To whom it may concern,

To whom it may concern,

Let me just get it out in the open. You did notice correctly as I walked passed with my three children in tow. I do have another on the way, my belly sure doesn't lie to you these days. Ultimately, if I did the math correctly that does in deed make four children. Socially speaking that is. What my belly and my row of ducklings do not announce to the naked eye, is actually, counting the child I carry in my heart, I do in fact have five children.

So, though I will always be polite, smile and respond to your questions or comments, I will never fully understand why society, strangers, friends and family, really care to know, if this is our last. Or to remind me, in case I was just a mental case for, heaven forbid wanting all of my children, that I must be "pretty busy." (Insert wide eyes here.)

So let me explain a little about my family. Since you, dear stranger in the grocery store, care so much to know if we are going to have any more...

My husband is not a doctor. He is not a lawyer, dentist, surgeon, or business executive. He is though, what a vast majority of American's are not these days. He is a full time, hard working, employee. He has gotten up five days a week, and promoted through chains of command, for years, and through each of the five children we have. One income mind you. Yes, that is correct. I am also a stay at home mother. I provide all of the daily care. All of the nurturing, discipline, compassion, and self-sacrificing love that I could pay obscene amounts of money to receive from a complete stranger.

I spend twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, with my four, (to your naked eye) children. So thank you for reminding me how busy I am. If you don't mind, I would like to remind you of something,

Children are a choice. They are a gift. They do not come with a paycheck, nor should you receive a paycheck for having them. They are joyful and delightful. They are not an obligation. They are not a reason to cringe if you see more than two in the grocery store. They can be stripped from us at any given moment. They are fragile lives, and fragile spirits. They require one hundred percent of our love and devotion or they will always feel like society sees them as "one more."  But they are not one more. They are human beings. They are a decision and a desire from one mothers womb to the world. They hold the future in the palm of their tiny hands. They are miracles. They transform from literally nothing into living, breathing, souls. Noisey, messy, chaotic, and as you wont let me forget, busy souls.

So even though my barefoot and pregnant lifestyle may not appeal to you, I like it. No, I love it. And since the question will probably never evade me... no right now we do not plan on having anymore. And I apologize if we should have stopped after we buried our last. If years down the road we do happen to discuss that option, please let me take down your number so I can get your consult on the matter.

If you don't mind me asking, since we are being so open, you didn't have children did you? Because I can tell how much you cherish each and every one...

Sincerely,
Mother of Five.

What's in a name.

Lately I feel as though I am on a merry-go-round. Round and round I continue to go. I think I have rambled about baby names more than anyone would like to hear, but I can't help but feel agony with settling.

What's in a name anyways? A believe a name can become a personality... it molds and grows with a person... What you do in life, you take your name with you. It's your mark on the world.

I remember being told Savannah didn't need a social security number since she had passed away. I remember what it was like having a birth certificate that boldly stated deceased horizontally across the page. These things, these standard procedures, make a mother feel as though their child, a human being with a name, are insignificant. Just paperwork. A Jane Doe.

There have been times, that when sorting through files, I have run across Savannah's insurance card. And to see her name, that I know we were so meticulous in picking out, brings my heart such warmth. Since she left, I don't have reason to say her name everyday. I don't have reason to talk about her and say her name to people I talk to. I miss her name, for I loved her name so very much.

I want to love Davis' name as much as I loved and long for Savannah's. In something I have learned just in my own experience. I wanted this little boy's name (or girl had he been) to be something that would remind me of Savannah everytime I hear it spoken from someone's lips.

Family and friends weren't too sold on "Savannah" when we finally reached our decision. And this time around they aren't too keen to warm up to the name "Davis." It's so much more than the little one growing and thriving inside me for a mere eight more weeks. To me it is also about the little one that brought "Davis" into existance.

We picked Emmett for the middle name. Had Savannah been a boy, her name would have been Liam Emmett. Another piece of our girl. To hear and remember her by. To know that when the social security administration and county records department see her name as only a deceased person, no longer needed in the system, Savannah Victoria gets to live on in her baby brother...

But I keep second guessing. Is it good enough? Will people ever love his name as much as I do? In the way that I loved Savannah's?

Recently my husband and I came across the name Jax. We loved the spelling, and liked the name. In a casual google name search, I discovered in English it means "God is gracious." To me, yes, Davis is a very gracious gift. But we can hardly get people to want to call our son Davis as a first name, how would we ever get acceptance over Jax?

Come on readers... Davis Emmett or Davis Jax?

