Only a piece.

I have begun writing this post at least five times now. Its been so long, I almost feel as though I should re-introduce myself to you all. But I wont. So don't worry.
I'm laying on my bed, while my sweet, absolutely adorable three month old, naps in his bassinet next to me. Calm. Quiet. Surrender.

The past three months have gone by so quickly I feel as though I could possibly, and should probably still be pregnant. I am very much not pregnant, and his existence is very much real.

When I've sat down to write my thoughts and feelings, a piece of me struggled with what to say. I've been pushing through a writers block, that might be induced by absolute mental exhaustion, but I battled with the decision on whether or not I should return to the world of complete sentences, unfiltered thoughts, and on occasion misspelled words. (Cause I know I have those from time to time.)

When my blog really began reaching others, I was in the midst of the hardest trial, I'm sure one would ever face in a lifetime. The ones who could relate became my usual and regular readers. Not all mind you, but a vast majority. The death of a child. Those words look bleak even now as I write them. A few days shy of 20months...

I journeyed through my grief, and I overcame raw emotions as I anticipated and welcomed a little boy who will never be, nor could ever take the place of our Savannah.

It has almost been two years, since she left us. And though I'm sure we will always speak of her, and grasp onto the memories we have of her, I am not defined by her. I'm not just the face of infant loss. That is only a tiny pinprick of my story.  

The weather here has been gloomy for five weeks straight now. We are lucky to get a overcast day and reach fifty degree temperatures. I have been cooped inside with all four of my kids, who also are going stir crazy, and daydreaming about springtime romps. Last night in an effort to spring clean minus the "spring" I started shifting through the clutter that is in our garage. And there it sat. A tub full of tiny pink clothes. A tub that is now our once upon a time. I brought it in, and set it down next to my husband. "I think its time that we get rid of this stuff." I popped open the lid, and began sorting through item after item of baby things. Still tagged. Still packaged. My husband told me he was okay with getting rid of her items. We stared some more at the outfits that only held hopes and dreams. He started to say, "I wouldn't tell anyone where they came from," but we both began to cry.

See our life will never be completely "pain free." Because in the end we did loose experience the death of a child. But our life is not consumed with sadness and grief. There is still laughter, and blessings. There is still beauty, and there will always be heartache. And that is precisely as life is supposed to be. I stepped away from the cyber world to remember exactly that. Though I may not talk about Savannah as much, just know she was only a piece of my, "story unfolding." Death is never the end, it is only the beginning. And one day we will all be together again.

Until next time I will leave you in awe of sure cuteness...

Bundled up for our cold spring weather.
Our sweet Davis.

Triggers or Sentiment?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Days, Weeks, Months, and Years.

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

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

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

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

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

{After all it has been eighteen months.} 

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