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.