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. 

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.



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.



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!

One of those days...

Maybe it's the big changes?

Maybe it is because of the time of the year?

Maybe it is because September is barreling towards me?

All I know for sure is, today was just one of those days. All of the emotion, all of the grief, all of the heartache is bubbling over.

I've been all sorts of numb lately. The tears could come, but only one or two at a time. I had developed this wall of defense. I've been taking fake it until you make it to an entirely new level.

And then today happened. Nothing happened.

And all I have done is cry.

Over Tom and everything his legacy means.

Over things that are completely out of my control.

Over the fact that in two weeks I will move out of the first house that Evan and I called home. (Not to mention the fact that we still don't know where our next home will be!)

Over the fact that I miss my Mom.

Over the fact that Savannah is six months old. (How is that even possible?)

Over the fact that it is taking such effort to write this.

Over the fact that I walked through the baby section tonight and looked for babies who still aren't mine.

Some days are just hard.

And I just have to keep reminding myself, it is totally ok to cry.

On a better note, there are big things on the horizon. Lots of projects, a very special first birthday celebration, and lots of March of Dimes. Pretty much, lots and lots of Aidan. Blessings in the darkness.



Walking the Journey Together

It's the first Tuesday of the month. That means it is JOURNEY time!

Tomorrow is 10 months. Forever yet, just beginning. Every day is different.

Please join me over at Still Standing.

Link up, leave a comment. Make a connection.

Bikers, Leather, Engines and Aidan

What if your hardest day was your first? What if it was your only?

My sweet sweet Aidan. One day. I held you in my arms for one day.

Each and every day since I spend searching for ways to honor you. Ways to be close to you. Ways to make the distance feel not so far.

More often than not, the true moments are complete surprises.

Tonight was no different.

We are this year's ambassador family for Bikers for Babies. Tonight, we attended Bike Night and the pre-registration event. I knew that something was planned. I could have never imagined what was about to happen.

Travis pulled us up on stage. He shared a part of Aidan's story. He asked all of the bikers to send a message to Aidan, making sure he knew the amount of love we have for him. And then this magical ear splitting moment happened. 1,000 plus motorcycles revved their engines simutaneously. And it went on forever.

Never in a million years, did I think I would feel him there. Standing on that stage, looking at this massive crowd. Standing beside Evan and knowing he was willing to stand there with me. Looking at Travis and seeing his eyes well up. Looking out and seeing my March of Dimes Family laughing and smiling through their tears, I felt him. In the breeze. In the rumble of the engines. In the faces of those people who had no idea the impact they were making. I felt a piece of A. I missed him with such ferocity, but I felt him.

Nothing could have topped that moment. Until we stepped off stage and complete strangers came to hug us. To share their stories. To share how they were so grateful to finally meet Aidan's parents because they had been touched by his life. His life, not his death. But, his life.

It caught me completely off guard. It was this glorious moment though. One I will treasure and am so thankful for.

  

The connections

Life these days is such an oxymoron.

Some days, I feel completely removed. I am afraid that all of the connections I once had in the world have been severed. There are moments where I feel lost. Moments where I just have to smile and fake it. Convince myself and everyone around me that I'm doing "better." That I am fine with living without Aidan. That my world is setting itself back in the upright position.

Other days, I find these crazy connections. Connections with friends and family who reach out and get it. They may not actually understand how I feel, but they allow me to be. A hand is extended and suddenly I'm not so alone.

Then there are the connections that are made because of Aidan. Not in spite of him.

When I hear of another mom, my instinct is to reach out. Our children bind us.

A connection has been growing. It started with a brick. Then grew to March of Dimes. And now, has brought me a part of someone who unexpectedly passed two years ago. Danny. My sweet teddy bear of a cousin. Our hearts were broken when he passed that June morning.

And now, he is allowing me another connection. His love. His smile. His music. His smell. Oh his smell. (If you knew Danny, you know what I'm talking about)

His legacy. Aidan's legacy.

I admitted for the first time tonight a dream I keep having. A comforting dream. I don't get those very often. I have kept this one to myself.

