Rockin' my baby, cause babies don't keep.

I read a blog post tonight. About a woman staring at the front door as her seventeen year old breezed past on the way to work. About how she would give anything to have one more moment of rocking her now large boy to sleep. To nurse him, and nurture him one last time.

As my three month old, blue eyed, snoring little man lay swaddled next to me I realized something. I do not have a seventeen year old boy yet. I don't even have a seventeen year old girl yet. But I do have children. And three of my four children do not require me to rock them, nurse them, and nurture them to sleep.

I also have heard many different parenting philosophies. "Don't hold that baby so much, your teaching them bad habits." As if holding your child close is like picking a wedgie... "Doesn't that child have a bed?" As if cradling a sleeping infant in your arms is an inconvenience to others.... I even once, believe it or not, was scolded for bringing my daughter to the dinner table. My first baby, and in carrying her swing to the table so she could be apart of our family gathering, was told that "it was strange and the baby should be in the other room." As if she was an unruly pet...

For me personally, I think everyone is entitled to their own parenting styles, and preferences. With the exception for child abuse or child neglect. Those are the only times I believe someone should step in. When in actuality, it seems more taboo to confront those types of situations, than it is for grandparents, random strangers even, to solicit advice to parents because they "hold their child/ren too much."

Last year, when the kids were attending a charter school up the road from us, Sarah one day came home and told me a little boy in her class didn't have a lunch and was hungry. Being she has such a compassion for others, she shared her lunch with this fellow classmate. It wasn't for a bit until I learned this was a regular occurance. I began packing extra food in her lunch box, and proceeded to mention it to the teacher. She told me she wasn't aware, but she would look into it. A week or so later, when I asked Sarah she told me he still was still sharing lunches with the kids in her class. How can a child go hungry for an entire school year, unnoticed?

I'm not saying my children have never cried, whined, or had a "terrible-two-temper-tantrum." They have. I have a Brody. And Brody can cry (even now) if he hears the sky is blue. Okay maybe that is a little extreme, but you catch my drift. I'm not telling you that "your way is wrong and mine is right." (Insert frantic finger shaking) Because my way isn't perfect. There is no such thing. I can't stand hearing people standing on their soapboxes shouting "my ideas and opinions are right, and if you don't agree you are a bad parent." All I am saying is time is short. Rock your babies. Because in a few short years they won't be babies. They will be venturing off on their wobbly, unsteady legs, ready to explore the world on their own. And every step they take is one more step away from needing your arms to be their everything. Like this mother's blog I read tonight, in what only seems like a few short years from those teetering legs, you will be left with nothing but a front door... As they drive themselves to work...

I think I am going to wake up my Davis now, just so I can rock him back to sleep. You know, because I hold him too much anyways. Goodnight all. 

Triggers or Sentiment?

I didn't grow up living in one house. My dad worked his way up through chain of commands through the California Highway Patrol, and each promotion typically meant change for our family. A new home. A new school. New friends. Life as a highway patrol daughter, for me, meant adjusting to change. For the most part, I never really looked at my life differently from anyone else's. It was my normal. I never once thought that life for the time being was unpredictable.

Now my own children have moved throughout their lives. And they have adjusted. Just in the same ways that I did. My father retired as captain shortly after Sarah was born. They have a permanent residence. Grandma and Grandpa's home, has become that predictable permanent place for the grand kids. I dream of eventually having that house my children and my grandchildren call home. Where they know mom and dad's, or grandma and grandpa's hearts will always be. Where our walls are warm with memories and laughter and love are only a visit away.

After Savannah passed away, I acknowledged that our home never actually got to be hers. But I could feel her all around me. One morning after Savannah was gone, the kids asked me to sit in the gym at thier school and watch them during morning stretch. My heart was still broken; frail; fragile in every sense of the words. I knew I had to be a supportive momma. I knew their hearts were still broken; frail; fragile. So I agreed. And I mustered up the smiles any mother who has lost a child knows all too well. Let me try to describe this smile. You smile, knowing you are one moment away from throat burning, lip quivering tears. You feel as though behind that smile you are carrying around ounces of warm salty tears, knowing you have to hide them from the world. It's the most difficult and heartbreaking smile.

I walked Michael and Sarah across the parking lot towards the gym. The nights were beginning to become cooler, and dew glistened on everything. The sky was blue and the morning sun was already hot on our backs ready to heat the brisk feeling in the air. Nothing about these mornings had changed from the weather that greeted us every morning we departed from our room back to the hospital anxious to see our Savannah after a long night away from her.

