Thursday, January 10, 2013

Celebrating your life.

This blog seems so foreign. And not just because I hardly find time to write anymore, but because the content it withholds is, well, foreign.

Today I stood in Davis' closet removing all of his baby clothes that no longer fit him; leaving only his winter ensembles labeled "12 months." I could not wrap my mind around the past twelve months, for it seems like they have passed so quickly. As where, when I look back on my year after Savannah was born, it seems like the months creeped by.

I've discovered I am no longer the same person, who once wrote about her grief. I do cherish the fact that I took the time to write all that was on my heart while my memories and feelings were so fresh. As I read back, I almost don't recognize that pain and heartache.

After Davis was born, he cried. Constantly. Sleeping was non-existent. Not during the day, and definitely not at night. The lack of sleep, and emotional stress of my newborn baby, whom I had dreamed such beautiful dreams of rocking while holding him tightly and staring at him while he slept because no one was coming to take him away were no where to be found. We assumed it was colic. All we could do was hold him while he screamed frantically, squirming and pulling his tiny wrinkled legs up to his chest. We tried gripe water. Homeopathic colic tablets. Mylicon drops. All to no avail. Of course, while I rocked, bounced, walked and snuggled my miserable little person, everyone had plenty of advice. "You need to get him on a schedule, you both will be fine once you force a schedule." "You need to stop breastfeeding. He needs formula. You are passing your nerves and turmoil from everything that has happened through your breastmilk. It's what's upsetting his tummy." Or my favorite, "You never put him down, and he is spoiled. It's time to put him down, and let him cry it out."

The only way Davis wouldn't be crying was while he was breastfeeding. For four very long and grueling months I went with, on a good night, three hours of sleep. I found myself miserable. Feeling very alone. Wondering, why on earth I deserved this madness. Holding him didn't feel healing in the slightest. It made me miss everything about Savannah. Everynight, around 2am, I would hold that sweet boy while he cried, and I would cry with him. Rocking. Watching, though not hearing, what ever I could find to turn on the television trying to distract my mind that all it wanted was sleep. I worried that I was on the fast track to post partum depression. I worried I was already dealing with the depression. It was nothing like I had imagined it would be. I took him to the doctor because I worried something was wrong. That one night, he would "stop crying." That he would never wake up to me again. The doctor assured me, "he was okay, and very healthy." I took him back to the doctor because all of his "symptoms" resembled an ear infection. He assured me, "his ears looked perfect." In one of my final nights of research, {because that's what I do in the middle of the night, is research anything medically related to everything} I discovered gastroesophageal reflux disease. More commonly referred to as "G.E.R.D." I took him to the doctor once again, and told him this is what he has. In trusting me whole heartedly, he ordered a prescription for a low dosage of Zantac. It didn't take 24hours, before Davis was calm. He began sleeping at night. I began enjoying my moments with him without anxiety and panic. I slowly slipped out of the depressed feeling, and for the first time, I began letting go of my worry.

All through my pregnancy all I did was worry. I worried those agonizing four months after he came into the world. Thankfully my intuition told me that he was telling me something was wrong. But all of the worry I put myself through, was only causing more weight on myself.

Shortly after Davis went on the Zantac I read a blog written by another mother who lost her son ten years ago. She mentioned, that in the beginning of her grief she talked about her pain.

"MY pain.

MY loss.

MY story.

MY tears.

MY memories.

MY perceived "lost moments".

and...

"What might have been's".


Every year -dates that tantalize me. 
Draw me away to a place all about...

ME."

These words. This brief paragraph, as I held my sleeping son in my arms, graced my heart and nestled deep into my soul more than anything anyone has spoken to me since Savannah passed away. 

That precious girl, will always be loved. There will always be moments that I will miss her. Because I am human. I am a mother. But it doesn't consume me. I know now that letting go, does not mean that I am forgetting. It does not suggest I do not love my children. It means her life was never "lost."

Although I wish I could go back and worry less, and absorb more, I now not to worry. For my children's lives are only under my control to a point. No matter what the outcome to my four living children, His plans are far greater, and I trust Him. 

In a few short hours, my Davis turns one. He is entering into his toddlerhood, and will soon no longer be my "baby." He had a rough start. So much was endured through his pregnancy, and so much right from the start. But once again, a baby has shown me so much about this life I am living.

My prayer for you, Davis Emmett,

Is that you will learn early to trust in His ways. No matter what. That your heart be filled with faith and hope through any of life's struggles. That you always know you are loved, and worth more than diamonds. And finally that you live your life as happy as you have this first year of your life. 

Happy birthday sweet boy,


Love, Mommy 

Savannah's "Angelversary" 2012



3 comments:

Steve Finnell said...

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Mrs. Tate said...

I love this. It spoke to me. My rainbow baby just turned a year old on the 6th. After losing our daughter last year I never thought I'd feel love like that again. God showed me otherwise. I'm so happy for you. <3 happy birthday, Davis!!!

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