Rick's Legacy

Authentic, genuine, honest, grace-filled, loving. There are so many words we could use to describe Rick Meadows. To me, these are his testament, his true witness. Over the years, he has laughed, told stories, hugged, encouraged and cried some of the most honest tears with my family.

His smile is my earliest memory as a little girl new to CUMC. His hugs got me through my teenage years and he was one of the few people who accepted our changing family and loved us through the transition without judgement. With time we became friends and I enjoyed all of his stories. Some of my favorites were in his office as Evan and I prepared to be married. I am so thankful to have our ceremony on video, the glint in his eye as he read our letters has never been forgotten.

But perhaps the greatest love he shared with me was that week in September of 2011. The prayer on speakerphone at the hospital was exactly what we as a family needed. His tear stained smile as he met us at the door of Moore's. The thoughtfulness that went into sharing the basin that Mary Elizabeth had been baptized with and the words that have carried me each and every day. The act of baptizing Aidan alone. The hugs and tears as we prepared for the services. The fact that he stood up next to that tiny casket with such grace and composure, says everything about him. The hugs that have since followed and the "check ins" as he called them.

Because of him, I understand what it means to be truly authentic. I have witnessed a true disciple at work. I have felt immense love and care. I have laughed so hard, I have been given the freedom to cry without judgement, and I have been loved because he chose to love me.

He is one of the true great men in my life and my world just seems a little more empty without him.

He also gave me hope. And I smile because I know without a doubt he is telling A stories tonight. Stories of battles in the civil war, stories of humor, stories of his momma as a little girl.

I will miss the hugs, I will miss the laughter, I will miss him updating me on his girls, but most of all, I will miss his love.

This day

It is the Sunday before Labor Day. This day is the reason I feel such a pull to be surrounded by those I love. Why I hate to miss church. Why I light a candle at church and sing to Gods glory. 

Two years ago, on the Sunday before Labor Day, I was given a precious gift. Aidan was born. I became a momma. 

Last year we chose to hop on a boat and just be. We turned off the phones, left the computer behind, literally left the country. We celebrated and remembered. We took the time to ourselves and allowed ourselves to heal. 

This year, we are staying home. I have tried to think of ways to celebrate and honor Aidan this week. I have some special things planned. While I know they will never truly live up to him, they are my way of saying thank you and passing on his goodness. 

This week is tough yet a favorite. It is my chance to revel in the gift of my son. It is my week to share of God's love and mercy. 

Today was spent surrounded by family. Celebrating the new life that has been born in the past year. I couldn't help but think of Aidan and how similar the days were. Aidan's Sunday was a day of awe and being surrounded in Grace. I don't see that day as goodbye. That day was everyone's hello to the tiny boy who would leave the biggest legacy. 

This week the tears will fall and I will miss him with all of the rawness, but I will also smile and hopefully honor him in a way he deserves. 

As I sit here watching Kellan sleep, I can feel the wholeness of Aidan. I know that Kellan is so much of his brother. Our connection to heaven. Our gift from above. 

It's not his birth date, but it is his Sunday. His beautiful perfect Sunday. 

A legacy

I wanted to take a step back and pay tribute to a woman who helped the loss community in central Arkansas immensely.

​When I think of nurses on labor and delivery, I immediately think of the happy deliveries. They are the ones who push a momma through labor and then turn around and hand that beautiful baby to the families. They are a face of comfort and joy.

​Until, you aren’t that typical family. Your baby has died/is dying/will die. You are in a state of shock. You are numb. You are terrified. And then you are expected to labor and deliver all of your hopes and dreams, knowing you won’t get to see them come true. It is here that you hope and pray that you have a nurse like Treasure Grier; someone who even in the darkest moments is a ray of light, a woman of unending grace and infinite compassion.  Someone who will look at your baby and be able to show you their beauty and make sure you have every memory possible. A nurse who wouldn’t shy away from your room because she is uncomfortable, rather she embraces your entire family and loves your baby without limit.

​Treasure began paving the way for grieving families long before most others. She recognized the need and wanted to make sure that these families were able to honor their children. She stood at the front of the pack and made sure no baby was left behind. Treasure became the coordinator for the bereavement program at her local hospital, Love Lives. Bracelets, bears, hats, clothes, layettes, books and pictures all came to be because of her dedication: all precious memories that countless families have because of her heart. She was more than a nurse. She became a part of your family.

​I didn’t deliver Aidan at Treasure’s hospital, but as time crept by she still filled that role for me. All of my questions, all of my doubts, all of my fears….she was able to give me some answers. She was able to give me the knowledge I needed to begin to heal.