I sat on the bleachers and Brody nestled into my lap. All of the students and teachers began their day, stretching and exercising to upbeat music to charge their bodies and minds for the day ahead of them. I watched as other mothers laughed, encouraged, and stretched right along with their own little people. None of them had heartache in their eyes. Michael and Sarah smiled and waved at me. My heart shattered into a million pieces. I knew they deserved more. More than I could give them at that very moment. As they stood working their little arms in circular motions, their big brown eyes never far from my face, a song began playing and danced across every inch of that gymnasium. "The house that built me." By Miranda Lambert.

I am a listener. I can't help but dissect a song word for word. The song didn't really pertain to me. A girl going back to her childhood home, just for a small taste of what made her, well her. Just so she could collect all of those memories in her heart and heal whatever heartache she was experiencing at that moment. I looked around at thousands of happy, smiling, eyes. Filled with their childlike innocence. And that was the exact moment I knew I would never get to see Savannah dancing. I knew I would never see her stretch her little arms. I knew her little brown eyes would never scan for her mommy again. I knew Savannah would never just need to come home. Savannah never came home.

And my smile had faded. Brody and I got up, and walked slowly, hand in hand back to the car. And those warm salty tears glistened from my cheeks like the morning dew. I buckled my little man into his carseat. He stared at me in silence. Brody can be so good at acknowledging when no words are needed. I kissed him and climbed into the drivers seat. We sat there a little bit and I reminded myself that everything was alright.

I heard that song today. Almost eighteen months since she stared back into my eyes. It triggered that morning at the kids school. I thought of future Christmases. One day, my kids will bring their husband and wives to my home. We will talk about memories, and create new ones with our grandchildren and son-in-law or daughter-in-laws. But she won't be there. Her husband will be absent. Her beautiful children will be nothing but a dream I had for her, once upon a time. But I will always think of her. I will always think of who they might have been. Savannah has made her permanent residence in heaven. And one day we will reside there with her.

These triggers never seem to leave me. But it's also sentiment. Because for a moment... it brings her back home to me.  

Days, Weeks, Months, and Years.

Its always such a proud feeling. "How old is your baby?" Random strangers ask. It starts in days. Two days. Five days. Nine. As brand new mothers, we have a tendency to go by days. We don't say one week, we say seven days. Why is that I may ask? I think it is because days sound so brand new. Days sound so close to birth. Weeks? Now weeks sound like they have been here that much longer. Regardless one week or seven days, these little people have been here the same amount of time.

Davis has already passed the days stage. And as we pass into the months verses weeks timeline, now as mothers, I count by weeks. I feel as though time is against me. I remember before I ever became a mother, I used to roll my eyes hearing "moms" talk about how fast time speeds by when you have children. Time is just time, I'd think. The days are just as long when you have children.

Then Sarah was born. And Michael. Brody. Savannah came and went. Now Davis. Time does in fact swallow you whole. Almost in the most unforgiving ways. The last weeks of pregnancy tick by at what feels like a snails pace. Then the instant the brand new human being is placed in your arms, they are already a month old. Once you being to wrap your mind around the month idea, you are planning their first birthday. And from there you suddenly have a kindergartener, facing their own form of independence.

This summer, our oldest celebrates her eighth birthday. It seems like yesterday that she was Davis' size. Still adjusting to a new, confusing world. A time where I was adjusting to a new and confusing world too. We were learning together. There was no one else that needed my attention. All I had to wrap my mind around was one. I counted days, and weeks, and months. There were no other stresses. No other heart aches. I try to look back at my brief time, so it seems, before I knew what heart ache really was.

I watch the clocks more closely these days. One week from today marks eighteen months. I should have an eighteen month old as well as a five week old. I should have two children in diapers. But I don't. And because I don't it doesn't mean I have stopped thinking of her. No, it's not as fresh. There are times that I go without having her in the front of my mind. After all it has been eighteen months.

{After all it has been eighteen months.} 

But eighteen months really isn't that long. Savannah would still be adjusting to a new and confusing world. The quicker time goes by with my earthside children, the more I feel time fading from the one I try to remember. In more ways then one, I realize that time will always be unforgiving. I get caught up in everything I need to accomplish. So I am trying to reassure myself that as Davis reaches the five week milestone, Savannah spends her eighteenth month in heaven, Brody a fresh four year old, and Michael and Sarah approach seven and eight, that right now, this very second, routine is a four letter word. That dirty dishes, and dirty laundry never killed anyone. Time may be unforgiving, but at least I know my kids will forgive me when I can remember what these "days" felt like...

