearts. He wasn't with us, it was a time of joy to the outside world around us while we were stuck in deep sadness.

So in order to try to comfort our hearts, we escaped to try to find joy. We went somewhere that the magic and message of Christmas still existed but we escaped the version that made us sad. We needed to be vacation us.

Vacation us is carefree.
Vacation us says yes to adventure and opportunities.
Vacation us wants to experience everything we can.
Vacation us is whoever we want to be.
Vacation us is a happy couple who were not surrounded by the every day reality that their son died and all the grief that accompanied it.
Vacation us is not sad.

So we were vacation us, escaping Christmas memories and of what we had already imagined, for something new and different when our hearts couldn't take the reality of the season. However, it did make me sad, I didn't want to have to skip Christmas, but trying to do it the way we always did hurt more. Escaping was the lesser of two evils.

I didn't write about it last year because it was laced with dark humor. The nutshell version is that when we tried to escape our grief, we ended up lost in a cemetery on Christmas Day.

Here's the full version. We woke up on Christmas Day in Montreal and it felt blah. We had attended a breathtakingly beautiful Christmas Eve Mass at the Notre Dame Basilica and the experience was too much for words. I described it some in my seven month letter to Hudson but even reading back through it with tears in my eyes, it still didn't do it justice. It was emotionally draining but at the same time, a highlight of our trip.

Waking up on Christmas Day we had sweet messages from friends and family who were thinking of us and wishing us peace. When I plan trips, I plan a day full of things to do. Going into that trip, I didn't know what to plan for Christmas Day. I didn't know how we would feel, what we'd be up for, if we'd order room service and just lay in bed all day allowing waves of emotions to consume us, or if we'd need distraction. So I looked into what was open and had created a list just in case. I made a spa reservation and a dinner reservation but the rest of the day was up in the air with ideas if we needed them. There was an emotional hangover that morning and we decided on distraction. Out of all the things, we had read that Montreal was known for its bagels and there are two spots that compete to be the best bagel. So we decided to go check out the dueling bagel shops. We asked our uber driver on the way there about Mont Royal. We read it was filled with park space and tourist opportunities, it boasted the best views of the city from a scenic hike and a chalet at the top. We had our bagels - which were completely unimpressive if you were wondering - then went into a coffee shop to actually eat them since both locations were line only. The owner of the shop elaborated on the reviews and told me Max would propose there. I told him we were already married. He then said he will propose again because it was so romantic. He told us it was walkable and gave us the scenic route but that it would take 45 minutes. We used the GPS on our phones to come up with what we thought was an alternate route and quicker, since we had massage appointments later that afternoon and had about 2 hours to spend before we needed to get to the spa.

Taking "short cuts" we followed French signage to Mont Royal but what no one told us was that the lovely oversized hill/small mountain was 85% cemetery. No exaggeration, I found that percentage AFTER the fact when we got back to the hotel. So we had taken this vacation to get away from our holiday sadness due to the fact that our baby had died and wasn't with us, but here we were lost in a cemetery. The dark humor in us found it rather comical at first. But after 30 minutes of trying to find our way out because headstone after headstone finally became enough, coupled with my own guilt that I was stuck in a Jewish Orthodox cemetery of strangers rather than visiting my own baby's final resting place on Christmas, it reached a breaking point of get us the $%!& out of here.

We followed a chain linked fence up a steep hill, trying to catch a view of what was below us. Max then spotted an opening in it and we decided that was our shot. We had already walked so far into it, this seemed like the fastest option out. I was sweating at this point and had taken off my coat, scarf and mittens in the 34 degree weather. Holding all of this, I followed Max as he crawled through the hole in the fence. We saw a road with human life form and the famed lookout points below us. Once we got through the fence, we found ourselves on a slope we had to get down carefully and then onto a bit of a landing patch before another slope down to civilization. From the top of the fence hole, this looked pretty simple. However, as we were doing it, we realized it was much more steep than we thought.

