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.

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.

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." 

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.

Intuitions.

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

Awful right?

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

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

But she couldn't stay.

And now I want five.

But it isn't happening.

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

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

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

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

Let me tell you... there's not. 

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

A lot.

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

This is life of a grieving mother.

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

But scar tissue will always remain. 

Saying goodbye to our SUV was more than an automobile.

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

Similarities.

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

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

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

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

Reminders that she too was reborn...

Just like the delicate pink rose buds;

she bloomed from her own trials and tribulations.

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.}}

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

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

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

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

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

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

Purple balloons will be released with everyone writing their names, 

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

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

Savannah's heart, when it gets closer to time

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

Any day now.

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

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

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

Lightning McQueen Fishing Pole?-Check

Diapers?- Check

Hooks?-Check

Bottles?-Check

Live worms?- Gross but check

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

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

One difference? 

I bet SHE caught something...

Life doesn't wait for you.

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

It may be controversial to some.

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

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

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

...Forever.

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

 -Jim Bob Duggar

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

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

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

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

Because life won't wait for you.

A Different Child.

A Different Child 

By: Pandora MacMillian

People notice there's a special glow around you.

As you grow, surrounded by love,

Never doubting you are wanted;

Only look at the pride and joy

In your mother and father's eyes.

And if sometimes between the smiles,

There's a trace of tears,

One day you'll understand.

You'll understand there was once another child.

A different child who was in their hopes and dreams.

That child will never outgrow the baby clothes.

That child will never keep them up at night.

In fact, that child will never be any trouble at all.

Except sometimes, in a silent moment,

When mother and father miss so much that different child.

May hope and love wrap you warmly

And may you learn the lesson forever...

How infinitely precious.

How infinitely fragile.

Is this life on earth.

One day, as a young man or woman,
You may see another mother's tears,

another father's silent grief

Then you, and you alone,

will understand and offer the greatest comfort.

When all hope seems lost,

you will tell them with great compassion,

I know how you feel.

I'm only here 

Because my mother tried again.

We are in fact pregnant.

Thank you all for your unbridled prayers and support.

We will continue needing them from now until...

well forever.

UnCensored thoughts.

As I am sure you know, since it is no secret around here, A Story Unfolding is written to document my year after saying goodbye to Miss. Savannah. We are two days shy of the "five month" mark. My husband and I walked hand in hand through the cold night air recently. "It has almost been half a year," I observed.

{Really???}

Time has gone by so quickly and so many things have occured in our lives since, "Savannah." But no! No it can't be almost half a year since she was here. That is such a long time without her. How have we made it this far? How are we smiling, and laughing, and breathing? How are we okay, and living... half a year later?

{{Faith}}

As I have made it no secret, we have been trying to conceive. {With no such luck.} Being we began our efforts in October, that means we have only been trying for three short months. I was already beginning to get a little discouraged. I found out last weekend, that I am not alone in feeling this way. My husband was feeling the weight of this absence as well. He came right out and said it. No sugar coating. Right to the point. "I know. I want a baby too." In conversation, I asked, "what if Savannah was it? What if God gave her to us for eight days, but that is as far as He can take us?" My husband, always optimistic, said, "maybe it is. And maybe we will then adopt." 

My heart could adopt and my heart would adopt. I don't believe that a child has to be yours by blood to become yours.  If that was and is the plan that God bestows before us, than I would welcome that gift with open arms. But I cannot say, a part of me wouldn't miss that opportunity that was stripped from my hands with Savannah. 

To nurture, carry, and cradle a soul in my womb. A life in existence only because of the love two people share with one another. To labor through pain, for a far greater and bigger purpose. To touch and hold that little person for the first time, and look into the eyes of life that you already love unconditionally.  To spend the rest of your life cherishing and molding your future.

This month, I have tried to hold all hopes to a minimum. I have gotten on my hands and knees each night, and shared my deepest desires with the Lord. He hears me. I trust He does. Like I said, it has only been three months...

My husband, again the optimist of the family, believes that I am in fact pregnant. In fear of sure devastation once more, I am telling myself that I am not pregnant and any "symptoms" I may be experiencing right now are all in our heads. I will not get my hopes up in regards to, "having a smaller bladder" currently. And I will not be taking a pregnancy test this month. Five more days, and we will know either way.

I guess I'll let you know.