Time.

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.

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."

Leaving yesterday.

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." 

One step at a time.

I was a New Year's baby. Stubborn from the very beginning. January 9th. My birthday is upon us in five short days. This year, I take a step back and think of everything I have accomplished, and those I haven't yet since God first created me. 

Every person in the world is in denial that something bad could happen to "us." It seems unreal. Seems dream like. I'm sure the day I was born my mother didn't lay in the hospital cradling me thinking to herself, "Look at my beautiful baby. I bet one day she will loose a daughter of her own." We don't think our homes will ever be robbed, our cars will ever be wrecked, our children will ever die from our arms, our dreams will ever shatter. 

But that is just it. We are dreamers. We are humans. We are resilient. Because aside from never thinking "it could happen to us," we are also realists. We have homeowners insurance, car insurance, and life insurance. In event that these things DO happen to us. 

In my life, I made more mistakes than I can possibly account for. I still make mistakes daily. But as my birthday approaches, I look at the great that my life has brought forth to the world. My husband. We acknowledge regularly that we saved each other. We are and have found what many people search lifetimes for. Soulmates. And having married my soulmate, we have created Sarah... Michael... Brody... and of course Savannah. A very important piece of my creation. 

Because even though on the day of my birth my mother didn't lay there thinking, "look at my beautiful baby. I bet one day she will loose a daughter of her own..." God was by her side thinking, "Look at my beautiful baby. One day you will loose a daughter of your very own. I am here for you now. I will be here for you then. Every step of the way, one step at a time. Never loose your faith dear child, for I promise to hold your tears in my hands. The plans I have for your life, will help change the world. You may never understand, but I need your creation, to bring forth big plans."

This year my resolutions are far deeper than in the previous years. For my life was changed in 2010. I was shown a light. Her name was Savannah. And she has set her mommy, daddy, brothers, and sister on some new paths. This year, knowing that life is short and nothing is ever guaranteed, I promise to live. 

One step at a time.

I look at everything good, every tiny ripple that has happened since Savannah passed away. Each one of those moments may have never came to existence if she hadn't altered our world.

A birthday is upon us.

Since Savannah passed, Brody Peyton will be the first birthday I celebrate since August. Now I am not saying I haven't "celebrated" for anyone, there just hasn't been anyone to celebrate close to us.

Till now. December 19th, my not so little guy will turn three years old. 

As a mother, on your children's birthdays you cannot help but think back to their births. Atleast I know I can't. Thinking back to Brody's birth this year, I can't help but think of what a different situation it was from the birth I just recently witnessed.

Five and a half hours, including pushing. Brody was "posterior," or as some call it "sunny side up." I delivered him face up, and it was the first baby I have ever had a hard time pushing out. He came into the world screaming. {Pause.}

Brody Peyton Fraser

December 19th, 2007

1:22pm

6lbs. 5oz.

19.5inches

Alive. Breathing. Screaming.

Another baby born into our arms. Our ignorant parent arms. Ignorant to the fact that in the split second a piece of heaven entered our world, our lives could have changed. In a "not new baby" kind of way. Ignorant to the fact that even though we had an entire nine months of the best possible pre-natal care, took vitamins daily, and had the "everything looks perfect" stamp from an ultrasound technician, our new baby boy whom our lives were wrapped around in that very second could suddenly, very well have been...

not okay. 

As Brody's birthday approaches. I DO find myself thinking back to his day. The very special day when he was welcomed into our arms and hearts forever. The very minute, the very life altering second that he filled his lungs with ever precious, ever delicate life. Don't take this the wrong way because I am not in any way wishing I could substitute one for the other, but what makes Brody so special that he got to stay? Or Sarah... or Michael for that matter...

When actually I should be asking...

What makes Savannah so special,

that she got to go?

Brody I am so thankful

for your healthy, 

living,

life altering,

Birth.

...which was another blessing,
because you were born in a hospital
with NO NICU.
I believe EVERY hospital should have one.
No baby is guaranteed to be "okay."

"Deceased."

I anticipated the arrival of Savannah's birth certificate. It was a big deal to me. Finally receiving a little piece of paper that legally stated to the world, "Savannah was here, and Savannah was ours."

