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.  

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.

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. 

   

A road once traveled.

We weren't gonna tell. We were going to keep it secret. But here's the things with bottling things up inside for me. I begin to feel like a bottle of soda, half full, shaken with no where for the explosive carbonation to go. The only way to get rid of the pressure of that bottle, is to twist the cap and slowly release what is kept on the inside.

May 25th, 2011 my alarm woke me up as it does every morning. I couldn't wait any longer. I jumped out of bed and rushed to the down stairs bathroom, and ripped open the foil like packaging. Instantly, two blue lines crossed each other. I was finally staring at a positive pregnancy test, that I have been waiting for, for what seems like years. Even though it really hasn't been that long.

I took the test up to my husband, and once again made him look at a home pregnancy test through half groggy eyes. In denial, he wouldn't believe it unless I took a digital pregnancy test. {Men, they have to see everything in black and white.} So after taking Sarah to school, I stopped at the grocery store and bought the fancy digital pregnancy tests.

"Pregnant." 

There was the clear answer he was looking for. And he finally believed it. I believe that this is the baby that we have been waiting so long for... the baby that isn't just born into our hearts, but into our home as well.

The past few days, I cannot help but think about the day of Savannah's birth. How I couldn't wait to hold her, touch her, breathe her in. In an instant, truly an instant, Savannah was gone. I picture the day of this baby's birth. I have overwhelming feelings about it. I've birthed children before. But I have never birthed a child after birthing a child that was stripped from my arms. As Savannah laid there at the end of my bed, I said outloud, "it's a girl." In fear that she would possibly be a "pink wearing" boy. This time I cannot even imagine that being on my mind.

Pushing might be a terrifying moment, one that will require ever ounce of strength I have to get through. "Just breathe. Please just breathe. Fill your lungs with precious life. Breathe!" And even though that day is a long nine months away from us, just thinking about holding another brings tears to my eyes. Even as I type this. For anyone in witness to his or her upcoming birth, they will be experiencing the most beautiful and heartbreaking moment a life could endure. The happiness of life, the tears of a longing. Because without a doubt in my mind, our next child will be born into tears. Savannah, though her life was tragic, was born into laughter. It was meant to be. Happiness and laughter just for her. This baby though, this baby will bring tears to everyone in the room. I think there is a chance that even Savannah's doctor might well up with tears.

Tears of joy. Tears of sorrow.

Tears of life. Tears of death.

{Don't judge! This after all is my fifth pregnancy!}

 

February 1st, 2012.

250 days and counting...

Family is so much more.

We've talked recently about moving. Not moving up the street or across town. Moving two thousand miles away from our the life we call home now. My husband's job was kind of pushing him towards taking a position they needed filled in Peoria Illinois.

Now if you know us personally, you would know that the Fraser's are not strangers to cross country moves. We've done it once. Or twice. {Or Four times...}

We spent quite awhile considering it. Although I was hesitant to pack our life into boxes, and uproot our family to a new state, I was also really wanting the opportunity for change. I wasn't sure what it was I was wanting to change exactly though.

Recently we decided that we are not going to move to Illinois, though my husband got quite a chuckle in informing our family and friends we were in fact moving three weeks from now in celebration of April Fools Day.

My mother-in-law didn't find the same humor in this, because she lives in Kentucky and would be a mere seven hours away from us. Which is a far more convenient trip, compared to the five day drive or plane ticket purchase. So when her heart was lifted at the thought of us being so close to her, we did have to break the news that no, we weren't coming. {In my defense I told Koady he should go with a different April Fools joke.}

We had a friend over for dinner this last Sunday. Seems God always sends people to us at just the right moments in time. We realized that family doesn't have to be blood related. This is something that we haven't been seeing. It was amazing to have someone over to our house for fellowship. We shared stories. The kids were beside themselves and fawned over our guest the entire visit. We sat around the dinner table talking about the intimate details of our lives. Both ours and his. I have to say, my heart has not been graced with anyone... anyone... willing and open to discuss Savannah. And by discuss Savannah, I don't mean we do all the talking. I mean someone who also talks about her, knowing that Savannah's life isn't just past tense.  Someone that includes her in talking about "our children."  And right there at the dinner table we prayed together... And the tears streamed down my cheeks. It was so nice to have someone else that deeply cared for our emotions. Deeply cared about us.

You may be given a family that you cannot impress.