​She is one of the first people who believed I could carry a baby to term. She promised to walk the journey with me and be my nurse. She started the hope that grew to be Kellan.

​When I think of her, I think of someone who radiated joy. I see her in her scrubs, I hear her laugh, I feel her tears when she talked of the babies, I soak in the love she had for her own family. She saw the best in everyone and was determined to make us all be that person and nothing short.

​Today is August 6th. One year ago today, Treasure ran into the arms of all of those babies she cared for. In her earthly life, she loved our babies and carried their families through the darkness. For the past year, we have loved her and carried her legacy on. Each and every life she touched has been changed.

 We are group of nurses, moms, doctors, friends, family and we are all connected by a woman. She left us much too soon, but we are all determined to finish the task. We will break the taboo. We are shattering the silence. With each and every day we walk in her footsteps. Every step is a promise to remember, honor and treasure these lives.

Lessons

There are moments in life that define you. In the past two years, I've had A LOT of them. I've learned the true meaning of compassion and grace. I've witnessed pure strength in the face of overwhelming sadness. I've faced fear head on and relied completely on my faith. I promised that I would keep Aidan's  legacy alive and ensure that he made a difference to the world. 

As I sat in a hospital room tonight, I was taken back to our own room and the time I spent with Aidan. I was able to share our journey amd hopefully ease some of that burden for another family. The most important lesson I learned from our way to short of time with Aidan was to make every moment count. Memories are all that I have and I am so thankful that I made them. Now I want to share that knowledge and encourage others to do the same. We are not guaranteed tomorrow so why waste today? 

I have also learned to trust in my faith and to lean into God when there just are no words. And truly when you are looking into the eyes of grieving parents there are no words. You must simply draw your strength from him and allow him to lead. If you can do that then You are truly the hands and feet of God. 

I live, truly live, each day for Kellan. I'm no longer just trying to survive the waves of grief. I can finally draw a breath and feel it filling my lungs. I can find the joy in purely being alive. I breath, eat, pray, and truly enjoy each day. All for Kellan. 

But in moments like tonight, these I do for Aidan. I draw my strength and my courage from all of his 14.6 ounces. His perfection allows me to see these families and their babies and see only love. Not death. His life inspires me. 

My heart breaks every time I hear of another baby passing. Prayers are lifted. If I can, I reach out. 

And for the first time, tonight I raced home to be with Kellan. My miracle. My joy. 

         

Thankful for What?

In the time "before Aidan" I like to think that I was grateful. However, I know without a shadow of a doubt that I wasn't nearly thankful enough. I didn't appreciate the moments in the present and was usually hoping that the current good times could happen again. I was always planning for the next time instead of enjoying the moment I was being given. I couldn't live in the present because I was already looking ahead.

 

Of course, time stopped when I went into labor. Suddenly I couldn't look forward. All I wanted was for time to stop or even go backwards. I spent those hours cherishing every kick. Memorizing every heartbeat. Thankful that so many took the time to come visit.

 

Then, when the unthinkable happened, I needed time to freeze forever. I have never been more thankful for patience, tears, words, silence and the compassion to allow us to love Aidan as much as we needed. For the first time I was truly present in the moment. Moments that will have to last me a lifetime. Moments that are some of the most precious.

 

In the almost two years since then, I have learned more everyday to appreciate each smile, laugh, tear, hug and snuggle. I have loved with all of my heart and then some.

 

Since Kellan's arrival, I find myself losing time. I lose minutes, hours and occasionally days. Not because of the exhaustion of a newborn, but because I am so immersed in these moments. Moments I wasn't sure I would get to have. Moments that I often think of Aidan and know that I am getting a second chance.

 

 

The big moments are fantastic. The moments that I have thought about and dreamed about are even better in this reality.

 

But, the small moments are the ones that I am really soaking in. The snuggles, the coos, the early morning feedings, each new development....all of them are so precious. The past 10 weeks have flown by. My heart has been so full. I've even found myself cherishing the hard moments. The ones where I miss Aidan so much I think I might just break again.

 

So yes, I am that mom.

 

I laugh at his cries because they are the most beautiful sound.

 

I laugh at his pout because it looks like his Daddy.

 

I cheer when he poops because it is one more diaper I get to change.

 

I smile through the bittersweet moments because they are moments that belong to both of my boys.

 

I take the time to pause and be thankful when I get to fold up a stroller and put it in the trunk for another use.

 

I had to stop writing this and go rock a fussy baby to sleep and it was quite possibly the highlight of a pretty terrific day.

 

I find healing in these moments. And for that I am so thankful.