Every so often, I see Danny. In his button up shirt, straw hat and it looks like he is holding his banjo. Only when I run up to hug him, he's holding Aidan. He smiles that smile. His eyes glisten. He tells me how proud he is of my son. And then they just walk away together. And I feel peace.

I am so thankful for the glimpses of heaven that come in dreams. I am so thankful for the connections that our loved ones leave behind. I am just so thankful. 

Aidan's Travels and The Journey

There has been a blog set up that will display all of the pictures of Aidan's travels. This was started by a sweet lady who is spending the summer in Europe and is taking A's bracelet along with her. She has invited me to keep up with the other parts of his travels as well. If you have a band and have pictures of it in different places, please send it to me. I love love love seeing all of the places he goes. If you would like a band, let me know and we will get one to you! And it just warms my heart to think he means enough for you to take him with you!

You can follow his travels here.

Today is also the second release of The Journey. I hope you will go and read the blogs that have linked up with my post. These moms are bearing their hearts and souls and we all need the support and encouragement.

Yesterday was nine months.

I got to meet one of Aidan's friends for the first time. She was born just a few weeks after Aidan and we just now found the time to meet. She is a precious, perfect example of what my life might have been like had the circumstances been different. It was bittersweet, but it didn't hurt like one might have imagined.

I was thankful to find that I am able to separate. I was able to see her for the miracle she is. I was able to hold her and giggle. I was able to look at her and feel the goodness.

Her momma is so near and dear to my heart. We took bump pictures together no more than a month before I went into labor. My heart felt immense love for her little girl. I was so thankful to be able to sit there and just be. My heart tugged but it didn't break. I was able to smile and envision what life might have looked like. What it will hopefully look like one day.

I walked away with tears for what won't be with Aidan. But, also with hope for the day I get to introduce a child of my own.

Bridging the gap

There is this gap between me and you. It is my empty arms. It is his headstone. It is the blessing that you don't have to understand what it is like on this side.

There are things I know. Things that have forever changed and I know without a shadow of a doubt.

• I will see Aidan again one day.
• You love me.
• You wish the pain could go away.
• You wish there was something you could do.
• It hurts you to watch me hurt.
• I will always miss him.
• Time goes on. Not one person's life was altered like mine was by this. I can't hold that against anyone.
• In the same breath, you can't hold it against me because I'm not where you think I should be.
• There are days that are harder than others.
• I want nothing more than to be a mom.
• No child will ever replace Aidan.

Then are things that I do not know. Some I may learn. Others will always be a mystery.

• What color were his eyes?
• Would they have crinkled like mine when he smiled?
• Was his cry soft or was it a wail?
• When I will be ready to try again. Not because I am afraid of replacing Aidan. Or that I'm not ready to have a baby. But, because I don't know when I will trust my body enough. I don't know when I will be able to handle the grief, the fear, the hormones or the bed rest.
• What it feels like to bring your first born home.
• When I will get to join that inner circle and not feel like an outsider.
• When I won't have to fake it till I can make it.
• What it feels like to not have people afraid to say his name or see his perfect face.
• What it is like to just be. To just be at peace. Calm. Not in the midst of a storm.
• What is like to feel truly safe.
• What is like to have a child look at you and say Momma.

It's coming up on nine months. Some say that's way to long to still be grieving. To me? It feels like yesterday. I still wake up reaching for my pregnant belly. I still dream of him alive. I wake up in cold sweats reliving labor. Reliving picking out his casket as I held him in my arms. I can still smell him. I sit at his spot and tell him things I can't tell anyone else.  

At the same time, I get up each morning. I work. I live this life I didn't choose. I do my best. I am trying to find a balance between our old lives and this new one. Sometimes that just isn't good enough. Sometimes, no matter what step I take, it isn't the right one. So I'm afraid to take one at all.

And while, to the outside world it may not seem like I am moving forward. Or that I'm not getting over it quick enough.

I'm trying. I'm doing the best I can. I will never get over it. And each day is another step. It may not be some gigantic step that is visible to you, but it is big enough. I am attempting to bridge the gap between us.