A story unfolding...

It's not as easy as you think.

2012-02-05T19:39:00.000-08:00

I've heard from time to time people have said "rainbow babies" are replacements. Now having my very own physical rainbow, I would like to clarify based on my own feelings. Davis is a replacement. He replaced the feeling of having motherhood stripped from my arms. He replaced an empty bassinet and an empty seat in the car. He replaced a void, yes. But at the same time, Davis is NOT a replacement. Rainbow babies do not and cannot replace the human being we as mothers will always long for.

I had children prior to my loss of Savannah. Though I always knew that I was grateful for each of them, I grew an understanding just how precious time can be. But it was different because they were the before. There was no after. The months of fantasizing about life with a new person never existed. I still had the before. Nothing had changed. Except the same life I was accustomed to had a gaping hole. Because all around my before were pictures reminding me of what we will always be missing.

Then the prospect of having a newborn fill that emptiness became reality. I became pregnant with Davis. I knew he would bring healing. Healing in the sense of replacing the emptiness. I would finally feel the drain of waking repeatedly throughout the night. I would finally have the extra person in tow where ever I had to go. I would finally have a weight in my arms.

What I didn't expect from these replacements, was the hurt it would also bring. Contradictory right? Healing and hurt.... But it is. Having a rainbow on the horizon does not guarantee life to be dandy and free from grief. Having a rainbow baby is all things wonderful first of all. But having a rainbow is also like tearing a scab. As mothers to deceased infants, we adapt to this lifestyle. We have no choice. We find delight in the friends we make as we travel the path of tiny caskets or palm sized urns, only wishing we didn't have to know any of them. We harden our hearts to the cruelty the world shows the best we can. Because we have to. We were given a lifestyle we had no hand in choosing. As we adapt to walking through life with a piece of our hearts missing, mustering smiles on the days when our hearts are crying, our skin toughens. Some of us, make the choice to try again. To have our "replacements" as some misunderstood people say... Let me share a few ways my Davis has replaced Savannah...

He makes her facial expressions. The way he crinkles the left side of his lip. I see her, and wish I could kiss her cheeks. His big toes have the same indent in the skin that she had. Every time I see them, I want to rub her toes across my face. He battled jaundice. People mentioned the yellow color of his skin. Still acknowledging that jaundice and be very serious if not treated appropriately, I would be thankful his skin wasn't purple, and remember the distinct color of a living person with lack of oxygen. I breastfeed and miss every moment not getting to cradle her against my skin. To feel her touch. His skin against my skin is so warm, and I remember what those same chubby cheeks felt like ice cold. I wake every morning in disbelief that he is still here. Alive. Because I live in the world where babies just die.

I am not trying to sound like a downer. Aside from all of these "Davis" things making Savannah real in a very distant way, I still cherish them as "Davis" things. I take in every moment I am given with this precious little boy. I dread the day when he does not smell of newborn baby anymore. I hate the thought of loosing that smell all over again, so I take in as much as I possibly can.

Davis is my after. And though it is so beautiful to see "the rainbow after the storm," it is not as easy as one might think. Now I have my before and after... but I will forever have only the memories of my memory.

What I would give.

2012-01-29T18:36:00.000-08:00

To my Davis Emmett,

Though you have been apart of my world for a brief time, I want to take a moment to let you know everything you are to me. To try and let you know just how much I wanted you, love you, and would do for you. For now and always, but also for the entire time you were developing inside me. Because I never want to forget. And I never want to take for granted so many times during your pregnancy, we could have lost you. Someday when you think you know everything, you think I am unfair, or you just wish I would leave you alone, I will look to this letter and this exact moment when you are as big as my palm and reliant on me for everything; And I will know that you are my fighter. You have been stronger than me from the very get go. And I would do it all again just to have you. Even when I am "totally uncool" or "embarrassing."

It's not uncommon or unusual for a women to sacrifice so much emotionally and physically for even the slightest opportunity to be a mother. Over the past few years, it has been a pleasure to me to welcome many amazing women into my life through the death of your big sister. Many of these women lost children in many different ways than I, but in the end we all share the same common ground. And they have been by my side as we welcomed you. I would never compare to my pregnancies to the uphill battles some of these women faced.

Except with you little boy. And this is our journey. Just so you know, and I never forget.

May 23rd, 2011 we found out we were expecting you. Our hearts were filled with so much delight, excitement and worry. Almost before we blinked, two weeks later mommy started bleeding. We thought we were going to be saying goodbye to everything we had already dreamed for you. Daddy took me to the emergency room where we discovered another medical diagnosis we never would have known existed otherwise. There was a subchorionic hemorrhage between the uterine wall and the placenta, and the chance of miscarrying you went up greatly. Mommy was devastated and tried her hardest to remain optimistic. I scheduled a doctors appointment right afterwards, and found out my doctor was leaving her practice of thirty years. She recommended the hospitals maternity center for my obstetric care, for the amount of high risk prenatal care available to me there.

I began having weekly ultrasounds to check your heart beat, growth and size of the hemorrhage. Also at every ultrasound appointment, I had my blood drawn to check my hormone levels. Each week they were going up exactly as they were supposed to. I was on moderate bed rest, and Dr. Perry told me every week that until I was thirteen weeks along, you were not out of the woods yet... No matter how good everything looked. I laid on the couch everyday overcome with worry that your heart would no longer be beating, a strong 170 beats per minute, at my next appointment. I was so afraid I was becoming too attatched to you and you were going to leave us before you ever really "were."

The doctor made plans for us to see the perinatologist from UC Davis Medical Center. She laid out our prenatal plans for everyone else to follow. Due to the blood clot I endured with Michael's pregnancy, she ordered a blood thinner injection.


Subcutaneous Lovenox Injections 40mg-1xdaily

At 16weeks pregnant, I was to begin progesterone shots in concern for my history of 36week deliveries, early dilation, and preterm contractions. I began contracting during your pregnancy at 14 weeks. And so as ordered, at 16weeks I began getting weekly injections of progesterone, hoping you would stay put.

Things continued fairly smoothly after we reached the 13week mark, and the hemorrhage absorbed back into my body. Dr. Boe the perinatologist put in an order for a level II ultrasound to be performed also at UC Davis when I was 18 weeks pregnant. My worry and anxiousness finally lifted from the subchorionic hemorrhage to the thought that you could have some kind of congenital abnormality.

September 6th, 2011 daddy and I drove to Sacramento to see who you were. To see if you were okay. We honestly thought we would driving home, knowing the little girl inside me. Much to our surprise, you were definitely not a little girl. You were a the most perfectly formed little boy, with very healthy organs. A handsome little profile. And ten fingers and ten toes. I longed for a little girl. A little girl to fill the void of the little girl who left so soon.

Davis you are so much more than a little girl could have ever lived up to. Savannah had your fighting spirit. I see it everyday that I look into your eyes. That same determination for life. Savannah fought for her life on the outside. You fought for yours on the inside. A strength obviously only a boy could obtain.

November 8th, 2011, 27weeks 2days pregnant, after our weekly routine doctors appointment, we were admitted to Mercy Medical Center. Premature rupture of membranes. A nitrazine strip had tested positive, as well as a microscope slide showing ferning for amniotic fluid. I was put on permanent hospital bed rest, meaning no privledges in getting out of bed what so ever. We were given two stereiod shots each given 24hours apart to speed up lung development. We met with one of the NICU nurses in preparation for life with a 27week preemie. But they were taking every measure into their hands to make sure that did not happen. For the next 72hours I was given intravenous fluids and magnesium sulfate.

Fluids and Magnesium Sulfate

It was and is not any ones idea of a fun medicine to be put on. I slurred when I talked, had lack of control of my eye muscles, felt like my body was burning, and found myself quite flushed and sweaty.

72hours of Magnesium Sulfate.

Grandma took care of your big brothers and sister while we stayed in the hospital. Daddy had to go back to work, since they were doing everything they could to make sure you were not coming. I no longer experienced any leaking, and they could not prove again that my water had broken. It was you and I alone in our little hospital room. In the silence of being alone after everyone would leave, and everything I knew was at stake I'd find myself desperate to be home. To walk away from the medically sustained infant idea, that was all to real and raw. I remembered vividly, the feeling of wanting to open my eyes to only what you hope for as a bad dream.

After the first 72hours, and for the next week, the nurses brought me 20mg of Nifedipine. (Also commonly referred to as Procardia.) It is more used for cardiac patients as it works to relax all blood vessels so the heart does not have to pump as hard. People with high blood pressure, or chest pains for example. It was not ideal considering mommy struggled more during the pregnancy with low blood pressure. So I was given many side effects to watch for, and during our hospital stayed they monitored my blood pressure regularly.

We were also given three ultrasounds to check the amount of fluids surrounding you. The first time, the doctors were concerned that the amount of amniotic fluid surrounding you was too high. They began running more tests. They told me that high amounts of fluids can sometimes signify congenital defects. In a instant every fear I had during the pregnancy was a possible reality. I didn't understand how a congenital defect was even remotely possible since we had a level II ultrasound. They also began blood work testing for the human Parvo virus. The test came back negative, and the following two ultrasounds showed normal fluid results. As did all possible congenital abnormalities that they double checked. You were still perfect in every possible aspect.

We finally were sent home, and the premature rupture of membranes were diagnosed as sealed over. Light activity and pelvic rest were ordered until "full term" was reached. Mommy was so happy to walk away from the hospital with her tiny 27week baby still growing and thriving inside. I was happy at the thought of getting to hold you in your first few moments of birth. Getting to take you home, all together. To not see you hooked up to monitors and wires. To not be a "visitor" of the neonatal intensive care unit. To spend Thanksgiving, and Christmas at home with all four of my babies.


250mg Hydroxyprogesterone Injection 1weekly 10mg Nifedipine, every 4hours

I was discharged with a prescription of the Nifedipine, and was instructed I could take them as needed for any contractions every four hours. One pill consisted of 10mg. If the contractions weren't to be stopped with one pill, I could take up to two. And in the beginning I only occasionally needed the pills. I carried them with me at all times. It was almost like a drug addiction. They stayed in my purse if I left the house. They came to Christmas parties, and always sat perched next to the bed while I slept. I knew that if I needed them, they needed to be right there. Right then. I was determined to keep you inside as long as you needed to be there. And they worked. Every single time. Calming my stomach muscles. Washing away all trace of contractions.

Being released from the hospital also meant I was required biweekly Non Stress Tests. Where I had to go into the hospital and we monitored your heart rate, movement, and contractions. Since we lived an hour away from my doctor, I was able to transfer doctors and go into the local hospital for the monitoring. Each test you passed with flying colors. The nurses became accustomed to the mild regular contractions as a "normal" aspect of our weekly visits.

Things continued smoothly until 34weeks. The contractions were much stronger and a very regular. The nifedipine was not working this time. They gave me a shot of terbutaline to stop the contractions. And they did, for about 45 minutes before they were back the same as when they left. They gave me another shot. Same thing, only this time it lasted 30minutes. Though the doctor really didn't want to, a magnesium sulfate drip was ordered. This time, they brought in a fan and pointed it directly on me taking away the burning feeling, and keeping me quite comfortable. But the magnesium sulfate was working in the opposite as it was supposed to. The contractions were worsening and beginning to feel like true labor. They stopped the IV drip, and gave me another shot of terbutaline. I had dilated 2cm since I was first admitted that morning. And because the hospital I was in did not have a NICU, I was required to have an ambulance transport back to Redding. Every 30 minutes from then, until the ambulance arrived, and we made the hour trip south, the nurse gave me another injection of terbutaline.

Once we had arrived the staff informed us that their NICU was closed, so they really didn't want to deliver because then you would have to be transferred elsewhere. I was angry, and couldn't believe they hadn't told us before we had be transported and admitted. They gave me more Nifedipine, which still wasn't stopping the contractions, just slowing them slightly. The pain was overwhelming, and it was becoming overwhelming being I had contracted all day long, and I knew it was to have no prevail. They gave me Nubain, and I warned them of my high intolerance to IV pain medications. As she began administering the drug the room instantly began spinning. She assured me "I was supposed to feel like that." And I spent the rest of the evening throwing up. But the pain medication did manage to stop contractions at a dead halt.

New years eve, we were discharged only with instructions to take two Nifedipine every four hours. No longer "as needed." I was told that at 36 weeks I could finally stop taking them all together. And so I did. And so you became. 36weeks and 3days. And it was over. The twice a week non stress tests. The every four hour pill taking. The many many injection sites. We had made it through all odds against us...

I tell you this Davis, more for my sake. So I will remember every detail of how far my love for you began. So I will never forget that before I ever saw you, I would have sacrificed everything for you. One day you will probably drive me crazy. One day you will probably color on my walls, stomp on my flowers, come home late, or selectivly listen to my motherly advice. But I write this so you know, that even when you make mistakes, even when you really don't "like me," I would do it all over again. I would endure the heartache, the emotional stress, and the physical pains just to have you in my life. Through the good times and the bad, I love you. It's a love that you will never fully understand. I would give you my life. And I promise to give you all of my heart. Thank you for showing me strength. A strength I lacked during your pregnancy at times. You will always be my fighter, and I know because of that you are going to do very big things. I will support you, encourage you, and guide you. You have already made me so proud. Your pregnancy was only the beginning. The beginning of what I would give for you. I love you little one... With every beat of my broken heart.

-Mommy

We've waited so long. {Written January 19th,2012}

2012-01-20T22:03:00.000-08:00

He is officially here.

Safe, healthy, and more handsome than my mind ever could have imagined. Today he is eight days old. And tonight, I am having a hard time with that. Eight days old. I look at him, this tiny helpless little person and remember what it was like to have to say goodbye after only eight short days. I cannot imagine telling him, how much I love him, and that I promise I will see him again. How did I do that once before? How was I ever able to let go of a little person I loved and still love so very much?

I want a pause button. These past eight days have gone more quickly than I remember Savannah's time with us going. Maybe that was a gift to us? Feeling like time was suspended during those eight days so we felt like we were given a lot longer. I don't want my time to go so quickly. I already know I am not ready. I was not ready for him to be a week old. I am not ready for him to be one month old. I want nothing more than an opportunity just to push pause. I want to cherish this moment of him being so tiny and fresh to my world as I process everything he is and everything he means to me.

He does not look much like Savannah. And I am perfectly fine with that. He does though, look like his older brother Brody. The night he was born and filled his perfectly formed lungs with beautiful scream worthy air, I knew that it wasn't just Davis. A piece of Savannah came back with him. Now I don't ever want to sound like Davis will always live in the shadows of his big sister. Because he won't. And he isn't. He is loved for just who he is. But he is much more than that. He was the first, and only person who fit right in the empty wounded spots of my arms.

I anticipated January 9th, for my little one's birthday. My body naturally desires to give birth at 36weeks, and I didn't expect any different from the way this pregnancy seemed to go. January 9th, not only marked 36weeks, it was also the full moon (say what you want) and it was my birthday! I fully expected to have the best gift for my birthday! That morning I had my weekly non stress test at the hospital. The night before the contractions were fairly regular but not painful enough to where I felt the needed to go in. Now if you know me, regular contractions are not cause for alarm in my case, and even the ob nurses knew that was the case. I went to bed that night, knowing I had an appointment first thing in the morning and I would wait it out until then.

Once I got to the hospital the following morning, and was hooked up to the monitors, sure enough the contractions were regular, every four minutes. The nurses all laughed being I had bonded with many of them, and knowing that I had predicted a birthday baby. After the 20minutes of monitoring, and making me drink a sugary drink to get Davis to move and groove like he usually did, the nurse called the on call doctor. My doctor was out of town for the holidays all the way in Europe. The on call doctor, also the doctor who delivered my Michael, said that being I was 36weeks, he would not give me anything to speed labor along, but suggested I walk. The nurse assumed it was getting close since Davis, our usual A+ non stress test achiever, had slowed down a lot.

By the time I made it home, the contractions were stronger and getting closer together. My mom brought over my birthday gifts, and took me to the park for a walk. Considering we took her one year old terrier, it was more like a slow jog. And by the time we made it back to the car, I could hardly sit down.My husband had dinner and a movie plans for my birthday, and in not wanting to ruin the few and far between chances to be alone with all of his attention, we proceeded with the plans. I indulged with a vanilla Italian soda, at a quaint Italian restaurant, where the contractions stayed close by. Afterwards we went back to the park in hopes that another walk would be just what was needed, but the contractions remained the same so we drove over to the movie theater. With not much of a selection, and knowing my husband was interested, we sat down to see "War Horse." Before the previews even had a chance to begin, I said, "maybe we should go." Because just in sitting down to watch a movie the contractions got much more intense. My husband, said "lets just wait and if you need to go we will." Me being ~~cheap~~ "frugal," I hated the thought of watching 15minutes of a movie only to have to leave and not be refunded our money. Haha! So knowing my husband really didn't want to leave, I endured all 146minutes in pain.

YES,

I AM THAT LABORING PREGNANT PERSON IN THE MOVIES.

As we walked out the doors I said, "okay time to call the hospital." And we went straight there. I was checked only to find that I was dilated to two centimeters. Exactly what I had been dilated to, two weeks prior. The contractions were two to four minutes apart, so they planned on monitoring me for an hour, and check me again...

One hour later: 2cm. No change.
I was being sent home... In pain.

On the way home, I cried. So much had taken place during this pregnancy, and it seemed like hospital stays and hospital visits were a permanent part of my future. (Pregnancy has a tendency to be a little irrational.) I tried my best to sleep through the contractions, but by six in the morning, I sat up mulling over the fact that I could very possibly continue contracting for another four weeks. At eight, when I heard my husbands alarm go off, I was discouraged to find out he had every intention on still going to work. After he left, I continued to clean up the house before I headed to my mom's to pick up the kids. (They had stayed there the night before.) My mom suggested we go on another walk, and I was all for it if there was even the slightest possibility real labor would be imminent.

We walked around her subdivision, which was what felt like a ten mile hike, since it consisted of a pregnant waddling whale, a hyper puppy, and three kids on bicycles. By the time we made it home, Koady was back from work already, and the kids went to Zumba on the WII. I figured I'd go home and talk to Koady and probably call the hospital back. It just didn't seem normal for someone to be in that much pain, and not be "in labor." I walked through the door and told him he should probably submit his paperwork for the day, just in case they told us to come back in to labor and delivery. Not too long afterwards, there was a tell tale sign that we needed to get to the hospital to be checked out. (I'll spare the gory details.) On the drive there, I knew I had to be in labor. Heck, if you saw how I ever so slowly waddled my way into the hospital, you would have known I was in labor too.

4-5cm. I was admitted.

We we're finally going to meet our little boy.

The night nurse came on, and was so supportive to my desire to have a natural birth. It was 4:45pm January 10th, and I guessed I would have him before 10:00pm. Koady guessed 2:17am. The nurse brought in a birthing ball, which is more commonly known as an exercise ball. I walked, bounced, rocked, stood, and laughed. Yes, you can ask the doctor who sat on the edge of my bed, I was still smiling up until I pushed him out! (With no pain meds what so ever! Yay me!) We laughed hysterically after I referred to "pushing" as "the burning ring of fire." And as I bounced on the ball, my husband put on Johnny Cash's "burning ring of fire." We were creating enough of a commotion to bring the nurse in to see what was so funny. (For anyone who has experienced natural childbirth, the song is quite ironic, and dedicated to you.)

Not too long after being dilated to 4-5, I was dilated to 6cm. And I was six.... And six.... And six again.... No matter what I tried I was stuck at six. And since the doctor still wouldn't help anything along, it was up to me. In the beginning he said that if my labor did for some reason just stop (because I guess that can happen) he would probably send me home. As the night continued and we passed by my 10:00 prediction, by 1:30am, I was beginning to become discouraged. The birthing ball seemed to be calming my contractions. Still 6cm dilated, my contractions were beginning to span to 6-7minutes apart, and everyone was tired and falling asleep on me. I began to cry. "They just need to discharge me. They need to send me home. I'm stuck at 6cm, and my contractions are going away. All of this pain is for nothing. I just want to go home!" (Didn't you know that pitty parties are all the rage during labor? Especially pitty parties wanting to be sent home?)

Almost as soon as my sobbing stopped, wham! Three contractions in a row, that we're unbearable. Thinking I was going to be laboring for the next 24weeks, I said, "go get the nurse I think I need an epidural!" My mom went out into the hall, and said she knew something was happening because she could hear me breathing outside of my room. I don't even know how you can hear someone breathing, and I honestly don't have any idea what I sounded like, just as long as I didn't sound like the dying moose in the room next to us. The nurse came in and asked, "you want an epidural?... I think I need to check you." I was 7-8cm, and she went to call the doctor. As she came back she informed me that I needed to go through an entire bag of saline drip before they could give me an epidural. (I hadn't been on an IV at all.) My exact words were, "I guess its worth a shot." Not too long after they started the IV, the doctor came in. He was half asleep and literally must have rolled out of bed and come to the hospital because he had the ever glamorous bed hair! :)

The nurse asked him, "does she have time for an epidural?" He looked at me like I had lost my marbles and said, "AT EIGHT CENTIMETERS? NO! You still have thirty minutes for your IV, 15minutes for him to get here, and 15minutes for him to give it to you. Your looking at 3am!" I sadly acknowledged my fate, and the doctor got his scrubs on while the nurses set up the room. In between contractions I muttered, "oh I'm so scared of crowning!" But the nurse was still so encouraging. "You're almost done, your baby will be here so soon." The contractions at this point were about five minutes apart, which they said was very good for relaxation of me and the baby. I said, "everyone take note, my pain is at a ten and I am still smiling." During some of the last few contractions I remember grabbing the handrails and yelling, "stupid epidural guy!" His ears probably burned that night; wherever he was...

The doctor sat on the edge of the bed waiting for the fully dilated mark, nodding off during contractions. He checked me once more and I told him, "I don't know what hurts worse the contractions or your fingers!!" I was 9cm, and the doctor told me I could probably push through the last centimeter. He told me, "with the next contraction, go ahead and push." I replied, "WITH YOUR FINGERS IN THERE!?" Still dozing, he gave a slight nod, with a easy going, "yes." I gave a good push, and we decided to wait until I was fully dilated. So as we sat anxiously waiting, the doctor held his gooey gloved fingers over his pants with his eyes closed. Koady and my mom watched as his fingers dripped onto his pants, yet no one wanted to disturb his slumbers to point out the mess that was dribbling onto his scrubs. He cracked his eyes open enough finally to very casually flick the next glop back around his fingers.My mom, casually laughed and said, "looks like brass knuckles!" And finally it was time to push. One. Baby moved down, head right there. Two. Head out, sharp scream. Three, shoulders and baby came out, and I lunged back on the bed, smacking my head into the head board that I was COMPLETELY unaware hospital beds had until that very moment. The nurse said, "op, we've got a jumper!" And in three pushes he was out.

They had asked me if I wanted him laid on my chest. I said yes, only if it was okay to do so. In his first moments he squeaked. That same tiny squeak Savannah made. The only sound she made. And though it was only a moment, it felt like minutes went by before he cried. The most beautiful cry I ever remember hearing after giving birth. A cry I've waited a very long time to hear. And they laid him into the crook of my arm, and I stared at him. Speechless. Everyone began talking about him. But it was literally as though someone took away my ability to talk. I couldn't process "what he looked like," or "how long his fingers and toes were." All I could process was my overwhelming love for him in just those first few minutes. All I could think about was my little girl who I missed out on all of those glorious traditional milestones with. And then, they whisked him away to the warmer to be checked. I could not see him, but I studied the looks on the respiratory therapist, and the nurses face, for any signs that "he was not okay." I watched for any look of concern. Stress. Uncertainty. I held my breath every time they held the tiny stethoscope up to his chest.

And then something amazing happened. They gave him back to me. There was no reason they couldn't. His temperature was a little low, and for that they laid him on my chest, where I was told he needed to stay all night. There wasn't any place in the world I would rather him stay.

We didn't wait nine months for Davis to become a part of our lives. We waited nine months for Savannah. We waited another eight months to conceive. Finally a very tragic and long 26months became a reality, as he stared back into my eyes. And now, I want nothing more than to savor every blessed moment I have with him. This little boy has been healing. Yet he has pulled greatly at my heartstrings over and over again. I cannot begin to explain the love you feel for children once you have lost one. But it is one of the most overwhelming, and breath taking emotions a mother could ever experience. I cannot imagine my life without this baby boy in only eight short days, just as I can't imagine life without Savannah in only her eight short days...