 

You came to my rescue

Almost two years ago, I stood in a room and had my child baptized. I held him while being surrounded by Evan and our parents. The pastor who had married us was there reciting words that I cherish. Honoring one of the few wishes I could control. We promised to honor and cherish. We thanked God for this life and vowed to make sure it served a bigger purpose. We remembered our own baptisms and renewed our faith. It was a holy moment. A moment that took place in the back room of a funeral home. A moment that has allowed me to maintain a grasp on sanity on the worst of days. Because the moments and days that followed were the hardest I have ever known. 

No parent should transition from a baptism to sitting at a mahogany table discussing arrangements and browsing burial options. The moments in that room are the ones that wake me up at night. They are the ones that bring me to my knees. They were the beginning of the end of my time with Aidan while here on earth. 

This past Sunday I got to do it again. I got to hold my child and present him for baptism. I got to do it in front of all of our family and friends. I got to smile and soak up every moment of Kellan's perfect day. We made the same promises. We said the same words. I felt the same holiness. 

Every moment we get to experience with Kellan is tinged with a bitter sweetness of those we miss with Aidan. But this moment, this moment I got with both. 

One of my favorite songs is "You came to my rescue". It touches the deepest parts of my heart. I sing it often. We sang it Sunday. 

Truly, I know that these boys are my rescue. They are my reason for living. They are Gods glory. I'm just lucky enough to carry the title of momma to them. 

Falling on my knees in worship

Giving all I am to seek your face

Lord all I am is yours

My whole life

I place in your hands

God of Mercy

Humbled I bow down

In your presence at your throne

I called you answered

And you came to my rescue and I

I wanna be where you are

In my life be lifted high

In our world be lifted high

In our love be lifted high

Thankful

Life in this new normal is always tinged with a sense of anxiety. An extra dose of fear. What if something else happens? What if I have to say goodbye to someone else that I love so dearly?

Of course, during Kellan's pregnancy and delivery the fear was amped up. There is also a sense of expectation (for lack of a better word). I spent so long preparing myself for the worst case scenario just because I live with the reality that it does actually happen. I refused to be caught off guard again.

That first week of Kellan's life I was convinced something was going to happen. With every cry, grunt, nurses check, Dr's appointment, car ride, hour of sleep I would attempt to prepare my heart for what was to come. Attempt being the key word there. As much as I thought I could "prepare" myself for another battle, I was desperate to not fail him. I so badly need him to thrive and fill my arms.

He will be six weeks on Saturday and I had finally gotten to the point where I was trusting my gut. I was starting to believe that I just might get the upper hand on the anxiety, when the words heart murmur were uttered. Out of nowhere. I was totally unprepared. And it shook me to the core.

Some people will question why a murmur would seem so scary. People have murmurs all the time and are totally fine. But, in my world I can no longer live by that rationale. I am all too aware that the usual or status quo isn't a guarantee. Bad things happen. For no reason. Without warning.

Today, Kellan and I traveled to Arkansas Children's Hospital to the heart clinic. Our pediatrician referred us, with our history she wanted to have him seen. We were quite the scene. A terrified mom pretending to have it all together while she pulls her month old miracle around this hospital in a wagon. This little boy and I are quite the pair!

Thankfully, after lab work, vitals, ekg and two wonderful doctors he was deemed perfect. Perfectly healthy with little to no murmur. No follow ups, no reasons to worry. I was allowed to breath and walk out relieved. 

I will never be able to take these moments for granted. Another gift from Aidan and his legacy. 

Hearing that he is perfectly healthy and congratulations are truly gifts. 

On this side of grief every single thing is different. Literally. I'm learning it over and over again. 

Tonight I am just flat out thankful. Thankful for Kellan's health. Thankful that I am able to be thankful because of Aidan. Thankful that I can see the joy in this beautiful mess. 

Finding my voice

This month over at Still Standing.

 

What happens when the fear creeps in? What happens when you feel the anxiety taking over? What happens when you have so much joy, you are afraid you aren’t allowed to grieve anymore?

I am sure it is different for everyone, but for me, I lost my voice.

Last September, less than two weeks after Aidan’s first birthday, we found out I was pregnant. From that moment on I started to feel it slip away. My ability to “talk it out” has gotten harder and harder to do. I still vocally talk about Aidan whenever possible. I think about him every single day. But, as the pregnancy progressed I found it harder and harder to write. I have at times been criticized for being so open and I think that took root while I was pregnant. How could I talk about missing my son, when I had been blessed with the opportunity of another child? Why would I want to dwell on that when there is so much joy? I just didn’t know if people would still want to hear about Aidan.

In the past weeks, I have been encouraged numerous times to come back to this safe place. I have been asked to please come back to writing. Not for anyone else, but for myself. And for my boys.

