It's no fairy tale.

Once upon a time, this blog space was used to write about, my daily mundane activities. Once upon a time I posted pictures with stories about how I gave the dog a flea bath, or how my back window is smugdy with fingerprints. (Google doesn't like the word smudgy. Oh google, you obviously don't have children...)

Then September of 2010, my blog grew a heavy heart. This became a place where I could share the story of my daughter, when the world barely got to know her. I hoped if anyone visited regularly, it'd be my family. So they might be able to understand what we were going through behind closed doors. That they might want to continue remembering Savannah with us. Along side us. And more than anything it was a place where I could write, and come back to, just so I could remember her. So I could remember her story. So I could feel her again and again and again. I wanted to shout from the highest mountain, and for people to not just hear me, but truly listen. "This is what a year without our baby was like." And quicker than I ever could have imagined, that year was gone. But incredibly, as a mother, as her mother, my grief did not stop there. Everyday is a new day. Everyday I am given reasons to smile. Everyday I wake to my beautiful children. The ones who wadded the storm with us, and the one whom followed our goodbye. Everyday is a reminder that God does love us. And everyday there is something out there that remind us of her.

The word "grief" will always hover. It will never be as suffocating as it was the first week, the first month, or the first year, but it will always be there. Because she very much does reside in our hearts. She will never ever go away. So you can think, that because I choose to still write about her, I have no hope. You can think that because her pictures still and will always hang in our home, that I need to let it go. You can worry about me, tire of me speaking her name, or smile awkwardly when I acknowledge my deceased daughter as my child. I am okay with that. But this is apart of my story, and you have never (or that I hope) walked in my shoes. You never kissed Savannah's tiny quarter sized hand. You never kissed her cold, yet still chubby cheeks. You did not carry her, deliver her, or love her anywhere near the way that I do.

I have never walked in any other mother's shoes. I don't know their grief. I know my own. And it will always be there. As long as I am her mother.

I received a junk email the other day. Asking me, "would you like to boost traffic to your blog?" It listed suggestions on how to do just that. Post everyday. Being my family, are usually the people who don't read my blog, no one really wants to hear that we went camping, were mauled by mosquitoes, and froze to death. And no one really wants to hear that my mothers day was spent mostly crying. -Post pictures in every blog. My blog is mainly about living life without Savannah. My pictures are limited. There will never be new pictures of her. I take a picture of her gravesite at every visit, but to others, one headstone picture is plenty.

A few days before mother's day, my mother-in-law finally got a chance to give us copies of the pictures she took of Savannah, when she came to see all three of us at UC Davis. I had never seen any of them. There were fifteen. The last "new" fifteen pictures I will ever see of my daughter in my life. So here you go junk email. A picture on my post. I really don't think it will boost my traffic though...

This mothers day was not easy for me. A week before I overheard a contest on the radio. I turned up the volume to listen.

"Call in and tell us YOUR perfect mother's day.

One lucky winner will get their dream day."

They then played an example "wish" from a caller. Not to be surprised, as mother's day is actually very superficial...

"You see, I truly love my two girls....

But I would love an evening with just my husband.

We would take a helicopter ride over the city,

and eat dinner at a restaurant we could never afford otherwise."

My husband asked, "what would your perfect mother's day be?"

I dunno I shrugged, and turned the radio down.

Obviously I didn't win. Because obviously I didn't call in. May 13th, I woke up and took a shower. Then proceeded to sob as I told my husband about why I was hurting so badly. I said, "that radio contest. They said to describe your perfect mothers day. If I called in all I would say would be, I just want my baby back. And you know what. I know they would never ever pick me as the winner."

Mother's Day is about being a mother. You are always acknowledged for the living children you have. Expectant mothers are even acknowledged. But mother's day is a painful reminder for mothers who are and always will be missing one. I am Savannah's mother too. And I will never have my perfect mothers day. Another example of how I will always carry this grief in my pocket. My mothers day, the mothers day for women who loved and lost, will never be perfect again. Because our lives? It's no fairy tale.  

