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.  

It's not as easy as you think.

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.

A different life.

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.}

Distractions.

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."

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. 

   

In the rear view mirrors.

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.

Since people want to hear a sad story.

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...

Constant.

"...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.

If that's what it takes to praise you.

"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.}}

I'll fight for you.

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.

Your baby has changed?

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.

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."

To see you again.

Last night, being my husband is out of town for a few nights, I sat in the silence and looked at Savannah's picture that sits above our computer. My thoughts took me back to her sweet silky whisps. We have been lucky enough to save so many "Savannah treasures." Atleast what I like to refer to her memorabilia as. In her little pink box, there is a folded peice of paper, with a few clippings of Savannah's beautiful brown hair. I remember starting at it after she was no more. My mother was still staying at our house, in fact I believe it was before her funeral even.

In deep thought that night, I said, "if we used this hair to clone her, would that baby still have the same problems?"  All I knew was I wanted her. I wanted her back. I wanted her to be born healthy and at home where I wished she was at that moment. Savannah's DNA would indeed with hold the same congenital disorder. Savannah's match, would live for the same eight days. Savannah's clone could only touch us briefly before she spent eternity somewhere else. But you know what? {Even if let's say this "cloning" idea was real, because we all know it isn't unless you are a goat.} Savannah's identical person, would never ever be Savannah. I felt as though I took in every moment I possibly could while we were there with her. But now looking back, I feel as though eight days were not enough. I wish I could have soaked in more. Whatever that is I might have missed that is. Because I am sure I missed something...

Today, I scanned though pictures looking for the picture we took of the hair we had clipped... So we could remember where on her head this hair once was growing. Where this hair was when it would have turned to ringlets. Where it would sit for her first piggy tails. As I scanned through all of those eight glorious days, I saw this picture. Taken right after I had sobbed hysterically into my hands...

Here we were. Just finding out that we were loosing her. Right away you notice my eyes. They are the only thing engaging you in this picture. Notice they are glossy and red. They are puffy and swollen. With out speaking a word you can see my heartbreaking from one simple look. But, when I looked again, I saw my own strength. I looked at the camera, and behind the left over "teary eyes" I cracked a smile. I remember in this moment thinking to myself, you will want to look back on these pictures, and see something more than a sad face. So I looked directly into the camera. My heart was in fact broken here, but knowing my thoughts at that moment, my heart is also screaming, I am so proud to be Savannah's mommy.

I have never cried when my babies have been born. I have only been overwhelmed with sheer happiness and joy. Except of course, the day that Savannah turned purple. Tears of fear, are a far different experience. One I pray none of you will ever have to face, and if you have faced them, my heart breaks for you as well. I know when this new little one is born, there will be tears. Heavy. Deep. Anguish. Relief.... Brave. And then I will look directly into the camera. Not only for the new person in my arms, but for the little person I have experienced the same emotion over once before. She will be there. My sweet Savannah.

You lift me up.

As a stay at home mom, there are tendencies to compare what we do on a daily basis, to our husband's jobs. {Maybe vis versa if you are a stay at home dad... not that those would be reading my blog.}

I know I am guilty of this. But once after Savannah passed my husband said something to me. {And sometimes it takes people close to our hearts to make us realize obvious things.} He said, "I have a boss to answer to for everything that I do. If I don't do my job with 100% I get fired, and I am the provider. You don't have to answer to anyone if you don't accomplish everything in a day."

What he said was exactly right. He cannot pick and choose what he IS and ISN'T going to do in a day. If a boss told him he had to get on his hands and knees to scrub the tile grout, he would do it. Willingly. As where a homemaker might contemplate whether or not the tile really needed it, and may brush it aside for tomorrow's chores.

But my husband was wrong about one thing. We do have to answer to someone. Maybe not directly, but as wives, housewives none the less, we should consciously be answering to our husbands. When looking at our "to do" list, we should want to get on our hands and knees to scrub the grout for everything our husbands do for us.

Lately, and honestly, I have neglected my own daily chores. I squeak by minimally. There have been dishes in the sink... The floors have been unvaccumed and unmopped... And though the laundry has been folded, I haven't had the drive to hang anything up or put it away. Finding the clothes we desire for the day, has become like a Lewis and Clark expedition. {Especially in the dark, when I am up getting Sarah ready for school.} I recently talked to my mom on the phone, and was telling her about my "situation." She laughed as I tried to make excuses for my mess, by saying, "I'll get around to it...it's just... filth."