It’s strange that I am more nervous about writing this, than I have been anything else. Telling Aidan’s story is sacred. I was writing to survive. I now know that I can survive and in that knowledge I feel more exposed. I am more protective of Aidan and Kellan. If someone judges my writing about them, are they judging our decision to have another baby? To include Aidan as much as we do? Are we not including him enough?

At first, it was the fear of losing another baby that froze my words. My pregnancy with Kellan was one of extremes. From joy to fear, excitement to pain, endless waiting to praying for more time it was a glorious beautiful testament to our determination and desire. Kellan is one of the most wanted, loved and prayed for babies. At the same time his brother is one of the most missed boys I’ve known.

It is the juxtaposition of these two boys that really caused me to lose my voice. How could I possibly write about the two of them and stay true to both of them? Is it possible?

In the past month, I have felt more like a mom of two than ever before.

I have been recognized as a mother of two more than ever before.

In that, I have felt the pull. I have felt the tug of needing to write. I am beginning to find my voice again.

I am learning that even though we have Kellan in our arms, we are still allowed to share Aidan. I am allowed to carry one child in my arms while still carrying Aidan in my heart at all times. I can speak of them both. Some people won’t understand. Some will judge. Others will embrace us as a family of four. And then there are those who will stand beside us.

I am a mother of two incredible little boys. I am a mother who is proud of her boys. I am a mother who is finding her voice again. I am a mother who is still standing.



The Journey in April (Still Standing Magazine)

What’s in a name?

This month I wanted to ask you all, what’s in a name? How do you decide? What is important to you, when it comes to naming our children?

When we first heard the words “It’s a boy!” with Aidan, I immediately saw what I wanted for his life; who I hoped he would grow to be like. We had been tossing around names for weeks, but suddenly I knew. I knew that our little fighter would be Aidan. His daddy had picked that name and suddenly it just fit. He was our fire.

I also knew that he would be Thomas. There are many Thomas’ throughout history that have made a difference. That has had an impact on the world. I grew up with one. I was lucky enough to know a man named Tom Martin. He was a bigger brother that I never had. He taught me things like knot tying, canoeing, the art of water balloons and how to stand up for what you believed. As we grew up, Tom joined the army. On October 14, 2007 Tom was killed while in Iraq. He died a hero. His legacy lives on through an amazing family. I wanted my son to have that same kind of impact.

I had no idea how quickly Aidan would do these things. I could have never imagined that he would fulfill my hopes and dreams without ever taking a breath.

So, when it came time for us to pick a name for Aidan’s little brother, I knew that the name was vital. It was the first step on this child’s path. We tossed around name after name. None seemed to be “the one.” Then, one night my husband looked at me and handed me a name on a notepad. “Kellan.” Kellan means warrior. It was perfect. It had everything I was looking for. Strength, ended in “an” like his brother so they are forever connected, and carries part of my mom’s maiden name. It was meant to be. We chose Kent as his middle name, named after his papa, my dad.

For me, picking out a child's name is one of the first life altering decisions we make as a parent. It is the foundation for what will be. It is the beginning of a beautiful story. It is the thing by which our children will always be known.

I love saying our boys’ names. I love hearing their names.

So, what’s in a name? To this mom, it is everything.

What do you do in their room? (The Journey)

We are going to try changing up The Journey piece for a few months. We are going to try and focus on a topic and invite you to come and share your perspective with us all. I’m hoping that we can connect and reflect and hopefully even reach another parent who is walking this journey with us.

There are so many things that you are just never prepared for when you don’t get to bring your child home. One of the hardest things was coming back to a house that included his room, but he would never grow up in. We shut that door and it became the room we didn’t enter. I couldn’t even open the door without falling apart. Let alone go through his things. Finally, with the help of two of the strongest women I know, we redid Aidan’s room. Instead of his nursery it became my sanctuary. His things were proudly displayed. It was my safety zone. It was the proof that his life counted.

                I couldn’t imagine trying to create another nursery. Planning Aidan’s was planning my dream. How was I supposed to do that again? With this pregnancy it has been a delicate balance of excitement, anticipation and overwhelming fear. All of this has gone into Kellan’s nursery. I wanted something all his own, while simultaneously including his big brother. Was this possible? Was it fair?

                I strongly believe that all of my children should be treated equal. While I realize that doesn’t mean we will do for Aidan as much as we will do for Kellan, I do believe that we should still do for Aidan. I want Kellan to know about his big brother and the impact that his life made on mine. I think it is important.