You may have a father that is incapable of caring

about anything but himself.

You may have family members that say they care,

but are never around.

But then you have the family

that God places in your path

all throughout your life.

And you know that your family, 

will always be where ever you are.

This was the change I was looking for.
And we didn't have to move 2,000miles to find it.

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...

One step at a time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

One step at a time.

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

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.

When baby say's "Dada."

What a wonderful weekend getaway. It was much needed, and much overdue! Although it was a short trip, since Koady used up all of his vacation time with Savannah's passing, I wouldn't have missed out on our first opportunity to get out of town!

The morning we left Koady woke to tell me about a very special dream he had. He described to me that because Savannah isn't here with us and we will never have milestones to share, his dream made him so proud.

He saw Savannah, as a bright and beautiful two year old and she was so excited to see her daddy! She had four teeth on the top, and four teeth on the bottom. Her beautiful straight brown hair came down to her shoulders. She looked at him and repeatedly said, "dada, dada."

He was proud and glowing for the rest of the trip.

I like to think those were Savannah's first words.

"Dada."

The rest of the trip was fun, and filled with family memories. Since it is late, I will just share some pictures...

{Don't mind the angle,

the hood of the car was our tripod.}

{Taking a picture of ME,
taking a picture of HER!}

{Sitting in traffic.}

{True Love.}

 {Christmas Lights BEFORE 

I changed the shutter speed.}

{I thought it was pretty though!}

{Michael David was the only one

willing to take photographs!}

{The flash was SO bright!}

{Peace on Earth.}

*Hoping everyone has their OWN

special holiday traditions*

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!!!

Thankfuls in 2010

The other day a friend asked what we were thankful for this year. I couldn't answer right away like I usually can. Not because I am lacking in the "being thankful" department, but because this year, I really wanted to think about what being "thankful" really means to me. Especially after all my husband and I have been through in 2010. So here it is. Happy Thanksgiving Everyone! Blessings to you all!

::God::

First and foremost, I am thankful for the Lord.

He makes every trial in my life easier. He has shown

me the answers I sometimes lack through reading the bible.

His divine love for me gets me through each day

that he lays before me.

I know with every hurt I may face,

He is the ONE that is always there for me...

And He always will be.

::My Husband::

The one who has been through everything

you could experience with a person, and still stands by my side.

The one that my love grows for each passing year.

He cares so much for his family, and would do anything for us.

Loving husband, and father.

He gets me, and accepts each quirk and flaw regaurdless.

::My Children::

This is the first year, I've ever known how lucky I am.

They really are gifts that can sometimes be taken for granted.

They have grown into beautiful little people.

They are God fearing, God loving souls.

And not a day passes that they don't make my heart smile.

I thank God everyday for letting me keep them.

::Savannah Victoria::

My girl. My angel sent from above.

The one that taught me more life lessons than,

I've experienced in my entire life.

The soul that my husband and I created that stares into

the face of God, and is rocked by angels.

There is no one more deserving of this perfect creation than Christ.

She has made me thankful for the time we are given.

For making peace with ourselves.

For finding happiness in our everyday lives.

For my health, and my families health.

Every breath we take.

For being a mother. Being her mother.

For being a Christian.

For knowing that heaven awaits us when our

journey here is over.

::For Church::

A home for learning, and growing.

::My husbands job::

And the fact he works so hard at it.

So many people aren't blessed to have what we

have in this economy.

::The thought of another baby
in the upcoming year::
Enough said.
Everyone loves a baby.

::The friends I already had,

and the friends that I have made::

I've said to my husband that in times like these,

you find out who will really be there for you no matter what.

Sadly... we've discovered there are very few.

But the one's that HAVE been there for us NOW,

we are so thankful for you,

and you will always mean the world to us.

::Every person who has donated to

the UC Davis miracle network::

Without your donations,

some of Savannah's medical wouldn't have been covered.

::My mom and dad::

They have gone above and beyond for us this year,

in regaurds to Savannah.

They put their lives on hold to make sure

we got to be there with her.

They were there not only for me and the kids,

but for Koady as well.

If you love me, you better love my husband.

And they have done that.

::Comments on my blog::

Such simple words are so touching and moving to me.

The fact that friends care enough to say something means alot.

You acknowlege Savannah. You remember Savannah.

You care.

These are my thankfuls.

This year I am grateful for so many things.