We carefully sidestepped our way down the first incline reaching the landing where, to our right there was an easy way, a gradual decline to the sidewalk. However, I kid you not, a fox was sitting in the middle of it staring at us. Have you ever seen a fox in person? I had never seen a fox in person. They are smaller than I thought and actually really cute. If I wasn't so angry at that point in time, I think I would have liked to cuddle it and it's beady little eyes taunting us. Instead, I was ready to throw something at it (calm down PETA, not hit it of course) to startle and move him out of the way. Max told me if I wanted to be attacked and get rabies, that was a solid plan. To our left was our other option - a very steep, about 8 foot drop off. There were some tree roots we could see through the leaves and Max used those almost like a ladder to get down. When it was my turn, I threw down my purse, my coat, gloves and scarf and used the excellent traction of my Ugg boots (heavy sarcasm here if you can't tell) to scale down. My legs were too short to scale it the way Max did. So another small detail was that it had rained heavily the day before. Under the leaves we could see was a ton of mud we couldn't see. My foot slipped out from under me and I went down the incline on my rear, using my hands to try to slow the fall. I reached the bottom on my butt, hands covered in thick mud, Max looking at me wide-eyed and trying to gauge an appropriate reaction. There were two college-aged girls with luggage at the tour bus stop right at the base of this opening who turned around and looked at us in horror. I looked up at them and simply said we got lost. The mud was caking onto my hands and I asked Max to dig through my purse to get the kleenex packet from the church service the night before. We were now in the tourist area of Mont Royal, there were people, and lookout points but I was so over it. Max found one spot and we ventured out onto the rocks as far as we could for that incredible view. I was still wiping mud off my hands and my sweet husband lightened the mood and asked, so do you like, want to get married or something?

We finally found the chalet and went inside to warm up a bit and I had a chance to wash the remaining mud off my hands. Then it came time to heading back down. We could take the road or there were steps built into the "mountainside" and we did a combination of the two. The massage appointments we had immediately following at the Scandinave Les Bain Vieux were more appreciated than we could have imagined. That evening we sat by candlelight and enjoyed dinner at a popular Jazz bar in the Old Town of Montreal. I remember eating that dinner thinking it's almost over, we've almost finished escaping Christmas. We went to bed that night exhausted and the same thought echoed through my mind that had for every holiday since Hudson died - surely, just surely, we will have a baby in our arms at this time next year.

This year, his little sister was in our arms. Grief still existed, though I tried to escape that this December instead. I wish my son was learning how to be a big brother to his sister. I wish they both were in the picture of visiting Santa. I wish we had Christmas gifts for both of them under the tree. I wish he was the toddler he would be, more engaged in the holiday than he should have been the year before. He will always be missing, I'll always picture him there with our family, among the cousins, next to her. Last year at that midnight mass I cried my eyes out to Silent Night, a song that now had an entirely different meaning to me. Sleep in Heavenly peace. It is hauntingly beautiful to me. This year, I couldn't hear that song without crying still. I don't think I ever will.

We all find our comfort and joy in different ways. As a parent of loss, I will seek the comfort needed to experience the joy there is.

Thanks in a time of Grieving

Last night, our little family sat on the couch. Tired after a long day/night, we enjoyed the quiet moments together. George was nuzzled between us, Hadley was asleep on my shoulder post-feeding. Max and I were trying to figure out the best way to move her into her Dock a Tot without waking her up. Suddenly his face lit up and he mouthed "she's smiling!" Then a series of coos and squeaks began. In those moments of sheer joy, memories flooded back of last year at this time. I was in such a dark place. I was grasping frantically for something to fill the void, but was missing it altogether. I wanted our Hudson so very badly, a life with him was all I could think about. I was lost, deeply sad at all times, and very broken. A year ago I didn't see hope. I didn't see happy again. I was just submerged in the sadness. I felt so isolated and alone most of the time. I can only imagine how hard I was to be around because I started to give up on camouflaging it with others. I had found my rock bottom of grief at this exact time last year.

Last night I had this precious baby girl on my chest with her sweet noises and sleep smiles. All of it filled me with emotion and I cried. Max thought I was tired and exhausted, he hugged me and told me to go get some sleep, he was going to take night duty. I looked at him and just said that I was emotional because of where I was a year ago, depressed and so unhappy, but now here we are, with her. Last year I struggled to find thankful, to be grateful. I found thanks that Hudson was ours, though not the way that we would have wanted, because we were without him. This year I'm not emotional because of what feels empty, I'm emotional because how full we feel. I have become accustomed to the piece of us that despite the fullness, feels like there is someone who will always be missing.