Davis Emmett

January 11th, 2012

2:33am

6lbs 2oz.

19.7inches

To love and be loved in return.

2011-12-19T21:54:00.000-08:00

The other day, as my husband and I braved the crowds Christmas shopping, a woman with the "December frantic" look on her face, slammed her cart into mine as she rounded the corner. She was moving so rapidly, there was enough force to bump my shopping cart into my pregnant stomach. In my "accidents happen" reaction, I started to move the cart closer to the shelves trying to give the shopper more space to glide freely down the isle. Before I could courtiously do so, ignorantly expecting your typical polite reaction exchanged between two strangers, the woman scraped her cart down the side of mine too impatient and caught up in her own life to show decency to another human being. And when the pure shock lifted from me, my heart hurt.

As a Christian, I celebrate Christmas. I choose to believe that "for God so loved the world, he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life." (-John 3:16) I openly chose to, as some would say, put all my faith in something that cannot be seen. And however you feel about me based on my decisions I can live with that. If you would rather hear "Happy Holidays" over "Merry Christmas," that is just as much your prerogative as it is mine to choose Jesus Christ as my Lord and savior. But this blog post is not me defending my faith or religion. This post is not about my Christmas and your Holiday.

I don't know all there is to know about other religions. I don't know details about atheism, buddhism, muslim, or being jewish and celebrating hanukkah. Aside from the separations between my Christianity and any of the above preferences, I do not see why mankind is so incapable of love. Regardless of differences. Regardless of religion. Especially this time of year. No matter what we are choosing to celebrate.

I sat wrapping presents yesterday as my little ones sat watching "Mickey's Once Upon a Christmas." A child's cartoon teaches something so simple that most humans have lost sight of. Donald Duck gave his nephews a Christmas card that read,

"Christmas isn't about candy canes, holly, or lights all aglow,

its about the lives that we touch and the care that we show."

I have experienced it now. The unknown first year. We endured all of the traditional holidays. The first year through grief, for me, was not only about healing and growing, it was also about learning. As a mother burying her child, you have to learn to walk all over again. One baby step at a time. You have to learn how to go about your daily life with a permanent absence. You have to learn how to celebrate these holidays minus one. And you have to learn to accept the crulety in the world when they acknowledge the sweet life you cherish, in a dark and cynical manner.

A very strong and beautiful friend of mine today, once again, held her head high today as she defended her two sons. She proudly display's pictures of them on her desk at work. Both born premature, one little man in heaven, one special needs sweetheart here with her. A co-worker, also a new employee walked by her desk and one of the pictures caught the woman's eye. As if these pictures were the most offensive thing she would see all day, she asked in disgust, "Is THAT your baby? Oh my gosh, WHAT is wrong with him!"

I now know mothers of loss. But I know mothers of special needs as well. They face the same disturbed reaction, that we who carry death around with us do. If not more. We can disclose the information. Our babies are always there, but not viewable to all.

And just in the same way people can bump into you and neglect to offer a simple apology, people can be judgmental, rude, and harsh. Mothers proudly take their special needs children with them everywhere. And I would do the exact same. Whether the world has lost sight of love and compassion or not.

A family member of mine, will not come around me. Not only are they angry of the death of Savannah, the life of Davis has only succeeded in making the bitterness worse. Since I lost one, this precious boy, is only viewed through death's eyes for this family member. I see women choose to have babies after the heartache of tragedy everyday. I know I will have to experience the first year all over again, yet in a different way. I will see the milestones. I will have the little one at the holidays. And all over again, I will have to experience this change, minus one. But that IS what Christmas, or "this holiday" means.

A love SO strong,

a parent would sacrifice everything.

In the end,

loving someone,

is the greatest gift of all.

To whom it may concern,

2011-12-12T05:51:00.000-08:00

To whom it may concern,

Let me just get it out in the open. You did notice correctly as I walked passed with my three children in tow. I do have another on the way, my belly sure doesn't lie to you these days. Ultimately, if I did the math correctly that does in deed make four children. Socially speaking that is. What my belly and my row of ducklings do not announce to the naked eye, is actually, counting the child I carry in my heart, I do in fact have five children.

So, though I will always be polite, smile and respond to your questions or comments, I will never fully understand why society, strangers, friends and family, really care to know, if this is our last. Or to remind me, in case I was just a mental case for, heaven forbid wanting all of my children, that I must be "pretty busy." (Insert wide eyes here.)

So let me explain a little about my family. Since you, dear stranger in the grocery store, care so much to know if we are going to have any more...

My husband is not a doctor. He is not a lawyer, dentist, surgeon, or business executive. He is though, what a vast majority of American's are not these days. He is a full time, hard working, employee. He has gotten up five days a week, and promoted through chains of command, for years, and through each of the five children we have. One income mind you. Yes, that is correct. I am also a stay at home mother. I provide all of the daily care. All of the nurturing, discipline, compassion, and self-sacrificing love that I could pay obscene amounts of money to receive from a complete stranger.

I spend twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, with my four, (to your naked eye) children. So thank you for reminding me how busy I am. If you don't mind, I would like to remind you of something,

Children are a choice. They are a gift. They do not come with a paycheck, nor should you receive a paycheck for having them. They are joyful and delightful. They are not an obligation. They are not a reason to cringe if you see more than two in the grocery store. They can be stripped from us at any given moment. They are fragile lives, and fragile spirits. They require one hundred percent of our love and devotion or they will always feel like society sees them as "one more." But they are not one more. They are human beings. They are a decision and a desire from one mothers womb to the world. They hold the future in the palm of their tiny hands. They are miracles. They transform from literally nothing into living, breathing, souls. Noisey, messy, chaotic, and as you wont let me forget, busy souls.

So even though my barefoot and pregnant lifestyle may not appeal to you, ~~I like it.~~ No, I love it. And since the question will probably never evade me... no right now we do not plan on having anymore. And I apologize if we should have stopped after we buried our last. If years down the road we do happen to discuss that option, please let me take down your number so I can get your consult on the matter.

If you don't mind me asking, since we are being so open, you didn't have children did you? Because I can tell how much you cherish each and every one...

Sincerely,
Mother of Five.

2011-12-10T14:21:00.000-08:00

This pregnancy was literally flying by. Seems like one second we were jumping for joy with tears in our eyes over a test that costs way too much for what you do to it, and in the blink of an eye we were over half way to meeting our little man. I kept thinking to myself, if the third trimester goes as smoothly and quickly as the first and second, I wont have to go through the agonizing torture of the anxious waiting game most all expectant mother experience.

And then at twenty-seven weeks I found myself a one way ticket into the hospital. Now hopefully you are lucky enough to never have experienced hospital bed rest, but if you have, you know first hand that every day feels like an eternity. I literally found myself so bored I would stare out the window in event something in my view changed or became exciting.

Ever since I was released I feel as though the hospital time warp followed me home. It is surreal that five weeks have passed already, but the thought of another eight weeks has become the daily torture routine. Not so much physically. But emotionally the third trimester is draining. For thirty-two weeks now, I have daydreamed about the baby I have waited two long years for. I have fantasized about the moment he is born and he cries those sweet cries. The moment the nurses say "congratulations" and leave us alone in the room with our newborn. No oxygen masks. No NICU team. No neonatologists. Just a healthy baby boy, tuckered out from a journey into our lives and even further into our hearts.

I realized today, that over a year ago we fully expected our lives to change. Our family life would be different, and everything we did would have to be changed or altered in one way or another. And it did. Just not in the way we expected it to. We do have children prior to the life and death of Savannah. I acknowledge and would never pretend that I know what it is like to loose my first born. I do know what it is like to hold a newborn, and bring that healthy baby home. But I cannot wait to experience it all over, having had those sweet memories erased by the tragedy of infant death.

A baby band-aid is what our Davis will be. You cover the open wounds and it heals. But your skin will never be the same. Most likely there will be a scar. Sometimes not noticeable to the naked eye, but it's there. In anticipating my band-aid being laid on my heart, the days seems longer, and the seconds pass slower.

But as I look at my three living breathing children, I cannot help but only want this moment. Because here soon, for the second time, our lives will change forever.

What's in a name.

2011-12-05T19:15:00.000-08:00

Lately I feel as though I am on a merry-go-round. Round and round I continue to go. I think I have rambled about baby names more than anyone would like to hear, but I can't help but feel agony with settling.

What's in a name anyways? A believe a name can become a personality... it molds and grows with a person... What you do in life, you take your name with you. It's your mark on the world.

I remember being told Savannah didn't need a social security number since she had passed away. I remember what it was like having a birth certificate that boldly stated deceased horizontally across the page. These things, these standard procedures, make a mother feel as though their child, a human being with a name, are insignificant. Just paperwork. A Jane Doe.

There have been times, that when sorting through files, I have run across Savannah's insurance card. And to see her name, that I know we were so meticulous in picking out, brings my heart such warmth. Since she left, I don't have reason to say her name everyday. I don't have reason to talk about her and say her name to people I talk to. I miss her name, for I loved her name so very much.

I want to love Davis' name as much as I loved and long for Savannah's. In something I have learned just in my own experience. I wanted this little boy's name (or girl had he been) to be something that would remind me of Savannah everytime I hear it spoken from someone's lips.

Family and friends weren't too sold on "Savannah" when we finally reached our decision. And this time around they aren't too keen to warm up to the name "Davis." It's so much more than the little one growing and thriving inside me for a mere eight more weeks. To me it is also about the little one that brought "Davis" into existance.

We picked Emmett for the middle name. Had Savannah been a boy, her name would have been Liam Emmett. Another piece of our girl. To hear and remember her by. To know that when the social security administration and county records department see her name as only a deceased person, no longer needed in the system, Savannah Victoria gets to live on in her baby brother...

But I keep second guessing. Is it good enough? Will people ever love his name as much as I do? In the way that I loved Savannah's?

Recently my husband and I came across the name Jax. We loved the spelling, and liked the name. In a casual google name search, I discovered in English it means "God is gracious." To me, yes, Davis is a very gracious gift. But we can hardly get people to want to call our son Davis as a first name, how would we ever get acceptance over Jax?

Come on readers... Davis Emmett or Davis Jax?

Enter the Poll!

The Heart of Christmas

2011-12-05T10:26:00.000-08:00

Sometimes you just can't help it. There are those movies that just draw you in, without needing to be big blockbuster hits. Without needing to pay an obscene amount of money to watch it in the movie theater.

Let's go back a little bit. Last holiday season, a song entered my life, but being we were still so numb from the loss we had literally just faced, it didn't hit me as hardly as it has this year. Literally one week ago, driving to my weekly doctors appointment the song jumped back into my memory. No reminder. No reason. I just began telling my husband about the song. He reminded me that I shared the song with him last Christmas. I honestly couldn't remember sharing it. I hardly remembered it myself. In that moment, whether he already had heard it or not, I needed to hear it again. Myself.

And for the first time I watched the official music video. The music video that shares glimpses into the journey a family faced as their son thirteen month old son battled Leukemia. As my husband drove down the freeway I tried my very hardest to hold back the tears I knew were unevitable.

Saturday evening in watching ABC Family's 25days of Christmas, a commercial came on the tv adverstising a movie premier on a completely different channel. A channel I had never even heard of. (Did you know they officially have a Christmas movie channel?) GMC. I set it up to record Sunday, December 4th, and had forgotten all about it until late last night.

A touching yet heartbreaking story of a family who fights with all of their might to keep their son alive, yet when they reach the point of "letting go" realize that sweet little boy, Dax, isn't going to live to see "one last Christmas." A community follows by example when Dax's daddy goes out of his way to make sure Dax got to see, his very last Christmas.

It was an overwhelming story. But I sobbed uncontrollably through the entire movie. That of which I have never, ever, done before. But it was so real. The Locke family were blessed with more time with Dax, than we were given with Savannah, but the story of their stay at St. Jude's Children's Hospital, was exactly, in almost every detail if you were to replace a toddler with a newborn, what our experience was like at UC Davis. And every moment spent watching this family put their lives on hold to be there fighting for their son, took me back to every moment spent fighting for our daughter.

When the doctors had tried everything they possibly could to help save Dax, they sent the family home to spend their final weeks with him. And like I already mentioned, October 2009, Dax got to see Christmas with the childhood delight we either remember from our own childhood, or have witnessed in our own children.

All so badly, with our very Christmas tree illuminated and decorated in the living room, it brought me to a heavy heart. How I wish so badly, Savannah could have witnessed for a second the magic of Christmas. Whether it have been in December or in her eight day visit in August. But before family and friends even had a moment to wrap their minds around what was happening, Savannah was gone.

There are so many amazing families out there. Who have fought so hard and selflessly for their babies.

Since Dax passed, his mommy and daddy have welcomed their own rainbow baby into their lives. And continue to raise 1.7million dollars to fund St. Judes Children's Hospital for an entire day. In honor of the baby boy that left their lives too soon.

This Christmas, if your heart calls you to do so, or you are looking for a way to make a difference, please consider making even the smallest donation to St. Judes. Because I know, as a mother, what it feels like for a hospital to give their everything to someone who means more to you than they will ever possibly know.

::Donate for Dax::

Recklessly Loving.

2011-11-30T18:00:00.000-08:00

When I was pregnant with Sarah, I was barely twenty weeks when my mother threw me my very first baby shower. So young, I didn't once stop to think that the daughter I had just found out I was carrying could surprise us all and come out needing blue ensembles rather than all of the pink that was received. I never once thought that the daughter inside me could leave us all before we really had a chance to say hello. All of the baby gifts instantly came out of their perfectly boxed packaging. Furniture was assembled. Tags were removed. No hesitation; no questioning.

I was a bit obsessive with the motherly need to prepare for our sweet Sarah. I washed and folded. If something even got bumped in the slightest I would wash them again. I am probably the only expectant mother in the world that can go through more bottles of Dreft than a new mother uses in six months. Koady claims even that her treasured pink clothes were fading by the time we welcomed her into our lives.

With Michael and Brody the need to prepare, nest, and wash their clothes was still there, just not as neurotic as the first time around. And as badly as I wanted it to be there, it was non existent for Savannah. I did like a clean house. I did feel that things couldn't be "clean" enough. But her things? I never could bring myself to submerge myself in the heavenly pink outfits I had longed years to see again.

Now any honest women would admit that baby boy clothes are just never going to be as cute as the girly outfits available in department stores today. And though I wanted so bad for Davis to be the little girl I hoped he would be, I want to dive into his clothes and just live there for awhile. I want to nuzzle his blankets, and snuggle his stuffed friends. His room has become my absolute favorite place in the world.

But... that fear in the back of my mind haunts me. We have been assured our Davis is healthy as can be, and realistically there is no reason to believe anything could go wrong based on what happened with Savannah. It took me quite awhile to assure my heart that this little boy, is going to be just fine. I was finally feeling ready. Ready to throw boxes and packaging away. Ready to clip tags. Ready to become a Dreft consumer once more.

After being admitted for the hospital for an entire week from ruptured membranes, being given excessive amounts of magnesium sulfate and antibiotics that I am pretty sure could have cured a small country, I was discharged. Originally they wanted to keep me until I delivered. I couldn't see any point of that, since they could not confirm that my water had broken after I was ~~sentenced~~ admitted. They deemed it up to a leak that sealed itself over, and I was sent home on pelvic rest, and with instructions to put my feet up as much as possible.

As I stood staring at his precious blue outfits awaiting his arrival patiently, the fear creeped up on me once again. A week prior I was being prepped for life with a baby in the NICU. A baby with a head the size of a "tomato." A baby who would be far to neurologically sensitive to rub, but I could gently place my hand on his teeny tiny body. As I assured the nurse I had in fact been in their NICU and was familiar with the "medically sustained infant," her interest was heightened. I then told her about Savannah. She put her hand to her chest, "I was there that night. I was one of the nurses that took care of your baby girl. That was a very rough night." I then proceeded to tell her that she lived for eight days on the ECMO machine, but she had passed away. She nodded. "Yes, we heard." She reached out and grabbed my leg. Tears welled up in her eyes as she said again, "that was such a rough night." An overwhelming wave of emotion came over me as I really remembered what that night was like. I began to cry as well, when that NICU nurse took my in her arms and held me as we cried together. I sobbed, "I am so glad you will be there to take care of this baby."

No matter who is caring for my unborn son, I don't and didn't want him to face that road. To be so tiny and helpless, fighting a fight they may or may not be ready for. Once again, I was reminded that in a second, Davis could not be safe and sound doing baby aerobics in his mommies tummy. And the packages, the teeny outfits, and the beautiful blue color I have grown to love so so much, would once more sit. But as I have made it from twenty seven weeks, to thirty and a half since then, recently I removed tags. No not all of them. Hardly. But I have a diaper bag packed. I have outfits, socks, mittens, and blankets picked out. Because it's love. Love can be reckless sometimes, but that's what makes it so intense. Not knowing what may or may not happen, my Davis deserves every bit of my love. And until he is here, full term, and I can smother his face in kisses to let him know, right now I show him by washing his bundles of blue. By folding repeatedly. By sniffing the sweet smell of baby detergent. By sitting in his bedroom taking in everything about his presence. Tags are a big step. But an even bigger deal. Because I recklessly love him. For now. For always.

The month of thankfuls.

2011-11-11T09:59:00.000-08:00

Just a week ago, my husband and I stood in our kitchen. We talked about how perfectly everything in our life was going right in that moment. No not in a conceded, boasting kind of way. Just in a "love this moment," and very grateful kind of way.
I do not believe my life has to be perfect to only find things to be thankful for. As we all know, in the midst of life's hardest tragedies, I've tried to see the beauty through it all. Standing in the kitchen, only a mere week ago, I said, "I am just prepared for things to go not so perfectly."

It really sounds negative right? Possibly. More than anything I don't feel an entitlement to some kind of happily ever after. God took my baby. There is nothing I can do to change the outcome of his plan. He does not owe me some kind of repayment, perfection, or greatness due to my loss. With beauty always comes pain. In this life, there will always be pain.

I've been concerned for our little boy since the very beginning and we found out he was being graced into our lives. I worried for congenital defects. I worried for so many anomalies that I learned about through so many beautiful mothers who said goodbye to their own precious beings.
In the beginning we prepared ourselves to say goodbye, once again. From the second our hearts locked with his, this pregnancy has thrown us curve balls so to speak. "Subchorionic Hemorrhage." What did that mean? What risks and hurdles did we face for our little one? With all odds against us, we fought. I subjected myself to tiring, emotional draining, and not even promised to "save him" bed rest. And Davis sailed through. Our fighter. Our champion. As a mother, even when I failed to provide the strength, hope, and courage for our rainbow baby, there he was, willing his heart to keep beating. With such a purpose. Such a small understanding of what he needs to do. A soul so brand new, had more focus and drive than his mother could and tried to provide through the uncertainties of life.

Tonight, as I still count my handful of thankfuls, I really haven't neglected this month when so many people really pull forward everything they have to be grateful for.
In the middle of the night, November 8th, I woke up in the middle of the night to a cold wet feeling. I knew I had a doctors appointment early the very following morning, and I couldn't bring myself to believe it was anything more than typical lovely pregnancy side effects. As I mentioned and described the events to my doctor the following morning, she as well, wasn't convinced it was anything alarming. She of course ran a strip test just to be certain. To set ~~my mind~~ her mind at ease. Instantly the paper turned green. Which is a measurement of pH levels determining whether or not your amniotic fluid was leaking. Green is not the color you want to be seeing at 27weeks, 3days pregnant. They swabbed me to be sure my water had broken by running a slide under the microscope. The slide revealed "ferning." ::""A fern like crystal indicating the fluid is in deed ruptured membranes.

More doctors filled the small exam room to break the bad news. Instantly I was sent up to labor and delivery. Where I have been admitted. For how long though, no one seems to know.
And here I am. Uncertain. Feeling a little broken. Surrounded by so many people being thankful out there in the real world. And the brokenness that is inside, makes me feel worse. For three days now, Davis is fighting. He has shown no signs as to being ready or prepared to make this fight for life in this, real world.
There has been no more leaking. The contractions, with the help of a magnesium sulfate IV drip, have become next to non existant. But I am still here. For they cannot send me home with such at stake.

I cannot help but feel awful for the situation. For I have to sacrifice myself completely for Davis to continue growing and thriving. But at the same time, I have to sacrifice my three other children completely for unseen circumstances. How can I work through the guilt of feeling like I am sitting at the hospital while everyone else is stuck having to pick up the pieces. All because I am not there. And no one asked for this.

I most certainly did not. I read so many stories of friends near and dear to me, continuing with their pregnancies so smoothly. How can I choose between my three living children and my husband, and all of the family members who most definitely didn't want this burden, over an unborn child? That is like living between a rock and a hard spot.

Today I am thankful for so much. The opportunity to hold Davis, full term. The feeling of hope when I thought for sure, I would be limited to only touch once more. For days, weeks, possibly months. I still have a chance for a healthy baby boy, that leaves with us. Not before us. I'm thankful for the meticulous care the hospital has given me since I first arrived Tuesday afternoon. I am thankful for an awnry baby boy who refuses to stay put so we can closely monitor his rapidly beating heart. I am thankful for medical technology that stopped an arrival no one was prepared for, most of all my precious son, and for the medical technology that could and can save his life had he been set on his own timing schedule. I'm thankful for my mother, who will drive from vacation all night to pick up my children in life's most delicate moments. I am thankful for her complete sacrifice to help care for my family while I am unable to do so myself regardless of her own schedules and to-do's. I am thankful for my husband who still gets up and goes to work, though I am sure this causes great stress to him as well. I am thankful for family and friends who have sent flowers that really do brighten my little hospital room. I am thankful for so much this November, I really am.

I will be even more thankful if I get a second chance to live out the remainder of this pregnancy at home with my family. And with Davis, safe and sound inside mommies tummy for another good three months...

30 days of Thankful {Day Three}

2011-11-03T11:49:00.000-07:00

Today I am so thankful for Mercy Maternity Center. When I found out that my obstetrician who delivered Savannah was leaving her practice after thirty years of delivering babies, I'll have to admit, I found myself crying hysterically in the parking lot of the Mercy Maternity Center after being told "they would take good care of me."

Any mother-to-be is usually nervous at the idea of deciding on the doctor they entrust not only their well being in, but that of their unborn child's. Savannah's condition, no secret here, was completely undiscovered even through prenatal care, and numerous ultrasounds. I did not hold that against my doctor. I do not believe that eight years of medical universities can make a human being, capable of performing miracles. Healing all. I just don't. Because they are, and always will be, only human. Do I think people are capable of careless mistakes? Of course. But I will not hold Savannah's diaphragmatic hernia against anyone. Had it been discovered, all I manage to see is months of agony and heartache spent, wondering, worrying, living day to day life broken hearted. There was nothing that could have been done to that little body inside my womb to help her. And through God's grace, "Savannah's frame was not hidden from Him. When she was made in secret." {Psalm 139:15} This scripture, used on behalf of so many babies growing and thriving in their mother's tummy. It spoke to me much deeper. Koady and I used it at her funeral. As much as this world offered us during my pregnancy, countless times, Savannah's body, her frame, was hidden. But not from God. Only from us. The Lord, most definitely kept her makes a secret. And His secret, became our blessing. We got to live with Savannah for nine months, just as she was. "Fearfully and wonderfully made." {Psalm 139:14} That was all we knew. We were not scared for the future. We got to live in the moment.

And lastly, the piece of the scripture that fit our little girl so perfectly. "Your eyes saw my substance, being yet unformed." {Psalm 139:16} People argued with me as I spoke of this scripture; I was told I was reading into those simple words way too much. But it says UNformed. So easily, could it make more sense to say, formed; Created; Established. After all, this is God. He isn't making all babies unformed. But my Savannah was most definitely UNFORMED. Yes every baby, every being, starts out unformed. That being the sole purpose behind the mother's womb. In our tragedy, this scripture was speaking of my little one. No amount of time would have ever made Savannah whole. No doctor in the world could have saved her.

Starting over with a new doctor, I was unsure if they would connect to my story. My history. Would they treat me with the compassion I was so desperate for in this pregnancy. Would they accept that I lost my daughter, and sacrifice all they have to see to it I don't loose another?

The doctors, specialists, and nurses have exceeded my expectations in every way imaginable. They have grown to know my story. They know Savannah's name, and are not afraid to speak it. As most medical professionals try to avoid it, the ones overseeing my care have not held back any attachment to my baby boy. They are fighting for him. Every appointment. Every recommendation. Every referral. As I said, I do not blame Savannah's doctor for anything, but I feel blessed to have changed doctors. I feel like I could not be receiving better medical care anywhere else, other than one Medical Center that has stolen and will forever carry a piece of my heart. A piece of my soul...