My husband... my best friend... hasn't said ONE word about the chaos that finds its way in every now and again since Savannah passed. But I discovered my inner "Obsessive compulsive" friend that usually sits on my shoulder today. I cannot take this mess, anymore!!! And it shouldn't matter if I could.

The other night we watched "Fireproof." It's a Christian movie about a couple salvaging their broken relationship by taking the forty day "Love Dare." I love this movie. And each time it is more and more inspirational. {It may not be appealing to some of you, but I know there are my ladies out there that might love this movie as much as I!} I applied the movie to my messy house this time... And how gracious "my boss" has been.

Have you ever heard the quote,
"you are only as strong as your weakest link?"

Well, I am ridding myself of my weakest links.

This weekend, this exciting three day weekend, my mom and dad are taking the kids for THREE... yes I said THREE, whole nights!! Being my husband will be at work some of that time, I am planning on buying plastic tubs to re-organize the storage. {Savannah's furniture needs a new place to stay.} I am finally taking the bags and bags of clothes that have been sitting in the back of our car for months now to the Salvation Army. {If anyone wants any great condition boys or girls hand-me-downs, don't hesitate to let me know!} I plan on FINALLY packing the Christmas decorations, lights, and ornaments, that have been shoved into the laundry room for the past two weeks. {Also into new plastic tubs.}

I am getting the carpets cleaned... all of them. We gave up on the "no shoes in the house rule" after Savannah passed, since so many people were in and out. They are now gross! I will be cleaning each room from top to bottom... even the baseboards have been neglected. Bathrooms need to sparkle, and floors need to shine. Lastly I will be washing the car... inside and out.

Then... there will be no hidden messes cluttering up my mind.

No more "weakest links."

My husband deserves it... And so do I.

Savannah would want it that way.

And then...

Dinner & a Movie.

Just the two of us.
Maybe, just maybe,
we deserve it.

Sometimes you just have to laugh.

If you don't already know me, let me let you in on a little secret... I love a good laugh. And a lot of the time, I love to be the one behind the jokes. The creator of laughter. You could say, sarcasm plays a strong role in my personality.


It didn't have anything to do with Savannah's death, the fact that my husband and I looked for humor during a rough time, it is just a part of our everyday routines. We welcomed Savannah, even though she couldn't be here with us, into our family with our typical jokes and laughter...

...After all she was born into a world of laughter.

The way we look at it is,

you need laughter during the rough times too.

Finding happiness again is most important.

And that my friends... we don't lack.

{Let me take you back.}

Do you remember back in my very first story of Savannah, how I mentioned in a brief statement, that I packed mine, and my husband's clothes? If you don't that's okay, because I will say again, sadly, I packed mine and my husband's clothes. It was 1am when we ran home to grab a suitcase to leave for UC Davis. I was a wreck, and I was greeted at the door by all of Savannah's precious things. The things I received only a day prior. Tags and packaging still dangling on every blanket, outfit, bottle, and accessory. I cried as I tried to throw things into the suitcase. I really couldn't think straight, I just knew the bag was supposed to be filled. I cried as my mom stood in my bedroom trying to fold the clean sheets that lay on the floor at the edge of my bed. We were all anxious, nervous, trying to keep our minds moving before we broke down mentally. My dad, who had been asleep on the couch, sat downstairs talking to Koady, trying to muster up words of encouragement about how sometimes these things happen and there is no real explanation. He knew he needed to be the father that held  him up when he couldn't stand anymore. The suitcase was filled, and we left on a new journey in life. 