                Feeling these things, I couldn’t just pack up Aidan’s things to be replaced with Kellan’s. Instead it is the “boys’ room.” We went in a completely different direction with the design and colors, but made sure to keep parts of Aidan present. In our journey with Aidan, the elephant has become vital in my healing. The elephant has become a representation of Aidan for many. Knowing this we have chosen to do a big top type nursery. In it is a very special mural that is of the barn scene in Dumbo. Momma is holding Dumbo in her embrace protecting him from the harshness of the world. It just seems fitting. Because, after all, isn’t that what we are all doing? Mommies and Daddies protecting our children. Both those in our arms and those who are walking ahead, but never out of our hearts.

A different Child

I read this and immediately teared up.

It's so true. One day we will explain to our future children where their older brother is. One day they will question why we do the things we do for Aidan. This perfectly describes the emotions.

 

To this baby currently nudging me: Please know, never has a baby been more wanted. Never have I been so determined. Never have I had so much hope. Never ever doubt my love for you. You hold a special piece of my heart that no other child will ever hold. Just as your older brother claimed his. I love you both equally.

 

To Aidan: You sweet boy have taught me so much. You inspire me to the best mom I know how to be. You are missed and loved. I know that you are forever safe and loved. One day I will snuggle you close and whisper all of our stories again.  

 

A Different Child

A different child, people notice

There's a special glow around you.

You grow surrounded by love

Never doubting you are wanted;

Only look at the pride and joy

In your mother and father's eyes.

And if sometimes between the smiles

There's a trace of tears,

One day you'll understand.

You'll understand there was once

another child.

A different child.

Who was in their hopes and dreams.

That child will never outgrow the baby clothes.

That child will never keep them up at night.

In fact, that child will never be any trouble at all....

Except sometimes, in a silent moment,

When mother and father miss so much

That different child.

May hope and love wrap you warmly

And may you learn the lesson forever:

How infinitely precious,

How infinitely fragile is this life on earth.

One day, as a young man or woman

You may see another mother's tears

Another father's silent grief

Then you, and you alone will understand

And offer the greatest comfort.

When all hope seems lost you will tell them

with great compassion:

"I know how you feel. I'm only here because my parents tried again."

PD MacMillan

A quick update: learning to navigate

We are 16 weeks into this pregnancy.

We have had a successful cerclage placement.

Bed rest has begun.

Aidan is going to have a little brother.

The excitement is growing. Hope is blooming.

And yet, there are moments when it just feels a little hard to breathe. Moments that make the days feel heavier.

I miss my first little boy. I miss the things I could be experiencing him. I could be snapping photos, taking him to see Santa for the first time. We could be eagerly waiting what would have been his first Christmas in a perfect world.

But, it’s not a perfect world. At least, it isn’t THAT perfect world.

I carried Aidan and treasured every single second. I had no idea that those were all I would get.

This time around is just completely different. I am still treasuring every kick, every heartbeat. I still love this child with all that I am. But, I am doing these things with the knowledge that I may not get the ending of my dreams.

That is the reality of this new normal I live in. I can still feel all of the happiness and anticipation. However, I also live with the knowledge of what is on the other side.

I am still having a hard time finding the words to describe this part of the journey.

I am so thankful for this new life I can feel fluttering around right this second. At the same time I am so thankful for the life and legacy of his big brother. I think the words are hard to come by because I am afraid to take something away from the other. I love them equally. They are both my boys. One is not mutually exclusive of the other.

I am hoping that with the bed rest the words to explain my heart in these coming months will come. The past year has been written with such detail that I want every year to have those memories written down. I want this child to know his brother as we all know him and at the same time I want to be able to show him how eager and how badly we wanted him to be a part of our lives.

A rainbow in the storm

 

A picture worth a 1,000 words.

 

Today, today I am 12 weeks pregnant with our rainbow baby.

 

Aidan is a big brother. Those words bring me to my knees.

 

So many emotions. More than I am able to express in any sort of sensical way.

 

I am so excited. So happy. Brimming with hope.

I am so scared.

 

What if it happens again? What if something else goes wrong?

 

What if people forget about Aidan?

 

That's the big one. That's the fear I have been afraid to put words too. That's the reason I haven't been able to blog or write much.

 

My excitement is overwhelming. At the same time, my heartaches from missing my little boy. I cannot explain that.

 

I cherish every single day. Even though most of them have been rough physically, I know that they may be all that I have. Aidan taught me that.

 

Every day I think of him and wonder what life would be like if he were here. How would I have managed an infant and the complications that have come along with this pregnancy? And then it hits me, if it weren't for Aidan's life, I most likely would not be sitting here pregnant. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't have Twinkle. There is so much power in this knowledge. There are so many things that I would not know if it hadn't been for Aidan and the journey we are on. Too many to even attempt to list.

 

While there are no guarantees, no promises, I know that this baby is a gift. One that deserves its own excitement of hopes and dreams.