Today, I'm thankful for Mercy Maternity Center. Like the entire Pediatric Intensive Care Unit at UC Davis, they truly are my fighting angels...

30 days of Thankful {Day Two}

2011-11-02T10:11:00.000-07:00

Day two already. I cannot fathom where the time has been going lately. Let me sit and ponder for a minute which one of my "thankfuls" takes second place. Lets just say, each one cannot be measured.

Today, I am thankful for my husband. Our far from perfect marriage. And our almost {December 27th, to be exact} eight years of "I do's."

My husband is my soul mate. Cliche right? Nope. Not when you know. By soul mate, I do not mean we don't drive each other nuts. By soul mate, I do not mean we like all the same things, and are completely alike.

We are opposites in many ways. He drives me nuts at times, and I know that I repay him in the same way. He plays video games, and loves movies and electronics to the point sometimes that I would like to walk into Best Buy with a baseball bat and smash, well everything. He leaves dirty socks lying, well wherever they happen to fall. His idea of organized usually can be defined as "unseen."

But these are his quirks. And without them, I am realizing that he wouldn't be exactly who his is. Mine. And I take him with his "flaws." Because he has taken me with all of mine.

Everyday, he helps me grow. Marriage is not easy. It wasn't the first year. It wasn't the fifth year. It isn't the seventh going into the eighth. I know it will not be any easier the twenty-fifth. But we are both imperfect. Without the grace of my husband in my life, I would not have the relationship with Christ that I have today. From one very intelligent God fearing man, I discovered Faith. I discovered true love.

My husband wakes everyday, and provides for our entire household. Through him, his dedication, and his ethics, I am able to spend everyday at home. Guiding, teaching and nurturing our children. He has never once made me feel resented for this.

One of the the most important reasons why I am so grateful for him. The strength he provided through the death of our daughter. For the prayers he prayed for me. For the encouragement and support. For being able to teach me that goodbye does not mean forever. For the gift of life he gave to me. I am a mother only through his love. Our Savannah, was half of him. The best of both. And he held my hand and my heart as we held our heads high, and looked death straight in the face...

For him, and everything he means to me. On this day, and everyday, I am thankful.

Gifts of Life

2011-10-29T13:20:00.000-07:00

baby shower

a party given for a pregnant woman,

to which guests bring presents for the baby

The question has been asked. And I find it more frequent these days. I've had three out of four baby showers. My fifth pregnancy. People still wonder, "when is your baby shower." My, uh, baby shower? I cannot help but be taken by surprise.

Your first baby. That by far was my most extravagant baby shower. Of course it would be. First time parents, that is a given that the family has nothing "baby." By your fifth? People stop offering advice. People hardly ever ask how your feeling. I see commercials about pregnant women being lavished in "stretch mark lotions" during their pregnancy. Cocoa butter has yet to show up on my doorstep. And let me tell you, I think there is an invisible stamp on my forehead that says,

"it's not my first baby,

 it's not exciting, 

please feel free to NOT touch my belly

 or ask when I am due."

Sometimes the awkward "baby loss mommy" inside me cannot help but wonder, "can they sense that I've lost one? Do complete strangers even not want to get too attached?"

So when the question arises, "when is your baby shower." From the beginning I've said, "I'm not having one, I don't see family members and friends really wanting to take that chance again."

Two weeks ago, giving my typical answer, I received a new response. It took me a little by surprise. The voice on the other end replied, "yeah. I'll send something after the baby is born." Now I am no stranger anymore to people saying things that sometimes hurt my feelings. And it really doesn't sound like much, but it got me thinking.

I don't see family members and friends really wanting to take that chance again.

-Yeah.

I feel guilty for every last gift received for Savannah. Every dollar spent to forever sit cold in a tub in our garage. I had really hoped I would be able to put those gifts to use with this pregnancy. But God felt my life needed something a little different.

The night Savannah died, as I leaned over her body, gently caressing her skin, the nurse said to me, "if you ever need anything, don't hesitate to call us." I looked at her through teary eyes, "Can you tell me what I am supposed to do with everything I received at my baby shower?" She looked at me, her eyes empty with an answer to my question. I said, "I'm thinking I'll give it back to everyone who bought it, so they can get their money back." She shook her head no, "don't do that, you hang onto it for awhile, and one day you will know what to do with it."

And I did I kept most everything. We returned some big unused items that were in definite pink colors. The car seat. Some blankets that weren't really sentimental. In it's place we purchased floating shelves to hold the ceramic figures bought for us to remember her.

The idea of sitting around once more opening presents in front of the same people who bought gifts for the hope that was our Savannah, I just cannot come to grips with.

What would they be thinking? {"I hope I didn't just throw my hard earned money away again."} Would they only look at me and Davis through sad uncertain eyes? Would a day of celebration become a day of remorse?

But at the same time, I am an expecting mom. It is my fifth baby. My fifth pregnancy. Yes, I have a crib. I have a changing table. I have a glider rocker that I never got to rock my baby in. I've got some saved items through the years, and I have bought many of my own outfits for my little guy to be.

Davis is a completely different person. He is a great gift in itself. He will show me and my husband that no matter what, Hope and Life can emerge from anything. I hope he can bring that message to those who did and didn't attend Savannah's baby shower. And though I feel every baby is worth celebrating no matter what the circumstance, I feel Davis deserves a celebration. He deserves a gift... Because he is our gift...

Because his mommy needs to know that herself, her husband, and Grandma are not the only people in the world to trust that he is here to stay.

How many second, third, or fifth time mothers made the decision to celebrate? Or celebrate after a loss?

So on behalf of this journey that you all have walked through with me, I want to share my Gift of Life idea.

If you've followed along with "Savannah's story," I thought it would be inspiring, touching, and hopeful for anyone who would like, sent something USED from one of their own little ones.

Sounds weird right?

Well, I'm not asking for you to buy anything.

I'd just love to see how many people Savannah's life has reached,

and I'd love to receive something from all of my readers whom have

been there for me and my family this past year

from their own babies.

A gift of life. Something that has seen life. Something that has seen love.

For the hope we have for Davis.

I would love to be able to share the hope that others have too.

You do not have to. At all.

But if you would like to.

If you have something you wouldn't mind parting with.

I would cherish every last glimpse of life.

{And please share with me about your little one, and your gift choice.}

<3 Leave a comment below. <3

{25weeks}

Perspective.

2011-10-23T22:18:00.000-07:00

I remember way back when I was pregnant with Sarah. Every milestone was new, exciting, foreign. With each passing pregnancy, things were still exciting; but they were no longer foreign.

I cannot speak for every mother, but my own views are sometimes different than others on this journey of loss, or as I like to call it now, life after loss. Which I feel is okay. I am only one person and by no means is grief of a child something that can or should be judged or dictated by someone else.

For me though, this pregnancy is far different that the rest. All over again, I feel like I am a first time mother. Not in the sense my Sarah, my Michael, or my Brody are now insignificant or are no longer deemed "my children," but a first time mother because my Savannah brought forth her own set of new and foreign experiences.

I'm not sure if you'd call it grief. I'm not sure if you'd call it uncertainty. I'm just plain and simple not sure what it is, but I'm not sure how to be a mother to an infant again...

Today marks the twenty fifth week of this pregnancy. With only fifteen weeks until we meet Davis in person, I wonder to myself, "where did this pregnancy go?" I've been the pregnant mother who complains about being uncomfortable. Wishing the baby would just "hurry up and get here." And though I may complain about the temperature, or ~~whine~~ mention that my pelvic bone pops with each and every step, the thought of the next fifteen weeks passing as quickly as the twenty five in our rear view mirror, is enough to bring me to tears. Because right here in this moment, Davis is at home. Davis is safe. These moments are how I got to mother a different child. After this moment? This is what I cannot remember.

We are now the proud owners of our very first mini van. With thanks to my dad for searching it out, we, once more, have an automobile that fits our family. Now having moved into our new house, and buying the not so "mini" family "van," I couldn't help but hit a brick wall.

"What will it be like to bring a baby to their new home? What will it be like to buckle the car seat into those extra seats bought just for their anticipation? What will those final moments in labor and delivery feel like?" The upcoming emotions, I have tried running through my head again and again.

Fear.

Facing my Fear.

Yesterday I let Sarah and Michael watch a movie I found to be deeply inspiring. "Soul Surfer." Here at the Fraser's I try my hardest to monitor what my kids watch on tv realizing the impact the littlest things can have on young hearts. "But Megan, isn't Soul Surfer about a young girl getting her arm bitten off by a shark?!"

YES!!

But the story is so much more than that. When I watched the movie prior to allowing the kids, it really hit home for me. I knew aside from the slightly gory shark attack, my kids could really learn something from the story offered.

An example given in this movie; when you are really close to something it is hard to see the overall perspective.

Sarah and Michael watched the entire movie and I was delighted with the flow of questions afterwards...

Michael asked, "why did God let the shark take her arm?" Without thinking I said, "as terrible as it was, she learned in the end that God could use her to inspire people through her tragedy and though she has to live with this handicap she didn't let that stop her from doing what she loved. It's like how God took Savannah. That was a terrible thing, but if we lived in fear from experience we would have missed out on getting to have Davis."

And stepping back from perspective, I paused and thought for a moment while four brown eyes stared back at me. Again I said, as if I was speaking to myself, "we would have missed out on a really great thing."

Michael chimed in once more, "well... I still think she is just as beautiful."

In the eyes of a six year old, he still sees the beauty in what others can only see as tragedy, or mistake.

Bethany Hamilton's story is far from tragedy. Her story is yet another example of God's divine purpose for everyone. I may face my own future of uncertainties, but I know that facing my fears is only just the beginning.

I cannot wait to see His plans for Davis.

From Savannah's story,

I know they must be pretty great.

I'm no super mom.

2011-10-02T16:39:00.000-07:00

This Sunday afternoon I found myself wrapped up in a blanket indulging my girly desires with a movie. Now in my household, my husband being a movie buff and lets face it, a guy, usually has control over the television. Not to say, he doesn't succumb to my "chick flick" selections every now and again. {And secretly likes those movies...} But more often than not, the choices are testosterone filled.

Any of you women out there I am sure have sat and watched the movie, Julie and Julia with Meryl Streep and Amy Adams. As I sat watching it this afternoon, filled with cooking and delicious looking food, I couldn't help but begin critiquing my own time spent in the kitchen.

I'm still trying to find my common ground with my day's spent homeschooling. I enjoy having my kids with me during the day and founding their education for the adults they will become. But as my first year of schooling two {three partially including the preschool work I include to keep Brody involved} I assure you, this is not something that can be organized or structured overnight. Maybe and hopefully as the years progress and we become used to the idea of school days being formatted into life, but as rookies here? We have a ways to go.

I want nothing more than to be super mom. I want homemade cookies baking while I am teaching fractions. I want my toilets to glisten, and my hair {and the hair on three almost four tiny tots} to be neatly in place every second of the day. I want to be the women who can mop her floors in high heels. And in watching this movie, I want to serve my family a homemade extravagant meal each and every night as though Julia Child stopped by to play grandma.

And here is what I am learning. I am not super mom. {Sad face.} As mothers I think we create this image of what super mom actually is. It stresses me out. Trying to live up to these false, unobtainable, ideas of perfection. To feel as though no matter what I do, it isn't good enough. The thing you see, about Julia Child, is she was an optimist. She never looked at the glass half empty. She always found the bright side of things. That is what I need more of to become my ideal super mom. "Yeah but Megan, Julia had such a blissful life, of course she sees the glass half full." The movie was obviously about the blogger, Julie Powell cooking her way through Julia Child's cookbook. There was only brief memories inserted through out the movie to introduce you Julia and the history of her love of food and cooking. But it does braise the fact that Julia could not have children. She wanted a baby of her own so badly, and it was never something she got to experience. To live my entire life with such a desire, would bring forth it's own set of heartaches. Just as we faced with loosing Savannah. But we must choose to be optimistic. For ourselves.

I want to slow down, and realize that perfection is only what I am going to make of the situation. I am going to understand that I may not get to cleaning the bathroom today. That our school days may be organized chaos, or for a little while longer "unorganized chaos." But my kids are still learning. That everyday leads to opportunities. And that my homecooked meals may not always be lobster fresh from France, but they are made with love, and my family will be fed and together at the end of everyday. I am no super mom. I am no Julia Child. I may not be everyone's idea of perfection. But I trust that I am perfect to someone just the way I am...

Time.

2011-09-12T21:54:00.000-07:00

There comes a point in time that we all move forward. No matter where we've been, or where our destination might be. Our lives are always a forward motion. And this forward motion is the same for mommy's who have lost little ones near and dear to their soul. One year ago tomorrow marks the day, I sat down to tell Savannah's story. That I put everything we had witness, that we had watched, into perspective. Little did I know her little life would go on to touch many. And I knew the year ahead of me would be like one I would never had experienced before. It wasn't. There were good days and bad days. There were nights where her presence was all around, and days where her memory wasn't in the front of my mind. I dedicated a year to my grief. To try and describe my journey through infant loss. Through heartache. Most days, when I sat to write I didn't actually believe that someone out there was reading. But there are those of you who did. And who have commented. And who have left deep footprints in my heart.

The year came and passed, quicker than Savannah's short visit into our lives. I have a hard time believing it has really been that long. That four seasons have changed since we last saw her pretty face. But though it seems like yesterday, our days are not as centered around the missing piece to our family puzzle, and I know that Fraser life has continued in its very own, forward motion.

For almost a month now, all three of the kids have been working their little brains learning; growing; thriving. As I've mentioned before, we are homeschooling this year. There was a lot of talking, discussing, and praying that went into this decision. But ultimately, Koady and I both felt it was right, and that we were called to do it. So far I would say, three weeks into it, I myself, am still trying to get into the swing of things. With adding "teacher" to my ever growing titles, I wonder to myself, where time to breathe might appear. As I see each of my friends drying teary eyes, and tucking lunches into character decorated backpacks, I can't help but question my sanity. Maybe it is because I yet to know personally, other mothers who have taken the full fledged dive into homeschooling. But despite those moments of "what ever was I thinking," I still feel that the decision to educate my children is best for our family.

I am hoping to start including our school time into my "life unfolding," but we will save that for a time where I am feeling a teensy weensy bit more organized. Which is not right now, considering the clock is ticking closer and closer to 10pm as we speak...

Which if you think I am one ~~crazy~~ brave lady to dedicate my time to homeschool, {and cleaning, raising, budgeting, errand running, cooking, and washing...} then don't forget this is all wrapped around my fifth pregnancy and weekly doctors appointments. Hmm... when am I finding time to breathe??

A Story Unfolding will be undergoing some changes in the near future... As we move forward.

Thank you all for continuing on this journey with us.

Waiting for you.

2011-09-07T07:47:00.000-07:00

To my daughter-in-laws,

As I write this to you, I understand that there is still a distance of twenty years or more between us. Some of you may not even be born yet. But I sit and write this to let each of you know, how important you are not only in their future, but how important you are to me now.

I have dreamed of girls. Having girls of my own. And I have indeed been blessed with two. But too soon, one was stripped from our life. And through the rest of my life, I am only left with one. And she will never know, what it would have been like to have a sister.

I know in my heart that my Michael, my Brody, and my Davis, will make wonderful decisions in each picking the women that God designed for them. And as your future mother-in-law, here is my hopes and dreams for each of you...

I hope that you can become the daughters I never got to have. That I can become like a second mother to each of you. I promise to be supportive, and always offer my encouragement and love. I promise to always, always think before I speak. I promise that I will spend every second up until your wedding day building your future husband. To be Godly. To be a leader, a provider, and a shelter for each of your households. I will do my best, {because after all they will each become men} to make them understand compassion, and understand a woman's feelings. Their father will teach them, how they themselves can be great fathers. I promise you, each of my son's will change dirty diapers. I will let them know that it is okay to cry, show emotions, and communicate deeply and openly with their wives. Their father will teach them how to become men. They will have manners, and talk with respect. {Hopefully, they will pick up after themselves... Most of the time.} They will not be lazy, or make you feel unappreciated. My sons will never neglect you, abandon you, betray you or hurt you. They will know what "faithful" really means. This is another thing I will promise. And up until that very moment of "I do," I promise to teach all of these things. Because in that moment, I promise to let go of the sons I once hoped would be daughters, and finally gain the daughters I always wished I had. Sarah will finally gain her sisters.

I hope you will call everyday. Not my sons... You. Or even many times a day. I want to go shopping, have lunch, and babysit each of your children. A lot. I hope on your wedding day, I can cry when I see you beautifully dressed in white, right along side your own mother. I will try to never be judgmental. And if I am, that you are comfortable enough to tell me, if I have ever hurt you. I will support your marriage until the day you die. And I promise I myself will set a good example of what a good marriage should be. I hope I never hurt you, and I promise to treat you just like you were my own. I hope that, after your own mother, I am the second person to know when you have a little person on the way. I will be at every baby shower, and I promise to smother you with gifts. I will pray for you every night. I will never offer unwanted advice or opinions. I will never degrade you, or make you cry. I will never ever let my love for my son come in between your vows. I will never make you feel as though I am competing, because I acknowledge already, that my son will forever be yours.

And if you ever need me, I promise to be there in any way you ever need me. The wait for my daughters may be longer than expected, but I promise I will wait for each of you...

"A son is a son until he marry's a wife.

A daughter is a daughter for all of her life."

If I am chosen.

2011-09-05T17:46:00.000-07:00

Today, I found myself staring down at my round, but not too big belly. And a wave of emotion flushed over me. As I watched the tiny little movements, suddenly, I felt ignorance again. Here I am, 18weeks 1day pregnant, and I have fallen head over heels in love with my fifth unborn child. Motherly instinct. And why wouldn't I? Regardless of a life or death situation with each one of my children, I am going to love them with all of my heart if they live or if they are destined to die.

But here I was, ignorant to the fact that in less than a day {tomorrow afternoon to be exact} we will know for sure if everything is okay. We've been given the inclinations that sure we have a healthy little baby. With a strong, fully formed diaphragm. But haven't we heard this once before from "regular ultrasounds." From everyday technicians? This is where I became aware. I feel an overwhelming sense {quite different from the overwhelming sense that I had with Savannah} that everything will be just fine. But here is what I've learned from just fine...

Just fine can mean, healthy baby staying here with us, or just fine can mean we as humans can weather any storm. That God will hold our hands through the toughest of times. That if a baby has a defect, and if they pass, in the end they will be just fine.

I am not going to sit here and tell you the thought of staring down another dark resting place, doesn't terrify me. Because if I did I would be lying. I remember what it was like to be overcome with nothing but excitement when the midpoint ultrasound came along. There is too much to bear in those moments leading up to our future though. Our fate. Our babies fate. I am thankful for my level two ultrasound. For the time, care, and extensive detail that will go into every last piece of our baby's body. But as of this moment, while my belly dances once more as I type this, only God holds the answer to what lies within me tonight. For one more day, our baby's development is a complete secret, between them, and their maker.

The other night, driving down the freeway after dark I started talking to my mom about the results that await us. She said, "in this situation, it all comes down to faith." I told her, "I understand that. And this concern doesn't effect the faith I have at all. All it means is I never thought it would happen to me once. I do have faith that God is in control. But he has chose me once, who am I to say that the only faith I have, is faith that he wouldn't choose me again?"

Tomorrow we will know. We will drive in faith once more to Sacramento, California. This time, we have hope that everything will be okay. Last time we had faith that God would take care of our girl. This evening I live in ignorance once more. And I like it. Because tomorrrow? Tomorrow could possibly change our lives forever... All over again.

One other thing I need to sit here and say, since I am feeling the deep seeded need to spill all of my overwhelming emotions to my readers; I want a girl. After the first need for this baby to be healthy, I hope in my heart God see's my desire for a girl.

"How selfish." I can sense so many of you thinking. And maybe it is. But let me explain. I thought and wanted my sweet Sarah to be a boy. I was ever delighted to find out she was definitely not. When we found out we were expecting our second, that of which is only eleven months apart from his sister, I hoped my second would be a girl. So close in age, my "girls" would be able to grow together, share together, and build a bond I could never begin to imagine. Michael most certainly was not a girl. Then I convinced my husband it was time for number three. I knew in my heart I would finally recieve the girl I had been hoping for for three years. My husband knew it was a boy. I doubted him. The ultrasound technician announced we were in fact having another boy. I remained quiet until we got into the car. My husband said, "I told you we were having a boy." Tears streamed down my face. It felt as though it was hopeless the sight of another girl. My sister-in-laws each have all boys. Between me and them, there are a whopping SEVEN boys vs. ONE girl. Will my Sarah not even have a cousin to bond with doing girly things? A cousin her age? A first cousin? I cannot procreate a sister, but having no girl cousins?! Family members have grasped onto the fact that Sarah, by some Grace had been the only girl in the family. "She was meant to be our only princess." "I think it is special that Sarah is the only girl in a family with all boys."

But this only added to the saddness, {not in replacement of my boys, because I LOVE my boys} but the saddness that I had yet to see the girl I longed for.

The day of Savannah's ultrasound {and I hold a lot of guilt for this... A LOT} I kneeled down on the side of my bed, folded my hands, and prayed outloud. "Dear Lord, Please let this baby be a girl. PLEASE." God indeed answered my prayer that day. But selfishly I prayed for a baby girl. I never once stopped to pray that the baby girl I longed for, that I needed, to be healthy of all things...

My girl, came into this world and never once tasted sweet life. The baby girl that God gracously answered my prayer with died in my arms. I had to bury all of the hopes and dreams I had created for her in the few short months I planned for her. I realized two nights ago, that a lot of things go when you loose a daughter. Mother, daughter bonds. Sister bonds. Meeting the wonderful man that chooses our daugher as his wife. Helping her plan her wedding. Holding back tears as she wears her wedding dress. Talking on the phone everyday. {Or many many many times a day.} Feeling your daughters belly, as your grandchildren kick from the inside. Crying as you watch your daughter deliver her first baby, and remembering the day they laid her on your chest. I want daughters. Daughters that can have the same relationship I have with my mother. {And yes, I do acknowledge sometimes its a love hate kinda thing. Hehe.} But no matter what, I have my mom, and she has me...

Savannah will never get to see those things. And I will never get to experience them with her. I have one daughter I will cherish every one of these moments with. But her baby sister won't get to be there with us either. I long for a girl. One that can stay.

"Dear Lord, Please let this be a healthy baby girl. PLEASE.

I need this not only for my heart, but for Sarah's heart too...

If our Victoria, happens to be a Davis...

I promise to love him just the same.

-Amen."

The Final Day.

2011-08-30T17:45:00.000-07:00

Today was it. It was the last. The final. Savannah's very last day with "hope" on earth. It was the very last day that we prayed for her in "that" way. We prayed that if it was her time, that she go peacefully. That our hearts we're filled with peace. I never truly knew what "peace" actually meant until I experienced it. Peace in the sense, prayers around the world were silently spoken to God for me and my husbands hearts. I have never experienced grace as I have by the comfort we recieved after her death. Prayer does work!

But as I sit here tonight I think back to this time last year. I've thought of it a lot this past week. What we were doing this time in 2010. And I want to go back. I want to relive that week with our Savannah again and again and again. But I know I can't. All I have is the sweet memories I will always cherish of our girl.

This morning, I received a phone call. It was a dear family friend. My mom's best friend you might say. All she wanted to say to me was that she loved us. That she was thinking of us. Not just tomorrow, but today. Because she knew that it's not always just the day of, but the days and moments leading up to that moment. That simple phone call, meant more than she will ever know.

It's a reminder that through this first year anniversary, there are some people who are thinking of us. Not oftheir pain, or memories, just Savannah's mommy and daddy. In these final days, we are the ones that really lost something. No matter what the connection was to anyone else, her mommy and her daddy are the ones who have thought of her every moment over the past year. We are the ones who hold an overwhelming love for the little person we met for a brief moment in our hearts. And one simple phone call assured me, that there are people who care enough to acknowledge that.

So on the evening before Savannah's death, I wanted to share her story with you all, once more...

Gone but never forgotten.

~Savannah Victoria~

{Please pause playlist on the right!}

Blog Giveaway? Um, YES PLEASE!

2011-08-25T21:25:00.000-07:00

A few days ago I received a random email. Usually I delete anything in my inbox out of the ordinary, but for some reason, I was drawn to this particular email.

