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

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.