 

I have been unsure of what to say. How to explain how this baby and Aidan are both a part of our family without taking away from the other. And then this moment happened today. A comment was made and it reminded me that it is my job as their mother to make sure they are both treated equally. The only way I can do that is to continue to share our journey together. As a growing family of four.

 

This is my second pregnancy. I have two children. Each deserves to be loved and cherished in their own ways. No matter what tomorrow brings, I am a momma of two. And no one can ever take that away.

On your birthday

                Aidan,

I am at a loss for words. How exactly am I supposed to put into words what these days have meant? They have been so full of memories. There have been tears. There has been laughter. There has been sheer determination.

Most of all, there has been love.

The kind of love that is known to inspire books and movies. A love that takes your breath away and at the same time gives you a reason to live. The love of a mother.

Each day has been a countdown to you. Your birthday.

On this day, one year ago, you changed me. You changed your Daddy. You changed the lives of so many people sweet boy. People who came to see you. Hold you. Kiss you. Snuggle you.

Love you.

On this day, one year ago, you changed everything. And you did it without having ever taken a breath. You are that amazing. You are that powerful. You are my son.

There are so many adjectives I could use to describe the impact you have made in the past year. None seem to compare as much as faith, grace, and love…Holy.

The precious hours I spent with you were the epitome of these things. They are untarnished by the fact that I would not get to take you home with us. They were simply moments spent with you. Moments as a complete family. Moments that will carry me through until I see you again. 

A child’s first birthday is always this big celebration. So many milestones have been and are being reached.

The parents tend to go overboard. Party. Gifts. Cake. Proud moments. Endless pictures. What wouldn’t I give to live in that realm of reality again.

Instead, I am in a car; headed towards a boat. Just your daddy and I. Your first birthday is upon us and yet we live in the world where you are not here. With your birthday comes the harsh reality that we don’t get those things. Instead we get the love of those who love you and understand the overwhelming loss of these days. Others have sympathy.  The ignorance of those who don’t get it and just think it means it’s been a year and we should be “better.” 

I wake up each day with the hope that I will get to say your name. Share your pictures. Be your mom without someone questioning why. So, on this day, a day that is 100 percent about you; about your life; we are celebrating. The fight, the determination, the love, the grace and the faith it has taken to survive each day since. We are rejoicing in the knowledge that we were chosen to be your parents. We are so proud to be your family. We are so grateful that we know where you are. We smile knowing you are safely tucked in the arms of loved ones. Happy. Blissful. Surrounded by the perfection you deserve.

It seems unbelievable that it has already been a year. Yet, this has been the longest, hardest and most defining year of my life.

1 year

12 months

52 weeks

365 days

525948 minutes

31556926 seconds

Each and every one of them has been about you. Because this day is the day you were born. The day your legacy began. The day you did something that no one else has ever done or will ever do again. You made me a mom.

I am so thankful to you. I love you more than I ever knew I could. I miss you with every fiber of my being. I am the proudest Momma. I am heartbroken that I don’t get to watch you grow. I eagerly wait for the day I get to hold you again. I am looking towards the future. Hoping that one day I will be able to tell your little brother or sisters about their amazing big brother and how he is the reason they are here.

 I fell head over heels in love with you one year ago. Every day that love has grown more. I’ll look for you in the waves, stars and peace of this week. Your momma loves you so. Each and every heartbeat I share with you.

Happy Birthday to you, Aidan Thomas. Happy Birthday to you.

Enduring love,

Momma

 

 



Step by Step

A week ago, we recorded an Interview for a local radio station.

Aidan's story was shared. His name was spoken.

Aidan on the Radio

This past week, we were interviewed on a local new station.

Aidan's story was shared. His name was spoken. Aidan's perfect face was shown on live TV.

Aidan on TV

And tonight. Tonight I placed an order. I ordered cards that I hope you will help me distribute.

Aidan's birthday is rapidly approaching. I want it to be big. I want it to be a celebration. I want it to make a difference. I want it to touch people beyond my limited scope. I want complete strangers to be affected by Aidan's life. And from this desire an idea was born:

Aidan's Hope

Our hope is that you will allow us to share Aidan and what he has come to mean to all of us. He has had such an impact in the past year. He has changed everything. We are now hoping that he will change others who do not know him. Let's take the first steps towards literally changing the world. We have been blessed with so many opportunities to share our little boy. I love the idea of sharing him in a way that will have a positive impact for others.

I cannot wait to see how far they go, the good they inspire and the people he brings together.

I have ordered the cards and they should be here next week hopefully. My plan is to get them out to you, so that we can actually kick of Aidan's birthday with the first good deeds. I cannot think of a more special way to celebrate the day that changed everything.