Weeks went by, which turned into months... no birth certificate. I anxiously checked the mail EVERY single day. Hoping that her legal connection to me would be waiting to fill my hands. To fill my heart. I began feeling the weight of never receiving a piece of paper, that weighs less that a pound. I cried to my husband. "Why haven't I received it? What if they mailed it to the wrong address, and someone else holds her existence in their hands?" 

My Aunt Linda, is the Chief Deputy Registrar of Shasta County. She signed my birth certificate. She signed my brothers birth certificate. She signed my cousins birth certificate, and both of my nephews.She even signed Koady's birth certificate. Savannah was my FIRST baby to be born in Shasta County. She has waited many, many years to put her mark on one of my babies certificate of birth.

I don't think she ever thought she would find herself signing what came across her desk for me though. 

For this birth certificate, she knew it had to be perfect. I called and talked to Mercy Hospital Birth Clerk while I was Koady and I were still at Davis with Savannah. She asked my permission to sign it, since I wasn't sure when I would make it back to do so. I told her she could. My Aunt was quick to find out about the decision I had made. She told the birth clerk NOT to sign Savannah's birth certificate. That Koady and I needed to sign it. {I think in her heart, just like mine, she knew...} The birth clerk signed it anyways. It came to my Aunt's desk September first. The day after Savannah had passed. My Aunt called and asked if Koady and I wanted to sign the birth certificate. I told her since it was already done, it would be okay. She DENIED the birth certificate. Which meant more to me than she will ever know. What that means, is they have to reprint it. The parents and doctor have to resign the document. And we did. My husband and I officially signed our Savannah's birth certificate. 

As I will still awaiting the arrival, I finally asked my sister-in-law, "how long did it take for you to get the boy's birth certificates?" She told me about three weeks to a month. A knot formed in my stomach. "That's it," I told myself, "it was mailed to the wrong address."

Curious, my brother and sister-in-law, whom visit my grandmother often, asked my Aunt as she popped in one evening about Savannah's birth certificate. She had a confused look on her face. She printed it off and had given it to my grandmother and my other Aunt the day it had come back across her desk. The thing is though, I haven't been down to see them since shortly after Savannah passed. I believe my presence is too much for them to handle...

They held onto it.

They didn't bring it to me. They didn't mail it.
They didn't call. 

I lived in agony for months wondering where Savannah's life documentation was. And all along, my family had it. My brother and sister-in-law delivered it to me that same night, personally.

It seemed late when the door bell rang. Although it was only around 7:00pm, there was no more light breaking through the darkness. It was rainy and cold. I opened the door to only be surprised and excited from the guests standing on my doorstep. I greeted everyone excitedly. My nephew's smiling faces were the first thing I was graced with. My brother and sister-in-law didn't have the same smiling glow. They had a face of sadness. I asked them what was wrong. My brother outstretched his arm and handed me an envelope. My mom happened to be spending the night doing some Christmas shopping. I was confused. "What's this?" I asked hesitantly. The face of the envelope shared with me what was possibly and finally waiting on the inside. 

CONFIDENTIAL 

RE: SAVANNAH VICTORIA FRASER

DOB: 08/23/2010

I opened it, but was alarmed at the difference between this piece of paper and the rest of them that I have received once before. Stamped across all of Savannah's information:

D E C E A S E D

I had never held something like this in my hands before. Again, I was confused. Everyone watched me as I stared at a piece of paper staring back at me with the obvious words written across what should be, such a beautiful piece of vital record. 

Vital: "Critical;" "Urgently Needed;" "Absolutely Necessary;"

"A Critical Element of the Plan..."

Instead;

Deceased: "Dead person;" "Someone who is no longer alive..." 

Nothing about "Deceased," matches the definition of "Vital." 

"Is this the death certificate? How did you get this?" I asked. "That is Savannah's birth certificate," they replied solemnly. I was okay with that. "Oh. Thank you." And I went back to staring at it. My VITAL piece of paper. My critical, urgently needed, absolutely necessary, critical element of the plan. On the inside I was letting out a huge sigh of relief.  The State of California acknowledges that Savannah's life was real. Her brief time with us was real.

I love that. 

My mother held my brother as he stood in the doorway and cried. Thank you for delivering her to me Nathaniel and Desirae...

Last night, I stood in the kitchen looking at her life once more. I studied every part of that piece of paper. Lastly, my eyes followed the outline of the bold letters written across the page, "Deceased..."

D:

Divine.

E:

Extraordinary.

C:

Cherished always.  

 E:

Embraced.