Last week the One Wing Foundation held its final fundraising event of the year, our Wine & Dine dinner. At that event, we had a representative from the Grief and Loss Center of North Texas speak. She did a beautiful job presenting on a difficult topic, grief. One thing that struck me is that the most common misinterpretation of grief is that the first year and its milestones are the hardest. As a grieving person, I knew we would grieve Hudson as long as we lived but I didn't think that it could be more difficult outside of that first year. What she's found is that the second year can be just as if not even more difficult. It hit me hard because for us, our second year has not been more difficult. As we prepared for Hadley, of course there were intense emotions and a wish that we would be introducing him to his little sister, however, we've found a healing and peace in this second year without our son. I know that's because of Hadley and what she has not only restored to our life but also the new pieces of life she's brought us. Not everyone has that. However, what I take from her talk was that people - both grievers and non-grievers alike - underestimate grief as a whole. We had a very hard first year but grief is never ending. It will be difficult at different times, for different people. Though this second year hasn't been as hard or harder for us, for others it very much may be. Though we aren't experiencing it right now, that doesn't mean we won't as time goes on. The grief is always looming and it may become more difficult at another time. When I went to bed last night, I was thinking about this and I found myself crying for Hudson and my wish to have both my son and daughter here with us this holiday season, a time of year that is centered around family. The looming grief found a vulnerable time to invade my heart and mind.

This morning as I was having time with Hadley, I thought about how two years ago we were pregnant with Hudson and we were trying to hide it from family on Thanksgiving. Next week when I go in to see my doctor for my six week check up, I thought how it will be the same week we went in for our first sonogram with him. We will celebrate our four year anniversary weekend this year by baptizing our sweet baby girl, when last year we were mourning not having our baby boy with us. I feel there are so many things that have come full circle throughout the last two years.

I had a conversation via text yesterday with a friend who is in a season of grief herself. We were discussing this holiday season and went back and forth about the platitudes offered and how most people cannot simply exist with another person in their grief. It is our nature to try to fix when most of the time, a grieving person wants someone to justify their feelings or have someone to just sit with them in it. We live in a grief illiterate society, but people do mean well and there are ways to "help fix" that are better than others.

This holiday season, you may know people in your life experiencing a Thanksgrieving or a Blue Christmas. If they have lost someone close to them whether it's been a few months or a few years, the holidays will be difficult. I challenge you that if you do have someone close to you in a season of grief, let them know you are there. Don't tell them things will get better, don't tell them anything that equates to what has happened is God's will or everything happens for a reason. Justify where they are with their emotions instead. Tell them this sucks. Tell them you hurt with them. Say their loved ones name. Share a memory of their loved one with them. Sit with them in their grief. It makes them feel like they are understood and someone else recognizes their pain. This can be more uplifting than any platitude or well wish.

As you prepare to send your holiday cards, if you know someone who has lost a loved one in the past year or seem very raw in their grief, don't send them the card everyone else will receive of your beaming family. It intensifies their pain and is like a fluorescent blinking arrow of what is missing in their life: a husband, a wife, a child, a mother, a father, a brother, a sister. Instead, when you are at the store, pick up a thinking of you card and send that instead. It's heartfelt, it's personal to them, it is so appreciated. For those who may be more removed from grief, that may not be necessary but I would definitely stay away from it if you can sense they pain is raw.

For the grieving family members, find a way to incorporate the loved one's memory into your holiday traditions. Maybe it is a stocking with their name, a family tree ornament representative of them in some way, a tradition surrounding the one who isn't there, or setting a place at the table to show they aren't forgotten. Maybe talk to those grieving hard - if they are parents of loss, a sibling of loss, a child of loss or spouse of loss - to ask them how they would like their loved one's memory portrayed in the family celebrations so you can know what they need.

To those grieving, create a plan for your holiday season. Know that you are not alone. Know that though it's hard sometimes, there is thanks and giving to be found and that there can be joy amidst pain. Do what you need to do to make it through this next month of watching the world go on around you when yours may feel halted. Practice self-care and whatever that means for you right now, during this season of grief.