“Faithful friends are gifts from heaven: Whoever finds one has found a treasure.”

The past year has been the biggest, hardest, most emotional year of my life.

Surviving it has not been easy. Living it has been even harder.

Thankfully, in the same breath, I have been blessed with the people in my life. People who have always been there, people who were on the outskirts, but stepped up when I needed it, and the people who entered my life just because of Aidan.

Among these are my Sew Sisters. My beloved sisters who have a passion for making a purpose. Women who have walked this same path. Women who encourage one another to take that next chance, step or breath.

We stand up for one another.

And in this past week, we have had to stand up, lean on, bow down, and just hang on.

One of our sisters has left this earthly life.

In a split second that just hasn't ended yet, it all changed.

To say that our hearts are broken, is an understatement. A piece of our world is gone.

I can't even find the words to describe the importance she played to all of us. All I have is what she meant to me. I'm the newbie to the group. I'm the one still in the freshness of grief. I'm the one who can't sew! Treasure took me in. She enveloped me in her light. She allowed me to laugh until I cried and then cry until I laughed. She called. She texted. She believed in me.

She was this pillar of strength. She stood tall for all of the moms. She loved with every fiber of her being.

I remember our conversations with such clarity. One in particular. She asked me about Aidan. She wanted to know his story. And in the process, she answered questions I didn't even know I had. She gave me so much peace and comfort. And at the end, as we both cried and smiled and oohed and aahed. She hugged me and whispered, "You are so brave. You have so much courage. You and your little boy are going to make a difference. Keep talking, sharing, writing."

It has taken me a week to be able to even attempt to do any of these things. I was so afraid I would lose her voice. God provides in all things. He allowed for her to film a testimony about Holy Sews. The why and the importance of what we do. Now, I will always have a piece of her. The world will always be able to hear her determination, compassion, grace and love.

38 years ago, her momma gave her name. A name most would never be able to live up to. She embodied her name. Every moment of every day. Her sister, described watching all of us grieve just as hard as she is. The awe and the wonder that she had touched so many, so deeply. It is just who she is. Not was, but is. She left such an imprint on this world.

She was, is and forever will be, Treasure.

"The place where your treasure is, is the place you will most want to be, and end up being."

                                                                        Luke 12:34

Roots

I've been meaning to write this for over a week.

The past week is a post all of its own.

One step at a time.

A couple of Saturday's ago, we worked outside in the extreme August heat. We dug, soaked, dug, soaked, dug, soaked and so on. All day long.

And then, finally we achieved the ultimate goal. We planted five trees. Trees donated in Aidan's memory. Trees planted in our home town.

Evan and I literally grew up in the same town without knowing one another. We knew a ton of the same people, but for some reason our paths never crossed until that fateful day in 2006. Still, our roots are firmly planted in Cabot, AR.

And now, so are Aidan's. We planted five trees surrounding the community pond there in Cabot. We did this on Aidan's 11 month celebration. We picnicked afterwards and sent Aidan some balloons.

All day, it just kept hitting me. This is a permanent part of his legacy. One day those trees will stand taller than any of us. We will literally watch them grow. It brought me such peace. Over the past 11 months Aidan's life has had an impact. And now I will have a physical attachment I will get to watch grow. The blessings are always hidden. Their importance always surprising. This one came in the form of trees. Watching his family work in the heat, sacrifice their time, sweat in this summer heat. Having friends who are willing to come and be there with us to honor Aidan. Having just a few moments that allow us to be proud parents. All because of five trees.



Love

Love.

It comes in all different shapes. All different sizes. All different people.

The past year has defined and redefined love for me. I find that I love more deeply. I want to share my love more freely. I want to be loved more openly.

Passion comes from love. In that moment that they literally put love into my arms, my passion started. I'm not a quiet person by nature so my passion is not silent either. I have been asked when I will return to normal, when I will get back to life. I keep saying "I won't, this is my new normal." It's true. I will never be exactly the same. It's just simply not possible. There has been this massive shift in me. It's not something I can or even want to change. So while my heart has grown, my love has intensified, my passion is developing one thing has stayed the same. My inability to keep it inside. I cannot feel it all and not let it out. It's too much for me and now, I am afraid that it is too much for others.

This is another learning moment for this Momma. It's one I am having a hard time with. My love. My passion. My drive. I am afraid it is drowning others. I am afraid that a big scary word is entering the scene. And it breaks my heart. It makes me so afraid. It makes me afraid that he will lose his place. It makes me afraid that I will quit fighting for him because it's so hard to do alone.