Enter the Poll! 

Perspective.

I remember way back when I was pregnant with Sarah. Every milestone was new, exciting, foreign. With each passing pregnancy, things were still exciting; but they were no longer foreign.

I cannot speak for every mother, but my own views are sometimes different than others on this journey of loss, or as I like to call it now, life after loss. Which I feel is okay. I am only one person and by no means is grief of a child something that can or should be judged or dictated by someone else.

For me though, this pregnancy is far different that the rest. All over again, I feel like I am a first time mother. Not in the sense my Sarah, my Michael, or my Brody are now insignificant or are no longer deemed "my children," but a first time mother because my Savannah brought forth her own set of new and foreign experiences.

I'm not sure if you'd call it grief. I'm not sure if you'd call it uncertainty. I'm just plain and simple not sure what it is, but I'm not sure how to be a mother to an infant again...

Today marks the twenty fifth week of this pregnancy. With only fifteen weeks until we meet Davis in person, I wonder to myself, "where did this pregnancy go?" I've been the pregnant mother who complains about being uncomfortable. Wishing the baby would just "hurry up and get here." And though I may complain about the temperature, or whine mention that my pelvic bone pops with each and every step, the thought of the next fifteen weeks passing as quickly as the twenty five in our rear view mirror, is enough to bring me to tears. Because right here in this moment, Davis is at home. Davis is safe. These moments are how I got to mother a different child. After this moment? This is what I cannot remember.

We are now the proud owners of our very first mini van. With thanks to my dad for searching it out, we, once more, have an automobile that fits our family. Now having moved into our new house, and buying the not so "mini" family "van," I couldn't help but hit a brick wall.

"What will it be like to bring a baby to their new home? What will it be like to buckle the car seat into those extra seats bought just for their anticipation? What will those final moments in labor and delivery feel like?" The upcoming emotions, I have tried running through my head again and again.

Fear.

Facing my Fear.

Yesterday I let Sarah and Michael watch a movie I found to be deeply inspiring. "Soul Surfer." Here at the Fraser's I try my hardest to monitor what my kids watch on tv realizing the impact the littlest things can have on young hearts. "But Megan, isn't Soul Surfer about a young girl getting her arm bitten off by a shark?!"

YES!!

But the story is so much more than that. When I watched the movie prior to allowing the kids, it really hit home for me. I knew aside from the slightly gory shark attack, my kids could really learn something from the story offered. 

An example given in this movie; when you are really close to something it is hard to see the overall perspective.

Sarah and Michael watched the entire movie and I was delighted with the flow of questions afterwards...

Michael asked, "why did God let the shark take her arm?" Without thinking I said, "as terrible as it was, she learned in the end that God could use her to inspire people through her tragedy and though she has to live with this handicap she didn't let that stop her from doing what she loved. It's like how God took Savannah. That was a terrible thing, but if we lived in fear from experience we would have missed out on getting to have Davis."

And stepping back from perspective, I paused and thought for a moment while four brown eyes stared back at me. Again I said, as if I was speaking to myself, "we would have missed out on a really great thing."

Michael chimed in once more, "well... I still think she is just as beautiful."

In the eyes of a six year old, he still sees the beauty in what others can only see as tragedy, or mistake.

Bethany Hamilton's story is far from tragedy. Her story is yet another example of God's divine purpose for everyone. I may face my own future of uncertainties, but I know that facing my fears is only just the beginning. 

I cannot wait to see His plans for Davis.

From Savannah's story,

I know they must be pretty great.

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.

Me and my thoughts.

Here I am, 3:58am sitting at my computer, alone in the silence of the night. Alone. Just me and my thoughts. I find it easier tonight to battle back and forth with my thoughts, rather than battle with my subconscious waking me repeatedly with thoughts in my dreams. In my thoughts of mine I wonder...


"Does anyone else wonder to themselves while pregnant with their  "miracle " baby, did I make a selfish decision? Did I make a decision to have another only because of my own motherly desires. My own wants. My own needs. Is my world going to be shattered once more, because I can only think of myself? "

I do.

And I am.

Tonight especially.

Yesterday afternoon, I insisted my family and I take a leisurely walk to the grocery store right around the corner from our house. We picked up some items at the store, with plans in our minds of coming home and making a fun lunch. Headed back, and about half way home, I felt a gush. I quickly and instantly shoved my negative thoughts into the back of my mind. A few more steps. Another. And another. And another. It was too familiar. My husband continued with his happy chit chat, as I felt the color vanishing from my face. I told him, "all I want to do is go to the bathroom. " Being a pregnant mommy in her first trimester, obviously that wouldn't sound alarming. More normal and expected than anything. I told him, "I think I am bleeding. " It was a quiet remainder of the walk, and through the door and straight to the bathroom I went. There before me was the red I feared would be staring back at me. 