When I opened it, I was deeply honored and more than excited with the contents. It was from a website called My Memories. They had fallen across my blog {don't you LOVE when new people grace you with their presence?} and the women liked what she saw! You like me, you really do! She asked if I would be interested in hosting a giveaway.

Would I be interested?

UM, YES!!

In case you have never heard of this website, My Memories is "a quickly growing collection of fresh and unique digital kits as well as My Memories Suite, the number one rated digital scrapbook software out there."

You heard me right scrapbook and photo-a-holics!

A SCRAPBOOK GIVEAWAY!!!

Are you drooling? I am.

Just kidding.... {Maybe.}

So in a few days, I will be giving away, courtesy My Memories, "My Memories Suite Scrapbook Software, Version 2.0!"

With this complete software kit you can make scrapbook layouts, photo books, cards, videos, you name it! Or if you are savvy and daring {like me} you can even make your own BLOG LAYOUTS with it! Oh baby!I was given my own free software so I can try it out first! I love it!

Feel free to check out the website if you like your crafts and scrapbooking supplies, you will love it! I guarantee it! Don't miss the giveaway! It is a $40 dollar value, yours FREE! Even if you aren't a "scrapbooker" everyone know someone who is. Send them my way!!!

It's Savannah's birthday gift to one of YOU!

Blessings amungst Pain.

2011-08-24T14:31:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was not hard at all. Believe it or not. There was a brief moment of overwhelming tears, but I describe them as "happy tears" rather than sad ones. We recieved our "Savannah Bear," made by "Molly Bears." I have mentioned Molly Bears once already in my blog, but let me refresh your memory. After recieving my bear, I can assure you they are worth a second introduction. SO worth it. It is a group of amazing women who make weighted bears for the baby whom passed away. Its a chance for mother's to get to feel their babies weight in their arms. -Sigh-
Let me tell you, it isn't the fact that every bear they make is the one and only, or that they include little memories of your baby on the bears. It's the weight. I cut through the box yesterday and the purple fur peeked back at me. My bear was smiling. Oh how I had wished that I would recieve a smiling bear. And then I lifted all 6lbs. 2oz. out of that box. And a wave of emotion blasted through me. Wow. Had she really felt this heavy? I asked my mom if she wanted to hold her. As I laid the bear in my mom's arms instant tears overcame her as well, and she buried her face in the neck of our Savannah Bear.

So yes,

it's the weight.

We spent time yesterday afternoon at her gravesite. Making it as special as can be for we know Savannah looks down from heaven and see's the people who care enough to visit her grave. Without saying a word, Koady's heart was crying the same things mine was. There I was knees buried into the grass, as I brushed away dry grass that had blown onto her headstone from the weed eater.

Here we were. Yet again, probably our millionth time at her burial site, on her birthday, and we were the first and only visitors to her site. Her blue granite, dusty and deserted, was finally gleaming back it's beauty because her mommy, daddy, brothers, sister, and grandma, were the only ones who cared enough to go. We left Savannah's earthly resting place far from dusty and deserted.

We were thought of all day yesterday, as people remembered our girl. I've grown so much through the past year, and have learned that even one year later, there will still be things people say that hurt. That people don't stop to think about how we may percieve them. And I am finally capable of saying "that's okay." Yes it may still hurt. Yes they still make me cry. But it's okay. Because no matter the things people say to comfort themselves, I know that Savannah is Koady's... And Savannah is mine. And people can believe what they want to believe, for it isn't going to change who she really belongs to. And till Koady and I can be with her again, she belongs to God. She always has. And she will remain in HIS arms, until she can be placed in the only arms she rightfully belongs in...

Yesterday morning, I had the pleasure of having a doctors appointment scheduled. On the day we remembered Savannah's arrival for her short visit, I got to hear the beautiful sound of our new babies heartbeat. Still in the 170's, and as quickly as his or her heartbeat was galloping, mine was beating just as fast. It was just what I needed yesterday. A reminder that though Savannah is no longer here with us, we are still awaiting yet another treasure in our lives. Our Hope.

And on that note, have I mentioned we have a new girls name? It is much more fitting...

Victoria Hope

Boy's name? Yeah we are in the process of changing that too! And all we've got for now?

Davis

{First name.}

I suggested Koady for the middle name, but the other Koady, doesn't like that too much. So readers, what do YOU think, his middle name should be?

Annnd, do you guess PINK or do you guess BLUE?

{Enter your guess in the poll on the top right side!!!}

Another blogger did this comparison and I thought

it was a great idea...

:::So here is what you have to go off of:::

SARAH:

Carried: High

Craved: Lemons

Heartbeat: 160-170bpm

Didn't look FAT at all.

MICHAEL:

Carried LOOOW

Craved: Ribs and Corn on the Cob

(EVERY night!)

Heartbeat: 120-130 bpm

Looked FAT FAT FAT.

BRODY:

Carried: LOOOW

Craved: Apples

Heartbeat: 130-140 bpm

LOOKED FAT FAT FAT.

SAVANNAH:

Carried: High

Craved: Sour Punch Straws and Cherry Slurpies

{Not the best choices huh?}

Heartbeat: 160-175 bpm

Didn't look too FAT.

BABY TO BE:

Craving: Lemons.

{I actually sqeezed lemons on my stuffed shells last night.}

Heartbeat: 170 bpm

Can't judge my fatness or how I am carrying yet.

Hmmm...

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU.

2011-08-23T08:30:00.000-07:00

Well Savannah,

We made it. Twelve months have come and gone since they day we met you, and we met your tragedy. And though yes, your condition was a tragedy, your life was anything but. In the past twelve months, I have learned more about life than I have gained on my own. I have learned that though living without you is hard, some days seems unbearable, your mommies heart keeps beating. No matter what I always take in another breath of air. I, along with many other mommies out there, have proven that even when trials seem unbearable, we live through them.

This past year has gone faster than I could have ever imagined. I still receive emails updating me on your current development. Could you possibly be walking already if you were here? This we will never know.

I think of today my sweet little one, as a sigh of relief kind of day. I've learned what the years are going to be like without you here in my arms. I've smiled through the holidays as my heart was breaking, and now today I know what it feels like to look back at your birth. A few nights ago when we celebrated at your party, it was different than today. Today is a day of remembrance. A day of reflection. I remember those final moments of Savannah and mommy. I remember the last few hours of your wiggles and movements. And as vivid as if I were in that day all over, I remember your entrance into the world.

I remember how quickly you were delivered. How PERFECT and beautiful you were. You are. And then the deep purple you turned when you weren't able to take the breath you needed to sustain your precious life. In an instant, you were destined for so much.

The past year, you haven't only changed mommy and daddies life, but you Savannah, were like a tiny ripple in the still waters. And your life, and your love reached out and touched many. Those we know, and those we don't. Your daddy and I are so very blessed to be able to call you ours.

I love you little one. Years will never change this. And I hope, no matter what, you know just how strong that love really is.

Always yours,
Always,

-Mommy

A different life.

2011-08-22T15:42:00.000-07:00

Let me tell you a story. A story from only one year ago on this day. There was a pregnant young women, expecting a healthy baby. She sat surrounded by family and friends at a baby shower. She was ignorant. She was naive. She believed when a doctor tells you everything is just fine, everything was fool proof.
She took pictures of her big thirty six week belly. She is smiling in all of these pictures. But what you cannot see in those pictures is pain behind that smile. Because this was a time before there was a sorrow in every smile. Captured in every picture. This was a time that babies didn't just die. One year ago today, this women lived in a better world. A world that infant death, and birth defects were cliche. A world before this became her world.
This women in those last twenty four hours, never dreamed she would and could plan a funeral. She never dreamed of delivering that baby, that she would never hold in her arms, unless cradled one last time on a pillow. It was her very last day, in the real world. Before she entered a new world. A world separate from everyone else.
Separate from the people without heartache behind their smiles. Separate from the unknowing nature of everyone who doesn't "get it." Separate from the ones who give grief a time limit. And although we are separated from the ones who keep their babies, there are many of us here. Through the past year, my husband and I realize that though we have to go through this alone, we are never truly alone. There will always be those like us. That having been down this dark journey, our grief, our loss, is important. As the weeks followed today one year ago, some in "the other world" went back to their daily lives. They got busy. They couldn't find time to call, or come by. They showed that they really didn't care. And why would they?
Such as sad situation. The death of anyone, let alone an infant. A mere eight days old. But it wasn't theirs. So when the clouds lifted and she was placed in the ground, I can't help but think people must think the clouds have lifted from the parents as well.
At first, as a new comer to this new place, I was hurt. But then as I ventured out and met other lovely women who also have the stories of life before and life after I realized that those are the women who don't put a expiration date on grief. Those are the ladies who will remember and speak our Savannah's name long after she is gone. They are the ones who will forever say, "how are you?" They are the women who see past the smiles in the pictures and know when you are filling up with tears. I hope I can always return the favor to each of you. When those days arise, which I know they always do, and you feel like no one cares, I can say, "Thinking of you and your angel."
Though a year ago today, I was a different person, I have found wonderment in this new place we call home. That is the mommies who walk this path with me, and their babies and the stories they have left on my heart.
Two nights ago, I planned something else I never dreamed I would be doing one year ago today. Celebrating Savannah's first birthday in Heaven. It was small, but intimate and beautiful. I am sure she looked down on us with her heart full of love and many friends at her own birthday celebration. We love you Savannah. One more day, and you will be One...

{Her Beautiful Cake.}

Leaving yesterday.

2011-08-06T19:44:00.000-07:00

Well it wasn't as easy as it has been in the past. Moving that is, but we did it. As we drove down the road after locking the doors to our house one last time, there was that burning feeling in my throat. Any women reading this, knows the feeling I'm referring to. It's called the, "I am not going to cry" reflex. In turn it burns your throat. You hope you don't actually have to speak a word in this moment, because then all it is, is a quivery shaking sound.

Okay, I am probably the most horrible crier in the world. Anyone who knows me would tell you, and that is just because I do not wear my heart on my sleeve and put on a "I can carry the weight of the world all on my own thanks," attitude. When in all actuality I am very sensitive. {Where the blog writing comes in handy.} When I DO cry though, I'd probably describe it as a high pitched air raid siren to alert people of a crisis. :) Most people cannot even make sense of what I am saying when I am crying, which sends people into a state of panic. See the air raid siren and I have a lot in common.

As our house sat empty, not surrounded by the sounds of chaos and life's mess, I stood in her room one final time. It was quiet. I thought back to my pregnancy when we first moved in. I stood in the same spot picturing where her nursery furniture would be placed, and I sat in the middle of the freshly laid beige carpet. The smell of new fabric was overwhelming, and I touched my belly imagining sitting in that very spot with a wiggly baby laying in the carpet before me.

That image never became reality, and now sitting in that spot I was only reminded of her short time with us. The feeling of wanting so badly to be awake all night in that room. I must say, I do not appreciate the new mothers who make comments about how hard it is having a baby who doesn't sleep much at night. Or who cries all the time. Who has colic. Not trying to sound like your typical mom who lost a baby, because I DO know how tiring other children can be, but I would wake up in the mornings after Savannah died HATING that I slept through the night. I would have given anything to be with her all night long. To hold her in my arms for the rest of my life if that is what it took to have her here.

This morning, I sat showing my mother "The Moby Wrap." It is a safer "sling" that allows you to cradle your baby close to your chest however often you'd like so you can still manage everyday tasks. I've had the cheaper version of baby carriers from the stores but was not impressed enough to use them regularly. Especially being the last one I had with Brody ended up on recall after he was a year old. But I love the sense of closeness the Moby Wrap offers. "Baby wearing" is what they call it. Well, I can assure you Moby Wrap or no Moby Wrap, you won't find me without baby wearing.

I've heard a lot, "you will spoil your baby." Can someone classify this to a mother like me please? Spoil your baby in the sense they will want to be held all the time and will demand too much of your attention? Spoiled in the sense they cry because they desire the touch of their mommy? That bonding experience? If that is spoiling them, I think I will take those chances. I have a baby that I carried for nine months I was not able to hold. I held a baby as she passed away. My baby never got to cry for me, and I've spent too much time crying for her. I was never disturbed to feed, change, or love on them.

Now when I see a baby, or infant longing for their mother's arms I have a hard time seeing them turned away to their independence. These unknowing bystanders are clueless to the effect it has on my heart. Socially acceptable. This is a word I must remind myself of. It is not "socially acceptable" to yell through tears, "please hold your crying baby, I never got to hold mine and I would give anything for that opportunity again." Not socially acceptable.

Now have I turned into a Saint of a mother? Ha, hardly. There is no such thing. Even in the event you loose a thousand children. {And Heaven forbid.} Children are difficult. They are loud, can be slightly obnoxious at times, nagging, tattling, bickering, mess making, and down right frustrating. For someone to not say any of those things have been in their list of descriptions would be lyyyyyying. They will draw on your walls. YES, THEY WILL. Even if you stare at them. {Add sorcerers, to that list.} They will break your favorite decorative figures. {My ceramic little girl that was given to us after the funeral to represent Savannah in heaven.} She will now always remind me, that Savannah was not perfect, but we LOVED her anyways. Children will sometimes even lie to your face. Even if you saw them commit the "crime." More so my beloved three year old, but again it is all apart of the learning process of life. If you do not ever find any of these things irritating, I would have to wonder if you were possibly in a coma. {I pray someone is protecting your oxygen from the small children in your house as well. And if anything your tank will probably be drawn on.}

So no, I'm not a perfect mom.

My hair is not always perfectly neat. I do not make homemade cookies everyday. I do not have boys that don't try and pumble each other at any given opportunity. I have on occasion thought bedtime was the most beautiful part of my day. {Oh I ADORE the sight of peaceful, quiet, sleeping children.} I get upset when long tentacle beetles are brought in to say "hello mommy." I don't understand why the floor under my table looks worse than the aftermath of Pearl Harbor after every meal. I've considered taking every one of my children in for hearing tests because of their incompetence in listening. I sometimes forget that my children are only seven, six, and three. I admit there are times that I have expected too much from them. I've lacked patience at times, when I shouldn't have. I've raised my voice.

But...I've questioned every decision and reaction I've ever had. I've wished I could start bad days all over. I've said my fair share of sorry's. {Mommy's can and should be sorry too.} I've said no, and yes. I've given punishment when due and praise where deserved. I've slowed it down. I've experienced the feeling of life if any of them were no longer with me. I miss them the second they are away from me, and would live in constant missing them if their life slipped away. {Even the constant questioning.}

Loosing a child doesn't make motherhood any less frustrating. It doesn't make it "easier." It just reminds you of what is really important. The things you don't want to take for granted. The things you would miss. In a sense maybe it makes it harder. Being a parent to a child in Heaven and children on earth, there is always a hidden fear. A fear that you cannot protect the ones here from everything. The fear you didn't protect the ones gone, enough. A constant reminder that we are not guaranteed a tomorrow. It makes the "hard" days harder I think.

Just don't ask me if the baby keeps me up at night. If I'm lucky I'll answer, "thankfully yes."

Don't "suggest" that I hold my baby too much. Because only if I'm feeling socially acceptable, I'll refrain from saying,

"your right, I should have just held my dead one longer."

Distractions.

2011-07-30T05:57:00.000-07:00

A mother's life is filled with distractions. {Which then in turn lead to short term memory loss.} But that's another story, or yet another "distraction."

Lately I feel like my life has been bombarded with distractions. Savannah's upcoming birthday, pregnancy and doctors visits, three rambunctious mess makers, the moving process, {by process I mean UGGGGGGH! Anyways...} and lastly the wonderful ~~burden~~ blessing that is a woman's mind. Seriously if science could link not only women, but mother's thought processes to America's energy crisis, our president would actually have something he could pat himself on the back for.

I have to tell you, I wish there was a way I could shut it down. Silence it at least. I wish this pregnancy brought delightful updates and typical worries or lack there of. Last night I had a migraine. Now I'm not a "migraine" kind of girl, pregnant or not, and just thought they were excuses some women used to get out of obligations... or sex. But they're not. {Not sure about the excuse category though.} I've been pregnant a whopping five times. So far 43 1/2 months of my life or 3 years and 7 1/2 months, but who's counting? Having obviously been down this road a time or two, I'd personally say I am a baby makin' veteran. So any veteran knows headaches can be common. Normal. Just fine.

Being I've never experienced a pregnancy migraine, I turned to good ol' Google. {Ladies:: DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME.}

"Is severe migraine in 2nd trimester a sign my baby died?"

Yeah yeah, a little extreme, but until you've lost one, you won't understand the overwhelming fear of death in not one, but two infants. For once in my life, Google has no matching results, but I did put my hands, face, and feet under the microscope checking for any sign of preeclampsia. {Love you Google.}

Besides daytime terrors such as this, the night time terrors have become a distraction. Dreams are harder to deal with because there is no concept of "reality."

In my dreams I have faced a devastating diagnoses that our little Berenstain Bear, {what my husband thinks "she" looks like} was going to be born with a congenital heart defect. CHD.

I have faced a reoccurring dream where I am in labor and each time I am forced into the same room that Savannah was born in, only leading to another baby who never takes a breath...

Today as I was packing I began thinking of all of these distractions. And a voice deep inside told me, somewhere in the past eleven months, the hurt, anger, and worry began to silence the divine knowledge that God has already laid before me.

-That people should not have the power to harden my heart by their own actions, and I cannot control the heart of others. {It would be nice though.}

-That people who wallow in their grief of Savannah, truly are not taking the time to know her because if they did they would only see her beautiful life, her glorious love, and the message she left behind. {Savannah was chosen and sent to her mommy and daddy. If I could have saved her, I WOULD NOT be here today. I wouldn't have hesitated long enough to have said goodbye to anyone. I would not have wanted anyone to regret her life being here in place of mine, so I've learned she does not want us living in sadness or regret either.}

-God had also told me, on numerous occasions, Savannah's life was not a tragedy. Through her short life and her condition, her soul exists. That is the most important part of Savannah. Not her unformed diaphragm. Not the grief people felt for her absence. But that her soul is real. I'd repeat the the known outcome a million times to create her beautiful spirit. Yesterday He comforted me in something that has haunted me through people's unknowing outspoken thoughts.

She was not, nor was she ever tortured. Savannah did not feel pain, and we were not selfish in keeping her alive. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion, but thoughts such as these should really be kept to yourself. Life is bumpy. We gave her every medical opportunity to stay, but in the end Savannah and God revealed that she was our blessed visitor. And God is helping me now, to lift the burden of the words spoken,

"Savannah lived a torturous life."

He gave us His little girl to love. And we did. Though her life was grim from the beginning, and we knew she was not meant for our arms, we remained hopeful. Being hopeful, even if she had a one percent chance, isn't naive. It's called Faith. Even though Savannah did not stand a chance, we had Faith that God can and does perform miracles. So He didn't. Not in "that" way. He never meant for us to blame ourselves.

I will refuse to believe that I selfishly tortured my daughter. I did exactly as God wished. I fought for her, I loved her, I drew nearer to Him, and I had Faith. I chose, in a time of weakness, to stand up and fight for HER. Physically. Emotionally. Spiritually. Because as a mother that is what I should have done. It was not about me. I relinquished my control into the hands of the very best doctors, nurses, and surgeons. In the end, there was no control of the power here, and I relinquished her to her original purpose. But I never gave up. For someone to have people fight so passionately, I cannot fathom how their life could be torture. In eight days, Savannah experienced true love. A love some children never get to experience in their entire "healthy" lives. In our babies final moments, as she tried to stay for as long as possible, I repeated over and over again, "just go home Savannah, mommy and daddy will be just fine, you can go now." When it came down to our goodbyes, I did NOT keep her here, and her mommy told her, it was okay to go... Even as my heart sat breaking, I comforted my daughter.

In this realization, it brought me to an acceptance. I have Faith. You may read this and not agree with me, and that is okay. Someone who feels those things that I described, may not know how comforting a real Faith can be. In the end does it matter to you what I chose to believe to get me through this life?

I'll have Faith that my Sarah, Michael, and Brody will live full and healthy lives. I will have Faith that Savannah is safe in heaven, and that she knows I loved her and thought only of her during her brief life. And I will have Faith that this pregnancy and baby will be born healthy and live to see not only one but, one hundred birthday's.

And if all these things don't go according to my hopes and prayers;

I will have Faith.

Because my Faith is so much stronger

than my heartaches and my distractions.

Now... What do you think?

When the care leaves "I'm Sorry."

2011-07-24T15:10:00.000-07:00

I know I am not the first person to ever write about what you shouldn't say to a angel mommy. Over the past year though there has been a lot of mental processing. Mental processing over the death and burial of Savannah. When you first begin the journey, you are in a state of "foggy reality." The week after Savannah passed. I felt like my mind was always hovering over my body, observing everything I was doing, I just wasn't capable of thinking of the decisions I was making. It was an automatic response. Thankfully, we had my mother there to help us with every funeral process, but during my past year of mental processing, looking back I feel I didn't make the decisions in the same way I could now if I was given the chance again.

I remember two nights before Savannah's funeral. We were sitting at the Olive Garden, after Koady's mom had flown into town. It was probably the most overwhelming out of body experience I have ever had. Everyone sat around me talking, and I literally couldn't feel my body. I was light headed and didn't feel like I was the person sitting in the chair at the restaurant. My mind began screaming. "What are you doing here? Days ago your baby died, and you are sitting waiting for your food. Every second in this casual life you pretend to lead is another second that your baby lays across town in a freezer." Those were my very exact thoughts. In my mind, I could picture myself standing and walking outside." I didn't want to sit in the air conditioning anymore because it was a cold reminder of the blue lips and fingers that now consumed my Savannah. But for every step I took in my mind, desperate for the hot air to clench the skin on my face, my physical being got heavier and heavier. I was mentally paralysed from getting up and leaving the reality that would from here on out never abandon me.

I searched inside my soul for the same "I'm fine" smile, and "I didn't just hold my baby as she died" conversations. But again this goes right along with the mental processing, I've been doing.

That same smile, those casual conversations, go hand in hand with the "It's okay" I had to muster up over two million times.

Oh, the I'm Sorry's. The absolute worst part about the after math of a deceased child. So my number one thing, that I would say don't ever say to a mother that just lost her baby?

"I'm sorry."

Any form of sorry.

I know that sounds very heartless. But think about what you are really saying, and what we are really hearing.

"I don't know what else to say."

"I am putting YOU in even more of an awkward

position because what are YOU supposed to say."

"What am I really sorry for if I think about it?"

"I don't know what else to say."

Maybe they were just sorry they had to be there, I don't know?

Do you know how awful it made me feel to give the generic response to your generic I'm sorry, every time?

"It's okay."

{Mental Processing}

{What I was really thinking/saying.}

"Yeah sure, your sorry. Me too.

But It's okay. Why would I make it more

awkward for you, by responding with anything but."

"I'm telling you it's okay that my child is dead

I'm a bad mother."

"I appreciate that you really can't think of

ANYTHING real to say, I wish you would have

not said anything at all..."

More than anything, a year later,

after a million "I'm Sorry's"

There's ONLY a HANDFUL of people

who I believed were really sorry.

Sorry for our loss.

Not sorry for Savannah.

She is fine.

But sorry for her mother and father

who will forever live without her.

Through this life lesson in I'm sorry, I've learned that statement is like a promise. You shouldn't make promises you can't keep. You shouldn't say sorry if your heart isn't fully understanding what the sorry is for. What you really mean when you say it. Following through requires effort. Actions speak louder than words. Words are useless to a mother and father who's baby's heart no longer beats.

I started this blog a few years before Savannah was born. Then September 13th, 2010, only five days after we saw her face for the very last time, I deleted everything up until that moment. I dedicated one year to my journey through grief. A new season in a mother's life. A season we never wish to weather. I wanted to share with people that, God's love can still shine after a final breath. That you can grow and have strength through the hardest trials. That it is okay to find acceptance, and it's okay to cry. Crying, being sad, and dealing with raw, confusing emotions does not make you less of a mother. It does not make you any better or worse than other mother's in the world saddened by the death of a child. At the beginning, I sent this link to everyone on my friend's list. Family. Friends. People who were "sorry" for the death of Savannah. Most everyone took my hand and held on tight. They followed along. I knew it would be hard for some to read. I know that this life is a "tragic life." But, here is my cry. Regardless of how tragic it may seem, this is MY life. I cannot run. I cannot hide. I will not wake tomorrow and wash the death off of my hands. So for those of you, our family, who denied and ignored my asking for you to show your support...

