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.  

When you think of my baby.

I just have to share this because it has been on my mind lately. Tonight as I laid in a bath, it came jogging back into my thoughts. And there it ran, over and over again...

First of all, my mother in law and I have had our ups and downs. There have been hurt feelings on both sides, but one thing is for sure, she always loved her grandbabies. All seven of them. Sarah was her first-04'. {Girl.} Then she was blessed with Michael-05', Noah-05', Ryder-07', Brody-07', and Asher-10'. {Boys!} Following shortly behind Asher, {because my sister-in-law and I have a strange way of having babies in the same year if you noticed} came Savannah-10'.

She lives 2,500 miles away in Kentucky. We called her one night while we were at Davis, and told her, her granddaughter was here. Being there is a three hour time difference, if I remember correctly {because there were so many phone calls} she was half asleep. She knew the phone call was announcing her latest grand baby. I could hear the excitement in her voice. And then we had to finish with what we should have never had to say. Savannah was not the healthy grandbaby she was used to welcoming. She sobbed into the phone. And then went right to work, as the prayer warrior I know she is... Along side all of her family and friends as well.

The night Savannah passed, the message we had to relay was far worse than the first message she had to receive. Only it was much later for her than the first time. Her sobs were enough to wake her husband, Johnny, whom is also devoted to the grandkids. Before we had even made it home from Sacramento that night, she called us back scheduling a plane ticket out here. She wasn't going to miss her granddaughters funeral.

Sadly, her trip was over before it ever began. She rode with us to the funeral. As two brokenhearted grandmothers, her and my mother cradled each other as they cried, sitting behind Koady and I at Savannah's funeral service.

She shared something with Koady recently in a phone conversation, and this is what has been on my mind...
For Christmas she received a very special gift. {A gift very special to her heart, but little does she know it is just as special to mine.}

A gym bag. 

Now, I know you must all think I've gone off the deep end, but let me continue. This isn't an ordinary gym bag. Johnny had it personalized. On one side it reads:

Sarah, Michael, Noah,

Ryder, Brody, & Asher

On the other:

In loving memory,

Savannah Fraser

8days

A simple gift. A gift that continues to acknowledge that Savannah was and is her granddaughter. She isn't afraid to share with the world she too, has become an "angel grandma." 

Sarah and Savannah. Her only two girls. 

When you think of my baby...

...even after she is gone...

...the love I have for you is far greater

than any love you could 

ever

imagine.

Thank you for remembering Savannah's name.

Despite our trials and hardships.

Thank you, for loving our girl.

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*

A story about what a grandpa should be.

My dad was always the quiet, reserved soul. He loved us kids, that I do know. But he had the gruff exterior that made it hard for him to show emotions. {Iam sure there are those out there, who know atleast one person who matches these characteristics.}


And then something wonderful happend. Something I never imagined. My dad became a grandpa. We've all heard it. "Things become alot more relaxed when you are a grandparent." My dad is living proof of this. He would do anything for his grandchildren. He takes them on tractor rides. He pushes them up and down the driveway on the wheelbarrow. He gives them far too many "treats," and candies.


Before I was born, my father fantasized about having a daddies girl. Sadly, that just wasn't the case. I was a momma's girl through and through. That doesn't mean he didn't treat me any less of a daddies girl, even though I didn't return the favor. Then Sarah was born. She was the first girl in the family. My brother had two boys, and after Sarah I went on to have two boys. My dad has played barbies.... my dad has played tea party... my dad has painted toes and had his toes painted. {Yes he is that good!}


He loves his "Nikki." {"Nikki" came from her middle name Nicole, and my dad is netorious for pet names.}  Not to say he doesn't love the boys that much as well... but I believe there is something magical about him getting a second chance with his daughters, daughter.


Savannah, was going to bring even more girly delight into my dad's grandparenting years. Although he would never admit it, he showed signs throughout my pregnancy that he was excited. His little "Samantha."


On that last night headed down to Sacramento, my dad had only one request. If she had to go that night, he asked that she be baptised. It was important to him. She was important to him.


As I've said before Savannah was baptised that night before we held her for the last time. After she had passed and we placed her back into the doctors arms, I asked where they were taking her that night. They told me they would take her down stairs to the morgue. I cried. What an awful, cold name. Morgue. I asked how she would get home. The doctor told me that once I made arrangement at the funeral home, they would drive down and bring her back. Still dreadful. Savannah didn't know those people. Where they going to treat her as the beautiful baby that she was, and is? I didn't like it, but I had no choice. 


Little did I know, that as we drove home that night my dad was going to yet again, step in and save the day. He is a retired Captin of the California Highway Patrol, so as you can imagine, he knows alot of people. He called an old friend, whom used to be a motitian. Then he proceeded to call Allen and Dahl funeral home and make arrangements. In the two and a half hours it took for us to make the drive home, my father had already arranged to be the one whom brought Savannah home. I don't know how he did it, but I didn't ask. I didn't need to know. Savannah would be in safe hands.


The next morning, Jim Allen from the funeral home, met my dad and Van, {the old friend} at my house to hand off the legal paperwork needed to hand over custody of a body and bring them back. And let me tell you there was a lot of paperwork. My dad then asked for one of her blankets. Instead of handing over the polka dot blanket she had with her in the hospital, I gave him the pink blanket that him and my mom had bought for her. It had a little giraffe in the bottom corner. There was no way I would part with the other one. It still smelled like her. 


After they had left, I asked my mother, "she isn't going to have to ride home in a body bag is she?" My mom nodded sadly, "yes, I think she will." I tried to hold back tears. "Then why did dad ask for her blanket?" My mom told me she didn't know. I hated that as well. A body bag. Another awful word.


That evening when my dad finally made it back and dropped Savannah off at the funeral home, he called to tell us the events of the day. UC Davis attorney had to get involved. There was more paperwork than he ever imagined. But he filled it out. For her. Savannah didn't ride home in a body bag. Her grandpa delicatly wrapped her precious body in her pink giraffe blanket. Savannah rode cradled in the backseat of the car. Savannah and Grandpa finally got to meet.


My dad has done many things for me over the years of my life. But because my daddy went to the ends of the earth for my deceased babygirl, I know there isn't anything I can ever say or do to repay him for nurturing her body back home to her mommy. I have eternal love and gratitude for him.

It was a journey that Samantha, and Grandpa had to make together.

She will always be her Grandpa's Girl.