As my mind raced, I mentally scanned through my thoughts on the couch before getting up, finding a spot to sink into on my bed and sob into my hands. 

"WHY!? " I began to ask.

"People criticise me everyday for the faith I have in you, and yet I stand by your side and continue to promise that no matter what YOU have not forsaken me! How can I try to continue to lead these

people, with my constant examples of what others see as your absence?  "

I felt angry. Angry in the sense I knew I was going to have to stand up once more in front of the crowd and let everyone know, my prayers and hopes, were once again shattered. Knowing all of the impending whispers would be starting about how far my faith was really getting me. I was preparing myself for the strength I knew I had to find deep inside me, yet again.

Once I had released my anger, and my heartache in my tears, I stood up, and came back downstairs. Standing in the kitchen, I hunched over as my stomach turned from the nausea I was feeling. I laid down on the couch, and forced myself to eat the lunch my husband still sweetly prepared for me. It didn't taste nearly as good as I had imagined it would only an hour prior. Turning on a movie, I fell asleep. I thought rest would be in my best interest. A few hours later, I woke and went to the bathroom. I was still bleeding, but I began to notice it wasn't what it "should" be. I told my husband that I wanted to go to the emergency room. We called my mother-in-law and she met us in the parking lot, where she took the kids off of our hands. The initial process was quick. I was seen within minutes, from a nurse practitioner. They seemed optimistic from everything I was describing. They told me I was going to need an ultrasound, and some lab work done. Where a few minutes later, they took me back to a room. I found myself waiting, and staring down at the same patterned hospital gown that I once wore only nine months ago. Ugly checkers, how I loathe you...

The doctor came in a performed a topical ultrasound hoping to see everything he needed to see. But it was too early. He ordered a "internal" ultrasound, and shortly after that some nice nurses came in to take my blood. And then began the typical emergency room waiting game. My husband and I joked and laughed ourselves into a frenzy. I suddenly thought to myself as my side ached from laughter, "why am I so happy right now? Why am I feeling so calm and optimistic? " 

Finally the ultrasound technician came and wheeled me back. {Wheeled. By that I mean bed and all. There is nothing I tense up with more than feeling the loss of my independence.} As I lay in a pitch dark room, the only light shining on the technicians face coming from the ultrasound machine, that I couldn't see, I found myself chatting up the silence in those fifteen to twenty minutes. After all, there was time to kill, and so much I wanted to inquire her about regarding CDH. {Bless her little heart, I think I taught her a thing or two about it. Because my questions ended up being her questions.} I began asking her, if she saw anything. I swear ultrasound technicians would make the best poker players. I tried so hard to read her face. But it always looked the same. No promise of hope, no promise of devastation. Just a poker face.

Once again, I had to wait for the doctor to tell me anything, and hours later, they moved me to yet another room for a pelvic exam. My cervix was completely closed...

He then began to tell me, "Okay, here's the thing. You lab numbers look perfect. Baby is measuring right on schedule at 5-6weeks. But.... " {I hate buts...} "But, where the placenta is attaching to the uterine wall, there is a pocket of fluid. Which we assume is blood obviously. We have also discovered a mass growing on your left ovary, which we don't know what to think about that. This has us at a point where we don't really know where to go from here. " He then told me he was going to call my doctor, and see what she had to say.

So back down the hall we went into my room where my husband was waiting. I told him everything the doctor had just said. And again we waited. We waited for at least another hour. I relayed the message to my mom, my mother-in-law, and a friend anxiously awaiting news back. A few minutes later, a message appeared on my phone. My friend had gathered any information based on what the doctor had just told us. She sent me a message, saying this was what "the internet" thought it was. It lifted my spirits. 

Maybe fifteen minutes later, the doctor came back in. "You have what is called a subchorionic hemorrhage. What your body is doing is releasing the blood buildup behind the placenta. Right now you need pelvic rest, and your doctor wants you to call her office tomorrow to come in and see her. She will want you to get more lab work, and have another ultrasound done. "

And like that, I was discharged. Still pregnant. But still so unaware of where life would lead us from here. We came home and I once more became a fixture on the couch. The bleeding had stopped completely. 