A year is too long to feel this ache in my heart. My Savannah knows who has showed her mommy and daddy love and compassion. And those are the ones she knows love her.

I forgive you.

I do.

I will thank God everyday, that it isn't your life.

That you didn't get a child stripped from your presence.

But I hope one day you will take your sorry back.

And I ask that you never say to me again,

that things remind you of our girl...

Because you never took the time, to know who she was.

Cause her mommy and daddy are the only ones who knew her.

And her life. Her stories were written here.

We have a very strong supporter behind us.
We don't need your words to get us through.

One month till One. Forever Eight Days.

2011-07-23T21:45:00.000-07:00

Savannah,

Eleven months of letters have officially come and past. In one short month you would have turned one. I can't begin to explain to people how this feels. How can it be possible that you have almost grown into a toddler, though in our lives you will forever remain a mere eight days old. Never bigger in our physical eyes. Never older. Never changing. Your pictures, all 354 of them, will always stay the same. Granted we live in the days of digital photography, if I were to print a picture, in 60years, that is the only way I will be able to watch you age at all... The edges may wilt, the colors may fade. The only clear reminder of time and distance between us.

Tonight, as it's one of your sister's favorite songs, we sat down and listened to your song once again. I've probably heard it a million times, but it is one song I don't think I will ever tire of hearing. It has been awhile since I've listened to it though, and the words will always bring me close to you. Whether I am 11months away from you or 11years. The song represents your daddy and my eight short but beautiful days with you. I did not write those words. And as much as it speaks to a mother, saying goodbye to her daughter, I wish so much I could have been involved with the ones who wrote it. I am sure you have met baby Audrey, the one that the song was solely intended for, but oh how I thank her mommy for finding the strength to write those words, because so many mothers grasp onto that song, knowing with all their faith and might, that through our pain and grief, our babies are so much better off. So much. So Savannah, I want you to know,

There were photographs I wanted to take.

{Your growth, birthdays, life.}

Things I wanted to show you.

{Beauty, happiness, life.}

Sing sweet lullabies, wipe your teary eyes,

Who could love you like this?

People say that I am brave but I am not.

Truth is I'm barely hanging on.

But there's a greater story,

written long before me.

Because He loves you like this.

I will carry you, while your heart beats here.

Long beyond the empty cradle,

through the coming years.

I will carry you.

All my life.

I will praise the one who's chosen

ME to carry YOU.

{Mommy & Savannah}

If I could have it my way little one, I wouldn't spend a moment more so far away from you. But I know that your brothers, sister, and the new little one to follow in your footsteps need me more right now. I wish it didn't have to be this way, but I know that you were chosen for a special reason. And for that reason, I will trust that you will never feel lonely without me. Until I can get there sweetheart. I love you. I still miss you. "If sometimes is always, then I only miss you sometimes."

-Mommy

In the rear view mirrors.

2011-07-18T16:08:00.000-07:00

The further we get from August, brings us closer to August once more. I haven't written much lately. I haven't really known what to say. There are times that I can't express through words what my heart is saying.

birth day/ noun

The annual anniversary of the day on which a person was born.

It isn't the same anymore. Yes, it's an annual occurrence. But how can you describe the day a baby was born, who never got to see a birth day. A baby who never got to know what life was from the day of their birth? I don't think you can describe that. Yes, the day they were born. But a day that sets the journey for the rest of your life as well. But in a different way.

I will always be grateful for my opportunity to know, and love my Savannah. I know Koady wouldn't disagree with that either. But it is a hard life for those that spend the rest of our lives, without that one. The one who really makes you who you are. The one who never got to be, yours.

A friend recently told me, I deal with the death of Savannah, in some similar ways to a man. How a man deals with mortality. I told her, I love seeing Savannah's pictures on the walls of my house. But at the same time, it still hurts to walk past her pretty face everyday. To see what a beautiful creation she was, and know I will not get to see her physical face again for a long time. Photographs are frozen moments in time. But a time that we will never ever get to get back. We will never have her back again.

As her birthday approaches, I feel so much resurfacing from last years events. And it makes me angry once more. Not angry at saying goodbye. Not angry in the outcome. Angry that my life has continued for almost one year without her. A parents life is supposed to end long before their child's. And the burden of staying? That burden hurts far worse than anything someone could ever imagine. I wake up everyday to continue on in a life that shouldn't be without her in it. My life is lived with a void. I listen to people complain about so many things. Things that I wish more than anything I could take on as my own. Please trade me your life. Please trade me your problems. I will take all of them if it means I can have my baby back. I don't want to helplessly look for reminders of her. I don't want to share her soul with others. This is how I described it a few nights ago... as hot tears uncontrollably soaked my cheeks through desperate sobs of an empty mother's life...

"Everyone tells me about Savannah being with them.

Here's what hurts me with that. I know it's true.

I know that Savannah understands more than I will ever know in my life.

But there are times that I wish people understood that

I DON'T WANT TO SHARE HER.

It never got to be just mommy and Savannah.

In the quiet of the world.

I want to be holding her in MY arms, and if someone

else is thinking of her somewhere else in the world,
she is looking up at ME.

And her world rises and sets on her mommy.

That in that moment, she isn't with EVERYONE.

In that moment no one else in the world matters

because she is gazing into her mommy's eyes,

and her mommy is gazing right back into hers...

I never got that.

And I want it back.

I want her to be MINE.

And it will never be like that now."

It's my life now. Almost one year later, it's still my life. No matter how badly I don't want to live without her, it will always be my life. On my birthday's... and hers. One year of grief, and it probably will never be easier without them.

Timeless memories.

2011-07-02T10:39:00.000-07:00

A different love. That is what I described having another baby will be like. Not more. Not greater. But different. Every moment spent pregnant this time around, are spent in a constant state of Savannah. Oh how another beautiful life, can make me miss another life so.

Today, marks 10 weeks of this pregnancy. As rough as it started, and we were not sure if this pregnancy would continue, I am so happy to share, everything is fine. I've had four ultrasounds since I started bleeding, and not only is baby progressing well, the Subchorionic Hemorrhage is almost completely dissolved! Baby to be has a healthy heartbeat of 171, and we are moving forward to so many in depth plans on constant prenatal care and attention. My doctors this time around are Dr. Perry of over 30years experience, and Dr. Nina Boe. Perinatologist of one of the dearest places to my heart. UC Davis. Although, I will still be delivering here in the same hospital Savannah entered our life at, from first hand experience, there isn't a hospital that comforts me more than Davis. And having a specialist with her hand in my pregnancy, I know that there isn't greater care I can be in.

So far this pregnancy will be high maintenance. I begin weekly appointments at 15weeks. I go in for genetic screening July 20th, for a Nuchal Translucency Ultrasound, followed by a level II ultrasound towards the end of August.

I have to be honest, today, being 10weeks pregnant, sets my nerves on edge... I now have a baby growing and thriving inside of me, with either a formed or unformed diaphragm. What ever the future result holds for us, it is already set in stone. This week begins the process where all of the organs begin to really grow and mature. Today's knowledge of CDH, brings me back to the most horrible feeling I've ever had to experience. The look of a human being as they suffocate before your very eyes. The colors that you cannot imagine a person turning. I don't want to witness such a thing ever again...

And I miss her. Her eyes. Her smell. Her dry skin, that was still oh so soft. Her capabilities of glaring at doctors and nurses as a brand new person. Her ensemble of girly socks. Her fingers tightly wrapped around mine.

Nine months is too long to wait to meet someone that your heart already loves and longs for so much...

Double Digits.

2011-06-23T10:30:00.000-07:00

Savannah Victoria,

How I love to say your name. We've made it. Or atleast I can say I've made it. You have officially left the early months. Today you would be 10months old. How is it possible for time without you to go by as fast, if not faster, than if you were here? Summertime is here with us now. I can picture you standing now. Probably walking since all of your ambitious siblings started walking this early as well. You would be dressed so sweetly. Sun dresses, and bright colored skirts. Of course, your fat little toes would stick out of a new pair of sandals. There's so much I feel you missing. Though I know you are not missing these things, just I am. It's just me missing out on seeing you experience a new world out there. Picnics, and lake swims. Fresh cut grass, feeling too creepy for you to stand, and sucking on your very first popsicle, all the while you drool most of it all over yourself. Your smile would be filled with precious pearly white teeth now, and your shoulders and chubby legs would be kissed by the sunshine above.
But you are not here... To touch, see, and smell these things in the same way we can. I have moved forward through three full seasons without you here. And looking back, I don't know how I did it. How can any body survive a loss as great as you Savannah? This is do not know. But I'm here, and I made it this far. And I will continue on without you all of the days of my life.
Last night, I cried to daddy over leaving your name behind. A new baby will be welcomed, and I've heard so many people say that new baby's are just replacements for the baby who died. But it isn't. And they aren't. My tears last night were proof of this. We have baby names picked out already. Each middle name in honor of your life, our memories of you. But no matter what name we choose. That name will never be yours. I hate only hearing your beautiful, strong name in past tense. Through death. Through a headstone. I want to speak YOUR name everyday. I want to greet you every morning with a good morning Savannah. I want to get mad at you. I want to say your name in frustration. Savannah Victoria! I want to tell you, Savannah No, everytime your curiosity gets the best of you. But it is your name. It will always be your name. And it is the perfect name for you to carry through heaven with. I hope you love your name as much as we do. I will always love your name with all of my heart. I will always love you with every beat of my heart. A mother's love is overwhelming. When I think of you, even in the eight days you were mine, I can hardly catch my breath. My heart will always beat a little differently now that you are gone. My Savannah. Savannah Victoria. Oh how I love your name.

-Mommy

Since people want to hear a sad story.

2011-06-12T21:46:00.000-07:00

I've written this once before. A very similar story. Since August 2010, it seems as though so many movies are coming out about children dying. Back in January I watched The Rabbit Hole starring Nicole Kidman and Aaron Eckhart. I wrote about what I thought of the movie here.

http://fraserlifeunfolding.blogspot.com/2011/01/my-brick.html

Tonight, I made my second attempt in watching a movie where a baby dies. "The Other Woman" with Natalie Portman. But here is the thing that I wonder... Who writes these stories? Who sits down types out a manuscript based on their ideas or theory's on what exactly is must be like to loose a child?

The Other Woman, goes against so many... Okay, almost all of my moral values. The setting takes place after a woman sets her sites on a married man at work, and knowing he has a family, sets out to pursue him otherwise. A business meeting turns into a heated affair, where she winds up pregnant with his second child. After divorcing his wife, and remarrying his pregnant "mistress", they try to squeeze his eight year old son into their new life after loosing their newborn daughter from SIDS.

Not only did I feel the step mother mistreated his son, I felt as though the little boy wasn't allowed to, and wasn't helped in the grieving of his baby sister either. Not always does a baby die in a family without other children. And as parents, grieving parents at that, we have to put our children and their heartache above our own. Unfortunately for this story line, being she wasn't his biological mother, she showed that she had very little concern for the child that was not hers. And at times you felt as though, she had hatred towards the little boy that he survived and her baby didn't. It would have completed the picture perfect life she set out to find when she interferred with another family. Not to say that the married man wasn't equally to blame. Because he was. There is never any excuse for that.

This is the second movie now, that threw an affair into the emotional rollercoaster that is loosing a child. I can say, that not once in this journey I thought leaving my husband would "fix" my "problem."

It has been made apparent to me that people just want to hear a sad story. But only sad to a certain convienience. A friend and angel mom, agreed with me that these two stories start after the baby is gone. This leaves people feeling less attached to the child missing from the story. If you want a story about an infant death, let's bring the child into the picture....

Lets show the pregnancy leading up to the birth of that child. Lets show the mother who, never gets to look into her babies eyes to see their soul because the soul has already left. Let's show the mother who's baby never cries, and in a moment leaves the delivery room unable to fill their lungs with air. Let's tell the story of the healthy baby that is welcomed into the family. Yes, by all means... lets tell this story.... since people want to hear a "sad" story.

A healthy baby boy or girl is born. The mother spends nights in the hospital loving, nursing, and absorbing this baby. A few days later that sweet vibrant child gets to come home. Mommy dresses baby in the best outfit picked for this special moment. Big brothers or sisters await for her. The days continue. Mommy nurses. Daddy changes diapers. They loose sleep night after night, for the little person they love so much. Big brother or sister talks to baby in his or her swing, and put the pacifiers back consistantly everytime it pops out of the sweet little mouth. Baby gets bathed, and with a full belly and a lullabye gets gently placed into their crib. Mommy stands there so much in love, just staring, watching her baby breathe. The last time mommy see's baby breathing. A lifeless body lays in the crib. So different from the child that lay there hours before. A coroner takes that loved baby away. A lifeless mother is asked questions for the police report. They take everything from baby's crib. And they leave. This mother is left to life. A life that she had opened up to a child that is now missing. The dryer is going... It's washing armfuls of tiny baby socks, and spitup onesies. A husband and wife are left to each other. To mourn. To help their children mourn. To learn to live with the burden that is death.

Wait, does that story seem too sad? Too real? Then tell the one about the mother and father that fight every day for weeks, while their baby struggles day and night to survive. Only until one day they are given the news that no matter what, that little life can hold on no longer. Then we will watch as the two people, who came together in their love, sit and watch as their child dies in their very arms. As the little body becomes heavier and heavier as their baby becomes limper and limper loosing more life with each passing second.

Now. Tell that story. When someone does, then come find me. Cause THOSE are the REAL stories. You will never find them written in the fairy tale books, that so many people are looking to find. These are lives, not stories. And they never end in happily ever after so to speak... If your gonna tell it. For our sake, atleast tell it right...

The ones who bring us up.

2011-06-10T16:51:00.000-07:00

Even though I feel like there's nothing to say, I feel as though I have nothing else to do. Literally. Although I am still very much pregnant, and things are very much okay, I've been sentenced to temporary bedrest. "Take it easy.--Put your feet up.--Relax." All of these things, every mother dreams of. But when it comes down to it, it isn't as luxurious as it sounds. It is actually pure torture. I've spent as much one on one time with my couch that I ever wanted to, particularly at the beginning of summer.

After my emergency room visit on Sunday, I had my first follow up appointment Tuesday. It didn't start exactly as I had planned it would. My doctor is planning on leaving her practice. Thirty years of nurturing babies into the world, and my doctor was finishing up her days.
I knew that this meant she was not going to be there. She was not going to be the one. She was not going to cherish the moment that I hold the baby I've longed for.

Dr. Thomas Perry has taken over my prenatal care. I am currently going to to Mercy Maternity Center, so I can be seen regularly by the UC Davis Perinatologist, and she can schedule me a level 2 ultrasound at UC Davis to check for any possible problem this baby could possibly have.

At first I was not thrilled at the idea of just being seen at the Maternity Center associated with the hospital. During my follow up appointment, Dr. Perry discussed many things that comforted my mind. Based on my last menstrual period, the doctor said I was supposed to be 6 weeks, 4 days pregnant. But I continued to stress that I do not have 28day cycles. Usually more between 33-35.
He assured me that Sunday at the ER, my beta levels {or HCG/pregnancy hormones} were 6,958mlu. Which were again, perfect for where they were supposed to be. He wanted to do more lab work, and schedule yet another ultrasound to check the progress of the baby. He then told me, for things to look positive my beta levels needed to at least double what they were.
I asked many questions, and another 30year OB assured me... assured me... that subchorionic hemorrhage is extremely common. And he see's them all the time. And since I am sure doctors just love and appreciate google, I asked some of the things I had heard. This kind of bleed reabsorbs into your body, or bleeds out, and the placenta does heal. So when I asked him if this increases the risk of placenta abruption the bigger the baby gets, his exact reaction, was a quaint smile, a kind eye roll, and a "not at all." Right now with the gestational sac being so small, it makes the hemorrhage seem so big in comparison. But as the baby grows, the sac grows, and the placenta grows. Making the clot smaller and smaller and less evasive. Until it eventually is gone. He said the hardest thing about Subchorionic Hemorrhage is that in the beginning, when the placenta attaches, or "implants", and causes the clot behind the placenta, there is a chance that it doesn't deliver proper nutrients to the baby, which can end development.
So another tube of blood was taken, and I sat in the parking lot in my car crying over my new environment, and saying goodbye to my doctor, while my mom listened and tried to comfort me on the phone.

I headed up to the hospital that same afternoon for a "doctors orders" squeezed in appointment. The technician who did my ER ultrasound, greeted me once again, and told me she was surprised to see me so soon because we wouldn't see much change in just two days. But we looked again anyways. Being she wasn't a doctor she isn't at liberty to give any information. I asked her a question about the previous ultrasound she had done. Hesitantly, she asked, what my doctor had told me. So I told her what I knew. She excitedly agreed. I told her as well that I wasn't a typical 28day cycle. She said that makes a big difference in fetal age, and the accuracy on where development stands. She showed me the screen, and said she knew it was just to early to see a heartbeat. If the doctor would wait another week, she would be able to see more.
Wednesday afternoon, my mom came down to join me on my second follow up appointment. My levels had doubled. 13,528mlu. He was pleased and said that my numbers were great. He also showed me the change in just a few days between my two ultrasounds.
I was rescheduled a third ultrasound for Monday June 13th, as well as a repeat blood draw. Which brings me to today. Friday. Still a complete two days, for final answers. A healthy heartbeat. What every doctor needs to see to be comforted in any early pregnancy.

So knowing all odds are in our favor, I find myself anxious for the news. For some news.

Which leads me to an irritable pregnant mood. Maybe it's the couch. Maybe Oscar was such a grouch because he was limited to his garbage can all the time. It's a good theory I think. Bed rest no matter how temporary can lead to insanity.

My Sarah turns seven years old in eight short days. I have exactly 41 people, including every child in her class invited to a party, I can not yet prepare for. My husband celebrates his 28th birthday in only four days. This year, I had plans to go above and beyond for his birthday. But this has limited me to what I had planned. And I don't like it. My husband is my everything, and I want him to know that he was born for me. His birthday is important. Something to be remembered. Something to not be late on. Because if you truly care for someone, you would never be late on their birthday.

He called his mom the other day. I could tell in his voice that after he had talked to her, he seemed happy. He called me afterwards, {Where was I? You got it, the couch...} and told me his mom asked if we were still going camping, and he said no. She asked if she could take us out to dinner for his birthday. As he was telling me this, I said, "I can tell that my hormones are still rising. Because first it happened when all my dear friends left encouragement for me on Facebook before my doctors appointments. The ones who care, are always there for us, not just when it is convenient for them. And it means so much, that your mom can make plans for your birthday when she knows I can't!!!" ::SILENCE:: My husband asked "Are you crying???" ::SNIFF SNIFF:: "Yes!"

So yes... Aside from my irritations. There are so many people who have touched my heart. Through the death of Savannah. Through this pregnancy. You've left congratulations. You've sent positive prayers and wishes. You've offered nothing but encouragement in a angel mommy and daddies worst fear moment. {The danger of loosing yet another baby.} I am a mother who has buried my daughter. I am far from Naive. Babies die. But to offer nothing but encouragement, means alot to me. Because you all know that my mind is already running with the possibilities. The statistics. Right now, love and encouragement is all we need... Thank you to everyone who has been less than selfish through this. You are the ones that matter. (((BIG HUGS FROM MY COUCH TO YOURS!!)))

Me and my thoughts.

2011-06-06T05:04:00.000-07:00

Here I am, 3:58am sitting at my computer, alone in the silence of the night. Alone. Just me and my thoughts. I find it easier tonight to battle back and forth with my thoughts, rather than battle with my subconscious waking me repeatedly with thoughts in my dreams. In my thoughts of mine I wonder...

"Does anyone else wonder to themselves while pregnant with their "miracle " baby, did I make a selfish decision? Did I make a decision to have another only because of my own motherly desires. My own wants. My own needs. Is my world going to be shattered once more, because I can only think of myself? "

I do.

And I am.

Tonight especially.

Yesterday afternoon, I insisted my family and I take a leisurely walk to the grocery store right around the corner from our house. We picked up some items at the store, with plans in our minds of coming home and making a fun lunch. Headed back, and about half way home, I felt a gush. I quickly and instantly shoved my negative thoughts into the back of my mind. A few more steps. Another. And another. And another. It was too familiar. My husband continued with his happy chit chat, as I felt the color vanishing from my face. I told him, "all I want to do is go to the bathroom. " Being a pregnant mommy in her first trimester, obviously that wouldn't sound alarming. More normal and expected than anything. I told him, "I think I am bleeding. " It was a quiet remainder of the walk, and through the door and straight to the bathroom I went. There before me was the red I feared would be staring back at me.

As my mind raced, I mentally scanned through my thoughts on the couch before getting up, finding a spot to sink into on my bed and sob into my hands.

"WHY!? " I began to ask.

"People criticise me everyday for the faith I have in you, and yet I stand by your side and continue to promise that no matter what YOU have not forsaken me! How can I try to continue to lead these

people, with my constant examples of what others see as your absence? "

I felt angry. Angry in the sense I knew I was going to have to stand up once more in front of the crowd and let everyone know, my prayers and hopes, were once again shattered. Knowing all of the impending whispers would be starting about how far my faith was really getting me. I was preparing myself for the strength I knew I had to find deep inside me, yet again.

Once I had released my anger, and my heartache in my tears, I stood up, and came back downstairs. Standing in the kitchen, I hunched over as my stomach turned from the nausea I was feeling. I laid down on the couch, and forced myself to eat the lunch my husband still sweetly prepared for me. It didn't taste nearly as good as I had imagined it would only an hour prior. Turning on a movie, I fell asleep. I thought rest would be in my best interest. A few hours later, I woke and went to the bathroom. I was still bleeding, but I began to notice it wasn't what it "should" be. I told my husband that I wanted to go to the emergency room. We called my mother-in-law and she met us in the parking lot, where she took the kids off of our hands. The initial process was quick. I was seen within minutes, from a nurse practitioner. They seemed optimistic from everything I was describing. They told me I was going to need an ultrasound, and some lab work done. Where a few minutes later, they took me back to a room. I found myself waiting, and staring down at the same patterned hospital gown that I once wore only nine months ago. Ugly checkers, how I loathe you...

The doctor came in a performed a topical ultrasound hoping to see everything he needed to see. But it was too early. He ordered a "internal" ultrasound, and shortly after that some nice nurses came in to take my blood. And then began the typical emergency room waiting game. My husband and I joked and laughed ourselves into a frenzy. I suddenly thought to myself as my side ached from laughter, "why am I so happy right now? Why am I feeling so calm and optimistic? "

Finally the ultrasound technician came and wheeled me back. {Wheeled. By that I mean bed and all. There is nothing I tense up with more than feeling the loss of my independence.} As I lay in a pitch dark room, the only light shining on the technicians face coming from the ultrasound machine, that I couldn't see, I found myself chatting up the silence in those fifteen to twenty minutes. After all, there was time to kill, and so much I wanted to inquire her about regarding CDH. {Bless her little heart, I think I taught her a thing or two about it. Because my questions ended up being her questions.} I began asking her, if she saw anything. I swear ultrasound technicians would make the best poker players. I tried so hard to read her face. But it always looked the same. No promise of hope, no promise of devastation. Just a poker face.

Once again, I had to wait for the doctor to tell me anything, and hours later, they moved me to yet another room for a pelvic exam. My cervix was completely closed...

He then began to tell me, "Okay, here's the thing. You lab numbers look perfect. Baby is measuring right on schedule at 5-6weeks. But.... " {I hate buts...} "But, where the placenta is attaching to the uterine wall, there is a pocket of fluid. Which we assume is blood obviously. We have also discovered a mass growing on your left ovary, which we don't know what to think about that. This has us at a point where we don't really know where to go from here. " He then told me he was going to call my doctor, and see what she had to say.

So back down the hall we went into my room where my husband was waiting. I told him everything the doctor had just said. And again we waited. We waited for at least another hour. I relayed the message to my mom, my mother-in-law, and a friend anxiously awaiting news back. A few minutes later, a message appeared on my phone. My friend had gathered any information based on what the doctor had just told us. She sent me a message, saying this was what "the internet" thought it was. It lifted my spirits.

Maybe fifteen minutes later, the doctor came back in. "You have what is called a subchorionic hemorrhage. What your body is doing is releasing the blood buildup behind the placenta. Right now you need pelvic rest, and your doctor wants you to call her office tomorrow to come in and see her. She will want you to get more lab work, and have another ultrasound done. "

And like that, I was discharged. Still pregnant. But still so unaware of where life would lead us from here. We came home and I once more became a fixture on the couch. The bleeding had stopped completely.