While we were down in Sacramento, we stayed at a place called the Kiwanis house. It is the same thing as the Ronald Mcdonald house, only it is funded by UC Davis itself. {Our stay there could be a blog post in itself.} When we were finally checked into our room around 2:30pm August 24th, Koady hadn't slept in 24hrs, and I was going on 48hrs since I spent the night before in labor. The only room they had available was a "three" bed, and they told us if a two bed came available we would have to move. I was fine with that as long as it meant I had a bed to sleep in right now. We planned on taking a nap before our next visit to see Savannah. I took a shower, and Koady took one right after me. When he came out of the bathroom, he shifted through the clothes in the suitcase. "Um, where are my clothes?" I looked at him with a blank stare on my face. "Right there..." He again shifted through what laid before him. You could tell he didn't want to upset me, but he hesitantly said, "all I see are some socks, two pairs of boxers, my holey moley tee-shirt, and fifteen pairs of basketball shorts." I began laughing hysterically. He proceeded to rifle through the clothes , maybe hoping to discover something more than what the suitcase was offering. He began laughing as well and asked, "where you planning on going jogging once you got down here?" Needless to say he explained to every nurse and doctor the very next day why he was wearing his "holey moley tee shirt." Laura drew us directions to the nearest Target, where we picked up... well everything I didn't. {You know, clothes... toiletries... those very unnecessary things. *wink wink*}

The very next day, we did receive a phone call that it was time to switch rooms. In order to do so, we needed to collect our towels and put them in a laundry bag, as well as our bedding. I went into the bathroom to round up our towels and I put them in the bag, while Koady began stripping the beds.

The moment that I walked out of the bathroom Koady pulled the fitted sheet off of the bed I had been sleeping in. There was a clear mattress protector covering a huge dried puddle of blood. "I was sleeping on that?!" I screamed!  Koady once again, began laughing uncontrollably. Me being the optimist I am, tried to comfort myself in the fact I just discovered the missing crime scene from CSI. "Maybe someone just had a bloody nose?" My dear husband, whom was still laughing, managed to muster out, "Yeah, maybe they got a bloody nose after someone came in here stabbed them three times, until their head exploded!" There was no controlling our laughter then. 

Oh Kiwanis house, I am so grateful for you.

Your overwhelming smell of roast chicken, and murder mattress...

NOT so much.

And then Savannah passed.

We were back in Redding, preparing for her funeral and making arrangements with my mom. {Oh, we are so thankful for you!} As we stood in the Redding cemetery office waiting to discuss purchasing a plot we giggled over random things, to take the awkwardness out of the situation. A younger lady, came from the back and stared at us with a confused look on her face. She said, "caaaaan I  help you???"  My mom replied, "yes, we need to talk to someone about a burial plot."  She still seemed confused. {Might of been her first day, I am not sure?} "Arrrre you here to bury someone???"  We all stood in disbelief before Koady sarcastically answered, "No, we be here to bury our treasure, Arrrrrrrr." We all began laughing, including my mom, as she replied on behalf of my husband and I, "yes an infant." Needless to say, Koady got a motherly slap when the lady left the room, but it still couldn't suppress her laughter.

There are millions of story's such a this. Little moments needed, during a time where sadness and grief can overcome you.

Sometimes... you just have to laugh.

I know Savannah is giggling right along with us...

...While God rolls his eyes.

When your alone.

It's 11:25pm here. I am up. I am awake. This is the first night, that my heartache is keeping me awake. As tears stream down my face, I want so badly for someone to be there..............

Savannah, are you there?

It's me mommy.

I've been so strong for you little one,

But tonight? Tonight I cannot be strong anymore.

I just had the phone cradled in my hands. Wishing for a voice of comfort to come in through the other end. But sadly, for my sake... There is no one. There will never be anyone.

No one to trust in a time like this.

No one who wouldn't judge me. 

No one who wouldn't be made to feel uncomfortable.

No one who isn't half asleep.

Just no one.

Everyone is tucked in their beds, where I should be right now. Everyone probably had no trouble falling to sleep tonight. I am sure no one thought of the fact that my baby doesn't sleep in the bed next to me where she should. But I did.


I hate the pain of the world. I hate that there is devastation this great. I hate feeling the darkness of lonely road creeping in. I hate feeling that no matter how hard I pray, at this very moment, nothing will help me overcome these feelings.


I just want this pain to be over. But it will never be over. For everyone else it will, but for me? It will always be a shadow that follows me everywhere I go.


My husband and I went round and round in a conversation tonight trying to avoid discussing what my feelings were actually about. The additional pains and frustrations of life lead me here. Feeling the turmoil of loosing Savannah. 

Tonight, I just want her back.

It would make all of the other pains

of the world seem inadequate.

And the last thing I want to hear...

is how I should be feeling.

Because right now?

Right now,

I just want to feel like this.