For us personally, we needed different. Last year we had to host Thanksgiving to keep ourselves busy. It needed to be a different setting than what we did each year because I had already envisioned that setting with our son and it was too hard to do it without him. We needed a change up. Christmas was especially difficult, it was the time we had told our families the year before that we were expecting. Those memories were too glaring and the pain without him was too raw. I couldn't be around expecting family members while we were struggling to get pregnant after experiencing the death of our baby. It was too hard to be around other parents experiencing Christmas with their little ones. So we escaped. Travel is something that is special to us, it connects us on a deeper level being able to see and experience new things together. My husband needed snow because that represented the holidays to him, so we chose a Winter Wonderland in Montreal and Quebec City. It was what we needed to get through not having our son for Christmas.

We've all heard of the 5 love languages and you may or may not know your personal language style of giving and receiving love. If you don't, try this. Here are some ideas of ways to express that based on your personal love language.

• If your love language is through gifts, send them a thoughtful way to include their loved one in the holiday, like an ornament for their tree. Last year it meant so much to me to receive ornaments in Hudson's memory. Our Christmas tree tells our family story and now Hudson was able to be included in that. Etsy makes some wonderful remembrance ornaments, Pier One has these beautiful angel wings, LaurelBox makes these ornaments for grieving loss. If they do not celebrate Christmas or you would like to do something else meaningful, consider a donation in memory of their loved one to an organization that may mean something special to them. That simple gift helps a grieving person feel like their loved one lives on or has left a legacy, no matter how big or small.  

• If your love language is through words, send them a text, an email, a card or call them. When people are deep in grief, many times they do not want to talk on the phone, but they will appreciate your attempt even if they don't answer or return the call. A text or email may illicit a response they are more comfortable with, but if they don't respond, know they are grateful to hear from you. You can say you wish (loved one's name) was here with them, too. You can simply say you wish them comfort today. It doesn't have to be profound or a novel. Sometimes the more simple the better. 

• If your love language is through service, take them a meal, mow their lawn, offer to help them around the house, or grab them some essentials from the grocery store just because you were thinking about them. Many times, help is offered but a grieving person may not be able to or know how to accept help. Sometimes you just need to show up and do it, or proactively stay on top of them to say today I'm coming over to do x, y or z. 

• If your love language is through time, like with service, stay on top of them and arrange time to spend together. Offer to take them to visit the resting place of their loved one with them, to go on a walk or another fitness activity they may be too inhibited by grief to try to do on their own, go to coffee or lunch, or have a movie marathon at their home. 

• If your love language is through touch, never underestimate the power of a hug. 

As a grieving person, you can also use the 5 love languages to express your grief in a way that honors your loved one.

• If your love language is through gifts, if your heart is ready, adopt an Angel from an Angel Tree who would be the same age as your loved one or hold a baking day with friends or family and take those baked goods to people as a gift. Last year I found a snowflake poem that made me think of Hudson. I found snowflake ornaments and gave those to others in Hudson's memory. This year we will adopt a 1 year old boy from the Angel Tree and as a family, we will honor Hudson by giving another little boy a special Christmas in Hudson's name.

• If your love language is through words, use writing as a form of expression. Write them a letter, story or narrative. You can scrapbook special things that makes you think of them. Connect with others on your path and go to coffee with them to talk about how you are feeling or text them when hurting most. I found myself writing and meeting with other loss moms a lot during the holidays last year and it was a great band aid for my heart to use my writing and conversation to help heal. 

• If your love language is through service, use a volunteer opportunity to serve those in need at a food kitchen on Thanksgiving or Christmas. Create bags of food for families who can't afford to feed the mouths around the table. Organize toys at a local hospital or shelter for kids who don't have anything can bring healing to your heart. Maybe it is connecting with others walking your path through a support group care package or ornament exchange. 

• If your love language is through time, surround yourself with family or special friends who make you happy. Plan out activities to fill your time when you think you may be sad. Spend time at a nursing home talking with someone who may not have anyone to visit them. 

• If your love language is through touch, don't be afraid to ask for a hug or someone to hold your hand when you need it. Another way to fulfill that is to go to an animal shelter and cuddle those animals who don't have owners to love them yet. 

Most importantly, know that you are not alone. Know there is a community ready to embrace you if you are in need. Seek out your tribe and find the support you need to get through this difficult season. If you can't make a list of what you are thankful for this year, that's okay. Maybe you can find thankfulness it in the one you wish were here. A thanks that you had them at all, even if just for a little while. Sending you love, comfort and peace during this season.