But here I am. Wondering. Hoping. Scared out of my mind in the middle of the night. Everything I have read, says women go on to deliver healthy babies having this sort of hemorrhage. But... do these women stand up with my odds? With my similar history? Why did the doctor not say anything about the "mass" he seemed to focus in on? What am I going to do if the doctor puts me on bed rest with three children? Will my baby lack the oxygen and nutrients to be the healthy and thriving child I hoped for? Am I going to continue this pregnancy with problems from the very beginning? Did I make a selfish decision? The list of questions continue running through my mind. What ifs...

All I can do is make it through the rest of the night. Just me... and my thoughts.

It is far from simple.

2011-06-02T10:14:00.000-07:00

This new life? It is far from simple. Being pregnant again is far from simple. Saturday makes me approximately six weeks pregnant. I won't be sure exactly when my due date is, until we go have our early ultrasound appointment in just a few short weeks. This is a journey I am desperately trying to take one day at a time.

In the back of my mind, I find myself constantly throwing myself at the feet of God. "You wouldn't ask me to give another back would you? How could I possibly prepare my mind, my heart for that possibility? Please, I am begging, don't make me give this one back. "

Deep in my soul, I feel Him telling me it's going to be okay. But is it going to be okay in the sense, this baby will stay, or will it be okay in the same way that He held us through Savannah's heavenly arrival? This I don't know. But everyday I choose to believe that everything will be okay.

But I know too much now. I know too much about infant death. I know too much about congenital defects. I know too much about miscarriages, preterm labor, stillbirths and sudden infant death syndrome. I want it to go away. I want to go back to the time that I didn't know too much. When I didn't know anything. And what I did know, was only under the "it would never happen to me" illusion. Please make it go away.

Right now I know, in just two to four weeks I will have a baby with either a formed or an unformed diaphragm. And it is terrifying. As mother's we want to heal. We want to fix. We want to nurture, protect, and love our children. And while we think, taking our vitamins, eating healthy, and taking care of our bodies is enough, I know it isn't. Because I live in this new life.

But I believe. I believe that while I do everything in my power to make it all okay, He will step in with whatever divine purpose He withholds from us for our future. Only one person, has the power to make it all okay. Everyday on my knees, I am thankful for another day closer to the beautiful sound of a crying baby.

"I can do all things, through Christ who gives me strength. "

-Philippians 4:13

Heaven is for Real.

2011-05-30T13:27:00.000-07:00

Last weekend my mother brought me a book. I had heard of the book in my "CBD " or "Christian Book Distributors " catalogs. And here she was handing me a physical copy of the book that had crossed my path on numerous occasions. She gave one to my sister-in-law as well, and like a small child in a candy store, my mom couldn't wait for me to dive into the pages face first. {Mom had already finished the book in a day.} My sweet sister-in-law, Desirae {"Hi Des!"} finished the book a few days ago as well, as I had yet to make my way through the first page. In complete anxiousness for me to read the book, yesterday morning while on the phone, my mom asked again, if I had started the book. I told her that I had begun to per sue it one evening, but with the chaos of life, hadn't made it through the first page. Yesterday afternoon, for my mom, I started the book.

"Heaven is for Real ."

Written by Todd Burpo

If you haven't read or heard of the book, it is about three year old "Colton Burpo's" stories of his brief visit to Heaven, while undergoing an emergency appendectomy.

I literally lounged on the couch for hours reading page after page. About half way through the book, my mind and heart were heavy. I was beginning to feel upset as I read page after page, of what Colton's father described, while him and his wife, Sonja, clung onto prayer and hope in the hospital. All while they knew their precious boy may or may not make it out alive. I put the book down, trying to regain my strength. But I couldn't. It was as though, through their trial during Colton's hospital stay, they were writing directly from what our hearts had experienced with Savannah. I broke down in tears. It was as though our time as UC Davis was fresh all over again. Koady sat on the floor next to me as I cried.

"I know that I haven't reached the point in this story where this little boy talks about Heaven. " I sobbed through my words. "But I can't help but read what his parents went through and think, the end of this story will be different than ours.... Their child lived to tell his story about making it to heaven ."

Needless to say, I put the book down for the rest of the day, because I had to step away from the wound. This morning with a little more courage, I sat down to finish the beautiful story I had started.

Mr. Colton shares many breathtaking and surreal events and biblical, factual, descriptions about his "three minutes " in heaven. He talks about spending time with his Great grandpa, and meeting his sister, whom his parents lost in a miscarriage, yet never spoke to him about. He speaks of Jesus, and how his eyes were so pretty. And like my Michael, speaks of the swords in heaven used to keep Satan out. It is a story I would recommend to anyone, especially anyone with doubts about heaven, and the existence of Christ. Or anyone looking for a beautifully touching story.

Most importantly this is a book I would recommend to any mother who has said goodbye to a child. Through the words of a three through six year old, it very possibly can bring comfort to those in question of whether your little ones are safe. Whether they are happy. Whether they are well loved, and well taken care of...

"It's okay, Mommy," he said. "She's okay. God adopted her ."

Sonja slid off the couch and knelt down in front of Colton

so she could see his eyes.

"Don't you mean Jesus adopted her?" She said.

"No mommy. His dad did. "

{Page 95- Heaven is for Real.}

Thank you mom, for sharing.

Who you already will be.

2011-05-28T20:41:00.000-07:00

There have been times that it has been hard. There have been times it has been easy. This time, was an "easy" time. In finding out just four short days ago, our baby, boy or girl, already has a name picked out. With, of course, a story behind the final choices. And, of course, I am going to share. So let me take you back to the beginning....

March 16th, 2010 my husband turned on the series premeire of a new television show he had been intrigued by for a few months. I had never heard of it before, but at that point in time, I had to go as far as upgrading our Dish Network package just so we would get the FX channel. Yes, secrets out, I would do anything for my husband. Since this apparently was a big ordeal in the Fraser household, I sat down, with my AM/PM cherry Slurpie {the nightly Savannah craving} to see what the big fuss was. For being a gun slinging show, about a US Marshall trying to stop crime in his hometown of Harlan, Kentucky, I loved it. So every Tuesday, yes usually with Slurpie in tow, we sat down together after the kids were in bed to watch "Justified."

Towards the end of Season One, I mentioned to Koady that I liked the name of the main character. "Deputy US Marshall Raylan Givens." Koady agreed. But that was that. We finished the first season towards the end of June, after we had moved into our new house.

During this period of time, I was a large pregnant momma on a mission. Sir Brody Peyton, was still dependent on his bottle to go to sleep at night. {I know, I know... wrist slapped.} So in making it my goal to wean him into going to sleep on his own without his bottle before Savannah arrived, I would sit in her espresso and beige glider rocker with Brody draped across my giant belly and what little lap I had left and we would rock. While I rocked I would sing. We usually went through the same playlist every night before he would finally go right to sleep.

-"I will carry you."
YES, I did sing this every night! I mentioned once before that I found this song, and the story behind it while I was pregnant with Savannah. I thought it was beautiful. So touching. Truly professes a mother's love for their child. I thought it made a great lullaby. Little did I know.

-"The hand song."
A song about a mother and her son. Another song that professes a beautiful love. My sister-in-law sings it to my nephews, Ethan and Kieran and through them it was discovered. Very touching.

-"Baby Mine."
Dumbo. Enough said.

And last but not least,

-"You are my sunshine."
In Savannah's room sat a little bunny. This bunny was given to me by my own mother, when I actually was in high school. When you squeezed this bunny, it sang, "You are my sunshine." On the bunnies foot, her name was stitched. "Rae. " In case you have never heard another verse of this song, let me share...

"The other night dear,

when I lay sleeping,

I dreamt I held you in my arms.

But when I woke dear,

I was but dreaming,

so I laid my head down and cried. "

My mom always sang this second verse to me as a child, so I always assumed it was a piece of the song. So obviously, I have always sang it the same way to each of my own children...

{Little did I know, it is actually a remake that Doris Day did,

and there is more to it than just that.

Sorry mom, secrets out.}

When I got the positive pregnancy test back in February, we had talked about baby names. Season two of Justified started the same week we thought we were expecting. As we lay in bed, minus the Slurpie, I said, you know Raylan would be a pretty girls name. Right then, my husband googled it, and the girls version was spelled::

Raelynn.

"That is it!" I sqeeled with delight. And her name was chosen.

Raelynn Hope.

Hope. Because that is what we have for this baby. We were going to have Faith as her middle name, but being our last name starts with "F" it didn't flow as beautifully as Hope does.

And because we liked Raelynn for a girl, we decided to stick with traditional "Raylan" for a boy.

Raylan Davis.

Davis. The reason is obvious. UC Davis Medical Center. Where Savannah spent her life, and was placed into the arms of Jesus. Where we left a piece of our hearts. Right there in room six. In the hands of the doctors and nurses that loved her almost as much as we did...

So there it is. Baby number five. With his or her name for life. And now I know from experience, a name is very important. It is something that someday, anytime someday, will announce them for eternity on a headstone declaring to the world, they were here. They were important. They were loved. A name matters so much.

A road once traveled.

2011-05-27T12:20:00.000-07:00

We weren't gonna tell. We were going to keep it secret. But here's the things with bottling things up inside for me. I begin to feel like a bottle of soda, half full, shaken with no where for the explosive carbonation to go. The only way to get rid of the pressure of that bottle, is to twist the cap and slowly release what is kept on the inside.

May 25th, 2011 my alarm woke me up as it does every morning. I couldn't wait any longer. I jumped out of bed and rushed to the down stairs bathroom, and ripped open the foil like packaging. Instantly, two blue lines crossed each other. I was finally staring at a positive pregnancy test, that I have been waiting for, for what seems like years. Even though it really hasn't been that long.

I took the test up to my husband, and once again made him look at a home pregnancy test through half groggy eyes. In denial, he wouldn't believe it unless I took a digital pregnancy test. {Men, they have to see everything in black and white.} So after taking Sarah to school, I stopped at the grocery store and bought the fancy digital pregnancy tests.

"Pregnant."

There was the clear answer he was looking for. And he finally believed it. I believe that this is the baby that we have been waiting so long for... the baby that isn't just born into our hearts, but into our home as well.

The past few days, I cannot help but think about the day of Savannah's birth. How I couldn't wait to hold her, touch her, breathe her in. In an instant, truly an instant, Savannah was gone. I picture the day of this baby's birth. I have overwhelming feelings about it. I've birthed children before. But I have never birthed a child after birthing a child that was stripped from my arms. As Savannah laid there at the end of my bed, I said outloud, "it's a girl." In fear that she would possibly be a "pink wearing" boy. This time I cannot even imagine that being on my mind.

Pushing might be a terrifying moment, one that will require ever ounce of strength I have to get through. "Just breathe. Please just breathe. Fill your lungs with precious life. Breathe!" And even though that day is a long nine months away from us, just thinking about holding another brings tears to my eyes. Even as I type this. For anyone in witness to his or her upcoming birth, they will be experiencing the most beautiful and heartbreaking moment a life could endure. The happiness of life, the tears of a longing. Because without a doubt in my mind, our next child will be born into tears. Savannah, though her life was tragic, was born into laughter. It was meant to be. Happiness and laughter just for her. This baby though, this baby will bring tears to everyone in the room. I think there is a chance that even Savannah's doctor might well up with tears.

Tears of joy. Tears of sorrow.

Tears of life. Tears of death.

{Don't judge! This after all is my fifth pregnancy!}

February 1st, 2012.

250 days and counting...

Another month passes.

2011-05-23T14:17:00.000-07:00

Dear Savannah,

Another month has come and gone. Seems like the further we get from your physical presence the quicker the time speeds up. This morning, as usual on the countdown to your first birthday, I posted on Facebook that you were ten months old. I had mistakenly confused you with your close heavenly friend, Serenity. She recently turned ten months old. Earth time that is.

Of course every mother knows how old their child is. It is a motherly force. After all, we were the ones who brought each one of you into the world. There isn't anything that can tear away our memories of your special deliveries. Your birth days. But in a moment of chaos with the life your mommy still leads, I actually had to think of how old you would be now.

I know there isn't a day that you don't watch me, your daddy, and your brothers and sister from heaven. I know that you are content and your new everlasting life is filled with joy and pure happiness. And because of this, I also know that you don't want my days to be filled with anything but the same. And though your absence will always remain my Savannah, my days and thoughts are not consumed with heartache over you. My days are filled with joy and happiness.

You have blessed my life with your brief stay, and through your short life you have managed to bring me some wonderful friends, whom I'm sure you are friends with the babies that their lives are missing as well. It is through them that I have been able to let you go more and more each and every day. Now as I live, knowing and experiencing life without you, I cannot imagine my life before I met them. So thank you.

I asked daddy yesterday on way to church, how someone can believe in heaven without believing in God. His answer was simple. And very honest. He said,

"You cannot believe in Heaven without believing in Hell.

And you cannot believe in Creation without a Creator.

Heaven is a source of comfort to people when there is nothing

else for them to grab, so they try to grasp at anything

that may sound good. It doesn't mean they understand,

or truly believe in God's promises of Heaven."

Your daddy is one smart guy Savannah. (And we have always let him think so! Heehee.) I know that you are safe in Heaven. The actual place heaven, not just the theory or word of healing, Heaven. I trust, and I know that I will hold you after my final breath. I don't know how long my life may last, but I know that for you, in heaven, you will never be left feeling alone for long. You already know, that your mommy and daddy WILL be with you in Heaven someday.

I love you, whether you are nine months old or 90 years old. Even when my days pass without you as a permanent thought in my mind... Always and forever,

-Mommy

The day after tomorrow.

2011-05-20T16:36:00.000-07:00

Supposedly, in case you hadn't heard, tomorrow marks the end of the world. *Giggles* An evangelist has claimed tomorrow marks the day of the rapture. (He also claimed this twice before.) I hadn't heard of this so called, "mark your calendar" event till yesterday.

Here's the catch though. People are actually concerned for this so called "prophecy."

I'd like to ask, "why exactly?"

And there are so many different questions I would love to have answered as to why...

1. To believe anything that this "evangelist" claims, is to step towards religious topic. If you are going to base the end of the world by "religious topic" it is best to get your facts straight. The rapture is biblical truth. Yes it will happen. It is a real event that will take place in the future.

BUT... (AND MAKE SURE YOU LISTEN) In reference to the "apocalypse, revelation, the coming of Christ, or the rapture" based on biblical truths, here is where I wonder where this "Evangelist" got his facts.

"No one knows about that day or hour,

not even the angels in heaven,

nor the Son, but only the Father ."

-Mark 13:32

{But ONLY the Father.}

2. The Rapture. He claims the Rapture is coming tomorrow. How many people (the people in panic mode) can even describe the definition.

The Rapture::

When Christian's are gathered to meet Christ, in heaven.

"...Then we who are alive and remain

shall be caught up together with them

in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air.

And thus we shall always be with the Lord."

- 1 Thessalonians 4:17

So... if it was the rapture, why would you be concerned unless you know that you will not be meeting Christ in heaven.

3. I would be more than happy to go tomorrow. Sadly, with these facts, NO the end of the world is not coming tomorrow. But if it does, I would not spend my last moments in fear, but rather excitement over the thought of joining my precious baby girl in heaven for eternity.

My prayers and wishes for all of my readers, is that you all have the same understandings. It's not too late. After all we are never guaranteed another day. Especially not if you talk to a so called Evangelist. ;)

Constant.

2011-05-11T14:10:00.000-07:00

"...These walls have seen my happy,

But most of all they've seen me torn....

They've had a front row seat to the breaking of my heart."

-Chris August:: 7x70

Here it is. What's left of, what once was, Savannah's nursery. By what's left I'm referencing four walls, a closet, a window, a door... and an empty shelf. Once upon a time this room was vibrant and full of anticipated life. Now we have a constant reminder of unavoidable mortality.

Let's me try to portray life with a dead infant. It is a slow process. Healing I mean. Because after the funeral, when family and friends "heal" from the missing child, the parents have something family and friends don't. The family and friends who cry, and remember our baby periodically when something "reminds" them, don't have the constant.

The walls we call home. The home... the bedroom... the hallway of that child. Savannah never came home. But that doesn't mean home wasn't prepared for her. Each morning I walk past a quiet room. Each afternoon the same quiet, calm, hauntingly still feeling pulls at me as I go about my day. Every night, as the light leaves the sky, the same room fills with a deep darkness. No light shines there. An unused nursery. Death has taken over beige carpet and drywall. We reside in the same house that death has visited... Everyday.... Our reminders are never ending.

It's a constant.

Yes, these walls have had a front row seat

to the breaking of my heart.

A day for mothers.

2011-05-06T12:23:00.000-07:00

Once again, so much time has passed since my last blog entry. Day after tomorrow, Sunday May 8th, marks my sixth mothers day.

Day after tomorrow, Sunday, May 8th, also marks my first mothers day. My first mothers day minus a soul my "motherhood" brought into existence. I am a mother of four this year. When people refer to my children, un-meaningly, most continue to only acknowledge three.

In honor of this special day very near and dear to my heart, I would like to say once again;

I am a mother of four.

Then.

Now.

Always.

The Rest of my life.

My Sarah, Michael, and Brody changed my life. Each one in a different way. Each one brought new growth. Becoming a mother can not NOT change you if you are dedicated to that divine purpose. But my Savannah? She changed my life in a deeper way. A very spiritual way.

A friend of mine published a quote recently on her daughters memorial page,

" I never realized how strong I really was,

until I had no choice."

This is so true, and no one can understand until you have stared down a tiny six foot hole, where you lay your child to rest one final time.

Savannah's stay was short, but I, Savannah's mother, have assumed responsibility to be her voice. To carry on her life unlived. As I believe to be true, for many mothers of angels. Each tragic death of every infant, every child is never in vain. Some mothers bring awareness. Some mothers build fundraisers. Some mothers make bears, cards, bracelets. Some volunteer their time or encourage walks. We become the lives of the little ones who could not stay.

It's being a mother.

Even once they leave our homes, leave our lives, we don't ever stop...

being their mother.

And it never ever goes away.

Just because you cannot see her, doesn't mean she isn't here. Because every time I speak, you hear her speaking too. Every time I laugh, you hear her laughing too. Everything I do, a part of Savannah's soul motivates me, inspires me, encourages me. When you look at me, you SEE my FOURTH child.

I am living, breathing, proof she is here. I carried her soul inside of me for nine, long, but too short, months. She then carried her soul for eight days all on her own. Now she is carried in my heart.

This is being a mother.

It is sacrificial.

For each and every child.

Even ones long gone, but never far away.

This... is what a day

for mothers is all about.

We are still mothers to them,

long after they are gone.

Because then we are the mother...

And the child.

My four blessings.

Thank you for making me a mother.

Happy Mothers Day!

You are all glorious, women!!!

Intuitions.

2011-05-06T11:49:00.000-07:00

There isn't a time I can remember that I didn't always plan on having four children. When we had Brody I knew I still wanted my fabulous four. But there were questions in the back of my mind... and I am not sure if every mother wonders this. Ever so often I would wonder, "I have three healthy beautiful children already. Should I not chance it and just stop here?"

Awful right?

With everything that panned out with my fourth, I've thought, could negative thinking impact the way situations turn out? In thinking that something could go wrong... In reading other stories during Savannah's pregnancy... In listening to "I will carry you" over and over again... In thinking and preparing for an infant funeral in my mind with being told everything was okay??... Could thoughts have caused this? Or for years did I know that Savannah was my temporary baby girl? My momentary gift?

Again I find myself wondering... is it possible I am setting myself up for another bleak outcome? Whether people want to acknowledge that Savannah was.... Savannah IS my FOURTH child.

But she couldn't stay.

And now I want five.

But it isn't happening.

And because it was always so easy to get pregnant before, I find myself wondering... Was four it for me? Am I destined to go through the rest of my life with, as other people always say, "my THREE children?" Savannah isn't a physical presence and because she is no longer with us, people classify me as a mother of only three. But I am not a mother of three. I was never meant to be a mother of three. I am a mother of four. And my deepest desire is to be a physical mother of four. An angel mommy of one.

April 15th, we sold our seven seater SUV. We bought it February 2010. We couldn't wait to pull up to the hospital later that summer and bring Savannah home. But our large family automobile brought us home empty handed. The pink flowered car seat never once touched the gray leather. She never saw the car we bought for her. Our black Lincoln Navigator only carried broken hearts and medical supplies. It's purpose was at UC Davis, and moonlit drives filled with the darkest tears. It lead the funeral procession, and knew Savannah only as hospitals and the tail end of a white hearse.

At gas approaching five dollars a gallon, we cut our losses in a double sense. 1) We were paying almost five dollars a gallon for a purpose that didn't get to be, and 2) Our hopes of filling the empty seat get father out of our reach each month that passes...

I did not know that babies die so often. That it is so common. I thought it was a rare tragic story. I thought the women who did loose their precious babies were so strong, so brave... that there must be something so much deeper about them for them to loose a child.

Let me tell you... there's not.

We are not braver or stronger than any other woman out there. We have a wound that heals slowly, but is always there. We approach life differently, and feel at times secluded from the mothers who don't bury their babies. We are adjusting to a new way of life. And there are a lot of us.

A lot.

And each of these woman understand what it is like to be called brave. To be called strong. If I may seem any of these things to you... Just know I am not responsible for my strength or bravery. We live a secluded life, from the moment we stare death down face to face. Because we can NEVER go back to the place where we don't know babies die. We can never see a pregnant woman and wonder. We can never look at a passing baby in the same manner.

This is life of a grieving mother.

It never goes away. The wound may not always be fresh.

But scar tissue will always remain.

Saying goodbye to our SUV was more than an automobile.

It was saying goodbye to hopes and dreams we once had.

Growing away from my very eyes.

2011-04-23T11:46:00.000-07:00

My sweet little one,

Your eight month mark falls a day short of Easter this year. Every month that passes I am greeted with the familiar feeling of, "wow I can't believe you would be that old now."

Easter and Christmas are mommies favorite holidays. And though I wished I could hold you through out your first Christmas, and even though I wish you could crawl right through our Easter Sunday celebrations tomorrow, I am so thankful for these holidays. These holidays, though they are filled with your void, remind me so much of the promise of where you are... why you are there...

Tomorrow morning, Savannah, please hug Him for me. Tell Him I shed tears over His tragic death. But I shed tears for the hope we have because He stood again. Every year Easter reminds mommy of all He sacrificed for us. This year... the tears fall because it means even more to my heart. Granted we will be with you again someday baby girl... mommy, daddy, and your brothers and sister are still here. This year for Easter, Christ's blood was spilled so you sweetheart, would feel no more pain. So your lungs could be filled with His sweet life. There are no more teary eyes, or medical hurdles you have to cross. All because of His cross.

I miss you little girl. Have the best Easter ever. Know that my heart will be with you tomorrow.

-Mommy

Eternal Life.

2011-04-14T10:38:00.000-07:00

My children wear me out sometimes.

I try to guide them with instruction and love, but sometimes no matter how many times you tell them something, they may still make mistakes. Sometimes my children frustrate me. Sometimes my children disappoint me. Sometimes I wonder if I've done anything right.

But I love them.

Deeply.

Unconditionally.

Even when I am worn out. Even when I tell them something may times, and they still make mistakes. Even when they frustrate me. Even when they disappoint me. Even when I worry that I'm not doing anything right.

I heard recently a parent {who's children were grown} say, "every parent says, I just want my Children to be happy. But it's a lie. Every parent wants their child to be happy being successful." I may only have tiny tots at home still, but I don't believe that statement has to be a lie. I believe that if you raise your children right, your children will be successful in many different aspects of their lives. To raise a child in the light of the Lord, sheds light on everything they will need to be able to build a life for themselves outside of our home. Success to me is more than just money, it's being a decent person. A person who isn't lazy. A Person whom makes smart decisions. A person who cares for others more than themselves. A person who loves.

As Brody, Michael, and I made a trip to the grocery store earlier last week, it hit me. To truly love... a love like Christ has for us... we must sacrifice. I believe the role of a mother, is a similar being to our Lord, Jesus Christ. We stood outside of that grocery store, waiting to make our way across the parking lot. Hand in hand, we stepped out into the crosswalk before a lady came speeding around the corner. Quickly I pulled my children to the side and stepped in front of them, anticipating the idea, that she was not going to stop. She slammed on her breaks before waving us through, in a irritated manner. When we got the the car, safe and sound, I sat there a moment thinking about my motherly reaction.