Say a little prayer. I know I will.

We are not who we once were.

I read a blog post from a dear friend of mine, whom is also an angel mom to the most beautiful baby boy. She celebrated her 30th birthday, and though seconds, minutes, days, and months have passed since we sent our babies to a place we cannot yet be, she acknowledges that in a moment we can be triggered. "Proceed with Caution" she said.  

"Proceed with Caution." 

This... was the perfect statement.

We stand united. Families who have lost a child. We live in a place, just like our babies, that no one else can be either. This weekend my husband and I were by ourselves. The kids were gone for three entire days, and the time I spent with my husband was heavenly. I forgot some of the things that are always there between us. I love him everyday ofcourse, but in three short days, I was able to fall in love with him again. We spent our evenings enjoying each others company. Uninterrupted. Friday evening we went out to dinner. In an instant, my eyes locked with a beautiful baby boys. No one in the world, other than my husband, can see my world crumble in moments such as these. No one in the world realizes that I notice and glance at every baby that comes into my path these days. No one in the world realizes that simple, "everyday" comments may sounds completely differently to someone who hasn't lost a baby. Unless you have lost a child, you have to walk a little lighter, and tread a little softer than you did once before. You have to make a conscious decision to think sometimes before you speak. "Proceed with Caution."

I may have a baby bassinet that would take up "less space" if it was broken down, and taken apart. This is one of those moments, a "normal" person doesn't stop to think. I'm sorry if the bassinet that was supposed to cradle my Savannah takes up too much space in your eyes. No I am NOT going to take it apart. Period. If I have to keep it in my bedroom the rest of my life then so be it. You may hear a space saving idea.... here is what I hear: Savannah takes up too much space... or time to move on... or it's just furniture.

This is what I have of her. This bassinet... that would save space being taken apart so we can shove it in the back corners, IS what Savannah has left behind.

{Made with love for angel mommies and daddies.}

Visit Tiffany here, and bask in Mr. Julius' heavenly beauty:

 Holy Pee Stick Batman 

Thank you Tiffany,

For showing me it was okay to say this...

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.

My brick.

"Does it ever go away?"

"This Feeling?"

"No I don't think it does, Not for me it hasn't."

"It changes though."

"How?"

"I don’t know. The weight of it, I guess. At some point it becomes bearable. It turns into something you can crawl out from under, and carry around — like a brick in your pocket. And you forget it every once in a while, but then you reach in for whatever reason and there it is: Oh, right. That. Which can be awful. But not all the time. Sometimes it’s kinda ... not that you like it exactly, but it’s what you have instead of your son, so you don’t wanna let go of it either. So you carry it around. And it doesn’t go away, which is ..."

"What?"

"Fine...actually."

-Rabbit Hole, 2010

I insisted we watch this movie, "The Rabbit Hole," for my birthday. When I saw the previews for it, it actually didn't really strike me as "a good movie." Not that a movie about loosing a child would be a good movie. But I thought they portrayed the story quite wrong from what I saw in the three minute excerpts. Boy was I wrong. And not in a good way. I personally, living the plot of the story, "loosing a child," say BOO to this movie. 

The emotional rollercoaster these two parents are on, yes, but sadly they make "angel parents," seem as though they completely go off the deep end. I'm sure there are some. But for people, who have never experienced a loss of this greatness, they are reaching out in this movie like an outsider peeking through someones window. Never have I seemed emotionally "unstable" as the mother seems to be in this movie. Eight months pass, and she cannot even bring herself to be intimate with her husband, and she drops out of her "bereaved parents support group." The husband, whom decides to continue to attend, strikes up a "fling" with one of the women who has been in the group for eight years, and who's husband happens to leave her at the exact same time that the wife leaves the group. The end up doing drugs together, and come very close to having an affair. 

Aside from me disagreeing with the story line, of what could and should have been a very honorable movie for those who have lost a child and those who carry that "brick" around in their pocket, the one quote from the movie was so true. And so very deep... And it sums it all up. 

 A brick in our pocket.

Everyone who thought they lost something in the moment of our childs death has moved on. (Or they never mention it to the parents, which I assure you is far worse.) Not being judgmental or critical, just acknowleging reality. As where, even when the darkness subsides for mothers and fathers who loose their precious creations, there is always a weight that they carry through day to day life. 