A:

Angel.

S:

Savannah Victoria.

E:

Envied.

D:
Desired.

A word of honor. I thought of Brody's birth certificate because his birthday is upon us in 10days. No "deceased" declared for the world to see. 

Savannah was DEFIANTLY extraordinary.

I'm so glad to be celebrating your 

birth day Brody.

My Aunt plans on retiring now having finally gotten to sign one of my children's birth certificates. 

Hold on just a little bit longer Aunt Linda... 

you've got one more to do...

How children all grieve differently.

Savannah is important.

But there are three other little people who have stolen a piece of my heart as well. And since I don't ever want to portray Savannah as "my favorite" due to the circumstances, I wanted to introduce you to some of my other heartbeats, & explain how they have been coping with the loss of their baby sister...

Sarah Nicole

Born June 18th, 2004

Our first girl. Was the only girl before Savannah arrived, in a group of four boy grandchildren. She started first grade this year and really is thriving with every second. She is headstrong and opinionated; yet compassionate and and tender hearted. Sarah has wanted nothing more than to have a sister. She nurtures and mothers her brothers, but also recognizes the amount of testosterone that is running through the Fraser household.

Savannah was going to share secrets, makeup, clothes, and Sarah's love for all things girly. This is what Sarah dreamed of atleast. She has handled the loss of Savannah, and the dreams of everything that came with having a baby sister amazingly well. She doesn't like that she never got to see her, and that all she has for memories are photographs. She is old enough to understand most of what has happend. She doesn't like the outcome, but she loves that her sister, the one she has waited for, dances with Jesus. She is optimistic that this next baby will be allowed to stay, and {hopefully} will be a girl. We'll see Sarry girl, we'll see. Just remember sweety, "everything happends for a reason."

Michael David

Born May 22nd, 2005

I had a rough pregnancy with little Michael. Blood clots, depression, and pre-term labor. Michael was born into our world instantly sucking his thumb. He is our highly sensative, high strung, quivery voice, teddy bear. He is a contemplating, internalizing, loving, caring, snuggle bug. And that is exactly what he has done with Savannah's death.

He contemplates. He internalizes.

Every night at dinner, Michael never ceases to amaze me wiht his genuine heartfelt prayers on behalf of the baby girl he treasures. {They are such powerful prayers from a five year old, that one day they almost brought my brother to tears.} Michael prayed for Savannah while she formed in mommies tummy, and Michael continues to pray for her even after her soul has left us. Knowing the size of Michael's heart, when he is grown with a family of his own, they will gather around their dinner table and he will say a little prayer for Savannah.  Thanking the Lord for bringing her home to Him, so he could help her breathe again...

Michael although he hasn't said much, has been showing signs that he isn't handeling her death well, although I am sure he is unaware of it. I don't think he is struggling due to knowing he misses his sister, I think he is dealing with the grief and is unaware of his feelings. Michael loved kindergarten when he first started this year. He looked forward to it all last year, when I homeschooled Miss.Sarah. He did well the first few weeks, and it wasn't until after Savannah's death and the chaos that was our home there after, that Michael turned into someone I had never met before. He has stories everyday of kids being mean to him. I'd watch in the mornings as he would seclude himself from the other children on the playground, and sit by himself. He hasn't been progressing in his learning, as if he has shut out the world. He reminds me daily that he misses Savannah, and is worried I won't be there to pick him up everyday when school is over. This summer, {in an uphill battle} we managed to completely break Michael of sucking his thumb. The age had finally come, and it was beginning to effect his teeth and bite. He didn't suck his thumb during the day, but at night when he was sleeping, in would go the thumb. We were so proud of him, and he was especially proud of himself. Savannah left us. There is now nothing we can do to to keep the finger out of his mouth. Morning.... noon... night... it is there. I don't have the heart to prevent it right now. Last night, as he laid down to go to sleep {staring at a picture he has hidden in a special place of Grandma, while sucking his thumb} he took his finger out of his mouth and asked me, "are Grandma and Grandpa going to move to a new house?" I told him no, as I pulled the blankets up around him. He continued staring at the picture, so I asked, "why?" He proceeded to tell me that if Grandma and Grandpa moved away they wouldn't tell us where they lived and he wouldn't see them again. {Grandma and Grandpa-especially, are Michael's world. His little, stressed out world, revolves around their involvement in our family.} And it dawned on me. Michael, in his own little ways, is associating Savannah's death, the fact that she is a member of our family, but we will never see her again, with everyone who is close to him. We are here now, but are we going to be here in an hour, tomorrow, next week even? Needless to say, Koady and I made the decision to remove Michael from kindergarten this year, so he can spend some quality time here... where he feels safe. Where everything is going to be okay. We will give Michael some much needed time to just grieve... with the comfort of his family surrounding him. I'll always be here Michael, no matter what.