In an instant, without a second to think, I placed my body in front of theirs as though it would work as a protection shield. This obviously wasn't reasonable, since my body would not actually stop the car from possibly doing them harm. But a mother's love is sacrificial. Just as Jesus' life was for us. So many mothers loose their babies, their children, everyday. Of every mother I know who has lost a baby not one of them hasn't said they wouldn't take their childs place. They would make that sacrifice to save their child.

April. A month for remembering, and being thankful for what Christ gave for us. He laid down his life so we could be saved. He knew what the outcome on earth would prevail. He knew His death was imminent. But in an instant, without hesitation, without regards,

He came,

He sacrificed,

He died,

He rose again.

Every Easter Sunday, we are reminded of how deep a father's love truly is. God's love for us extends far greater than the love we could slightly begin to understand with our own children. The Lord made many promises. But He never promised our lives would be easy. He never said, that with Him there would never be pain. That there would never be heartache. There would never be struggles. He said, "through Him we would conquer." {Romans 8:37}

The resurrection gives my life meaning and direction...

and the opportunity to start over no matter what my circumstances.

~Robert Flatt

Lives that never get a chance.

2011-04-05T14:18:00.000-07:00

This subject has been on the front of my mind for quite a few months now. Night before last, as though God was trying to push me into writing a blog on those feelings, my husband told me something that was more than startling. It was horrifying.

Here at A Story Unfolding, I feel as though there are beliefs I have that alienate some readers or may aggravate people of opposite views. So in hesitation to writing this blog, I understand that I may upset someone or possibly loose viewers. With that being said, being I was a 16year old mother, and a mother who has also buried a child, I feel I am more than qualified to say what I am about to say...

Recently at an Abortion Clinic in the country we've become so proud to demolish, a young girl went in to receive what is known as the "kill pill." The FDA approved medical abortion pill "Misoprostol," which causes contractions to induce labor for women, is given after an initial pill is taken, "mifepristone." The young girl, was unaware of how far along she was, and after a "guessed" due date, was given the abortion pills. She delivered a full term, still born baby a few days later.

This is heartbreaking. Maybe to some out there, this doesn't effect them. But my heart aches. I am sure many people in the world might retort by saying, "these young mothers deserve a chance." But I've been a teenage mother. I have put my blood sweat and tears into what others flush away.
Look at the beautiful girl she is growing into...

If those women could see a picture like this of their unborn child, would they still feel the same way? If they wanted their babies, yet death was unavoidable would saving a life be a little less taken for granted? Had I been eight weeks pregnant with Savannah and was told "your unborn baby has a Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia and a zero percent chance of survival," I would have still carried her to term. I would have one hundred more babies all with CDH if God gives me the chance to see their precious faces. To love them, and hold them. To give them every chance in the world.

I'm not saying you have to keep the baby, for there are so many families out there who cannot receive such a beautiful gift for so many different reasons. A new law is trying to be passed in some states. Adoption only. Making it illegal to perform abortions, and if you do not want your baby, adoption is the only option. I see nothing wrong with this.

3,700 abortions are performed in the United States everyday.

That's 154 every hour, or 2 every minute!

{http://www.abortionno.org/Resources/fastfacts.html}

Babies that were NOT wanted.

SIDS alone takes 7,000 babies a year.
583 a month, almost 1 baby an hour.
{http://www.sids-network.org/facts.htm}

Still not as much as abortions,
But keep in mind that is JUST SIDS!
That isn't including Congenital Defects,
Prematurity, and many many other occurances.

Multiply that by three...

Because these babies WERE wanted.
So with every baby lost,
there is a mother and father crying over a casket.

The answer is not always black and white.

Eventually life will bring so much color to you.

I've talked with some of the ladies at the local Crisis Pregnancy Center here in town, and have offered to share Savannah's Story and Video with any ladies considering, "the easy route." With any luck Savannah could go on to save ones, like her, with no voice...

{Spread the word.}

Family is so much more.

2011-04-01T17:42:00.000-07:00

We've talked recently about moving. Not moving up the street or across town. Moving two thousand miles away from our the life we call home now. My husband's job was kind of pushing him towards taking a position they needed filled in Peoria Illinois.

Now if you know us personally, you would know that the Fraser's are not strangers to cross country moves. We've done it once. Or twice. {Or Four times...}

We spent quite awhile considering it. Although I was hesitant to pack our life into boxes, and uproot our family to a new state, I was also really wanting the opportunity for change. I wasn't sure what it was I was wanting to change exactly though.

Recently we decided that we are not going to move to Illinois, though my husband got quite a chuckle in informing our family and friends we were in fact moving three weeks from now in celebration of April Fools Day.

My mother-in-law didn't find the same humor in this, because she lives in Kentucky and would be a mere seven hours away from us. Which is a far more convenient trip, compared to the five day drive or plane ticket purchase. So when her heart was lifted at the thought of us being so close to her, we did have to break the news that no, we weren't coming. {In my defense I told Koady he should go with a different April Fools joke.}

We had a friend over for dinner this last Sunday. Seems God always sends people to us at just the right moments in time. We realized that family doesn't have to be blood related. This is something that we haven't been seeing. It was amazing to have someone over to our house for fellowship. We shared stories. The kids were beside themselves and fawned over our guest the entire visit. We sat around the dinner table talking about the intimate details of our lives. Both ours and his. I have to say, my heart has not been graced with anyone... anyone... willing and open to discuss Savannah. And by discuss Savannah, I don't mean we do all the talking. I mean someone who also talks about her, knowing that Savannah's life isn't just past tense. Someone that includes her in talking about "our children." And right there at the dinner table we prayed together... And the tears streamed down my cheeks. It was so nice to have someone else that deeply cared for our emotions. Deeply cared about us.

You may be given a family that you cannot impress.

You may have a father that is incapable of caring

about anything but himself.

You may have family members that say they care,

but are never around.

But then you have the family

that God places in your path

all throughout your life.

And you know that your family,

will always be where ever you are.

This was the change I was looking for.
And we didn't have to move 2,000miles to find it.

Similarities.

2011-03-31T08:46:00.000-07:00

Springtime I believe, is finally here. A time of growth. A time of renewal. A time of rebirth. A wonderful reminder for us mommies who have ever lost a child. That even through the harshest conditions, another beautiful sunset is awaiting us in the future. A beautiful flower will blossom up from the cold frozen ground.

Today was the first morning, there wasn't a crisp winter feeling in the air when I stepped outside to take Sarah to school. The sky was still radiating from the initial wave of sunlight. Almost instantly, my arms and cheeks were warmed from the sun gleaming down upon us. But the air was still cool. I looked around at all of the trees producing vibrant green buds. Life was overflowing from their bleak branches. And suddenly, as smells can take you back to another place and time, it smelled just as it did at the end of August, beginning of September.

I took my time as I walked to the car. So familiar. So similar. If I closed my eyes I could picture that first week of school, still pregnant with her, while walking my kids to class. I could picture the first morning visits to the hospital room after going all night not having seen our beautiful girl. I could picture early morning preparations for a princesses funeral.

Spring offers so much hope. So much promise. Promise that we will grow and strive even after the rough months. Now, spring offers little reminders of Savannah as well.

Reminders that she too was reborn...

Just like the delicate pink rose buds;

she bloomed from her own trials and tribulations.

Behind closed doors.

2011-03-29T23:11:00.000-07:00

In this journey I like {or dislike might be a better word} to call trying to conceive, I feel this is an issue that other woman out there might be able to relate to. --I am not trying to lead my blog down a trashy path, so please just bear with me. You can stop reading here if you'd like.--

I have discovered that those three words can be a woman's worst nightmare. "Trying" to conceive. And that is just it, we are only as far as trying. The other night I sat wondering to myself, where did the intimacy go? As I sat rumbling though the chaos in my mind I found what I was looking for. My intimate life was huddled up behind some file cabinets in the very back of my sub conscious. It was frightened to be honest. Tormented by ovulation tests, negative pregnancy tests, elevated hips, timers, and do I really want to say it, stress and doubts.

Infertility has never been a department I thought twice about. But then again, congenital defects weren't either. I guess these life lessons I continue to find myself venturing through, all play a role in what we are experiencing in this particular time in our lives. I never timed ovulation while we tried for our other children. Savannah took the longest at a record breaking {giggle} three months. I recently met other women trying to conceive after a loss. I walked into a foreign territory. Here were these young healthy ladies doing things I couldn't even come up with in my wildest dreams. My head was spinning as I googled myself into a "conception coma."

And then, just like that without standing on my head while drinking a glass of peppermint tea, or jumping backwards three times at sunrise I got a positive pregnancy test. The line was so faint, but it was definitely there. It was confirmed by my doctor. In the short week we had, we planned out every last detail of that pregnancy. And again, just like that... it was gone.

It sent us spiraling back to square one. Suddenly I worked myself into a frenzy. This is when intimacy found itself pushed into that back corner. I bought my first package of ovulation tests this month. It hasn't been a joyful ride. Personally I think the pregnancy test companies conspired with the ovulation test companies to create a test that always has somewhat of a faint line, for those {not me of course} girls who have a slight addiction to peeing on a stick.

They throw in a "faulty" ovulation stick, or two or three, that does turn that dark pink like it is supposed to into the batch. Can someone please explain to me why at 11am, after holding my bladder for four hours, not drinking anything for two, it shows a dark line, but at 2pm you can hardly see anything? While it repeats itself the next day only at reversed times!?

Trying to conceive shouldn't ever become a chore. I truly believe it plays a role into struggling to get pregnant. Stress. We all know what makes a baby. Conceiving isn't supposed to be this complicated. It wasn't designed to be this way. Conception is all apart of a divine plan. The planned for, and the "surprises." To carry a baby? That is two people coming together as one. Another divine purpose.

Lets see if this changes the outcome.

Putting my mind to it.

2011-03-24T15:16:00.000-07:00

As I've once mentioned, last year {and by that I mean the 09'-10' school year} I home schooled Sarah through kindergarten. It wasn't easy. Anyone who portrays home schooling as a walk in the park is probably ~~lying~~ stretching the truth. But apart from it being a challenge you must dedicate your whole heart into, it really was a blessing. I realize this now more than ever, making the hard decision to send the kids to a charter school right up the road from us this year.

When the summer was coming to a close, a feeling deep down inside kept pulling me away from home school. I had every intention on continuing on with Sarah, and now with Michael starting as well. A voice was telling me, "you just cannot do it. You cannot take on this load this year." I battled with these feelings for months. I thought my cold feet were coming from the fact that I was pregnant and due right at the beginning of the school year. I knew that a newborn would be up all night, and my brain may not be functioning up to par. But what a contradicting thought. That could not be the real reason. What a selfish excuse. Then my thoughts lead me to, how will you breastfeed and keep up with schoolwork? That was an easy fix. Obviously I could breastfeed anywhere at my own convenience. What was the real reason? Many nights of lost sleep went into my prayers for an answer. One afternoon, in July, I sat down on the couch with my laptop and the tab blinked at me as it awaited to Google what I was looking for.

"Charter Schools in Redding, California."

At a click of a button, the world wide web directed me, to the local Charter Schools. The first one on the list gave an address and a phone number. I shouted across the house at my husband asking him if he knew where *a certain street* was. {Undisclosed for the protection of my children.} He shouted back, "It sounds familiar, but I am not sure." Which lead me to Google Maps. {Don't you just adore Google?} Coincidentally it was right up the road from where we had moved only months prior. I looked into their website. Small school. K-8th. Class sizes of approximately 8-12 students. It was exactly what I needed to find in that moment. I knew that God directed me to where the final decision laid. That same day I called and left a message for the Principal. We met with her later the next week, and she accepted both Sarah and Michael's enrollment as the last application for 1st and Kindergarten.

They started exactly one week before Savannah was born. Exactly one. Of all of the thoughts that I struggled through, not one of them had to do with why my heart knew I couldn't home school through the year ahead. God pushed my heart, knowing all along what would be best for our family through the death of Savannah.

We have again decided without hesitation, that we are going to continue to home school next year. And I am completely at ease about it. Even if another baby is in our midst. There is an overwhelming feeling that everything will be okay. Just the same as it was when the feeling was overwhelming that something wasn't right. Even if the scenario turns out just the same, {because there is always a chance} this time we know, that everything will be okay. Baby here, or baby gone... everything will be okay.

I've done some reflecting this past week of where I want to go from here. Reflections are wonderful, don't you agree? Obviously we are still trying to conceive. I woke up a morning last week with an overwhelming feeling of relief. Whether I have hidden my devastating feelings well or not, I don't know. But not getting pregnant right away as I usually do, has been ultimately overwhelming, stressful, painful, and heart wrenching. To say the least. But as He never fails me, that morning of happiness and relief He showed me that I have my own time. This expected, prepared for, hoped for, prayed for, dreamed for, already named baby... has his or her own time. Though there are many women around me trying to conceive and finding out the news I long for, suddenly the weight was lifted. "This isn't a competition," He spoke. "I will not forget you. I hear your prayers. Continue to trust me."

So in the process of reflective thinking, I discovered there is no rush. My idea of "perfect timing" never measures up to His actual perfect timing. I discovered that I want to be more crafty. More creative. I want to finish or actually start projects I have dreamed up on my head but never pursued. I've continued writing in hopes of finishing my book. I've already begun preparing for the upcoming school year, and I can hardly contain my excitement with the new curriculum I will be using and ideas that are forming! I want to get back into couponing. I started while I was pregnant with Savannah. Not because we have to, but because the idea of free things just thrills me! {Read Shop, Save, and Share by Ellie Kay. I love this woman!}

So in a nutshell that is where I stand currently. It may not seem like big changes. But they are changes that for the moment, just need to be made.

213 Days.

2011-03-23T13:23:00.000-07:00

Savannah girl,

I did the math today. It has been officially 213days since we were breath taken with your beauty. I'm not going to lie to you, this month I am at a loss for words. I've been trying to figure out just what to say to you. I know a day doesn't pass without you understanding the magnitude of our love for you. I know a day doesn't pass that you aren't by our side, whispering to us, "don't miss me, I am always here."

There is a lady whom makes bears for mommies who are broken hearted. These bears weigh the exact amount that your baby did when they were born. So in those moments when our motherly arms feel empty, in my case, a 6lbs. 2oz. baby girl, we can hold our teddy bear. I can hold you. It is a wonderful gift, and though I haven't received my Savannah Bear yet, I cannot begin to imagine what it will feel like to really get to hold you. They come personalized to what you remember your baby by. We are on the waiting list, and I imagine it is going to be awhile before we get to hold you once more.

I was watching your big brother walk down the stairs last night. As he came around the landing and entered the living room, I saw you. I'm sure to anyone that sounds crazy. I remember just how Sarah was when she was seven months old. Crawling. Pulling herself up. Curious about everything. Fascinated with mommy, and the things she would do. There you were, looking so much like big sister. The very same precious white teeth. That glorious smile, only a little shyer being you were leaning over the bottom stair to look up at me. Looking so much like the 7month old little girl I fawned over once before...

{Missing this.}

Someday, when I come to be with you again, I know that little person I got a glimpse at the other night will be peeking around the corner looking for her mommy. Just waiting for me. As if nothing else ever existed.

Seven months old Savannah. I'm sure it is astonishing.
All my love, hugs, and mommy kisses.

-Mommy

Spreading her story.

2011-03-19T17:42:00.000-07:00

Here at "A Story Unfolding" today, we hit sixty followers. (Not including my facebook fans!) And it made my heart smile. Me being a "blogger" blogger, I know what it means to follow someone. It means you are truly interested in what they write about. Something about their story, their life, touches you, inspires you, motivates you. These wonderful people care enough about this journey I'm on to want updates on when I post again. They have read Savannah's story, they are connected.

For that I want to say thank you.

Thank you for being on the quiet side of things,

while I write about my girl.

If that's what it takes to praise you.

2011-03-16T15:06:00.000-07:00

"Bring me joy, bring me peace,

bring the chance to be free,

bring me anything that brings you Glory.

And I know there'll be days when this life brings me pain,

But if that's what it takes to Praise you,

Jesus Bring the Rain."

Yes, this has been done once before. It's a little cliche. Angie Smith writes her blog, "Bring the Rain" from her own journey through child loss. But as cliche as it may sound, {using the chorus from the same song that inspired her blog title} as one christian angel mommy to the next... this song sums up exactly how we get through trials like this. Life without Savannah isn't easy, but from the bottom of my heart {a heart that really does praise Him through this} I still say, "Jesus Bring the Rain." This pain on earth will never measure up to the glory that awaits us through Him.

I have been asked this question. {Let me tell you, it is a devastating question to be asked.}

"Is something wrong with you?"

It is a hurtful question, but a question I feel a lot of women want to know. It is a hurtful question because I feel in my peace, and comfort through the loss of Savannah, people wonder if I ever really loved her at all. Because my heart doesn't ache to the point of world altering recognition, I must not have wanted her. I must not have bonded with her. I must not care. I've also been told, "that I didn't deserve her."

I want to point something else out. I have met some wonderful women through this. Each who grieve differently. I don't judge, criticize, or try and fix anything. In the death of a child there aren't any fixes. I am there for each one of these empty mothers. I listen. I understand. I root, cheer, and encourage. Whether they are crying, laughing, or yelling on facebook. {Aren't we all notorious for letting our feelings out there on facebook?} Because that is the best medicine. Support. Cheering. Empathy. Encouragement.

You wanna yell?

I will cheer you on.

Yell for the memory of your baby!

You wanna cry?

I will silently sit and carry your sorrows.

I will pray for the mother that can't hold her baby.

You wanna laugh?

Well... let's just say, I can make anyone laugh!

And if you have an unmeasurable faith in God?

I will never assume you didn't love your child.

I would never say you didn't deserve them.

After Savannah's funeral, I did go through my own stage of grief. This was ::frustration::. I know I spoke casually and briefly about this feeling in the first few months. Slowly the frustration I was feeling slowly subsided and I was able to express my emotions to some of the people who were causing these struggles. The other day, a feeling that I haven't felt since before Savannah's funeral resurfaced. And my heart ached to the point of feeling like I could no longer express myself. My thoughts were jumbled again, and I... in all honesty... just wanted to scream. I wanted to sit down with every family member and friend that I have and tell them exactly what my thoughts and feelings are with giving Savannah back. But I couldn't. I can't. I cannot gather everyone. I couldn't in that moment express exactly what I was feeling. Then in that moment, I was the grieving mother that announced my imploding and heavy heart emotions on... facebook.

And there they were. The same girls I would be there for, in the reverse situation. Grieving mothers. And mother's who reached out to me when I started writing this farewell, and have grabbed onto my heart and will never let go. They cheered me on and talked me through, yet again, my frustration.

And in this process the other day, those women helped me heal. They didn't tell me I was lashing out... They didn't say I shouldn't feel that way... They didn't try and direct my emotions elsewhere. They encouraged. They cheered. They held onto my sorrow with their warrior strength, until I was ready to let go. And in doing so, I finally was able to put words into my frustration. These words I feel need to be expressed here. Because in this journey that I am documenting... this frustration was my grief.

Obviously, my husband and I have not withheld the fact that God is the center of our life. In this, we feel and believe that His strength got us through. His glory brought Savannah into our lives. And His purpose brought her home. I don't care if you believe this or not. And I mean that in the nicest way possible. This is what we believe. This is what trust. And this is what we are instilling in our children. In her days on earth, Savannah was brought to know Him. We fulfilled our roles as her parents, and in that I am so proud. We did not cry while we held her during her final hour. We laughed throughout the story daddy shared as we mentioned silly things such as, "we don't know why we moved across the United States a second time." We came home that same night, and were greeted by concerned family members. We showed them her beautiful handprints, footprints, and hairclippings. We took our Savannah smelling blankets up to bed and went right to sleep. Yes, the first night having just held our baby in our arms as she died, we were at such a peace, neither one of us cried ourselves to sleep. Neither one of us cried. I clung to people telling me, "it is just shock, give it time." I kept waiting, anticipating that heartache I saw and read so many people experience. Day in and day out that rain cloud never consumed me. I finally realized that God was my umbrella. He was what consumed me, and it protected my heart from feeling complete emptiness. His word promises me that I will be with my Savannah again someday.

I am so thankful for that, and owe Him my gratitude each and everyday. He never ceases to amaze me.

Anger with God is common. I understand why some people find themselves angry at Him. I believe that He understands as well. We can't always, and sometimes never see the bigger picture in what His plans are for us. In the good things sure, but the bad things aren't always as easy. I would never try to tell a mother that she couldn't be angry with Him. That is solely between God, and the mother or father He took the child from. In our situation though, {Savannah's death} I feel NO ONE should have a right to be angry at God for her sake. And this is why.

In our family we are not the only one who carry an "angel" in front of our titles.

{Mommy and Daddy}

We have an

angel grandpa & grandma:: angel Grammy::

angel Granny & Pappy.

We have angel great grandmas.

We have angel cousins, angel aunts & angel uncles.

Ofcourse we have angel brothers,

and an angel sister.

These are the family members who also lost something. We have all been granted an "angel" in from of our names. These family members love our children. They loved Savannah. They miss her. They've cried for her. I understand their heartache from the now missing family member. But all the same, we are her parents. We created this life, this person, this beautiful baby. For anybody close to us, I don't see what they have to be angry at God for? The parents of Savannah, the ones who would see her everyday, the ones who would feed her, nurture her, and raise her, the ones who think about these children every second of everyday for the rest of their lives... lift up their arms and Praise Him. Why are other family members punishing God for the plans that have been set for each of us since time began? For something the parents accept? Understand? We all have a time set for the end of our days. Savannah's time frame was short yes, but her life, her soul, was far more important. She still got to leave a mark.

I imagine my innocent, precious Savannah holding the hand of God. All the while her family members turn away from Him in their own selfish attitudes. She tugs at His side, and looks up at Him with her big beautiful brown eyes. Her tiny, delicate voice says, "I'm sorry God, they are only angry at you because of me." And in thinking of our heavenly baby apologizing for being the cause of someones hatred towards her maker? I get a little frustrated.

My baby may be dead, yes. But that doesn't mean I am not still a protective mother, in every aspect of that word. Mother.

To me, someone being angry at God

on behalf of my Savannah?

The one whom she belongs to?

If my daughter ever had to say,

"they are only angry at you because of me?"

She might see that her existance

caused people to be angry with

the Lord.

And as her mother, I do not like that.

She was here.

REJOICE in that.

Be envious that it only took her eight days,

to get to live in eternal perfection.

Savannah is rocked by angels,

and kissed by the Lord.

It frustrates me,

that people can be angry that

OUR daughter,

couldn't stay.

Couldn't stay;

Here in a world of murder.

Kidnapping.

Hate.

I will protect my others the best I can.

As my guardian role from God.

Savannah?...

Savannah I don't have to worry about.

She is safe.

But I will still protect her in my heart.

Don't say sorry Savannah.

Don't you ever be sorry.

{{Jesus Bring the Rain.}}

We will party... like it's your birthday.

2011-03-15T12:20:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I wonder if my readers wonder to themselves, "gee is she ever going to stop rambling about that baby? It's almost been seven months." All I can say is, though this was my "Fraser Family Blog" years before Savannah came into our lives, I stepped back and unofficially dedicated this blog to her life for one year. For her 1st birthday I plan on making these blog posts... the ones about her life... into a book. So anytime in the future that I feel like sitting down and "remembering" my journey through saying goodbye, I can. One years worth. So anytime it may seem like I am just recapping on a subject where the story never changes, please realize that I am doing this for me. For my husband. For my children. Because I imagine in ten years, the color visions we have in our minds of August 2010 may be less vivid. They might start to be fading to grey. And when those colors lessen, I know I will always be able to repaint this canvas. Savannah's story will be remembered when we are old... When our children grow up... They can share her story with their spouses, with my grandchildren. Savannah's stories will never be forgotten.

We are approaching the seven month mark. It is surreal. There are not words to describe, what it feels like to know you are over half way through a year without someone. I already find myself dreaming about her 1st birthday in heaven. To mommies who say goodbye to their babies, the first birthday is a big deal.

Yesterday I was talking about plans. I elaborated these plans to my husband. Such big dreams one can dream for the memory of their cherished babies. You could see the heartache in my husband, {the realist's,} eyes. He see's the mother of his deceased baby planning a party for our daughter. He knows in his heart not many would come. He asked me, "you don't really think a lot of people would come do you?"