I woke this morning to prepare Sarah for school. Same daily repition. Get her dressed. Make her breakfast. Make her lunch while she brushes her teeth. Brush & do her hair. Shoes and jackets on. Out the door. The sun cannot even peek through the clouds today, so a grey darkness loomed around us. It wasn't until I was driving up our street that I realized...

Life continues after we say goodbye.

We may not want it to, and we may not accept it.

But it does. 

We wake every morning,

and do our best to complete the tasks at hand.

Whether it be taking our children to school,

or doing the dishes in the sink.

The pain lessens, yes,

but through every single daily chore we accomplish,

there it is...

A weight no one else can see.

No one else can feel.

Some people choose not to even notice.

Our brick.

And the movie is exactly right...

We reach for it every once and awhile.

Because it is all we have,

 from loosing our sons or daughters.

And we would never want that weight to go away.

Whether we are a mother...

Or a Father.  

Were you ever really.

There is no more. No more "Savannah's room." Yesterday afternoon, like a infected wound from a stabbing with a butterknife, I took every last outfit off of the tiny pink hangers. I took down every last blanket, towel, washcloth, shampoo, and lotion. I removed butterflies from the walls, and giraffes from the shelf. There is no longer quotes on the walls, or teddy bear nightlights to brighten the darkness. Every screw on her crib was wound tighter than I ever remembered them being. It was as if the grip each bolt had wasn't ready to let go of her yet either. But it was time. And now, there is a quiet emptiness. Far quieter than before. Because now, though her presence there never was, it never will be either. It is so sad that a life, so small yet so important, can be contained into plastic rubbermaid tubs. I wonder if the warehouse workers ever stop to think about the things that those tubs might one day hold. Unused baby outfits? Probably not.

I went to the Social Security office yesterday as well. Unfortuate for me, after having filled out the paperwork at the hospital for Savannah's social security number, when we resubmitted the birth certificate, it was after she had passed, so they denied the application for needing one. Little did I know, until a few days ago. Tax season is upon us. For the mere eight days Savannah was "ours" we can claim her as a dependant. {For those woman out there who may not be aware of this, yes how ever short their life was, you can claim them on your taxes. And yours and their medical bills are also tax deducatable! Just for the record!}

I walked up to the counter when my number was called. "I need to apply for a social security number for my daughter," was all I could say. After all how do you spit that mouth full out in one sentence? I handed my paperwork through the slit in the window. The lady looked as though I was trying to pull a fast one on her. "Deceased?" I tried to explain the situation. She excused herself from her desk for quite some time. I sat there corraling my three kids from wiping sticking fingerprints on the window and coloring on the counter. When she finally returned {literally fifteen minutes later} I think she really didn't know what to say to me. All she could muster was "what do you need this for?" Trying to refrain from coming back with many sarcastic comments that flashed through my mind in that brief second {to get some great interest rates on a credit card, to steal her identity, file for social security} I answered honestly. "I need to file our taxes." She looked at me with that heartbroken look I've become all to familiar with receiving. 

"I'm going to be frank with you... You can get a "TIN" number for her from the IRS if filing taxes is all you needed a social security number for. You will NEVER EVER need a social security number for her after this tax season. For ANYTHING. I'm so sorry, we never have these things come across our desk" she said. She passed Savannah's birth certificate and social security application back through the window. This is Redding. It may be a "city," but it is still very much a small town. As I got my things together, and got up from the chair many people in the small waiting area sitting behind me were staring. For a split second I wished I wasn't standing in the Social Security Administration office alone, while everyone stared at me gather my remaining children up hand in hand and walk to my car from being denied a Social Security number for my Savannah. 

She will NEVER need one. For ANYTHING...

Just like the nursery that once was. 

I went back into her bedroom one last time last night. I picked up her famous pink polka dot blanket. I smelled it as hard as I possibly could. But there was still nothing. Ofcourse I didn't think I would smell her again, but I hoped one last lingering scent might be left in the fabric particles. One more? But I was denied her beautiful smell, just as I was her social security number.

Got Milk?

I've always been a Similac mom. Back when Sarah was born I started with Nestle Good Start. Which that was so long ago it is now called "Gerber Good Start." Sarah's tummy couldn't handle the lactose in the milk so she had to be put on a special {expensive} formula. Similac Alimentum. It had a putrid smell. Almost like Ants. And it smelled even worse the second time around, running down your shirt sleeve. But it worked, and kept her tummy happy and her growth healthy. So I officially became the Similac supporter. Michael used the regular, as did Brody when I was finished breastfeeding with each of them.