He isn't here for me to celebrate all of the milestones with. The only things I get to celebrate are the moments we create. And as I sit here in a deafening silent house, I'm afraid that those don't count either. Tomorrow is 11 months. He should be doing so many big things. No, actually he should be almost 8 months and I should be in awe. His personality should be appearing. I should be harried and exhausted. I should be a proud first time mommy. I wish that people were eager to see us. Eager to relish in him. Instead I am afraid. I am walking a thin line. Do I try to carry it all on my own and when there is a moment to remember I do it alone? Or, do I open it up and risk these feelings. Feelings I don't even want to give a name too.

All I know, all I feel, all I can hope for, is that the love that is inside of me is enough to inspire, strengthen, encourage and draw close. And the only way it can do any of those things is by showing it outwardly and without fear.

Sharing Aidan is my way of sharing our love. It is not for pity or recognition. Trust me, I would much rather be a mom that no one knows. I wish I didn't have to do any of the things I have done in the past year. I would trade every single bit of it just to have him asleep in the room across the hall. He isn't though. He will never be. So I am taking the opportunities that God presents, I am hanging onto my faith, I am believing that it all has a purpose. I'm doing it for Aidan.

There won't be baby milestones, or sporting events, or school activities.

But, I will be proud. I will do whatever it takes to keep his legacy alive. To allow him to change our world.

I will love him with all of my being. He will always be my first born.



Say it Out Loud

There is a project in the works. A huge, important, taboo shattering project.

Still Project

(There is a beloved sister in there!)

I can't even begin to explain what this is going to mean.

As a parent of infant loss, I know the importance of his life. I know the significance of his death. I know the impact he has had.

This project will allow all parents to share these things. To not have to hide behind the "normalcy" that none of us truly feel. We are being given the chance to have a voice.

I am extremely lucky. I have this blog. I have Still Standing. I have Holy Sews. I have the March of Dimes and the various opportunities within that organization. So many people who believe in me, Aidan and the strength it takes to share him.

Whether it is in writing, speaking to a group, talking with other moms, over the radio to a faceless audience, or in the possibility of this new project: one thing is becoming abundantly clear.

We are forging ahead. We are knocking down the taboos and hush behind our children. We are navigating an unknown territory in hopes that the moms of the future feel constant support.

We are quite simply "Saying it out loud." No more whispers. No more silent tears.

Last week in the radio interview I said something that has stuck with me.

Aidan may have been still born, but his life is in no way silent.

That's it right there. That's the why behind every day. Behind every decision.

The why we choose to say it out loud.

Healing through the fear

This past weekend I faced a big fear. I traveled back to NWA. I sat in the backseat and traveled down I-40. Instead of holding Aidan, I counted stitch by stitch. I focused on that needle and thread and what it will mean to some other mom.

I have had this fear of Fayetteville. I have been so afraid that the first time I would make that drive back to the Hill I would break because I would have to pretend I wasn't remembering and thinking of Aidan the entire time. God provides though. He allowed for a 5k to allow me heal.

NWA Race to Remember

It was a 5k that benefited Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep.

It was a perfect reason to make that drive.

It was all about Aidan and his legacy.  

Team Aidan was represented by so many. I cannot explain what it meant to be surrounded by these people. They took the time to come out on a early Saturday morning and share some moments with me. To allow me to share Aidan with them.

Team Aidan.

Mark, Sarah, Addy, Karen, Vos, Germer

Callie and Kaylin hadn't made it yet, but they were there too!

Most of Aidan's team walked with me. My Sarah's ran it. The Sarah above is Tom's sister.

There is this connection between us. Our two boys have just united us. I feel so close to their entire family. It meant so so much to have this moment with Sarah. To see her wearing Aidan's name and running for him.

My Sarah on the bottom is my Vos. Friends since elementary school. Sisters at heart.

She loved Aidan even when he was just an Olive. She has loved me through with such a devotion and determination.

When you make friends in high school, you promise to be friends forever. Thankfully, I made that promise with some of the best friends I could have asked for. A decade later and still they show up when I need them. Nothing short of amazing right there.

This one is extra special. This is Lisa.

She took Aidan's pictures. Pictures that bring me such pride.

Pictures that provide me the proof I need on the hard days that he was here. He is important. He left a mark on the world. Pictures that I carry me with me always. Pictures I am so proud to show off. Wanna see? Please just ask!



This weekend can be summed up in one word. Healing.

I found the peace I have been looking for.

I felt so much grace.

I felt a part of the healing process begin. A feeling that has stuck with me these past few days.

Thursday I will be on the radio sharing Aidan. Tune into 100.3 The Edge if you are local. Should be around 8 that morning! I'm nervous, but ready. Anything and everything for him!