But here I am. Wondering. Hoping. Scared out of my mind in the middle of the night. Everything I have read, says women go on to deliver healthy babies having this sort of hemorrhage. But... do these women stand up with my odds? With my similar history? Why did the doctor not say anything about the "mass" he seemed to focus in on? What am I going to do if the doctor puts me on bed rest with three children? Will my baby lack the oxygen and nutrients to be the healthy and thriving child I hoped for? Am I going to continue this pregnancy with problems from the very beginning? Did I make a selfish decision? The list of questions continue running through my mind. What ifs... 

All I can do is make it through the rest of the night. Just me... and my thoughts. 

Heaven is for Real.

Last weekend my mother brought me a book. I had heard of the book in my "CBD " or "Christian Book Distributors " catalogs. And here she was handing me a physical copy of the book that had crossed my path on numerous occasions. She gave one to my sister-in-law as well, and like a small child in a candy store, my mom couldn't wait for me to dive into the pages face first. {Mom had already finished the book in a day.} My sweet sister-in-law, Desirae {"Hi Des!"} finished the book a few days ago as well, as I had yet to make my way through the first page. In complete anxiousness for me to read the book, yesterday morning while on the phone, my mom asked again, if I had started the book. I told her that I had begun to per sue it one evening, but with the chaos of life, hadn't made it through the first page. Yesterday afternoon, for my mom, I started the book.

"Heaven is for Real ."

Written by Todd Burpo

 If you haven't read or heard of the book, it is about three year old "Colton Burpo's" stories of his brief visit to Heaven, while undergoing an emergency appendectomy.

I literally lounged on the couch for hours reading page after page. About half way through the book, my mind and heart were heavy. I was beginning to feel upset as I read page after page, of what Colton's father described, while him and his wife, Sonja, clung onto prayer and hope in the hospital. All while they knew their precious boy may or may not make it out alive. I put the book down, trying to regain my strength. But I couldn't. It was as though, through their trial during Colton's hospital stay, they were writing directly from what our hearts had experienced with Savannah. I broke down in tears. It was as though our time as UC Davis was fresh all over again. Koady sat on the floor next to me as I cried.

"I know that I haven't reached the point in this story where this little boy talks about Heaven. " I sobbed through my words. "But I can't help but read what his parents went through and think, the end of this story will be different than ours.... Their child lived to tell his story about making it to heaven ."

Needless to say, I put the book down for the rest of the day, because I had to step away from the wound. This morning with a little more courage, I sat down to finish the beautiful story I had started.

Mr. Colton shares many breathtaking and surreal events and biblical, factual, descriptions about his "three minutes " in heaven. He talks about spending time with his Great grandpa, and meeting his sister, whom his parents lost in a miscarriage, yet never spoke to him about. He speaks of Jesus, and how his eyes were so pretty. And like my Michael, speaks of the swords in heaven used to keep Satan out. It is a story I would recommend to anyone, especially anyone with doubts about heaven, and the existence of Christ. Or anyone looking for a beautifully touching story.

Most importantly this is a book I would recommend to any mother who has said goodbye to a child. Through the words of a three through six year old, it very possibly can bring comfort to those in question of whether your little ones are safe. Whether they are happy. Whether they are well loved, and well taken care of...

"It's okay, Mommy," he said.  "She's okay. God adopted her ."

Sonja slid off the couch and knelt down in front of Colton

so she could see his eyes.

"Don't you mean Jesus adopted her?" She said.

"No mommy. His dad did. "

                                  

                                                 {Page 95- Heaven is for Real.}

Thank you mom, for sharing.

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.

Behind closed doors.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Lets see if this changes the outcome.

I'll fight for you.

Has it really been this long since I have been here? I guess what they say is true... Well I guess they say it... Time does continue on. No matter what the loss, no matter how important the loss, we keep going through the motions. The sun rises and sets, just the same as it always has from the beginning. I have a tendency to look at days differently now. Before, I never acknowledged our day to day life. And granted, I still don't think about it everyday. But there are nights, that I realize that the sun has set, and another day is officially gone. We can never get it back. We can only move forward in this gift we call life.

Today, as I popped in to ramble, write about my feelings, I read some posts I missed from my favorite bloggers. One of them hit home. She talked about grieving a child in a different way. Not in the way that I grieve Savannah, but there is still a grieving process one must take. The grieving process of a sweet child that isn't what society considers "normal." I barely got through her first paragraph before the sticky tears began streaming down my face, warming my cheeks.