Our cemetery is very gracious. For fourth of July we get front row seats, {right next to Savannah} for the fireworks. No hassle with parking. No hassle with traffic afterwards. We just pick up a ticket a week or two before hand and on the 4th, we can hand it to them at the gate and come in. Right before... or all afternoon. The lady who helped us pick Savannah's plot, said families bring their barbeque's and have picnics during the day. To some that may not seem desirable. A picnic in the graveyard. To me? There doesn't sound like any place more desirable than the cemetery to have a picnic. Where ALL of our family can be together. In a different way.

So I've been thinking, I'm sure they would let us have a barbeque for Savannah's birthday! If they didn't have a service taking place that day, I bet they would even let us use the canopy. There's invitations that could be sent, and balloons that could be released. But to my husband? All he see's are the family members with serious insecurities over Savannah's death. Her birthday to her mommy is far from awkward... far from uncomfortable. It is MONUMENTAL. It is s day to be celebrated. And it will be celebrated. With a party. Whether people want to (happily) attend, or not. Because I assure you. Tissues will be checked at the gate.

Purple balloons will be released with everyone writing their names,

and a message (if they'd like) on the outside.

If you live away from us, but hold a piece of

Savannah's heart, when it gets closer to time

I will include all of her dear followers who would like.

What my five year old knows.

2011-03-12T14:58:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, things around the Fraser household can go a week even two completely normal. {And I am not sure how exactly I mean normal.} Normal in a sense, the pain of Savannah is almost non-existent. Then there are days, like yesterday afternoon, when suddenly, and in an instant, I remember that just because I may not be saying her name outloud very often, doesn't mean I don't think of her. And this goes for the members in my family who lost her too.

{Michael David.}

Day before yesterday {Thursday} me and my three little ones went to visit Savannah, and bring her some decorative goodies we all picked out, prepping her gravesite for Easter and St. Patricks Day. Visiting her, brings thoughts of her closer to the front of our minds.

It was a warm, sunny day yesterday afternoon. I drove down the road, window cracked, enjoying the radio playing familiar songs, with my daughter and two sons riding along as my usual company. Michael sat in the backseat coloring in his sister's "Strawberry Shortcake" coloring book. {Yes, I am that mom who has coloring books and crayons in my car.} Humming to myself, Michael from the backseat spoke up over the music. "Look Mommy, I drew a heart." Turning around briefly to show delight in his artwork, all the while trying to watch the road while driving through downtown traffic at "school pickup" rush hour, I said "Wow Michael, that is a beautiful heart." He smiled proudly, went back to coloring, and I went back to driving and humming.

A few minutes later, Michael's little voice broke through the radio once more. "Your heart doesn't look like ours Mommy. Yours changed to the shape of a baby. This is your heart Mommy."

I turned around again, trying to look at his artwork and register all that had just been said to me. I glance and see the tiny drawing of a baby. A precious stick baby, but a baby in Michael's eyes non the less. Michael see's the change. The transformation a mother experiences when they loose a child. It's too much for much for my baby shaped heart to take in rush hour. "Thank you Michael," was all I could muster. I rolled through a green light thinking of the observation my five year old had made. A pretty big one in my eyes... Finding out you have a new heart from your five year old? Let's just say the sun kissing my arms felt even nicer to me, afterwards.

A big brother standing proud at

his baby sisters funeral.

Be my baby.

2011-03-10T21:25:00.000-08:00

In case you have missed this single father's popular youtube video... tonight seeing yet another video of this admirable daddy singing with his precious daughter did in fact make my heart ache. We have a tendency, especially as the mother, to forget that when our babies die, our husbands truly loose something as well. Daddies hearts break in the same way as mommies... they just express things a little differently.

So when you watch this video, whether you have lost a baby or not, please try and look at the love this father has for his daughter. You can see it radiating from both him... and her.... And imagine the pain one must feel to never have a chance to sing duets side by side...

Sarah, is always singing.

I would like to picture Koady and Savannah singing

this song side by side as well...

"Be My Baby."

-The Ronettes
{Jorge & Alexa Narvaez}

{Pause the Playlist on the
side before watching!!!}

Any day now.

2011-03-10T11:18:00.000-08:00

I remember, what seems like yesterday when I was waiting for fall. I was ready for the change of the crisp cool feeling in the air. For the smoky smells of families staying warm next to the first winter fire. In all actuality "winter" for us here in California, started about three weeks ago. January was a pleasant 75degrees. February is the sneaky month. I think we always forget that. The groundhog must be going blind of old age, {since he has been doing his "job" for so long} and mistook not seeing his shadow this year. Though, in my opinion, I don't know who's idea it was to base our weather on a groundhog anyways. Is there any factual truths to see or not to see a shadow? I told my husband I didn't believe in groundhogs. (Referencing ground hogs DAY.) He ofcourse thinks now, I think groundhogs are nothing less than mystical creatures.

This year, well any year with children a mom is usually ready for warm weather. Three energetic lives don't enjoy sitting in the house day in and day out. It makes for an even drearier day. Mothers around the world look forward to sending their children out into the warm sunshine... to explore imaginations and wonderment. This mother? I myself, have a case of severe cabin fever. This past weekend, in every effort to re-introduce my family to nature, I bundled up my bunch and sat in the rain with three little fishing pole lines bobbing patiently out in the water. Not a nibble. But it made not only their hearts smile, but mine as well.

I don't think through life a memory will be made without even a brief thought of the little Missy that is missing out. I tried to picture a happy six month old, bundled up in her pink flowered car seat. A six month old fishing? Probably not their idea of a good time. I laughed at the thoughts I miss out on now.

Lightning McQueen Fishing Pole?-Check

Diapers?- Check

Hooks?-Check

Bottles?-Check

Live worms?- Gross but check

Oh, don't forget the burp rags and wipes!

Savannah will never be far from the wonderful things we do in life. So I don't really feel sad without her physically joining us. Fishing with Savannah is much easier now. She fishes in the gorgeous lakes in heaven right along side us, I am sure. A purple fishing pole? Oh yes! Jesus as her fishing buddy? Defiantly!!

One difference?

I bet SHE caught something...

I'll fight for you.

2011-03-07T13:53:00.000-08:00

Has it really been this long since I have been here? I guess what they say is true... Well I guess they say it... Time does continue on. No matter what the loss, no matter how important the loss, we keep going through the motions. The sun rises and sets, just the same as it always has from the beginning. I have a tendency to look at days differently now. Before, I never acknowledged our day to day life. And granted, I still don't think about it everyday. But there are nights, that I realize that the sun has set, and another day is officially gone. We can never get it back. We can only move forward in this gift we call life.

Today, as I popped in to ~~ramble~~, write about my feelings, I read some posts I missed from my favorite bloggers. One of them hit home. She talked about grieving a child in a different way. Not in the way that I grieve Savannah, but there is still a grieving process one must take. The grieving process of a sweet child that isn't what society considers "normal." I barely got through her first paragraph before the sticky tears began streaming down my face, warming my cheeks.

Though, my grief is much worse now, I knew exactly the words she had written. I myself grieved the loss of the healthy baby I had dreamed of for nine months. Nine blind months. For the eight days of Savannah's life, we fought for her life. We dug our feet in to the great unknown and were ready to battle anything to save her life. But we were fighting, blood, sweat, prayers, and tears, for a little life we had not dreamed of.

What we have been told is, Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia is usually associated with a chromosomal disorder. Usually down syndrome. Though oddly enough, Savannah didn't have down syndrome and her defects lied only in her CDH. They tried to prepare us, though she was perfectly healthy in every way other than the hernia, Savannah, went quite awhile without oxygen. And lack of oxygen in the brain can cause many things, such as severe brain damage, cerebral palsy, or mental retardation. During those eight days, and as I read from this mother today whom I admire it brought back the feelings of trying to prepare myself for a different life. I prayed, every night for God to equip me to be the mother I didn't think I could be in raising Savannah. My mind was running. Exhausting itself in a marathon of thoughts.

"How can I raise a child with these struggles?"

"Can I really be the mother she needs?"

"What kind of car do we need to have?

What kind of house do we need to buy?"

"Will our insurance uphold itself through a

lifetime of surgeries, medications, and therapy?"

"How can I deal with the people who will look at

my baby differently?"

"She will defiantly need a purple wheelchair."

{Yes I said this one outloud.}

"God, I just am unprepared.

Do you really think I can handle this?"

And just as this blog reminded me this morning... this too was that grieving process. You know what? God didn't think I could handle that life. He thought I could handle so much more. Because, in this mom's grieving process through Cerebral Palsy, she has found the healing process through her years of a different way of mothering. Yes, you still grieve a loss. Defiantly! The loss of the hopes and dreams of a healthy baby. But LOOSING a baby? That burden is much much worse. And this mother knows that grief too... There are times that I feel I could answer the above questions much differently now, having had to say goodbye to her all together.

When they can't stay,

you realize there was nothing wrong with your baby.

All life is perfect.

Growing in my heart.

2011-02-23T15:11:00.000-08:00

My sweet six month old, though forever eight day old baby girl,

There are not words for a day like today...

I miss you.

I love you.

I think that sums it all up. Six words... My feelings for you.... Six months later.

Here we are.
Six months later.
The clock continues to move seconds, minutes, and hours

from when we first saw you.

I waited for you, nine long months.

You grew you in my tummy, yes.
But since you couldn’t stay,
I grew you in my heart as well.

I cannot grasp that six months have come and gone since you briefly said hello.
I cannot believe that life is “without you” from here on out.
There are days, that I know you are only six feet away from me,
At your final resting place.

Is it normal to want one last moment with you?
Is it normal to want dark brown earth under my fingernails,

just to see that delicate pink box only once more?
Can someone prove to me that this reality does exist?

A childhood playground should never be headstones and flowers.
But it is in this case.
Because we will visit you.
And this is our normal.

Our hearts beat differently now.
We will live forever in void till we can see you once more.
Our memories we hold close.
Our tears you hold closer.

Missing you.
It just doesn’t make sense to me.
It is much deeper than that...

Now your absence grows in my heart as well.

Life doesn't wait for you.

2011-02-18T21:34:00.000-08:00

I am not trying to sound harsh in this post, so please,
don't mistake what I am about to say.

It may be controversial to some.

I am a lover of the Duggar family! I love their strong faith, their devoted marriage, and their patient, loving parenting. To ALL 19 kids... and counting.

When Savannah was first born, and whisked away to the NICU, my mom rubbed my arm as I was crying and said, "if Josie Duggar can make it, than Savannah can make it." It meant a lot to me, being I followed along side of Jim Bob and Michelle as they prayed for their tiny premature baby girl. I cried the evening Michelle had an emergency C-section. I remember the exact words Jim Bob said to the camera teary eyed in his hospital scrubs.

"This situation is fixing to change our lives...

...Forever.

But we praise God when all the good things are happening.
And we are going to praise God, even through this difficult situation."

-Jim Bob Duggar

It broke my heart to hear all of the negative critisizim they faced when they were fighting for baby Josie's life. Even more so now. I think it is everyone's God given right, to have a baby. When they want, and how ever many they might want. And I mean God given in the sense, a gift from God. I think the only people who shouldn't have babies are the ones who are not planning on investing time, energy, and love into that child. And if that is the case, there are many wonderful families out there hoping and praying to adopt.

I walked through Safeway one evening with my mother-in-law. I told her I was embarrassed that I wasn't "pregnant" anymore. Perplexed, she asked "why?" I told her, "maybe embarrassed isn't the word, I just feel this gives people even more of a reason, after what happened with Savannah to think, they really shouldn't have another." She said, as she continued looking for what we were there to get, "you know what? Who cares what other people think."

As any mother it is hard to hear outsiders opinions, {and they are always offered whether we want them or not} about having children. People are even more opinionated about having babies "after a loss." I think there is a stigma that comes with loosing a child. Sadly, you loose friends over it... why wouldn't some people think "infant death" was contagious?

But... It's NOT. And having a baby after loosing a child, we don't want you to scare us about chances and statistics. Because we are aware. We are afraid. We don't want to hear how concerned you might be, for whatever reason. Because right now, we are more concerned than you will ever be. We don't want to hear, you think it is best if we wait. Because right now, in whatever moment we are in... Our heart tells us it is right. Whether we have one baby, or nineteen... we are all following the plans that are right for our lives. Just smile. It's okay to be happy for the moment we are in right now.

Because life won't wait for you.

Your baby has changed?

2011-02-17T13:51:00.000-08:00

The day before Valentines, my husband and I dropped our little ones off at my mother-in-laws house for our pre-v. day evening. Her boyfriend had his son, daughter-in-law, and two grandkids at their house visiting from the coast.

This couple had a baby boy a few months before Savannah was born. Knowing that they were going to be there, I tried to prepare my mind to be in the presence of a baby, "Savannah's age."

When we pulled into the driveway, a couple was rocking on the porch swing. There in the woman's arms was a baby boy. For a moment in my mind, I thought to myself, "I was thinking of the wrong couple."

Here was this baby. No longer the tiny baby I was expecting to encounter. Honestly, I cannot explain to you why. WHY was I thinking their baby boy would still be a newborn? Why was I expecting to see an infant. Not a teething, sitting up, chubby, baby.

Why do I have the forever eight day old baby? Why do I have the baby whom will never outgrow her tubs of preemie sized outfits? Why do I assume that baby's born around the same time as Savannah, won't grow up, get bigger, and develop into little people.

They do. Obviously, I don't truly mean that in the way it sounds. Let me explain. In all honestly...

I wished for a newborn baby, cradled in his mothers arms that afternoon. The same age as Savannah, but still offering the precious newborn look, that was suddenly gone from our lives. I refuse to believe that in six short days, Savannah would be six months old. She wouldn't look at all like she did, the day she was born. She would have her own personality, and her own likes and dislikes. I would already be missing that tiny, newborn phase.... I am so lucky. My baby WILL be that small forever.

Sigh, will I ever get that chance again?

Rockabye Baby.

2011-02-15T15:49:00.000-08:00

There is something magical about a baby. Wouldn't you have to agree? Such a small little life. A little soul. So innocent and fresh from the hands of the Lord.

Bliss.

Yes, a baby is bliss.

Now as a mother, there is divine treasure in having a daughter. Just as there is for a father, who longs for a son. I have two boys, and don't mistake me for thinking my boys are anything but delight in my heart. Because I couldn't and won't imagine my life without their unbridled spirits. They have showed me a world outside of my own girly wonderment. But again, I believe every mother wonders what it would be like to have a daughter. Someone to relate to. Someone who lives on Venus with us, rather than the enchanting confusion coming from Mars.

I've mentioned before since our loss of Savannah, that I long for another girl. No. Not for me actually. Yes, I love my girls. But, I long for another girl for a much deeper reason. Sarah.

Growing up, I had two older brothers. There was such an age seperation, that a bonding relationship never became. But these brothers of mine, these two close in age siblings, had something in common. Their gender. You can just relate better to your own gender growing up I believe. I remember feeling like an outsider, watching a communication that I have always lacked. My cousin became my "sister." And from slightest touch and feeling of what a sister was like, I couldn't imagine growing up, having a daughter, and having her grow through life without that relationship.

I don't have a diluted vision of what sisters are. I know, boy or girl, they are not always going to see eye to eye. They aren't always going to braid each others hair and enjoy sharing secrets. But I believe siblings go much deeper than that.... And I wanted that with Savannah. I want that now for Sarah.

This Christmas, all Sarah wanted for Christmas, was a baby doll. Now, Sarah has never ever been into playing with baby dolls. Barbies yes, dolls no. I couldn't just pick her out any old baby doll. I didn't care, what sounds it made, what movements it mimicked, or how much it cost. I knew that Sarah's desire for a baby doll Christmas morning came from an emptyness she was feeling too. Sarah's arms were empty. And even though she is only a mere six years old, I know with all my heart, her arms were longing for Savannah to fill them these past holidays. This baby doll had to have big brown eyes, and a round head. That was all that mattered. Now, that may seem like a simple task... let me tell you, it's not. Common baby doll eye color these days?:: Blue. There is nothing wrong with blue eyes, and I probably would have gotten a blue eyed baby had it not been under these circumstances.

My mother and I found, Savannah doll, at Target late one night Christmas shopping. The store was quiet and dead. I picked that brown eyed doll up and held her in my arms. I lifted the bottle up to her mouth, and stared as this plastic toy's face moved in up and down motions as if to really be drinking its bottle. I giggled, feeling the slightest bit uncomfortable cherishing a moment with Savannah doll. "Sarah might wonder where her doll is one night, only to find me rocking and feeding it in Savannah's room," I said outloud. Again I chuckled trying to maintain the tears I could feel welling up in my eyes. My moms heart ached as she looked at me, and my plastic, brown eyed Savannah.

Months have passed since then, and I reassure you that I haven't found myself rocking that baby doll... atleast in my own time. Two nights ago, while tucking the kids into bed, Sarah asked me to hold her baby doll while she situated all of her beloved animals surrounding her. There I was, rocking that brown eyed doll again in my aching arms. She cooed and giggled at me, as if she really did love me. Delicately handing the baby over to my Sarah, the doll started to cry. I quickly kissed Sarah goodnight and rushed out of the room. Standing outside of the now dark bedroom, I put my hand up to my chest trying to find the strength to breathe again.

The pretend baby, the plastic doll, cried as if it was longing my arms... just as much as my arms are longing to hold, "her."

A Woman After God's Own Heart Giveaway.

2011-02-14T09:25:00.000-08:00

Happy Valentines Day.

Today was the day of the giveaway drawing.

My lucky husband got to be the "officiator."

::Thanks to everyone

who participated!::

::13 names were

added to the drawing!::

::And the winner is::

::Raquel!::

::A Woman After God's Own Heart!::

Congratulations,

And again, thanks to everyone whom entered!

{If you didn't win the book,
be sure and add it to your *must read*
list for future options.}
I promise you won't be sorry!

Gift of Love. Lifetime Devotional.

2011-02-12T08:36:00.000-08:00

{This blog is apart of the “What love really means” inspirationals

given by some wonderful bloggers, & wonderful women.}

“No matter what happens,
you reside in the presence of Love.
Every breath you take fills you with
grace and divine sustenance.
Breathe in the goodness
and dare to believe it is so.
Love is your home.”

For those of you whom regularly follow a story unfolding, you will already know we were expecting our rainbow baby. Definition of a rainbow baby; A baby born after a baby lost. A rainbow comes at the end of every storm. But let me share something with you. Just because God shines his heavenly “promise” on the horizon, doesn’t always mean that it has stopped raining outside. We have all witnessed the vibrant colors, while cold water droplets still cascade down all around us.

Last week our hopes and dreams of another pregnancy came to a close. Atleast for the baby anticipated October 3rd. I’ve realized something through our brief rainbow journey…

The moment you experience a positive pregnancy test, you love your unborn baby. A child you are unsure whether will be a daughter or a son. A child you have never seen in person. A child you have never touched; never held. But regardless, you love them. We can love the idea of a life so very much, even if they never get to be. We also expected Savannah’s life to be healthy, long, and full. She presented us with a life “unexpected.” But we don’t count her life to be those eight short days. We loved her loooong before she was born into our physical world. When she was just a life we dreamed about.

We as humans are lovers. We are capable of loving unconditionally and fully. But also as mere humans, we are sinners. Which means our God given gift of loving others, is tainted. We all have a tendencies to be very selfish people. My husband and I have a wonderful relationship. It has always been good, but in the beginning it wasn’t as easy. Because in the beginning I was selfish. I thought that my marriage would be flawless once all my needs were met. I never stopped to consider the fact that my spouse had needs I was failing to meet as well.

Then God entered my world. Now I understand that all of my readers may not be Christians. Please, don’t stop reading just yet. I may dedicate my life to the Lord, but my advice here isn’t excluding my non believing followers either. Whether you believe it or not, God is hard at work in each and every one of our lives.

Once I began reading, studying, and memorizing my bible and bible scriptures, I realized all of my relationships hadn’t been tended and nurtured in ways that show my love in a deep, selfless manner.

Love shouldn’t and doesn’t stop with our husbands and children. Yes, aside from God, our husbands are the most important relationship in our lives. {If they aren’t you need to do some soul searching because they should be. Ladies our children even need to take a backseat to our marital relationship!} We are supposed to be extending our love and compassion to all though…. All of mankind. Just like Gandhi once said, “be the change you want to see in the world.”

Divorce rates in America are 41% for first marriages. {According to divorcerates.org} And they continue to sky rocket. There are hate crimes taking place all around us. Whether it be from hazing in schools, racism, religion, or just evil, what some might consider harmless, judgments. They are in every town. Every state. Every country. And we are all to blame. Our culture and society are a product of it’s own environment… Our judgments rather than our love.

Let’s stop and take a moment. Think back to the last negative thing you either thought, gossiped out loud, or spoke directly to someone. Those things are very easy to remember right? That is because sinful behavior, such as talking badly about someone, is our first nature.

Now… take a moment and think of the last time you stepped out of “convenience” to show true, honest love. I am talking about things that require a little more effort than a quick “love you” as you rush out the door. Gestures that require a little more effort. Though you may still find the answer to this question, lets be honest, it wasn’t as quick was it?

“Be kind and compassionate to one another,
forgiving each other,
just as Christ forgave you.”
-Ephesians 4:32

Love can be extended in the little ways. Those are good. But lets take it a little further, shall we?…

What about the little old lady struggling with her groceries in the parking lot? Sure, she may not be your mother, your grandmother. You have places to be and errands to run. But what is really preventing you from taking a few minutes to help her? Serve her? Love her?

What about your neighbors? How well do you know them, if you know them at all. Maybe you do know them very well… Why not whip up a batch of cookies and take them on over, what ever your relationship may be. What is preventing you from reaching out and loving them?

Or perhaps, you could pick up a card for your husband just to say, “I love you.” {Any other day than Valentines day of course. And it doesn’t count if you are expecting anything in return. Ever.}

These small gestures may not be acknowledged at first, but they begin to make huge impacts. I think you are catching what I am portraying…

In honor of Valentines day this year, I am asking {maybe begging a little} all of my readers to love someone… well, everyone in some unexpected way. Not just on Valentines, but throughout the year. You’ll find if you do, your own heart will soften. It will become easier for each of us to love one another, without the effort involved. It will become easier for us not to judge others based on the mud on their shoes, or the story they may carry on their shoulders. We can start a ripple in the water. After all, we can be “the light of the world.” -Matthew 5:14

Galatians 5:13 tells us to, “serve one another in love.” By helping or serving each other, we are making a choice to love that person in that very moment. It’s not always easy since this love I am talking in reference to must be extended to our “enemies” as well. Savannah has shown me so many things. After saying goodbye to her, and saying goodbye to what we thought would be our rainbow pregnancy, I now know that life really is short. We are only given so much time, and never guaranteed another breath. I know what it is like to, “love with a love that is more than love.” I’ve watched life slip away before my very eyes; In my very arms. A love that was taken to the grave…

So now, I want to know in my life I gave myself graciously to the best of my abilities. That I asked forgiveness in all areas that were due, and that I forgave those in my life whom deserve my divine forgiveness as well. I was forgiven by the one that I disappoint everyday. But I am also loved and cherished by the same man. I think I can choose to give these same blessings, considering I didn’t and don’t deserve them. My life may last seventy more years, or I may join my daughter tomorrow. Until then, I choose to love this life I’ve been given.

In wanting to share with you a book that helped me see the ways to “love” God, my husband, my children, and others, I welcome you to enter in my “gift of love” giveaway.

“A Woman After God’s Own Heart.”
Author: Elizabeth George

This book will share & help you with many things
including,

A heart devoted to God.
{Growth in understanding,
loving, and trusting the Lord.}

A heart that loves our husbands.
{Finding a deep commitment to
honor, love and serve your husband…
Even if your not married, this can
Help for marriage later down the road!}

A heart overflowing with motherly affection.
{Shepherding our children,
Loving our children, and caring for them.}

A heart that makes a house a home.
{Tending to our homes.
And enjoying the chores!}

A heart that cares.
{Reaching out to
encourage and love others.}

Plus much much more!!

To enter, all you have to do is either follow my blog or A Story Unfolding’s facebook fan page and leave a ~~comment~~ sweet nothing at the bottom of this blog, with your name and email address and which site you are following. Then, I will contact the winner via email on Valentines day! It is that simple!

::Please only submit if you are deeply interested in being
“A Woman After God’s Own Heart.”
That way others who truly want to read it, have a fair chance!::
Thank you!!

Also if your heart has been inspired to “love” this year, please share your future stories with me at megan_3457@hotmail.com!! I would love to read and share your testimonies!

…& feel free to share this challenge
with others.