Where I belong

Song to a Lost Lamb

Tiny boy, three months premature,
delivered in rushing waves
yet born in silence:

you are an unblinking image
or your daddy - damp, soft curls
and fingertips
like petals from withered
pink rosebuds.

As I cradle your body

 in my hot, wet arms,
I, inhaling air for two,
must sing to you declaring
you are cherished

now and for all days
as much as any
warm and breathing child.

Susan Terris
from the book Baby Blessings by June Cotner

 My sweet, beautiful, perfect baby boy. You never drew a breath. You never let out a cry. You never looked into my eyes. But...

I tested positive for pregnancy. I watched and listened to your heart beat. I watched you dance and jump around in many ultrasounds. I caught a glimpse of your precious face. I learned you were a boy and watched your daddy light up. I planned. I dreamed. I fell more and more in love. And then...

I labored. I fought. I delivered. I gave birth to you, my sleeping son. 

You forever changed me. You forever changed my world. Your force is so powerful that you literally stopped my world from spinning. You forever changed the landscape of my life.

Some days are easier than others. Every moment is learning to live again. Every breath is my determination to share you and to do my best to further God's message.

There is only one who can truly know the depth of my pain, the depth of my love. And that is because he has gone before me. He has sat back and watched his son sacrificed for the greater good. He has watched as others diminished and pushed aside his son and his importance. He has survived the storm and is currently leading me through my own.

In the book of Malachi 3:3, God is compared to a refiner. A refiner who sits in front of the fire and carefully watches over his silver. Who molds it and makes sure the heat never gets to be too much. For if he looked away for even a second it would be ruined. Someone who knows his project has reached perfection when he can see his own reflection.

These days are hard. These days seem to be surrounded by flames. And yet, I know that God is there. Watching out for me. Ensuring my safety. Waiting to see his reflection in me.

In this journey there are moments of sadness, moments of darkness, moments of unbearable pain. There are also moments of peace, comfort and I am beginning to understand this new joy. All of these moments are wrapped up in grief. Grief because I am left here to live without my son. Not because, Aidan is in heaven. He is wrapped in the ultimate glory. He is perfectly safe.

Aidan will always be apart of me. With every new twist and turn, he will be there. Nothing in my life will ever be mutually exclusive of Aidan. I can only hope for patience and understanding. I know that the rest of the world has continued to move on. Mine has been forever changed. I will forever think of Aidan and know that I have seen a glimpse of what God wants to see in all of us. Handing your child to God will do that to you.



A beautiful Mess

As we sit here tonight, I keep thinking about all that 2011 meant. All it brought to us. All it took away.

2011 was the year that changed everything.

It started with a diagnosis and finally answers to years of pain. We watched our nephews turn one. We learned we would welcome a child to our own home. It brought one of the best summers of my life.

It also took a lot away. I said goodbye to a woman I have known my entire life. A woman who loved me and who loved my Mom like no other. I still have moments where I forget she is gone.

It was the year of Aidan. The year in which he existed. The year I became a mom. The year that taught me the true meaning of unconditional love. The year that taught me the truth of a broken heart.

There were other relationships forged and relationships severed in this roller coaster year. With Aidan's birth and subsequent passing, a shift occurred.

The first shift included people who stood by us. The people who have stepped up to the plate and have done the hard stuff. The things you never want to do with someone you love, but because you love them, you do it. These people are the ones who talk about Aidan, who share what Aidan has done in their lives. Some of these people are family and others are people who quickly became family. These are the people who don't expect it to just be ok or for us to get over it. The people who acknowledge we lost a child and have decided to love us through.

The second shift happened when this new community of people walked in. Our fellow families of this cruel twist of fate. Our babyloss family. The group you never want to belong to, but once thrust into this world you are beyond thankful to have them. They are the hope we can survive. The light in the darkness. The ones who allow us to be real and in the moment.

The third shift was one I didn't see coming. I wasn't prepared. It's the people who for whatever reason walked away. Whether it was a lack of words, fear or just an easy out they slowly started backing away and then turned completely around and walked away. It's this group I try to not focus on. Because it was unbearably hard to know I was going to have to live without Aidan. It's just too much to think someone I loved was leaving willingly.

So, you see. 2011 was a lot of things. It's 365 days, encompassed a lot. It changed my life. It changed my faith (one of the blessings of this year). Because it is the year of Aidan, it changed the world.

Our precious, perfect and tiny child. All 14.6 ounces and 10 5/8 inches of him, changed the world. Without ever taking a breath.

And it is because of him. That I will forever cherish this year. It wasn't what I imagined. It was hard. It was trying. It was a beautiful mess.