Though, my grief is much worse now, I knew exactly the words she had written. I myself grieved the loss of the healthy baby I had dreamed of for nine months. Nine blind months. For the eight days of Savannah's life, we fought for her life. We dug our feet in to the great unknown and were ready to battle anything to save her life. But we were fighting, blood, sweat, prayers, and tears, for a little life we had not dreamed of.

What we have been told is, Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia is usually associated with a chromosomal disorder. Usually down syndrome. Though oddly enough, Savannah didn't have down syndrome and her defects lied only in her CDH. They tried to prepare us, though she was perfectly healthy in every way other than the hernia, Savannah, went quite awhile without oxygen. And lack of oxygen in the brain can cause many things, such as severe brain damage, cerebral palsy, or mental retardation. During those eight days, and as I read from this mother today whom I admire it brought back the feelings of trying to prepare myself for a different life. I prayed, every night for God to equip me to be the mother I didn't think I could be in raising Savannah. My mind was running. Exhausting itself in a marathon of thoughts.

"How can I raise a child with these struggles?"

"Can I really be the mother she needs?" 

"What kind of car do we need to have?

What kind of house do we need to buy?"

"Will our insurance uphold itself through a 

lifetime of surgeries, medications, and therapy?"

"How can I deal with the people who will look at

my baby differently?"

"She will defiantly need a purple wheelchair."

{Yes I said this one outloud.}

"God, I just am unprepared.

Do you really think I can handle this?"

And just as this blog reminded me this morning... this too was that grieving process. You know what? God didn't think I could handle that life. He thought I could handle so much more. Because, in this mom's grieving process through Cerebral Palsy, she has found the healing process through her years of a different way of mothering. Yes, you still grieve a loss. Defiantly! The loss of the hopes and dreams of a healthy baby. But LOOSING a baby? That burden is much much worse. And this mother knows that grief too... There are times that I feel I could answer the above questions much differently now, having had to say goodbye to her all together.

When they can't stay,

you realize there was nothing wrong with your baby.

All life is perfect.

Your baby has changed?

The day before Valentines, my husband and I dropped our little ones off at my mother-in-laws house for our pre-v. day evening. Her boyfriend had his son, daughter-in-law, and two grandkids at their house visiting from the coast.

This couple had a baby boy a few months before Savannah was born. Knowing that they were going to be there, I tried to prepare my mind to be in the presence of a baby, "Savannah's age."

When we pulled into the driveway, a couple was rocking on the porch swing. There in the woman's arms was a baby boy. For a moment in my mind, I thought to myself, "I was thinking of the wrong couple."

Here was this baby. No longer the tiny baby I was expecting to encounter. Honestly, I cannot explain to you why. WHY was I thinking their baby boy would still be a newborn? Why was I expecting to see an infant. Not a teething, sitting up, chubby, baby.

Why do I have the forever eight day old baby? Why do I have the baby whom will never outgrow her tubs of preemie sized outfits? Why do I assume that baby's born around the same time as Savannah, won't grow up, get bigger, and develop into little people.

They do. Obviously, I don't truly mean that in the way it sounds. Let me explain. In all honestly...

I wished for a newborn baby, cradled in his mothers arms that afternoon. The same age as Savannah, but still offering the precious newborn look, that was suddenly gone from our lives. I refuse to believe that in six short days, Savannah would be six months old. She wouldn't look at all like she did, the day she was born. She would have her own personality, and her own likes and dislikes. I would already be missing that tiny, newborn phase.... I am so lucky. My baby WILL be that small forever.

Sigh, will I ever get that chance again?

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.

What do you...?

It has been on my mind the past few days. I haven't shared my "thoughts or feelings" with anyone afraid of the reactions I might get. But I have also been afraid to get the same, "she's just irrational" attitudes.

But in all honesty...

What do you consider murder?...

A gun shot? A knife stab?

Drunk driving and hitting a pedestrian maybe?

...

What about taking your child off of life support?

Suddenly I wonder... was is really the right decison?

My sweet eight day old Savannah. She couldn't make the decision of life for herself. And as her parents when the question was asked, there wasn't any hesitation of what we were going to do. None. Should we have hestitated? Should we have been a little more selfish in our decision? 

I trust that God was with us that night that we said our final goodbyes, but really, have you ever held your child in your arms as he or she passed away? It's bound to stir up this question at some point. Savannah was perfectly fine other than the obvious fact that she couldn't breathe. She was on ECMO. It breathed for her.... Does insurance coverage and obsene amounts of money to sustain life ever truly play a role in life?

This I wonder...