This year Enfamil came out with a new stage of formula. A stage for newborn. A stage for infant. And lastly a stage for toddler. It makes sense. We all can relate that each of those stages are extremely different and require their own sensitive nutrients. I read about it in advertisements in my pregnancy magazines while awaiting Savannah. I knew she would be a breastfed baby in the beginning, so I didn't give it much thought. We are all creatures of habit. Once a Similac mom, always a Simliac mom right? That is until the end of August when Similac recalled 5million cans of their product due to Beetle remains. I thought back to the new Enfamil line available on the market... But Savannah got the good stuff up until the day she passed. 

 About two weeks ago, I received a package in the mail. Things still arrive in the mail congratulating us on our "new baby" every once and awhile. I've gotten used to it now... 

Email's announcing Savannah's weekly milestones. 

Coupons for diapers... formula... baby goodness.

And now...

An actual can of formula.

"Enfamil Newborn"

I've always loved the smell of baby formula. {With the exception of Alimentum.} And here was a small container of a formula I would never get the pleasure of introducing to precious butterfly Playtex bottles. I contemplated that evening what I would do with an unneeded can of milk... 

Should I save it for the next baby? 

I checked the expiration date. 

Yep, it would still be good. 

Should I donate it to someone who needs it? 

After all there are families with babies who are struggling, 

and formula is expensive.

 Should I open it and do what I know

in my heart I want to do?

Yes.

I opened the can and took a deep

long smell of the familiar,

but very distant smell.

The can sat in my kitchen since the evening I received it. I knew when it was time I would know what to do with it. Last night, one scoop at a time, I held the formula in my hand as I rinsed it down the drain. The smell of fresh baby bottle filled my kitchen, and in an instant it was gone. I smelled my hand after enjoying the faint remainder of the baby bottle that would never be. I tucked the empty can into Savannah's treasure box. 

"Savannah's first bottle" I told myself.

"Savannah's first bottle."

Where our heart is.

After Savannah passed, as most of you know, I created the photo slide show of her "little life." I edited and re-edited it. I knew it had to be just perfect. Something that I would have forever, but also my tribute, her mother's tribute to her time here. 

The days after it was created, Koady and I watched it over and over. We uploaded it to youtube, and shared her video with anyone we talked about Savannah with. Our mission first thing each morning, was to check and see how many people had watched it... and ofcourse to watch it ourselves. Again and again throughout the day. 

Time has passed. Savannah's video isn't watched much anymore in our household. Occasionally I'll stop in to take a peek of a different time. But it doesn't feel the same either. In the beginning there was comfort, awe, and inspiration in those first grieving days. Now it feels almost like a time that never really existed. Almost as though we captured a dream on video. 

Things are easier now. We don't need that extra crutch we once used in a slide show. I am so thankful that we have so many beautiful pictures of our girl. She will always be displayed in the picture frames on our walls. She will always be a piece of the Fraser family puzzle. 

This morning, I stopped in to see her video once again. Seems like years ago we were taking our "sunglass" pictures with Savannah.... Was it years ago? Nope it was only almost four months. Four short months ago...

We buried a part of our heart here in Redding, California. I don't think we will be moving away anytime soon.

This is where our heart is.

Priceless.

Tomorrow is our annual trip to Fresno, California. We started the tradition last Christmas, driving down to take the kids to the famous Christmas Tree Lane.

Last year, Savannah was conceived in December. My dad made little jokes, that he was never going back to Christmas Tree Lane with us again! Yesterday in thinking about the upcoming trip, I imagined what it would be like if she was still here with us.
Lets see here...

• Stops every two hours to breastfeed?

Ugh...

• Fussy baby in carseat from driving for 6+ hours?

Waahhh...

• Sharing Christmas Tree Lane

with a beautiful almost Four month old?

Priceless.

That's okay though,

Next year.

Well I am off to pack...

15 pairs of basketball shorts

& a holey moley t-shirt anyone?

 We do get to drive past Davis again... 

Is it weird I am SO excited to do so???

Don't miss me too much!

I'll be back with pictures!!!