 

"The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen, nor touched, 

but are felt in the heart" 

- Helen Keller

We do it with love.

Yesterday, and for the very first time in my life, I met a blogging friend. Face to face. Charis (pronounced Ka-Reese) over at, at the gate called beautiful, has been so kind and encouraging as I wrote about life with Savannah. Or life there after.

See, her and her husband, just welcomed their fifth addition into their family. Hosea. Oh he is beautiful. Truly perfect. (Go visit her page, and you will see just how adorable he is!) She is truly a woman after my own heart, having five precious little ones, and a marriage that is few and far between these days. By that I mean, a genuine, real, true love kind of thing.

She made Davis the sweetest little crocheted hat when he was born. She sent some of her own little hand me down clothes, and really made me feel that Davis was loved; Treasured; Adored.

Don't mind the yucky camera phone picture!

I know, I know. Isn't the hat adorable?! She took time from her own life... her own busy, pregnant, (at the time) mommy life, to make something, for my tiny (at the time) baby. 

So obviously I couldn't resist to do the exact same. I made sweet Hosea a teal, and brown blanket covered in wide eyed owls. (Owls are in. And owls are cute. Just so you know.) At first I wandered aimlessly up and down the isles of Joann fabrics, looking for something with giraffes. You know, because giraffes are Savannah's thing. I wanted to share a piece of what makes me think of Savannah, a deep seeded piece of my heart, with this loved, treasured, adored baby to be. But just as I have come to find, "giraffe" is not so easy to find in "boy." It is right now, a very popular "girl" attire. And I will be completely honest, it breaks my heart over and over again, when I see the giraffy print girly things...Outfits, blankets, towels, socks, pants, pacifiers, bottles, nursery decor... trust me when I say, the list goes on and on. 

Hello sweet girl!

There are times that I do though, want to share what made Savannah, Savannah, with others. And Hosea's blanket was definitely one of those times. Yet again, and not much to my surprise anymore, there was not a single giraffe fabric, that could even be "gender neutral." We spent at least an hour, my four children and I that is, examining every last fabric for the potential snuggled recipient. On our last rounds, feeling very much like Goldie Locks," I found the owls. And the owls found me. The owls were Davis approved. And baby approved is like a five star rating in my book. ;)

As I drove that blanket over to her house last night, I was giddy. And a little nervous. Here I was about to meet a friend, one I felt like I knew already, yet I had never once been in her presence. We pulled onto her street, and I instantly saw her mini van parked in the garage. (Minivan families unite!) I got out of MY minivan, and of course unloaded Davis from his car seat. My heart smiled as I walked to the door and could hear the voices of numerous little boys. Did I neglect to mention, all five of her children are BOYS?! 

I. love. it!

We chatted for a bit, and I was thrilled to meet her family. I awed over the baby (*swoon*) and it felt just as normal in person, as it does from her computer screen to mine. 

Her life is (as I know from experience) busy and chaotic. She probably finds herself humbled and at a loss for words when people ask her "how do you do it all?!" And like me, she probably just does it. Naturally. With lots of hugs, kisses, noise, grace, faith, and love. 

Because that how mommies of five do it.

Congratulations Charis & Bill. ♥

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.  

The month of thankfuls.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'm no super mom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Time.

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." 

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. 

   

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...

The ones who bring us up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It is far from simple.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                                                     -Philippians 4:13

 

The day after tomorrow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No one knows about that day or hour, 

not even the angels in heaven, 

nor the Son, but only the Father ."

                                            -Mark 13:32

{But ONLY the Father.}

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

The Rapture::

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

"...Then we who are alive and remain 

shall be caught up together with them 

in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. 

And thus we shall always be with the Lord."

                                                         - 1 Thessalonians 4:17

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

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

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

Behind closed doors.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Lets see if this changes the outcome.

Putting my mind to it.

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

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

"Charter Schools in Redding, California."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.}}