Brody Peyton

Born December 19th, 2007

What is there to say about Brody. {If you knew this little boy, you would know exactly what I mean.} He radiates more energy than the sun. Mischief should have been his middle name. He is unable to sit still... it is a battle to get him to follow directions... his noise level could break sound barriers... he is impatient and impulsive to say the least. My husband refers to him as {which there is no better way to describe him} our force of nature. But as you all may be counting your blessings as you read this that he isn't your son, Brody is also very loving and very funny. His hugs could bring you to tears. And when he grabs your cheeks, looks straight into your eyes, and tells you, "I yub you mommy," you know every second of his utter frusteration is worth it.

Obviously, with Brody being two and a half when Savannah was born, he is unaware of the loss in our family. We were going to have a baby. Okay. Now we have pictures of "baby abanna." Having a new baby is pretty darn cool to Brody. It will never have the same effect on Brody as it does on Sarah and Michael. And though this may seem awful to say, it makes me sad for him. I don't want him to feel the hurt of loosing her, but I know that the hurt makes it real. The hurt makes Savannah real. He will always know that Savannah is his baby sister. That he is her big brother, but he will never fully grasp how major the loss was to us. Thank you Brody, for making me laugh during this time, and definatly keeping me busy...

"Mommy loves all four of you...

...more than you will ever know."

We can use soup.

As I sat down to grace you with my presence, ahem, write my daily blog, I asked Brody what we should write about today. Sometimes I come up short with words. {Imagine that, I know.}


Being he has the nasty flu bug that I had two weeks ago, he helped me throw ingredients into the crock pot this morning for a delicious treat of homemade chicken noodle soup. He thought for a moment and I am not really sure if he has any idea what I was talking about, but he did reply.

"We could always use soup."

-Brody Peyton

Your right Brody. We can always use soup. Everyone in the world, every person that we pass by unsuspecting in the stores or parking lots could use a big bowl of soup. We all have our trials that we are facing. But the question is... how often do we extend our hearts to those that may have just lost a child, a job, a pet, or even their way. We can be their chicken soup, and they will appreciate it.

Trust me, I know...

"Be the change you want to see in the world."

-Ghandi

Don't forget to flush.

My youngest son today was in the middle of "using the bathroom," and if you knew my youngest you would know there are a million and one things that can go wrong in the few seconds he is in the bathroom. He is potty trained, and has been for awhile, but he still needs some extra reminders on what steps are supposed to be taken when... "using the bathroom." So as I intently listened for toilet paper being unrolled, {...and unrolled...and unrolled} or cabinets and drawers being opened, I also reminded him of those few things he tends to forget. "Don't forget to flush, and wipe." I then heard him singing a little song over and over again. "Don't forget to flush. Don't forget to wipe." This continued for a good five minutes, before he came running out... forgetting to flush... and wipe.

And I thought of something.

Our lives, are never ending learning experiences. We never really stop learning. It may change from learning what you should do in the bathroom, but God withholds things and presents them in our everyday life. From the good to the bad, we are all experiencing something. Some kind of lesson. We can try to prepare ourselves for what we know we should do, maybe hum a little song, but even still we can just forget what to do. After all, we are just lost sheep right?

That goes right along with the so called "grieving process." I don't know what the grieving process is exactly. I've read many different things, but everything has a different answer. People have told me that everyone goes through grief differently. I've also been told that my "regrets" were part of my grieving process. But since I have learned to let go of those, does that mean that my grief is over?

There is an empty spot in my heart, yes.

{But I don't hurt. I don't cry.}

Before the funeral I was told I was in the numb stage, and it would hit me in a few weeks. A few weeks passed, and nothing. I felt awful that everyone cried harder for Savannah than I did. I questioned myself. "Am I not a good mother because I am not crying? Because I am not emotionally devistated like these people? What is wrong with me?"  But I learned something. I wasn't crying, because Savannah was nestled in her mommy and daddy's heart... not everyone else's. Not in the same way. And God was here. God is here. I will never be able to express enough how thankful I am for Him and everything he has done for me. 

What can you learn today?