Rockin' my baby, cause babies don't keep.

I read a blog post tonight. About a woman staring at the front door as her seventeen year old breezed past on the way to work. About how she would give anything to have one more moment of rocking her now large boy to sleep. To nurse him, and nurture him one last time.

As my three month old, blue eyed, snoring little man lay swaddled next to me I realized something. I do not have a seventeen year old boy yet. I don't even have a seventeen year old girl yet. But I do have children. And three of my four children do not require me to rock them, nurse them, and nurture them to sleep.

I also have heard many different parenting philosophies. "Don't hold that baby so much, your teaching them bad habits." As if holding your child close is like picking a wedgie... "Doesn't that child have a bed?" As if cradling a sleeping infant in your arms is an inconvenience to others.... I even once, believe it or not, was scolded for bringing my daughter to the dinner table. My first baby, and in carrying her swing to the table so she could be apart of our family gathering, was told that "it was strange and the baby should be in the other room." As if she was an unruly pet...

For me personally, I think everyone is entitled to their own parenting styles, and preferences. With the exception for child abuse or child neglect. Those are the only times I believe someone should step in. When in actuality, it seems more taboo to confront those types of situations, than it is for grandparents, random strangers even, to solicit advice to parents because they "hold their child/ren too much."

Last year, when the kids were attending a charter school up the road from us, Sarah one day came home and told me a little boy in her class didn't have a lunch and was hungry. Being she has such a compassion for others, she shared her lunch with this fellow classmate. It wasn't for a bit until I learned this was a regular occurance. I began packing extra food in her lunch box, and proceeded to mention it to the teacher. She told me she wasn't aware, but she would look into it. A week or so later, when I asked Sarah she told me he still was still sharing lunches with the kids in her class. How can a child go hungry for an entire school year, unnoticed?

I'm not saying my children have never cried, whined, or had a "terrible-two-temper-tantrum." They have. I have a Brody. And Brody can cry (even now) if he hears the sky is blue. Okay maybe that is a little extreme, but you catch my drift. I'm not telling you that "your way is wrong and mine is right." (Insert frantic finger shaking) Because my way isn't perfect. There is no such thing. I can't stand hearing people standing on their soapboxes shouting "my ideas and opinions are right, and if you don't agree you are a bad parent." All I am saying is time is short. Rock your babies. Because in a few short years they won't be babies. They will be venturing off on their wobbly, unsteady legs, ready to explore the world on their own. And every step they take is one more step away from needing your arms to be their everything. Like this mother's blog I read tonight, in what only seems like a few short years from those teetering legs, you will be left with nothing but a front door... As they drive themselves to work...

I think I am going to wake up my Davis now, just so I can rock him back to sleep. You know, because I hold him too much anyways. Goodnight all. 

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.  

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.

Waiting for you.

To my daughter-in-laws,

As I write this to you, I understand that there is still a distance of twenty years or more between us. Some of you may not even be born yet. But I sit and write this to let each of you know, how important you are not only in their future, but how important you are to me now.

I have dreamed of girls. Having girls of my own. And I have indeed been blessed with two. But too soon, one was stripped from our life. And through the rest of my life, I am only left with one. And she will never know, what it would have been like to have a sister.

I know in my heart that my Michael, my Brody, and my Davis, will make wonderful decisions in each picking the women that God designed for them. And as your future mother-in-law, here is my hopes and dreams for each of you...

I hope that you can become the daughters I never got to have. That I can become like a second mother to each of you. I promise to be supportive, and always offer my encouragement and love. I promise to always, always think before I speak. I promise that I will spend every second up until your wedding day building your future husband. To be Godly. To be a leader, a provider, and a shelter for each of your households. I will do my best, {because after all they will each become men} to make them understand compassion, and understand a woman's feelings. Their father will teach them, how they themselves can be great fathers. I promise you, each of my son's will change dirty diapers. I will let them know that it is okay to cry, show emotions, and communicate deeply and openly with their wives. Their father will teach them how to become men. They will have manners, and talk with respect. {Hopefully, they will pick up after themselves... Most of the time.} They will not be lazy, or make you feel unappreciated. My sons will never neglect you, abandon you, betray you or hurt you. They will know what "faithful" really means. This is another thing I will promise. And up until that very moment of "I do," I promise to teach all of these things. Because in that moment, I promise to let go of the sons I once hoped would be daughters, and finally gain the daughters I always wished I had. Sarah will finally gain her sisters.

I hope you will call everyday. Not my sons... You. Or even many times a day. I want to go shopping, have lunch, and babysit each of your children. A lot. I hope on your wedding day, I can cry when I see you beautifully dressed in white, right along side your own mother. I will try to never be judgmental. And if I am, that you are comfortable enough to tell me, if I have ever hurt you. I will support your marriage until the day you die. And I promise I myself will set a good example of what a good marriage should be. I hope I never hurt you, and I promise to treat you just like you were my own. I hope that, after your own mother, I am the second person to know when you have a little person on the way. I will be at every baby shower, and I promise to smother you with gifts. I will pray for you every night. I will never offer unwanted advice or opinions. I will never degrade you, or make you cry. I will never ever let my love for my son come in between your vows. I will never make you feel as though I am competing, because I acknowledge already, that my son will forever be yours.

And if you ever need me, I promise to be there in any way you ever need me. The wait for my daughters may be longer than expected, but I promise I will wait for each of you...

"A son is a son until he marry's a wife.

A daughter is a daughter for all of her life."

Leaving yesterday.

Well it wasn't as easy as it has been in the past. Moving that is, but we did it. As we drove down the road after locking the doors to our house one last time, there was that burning feeling in my throat. Any women reading this, knows the feeling I'm referring to. It's called the, "I am not going to cry" reflex. In turn it burns your throat. You hope you don't actually have to speak a word in this moment, because then all it is, is a quivery shaking sound.

Okay, I am probably the most horrible crier in the world. Anyone who knows me would tell you, and that is just because I do not wear my heart on my sleeve and put on a "I can carry the weight of the world all on my own thanks," attitude. When in all actuality I am very sensitive. {Where the blog writing comes in handy.} When I DO cry though, I'd probably describe it as a high pitched air raid siren to alert people of a crisis. :) Most people cannot even make sense of what I am saying when I am crying, which sends people into a state of panic. See the air raid siren and I have a lot in common.

As our house sat empty, not surrounded by the sounds of chaos and life's mess, I stood in her room one final time. It was quiet. I thought back to my pregnancy when we first moved in. I stood in the same spot picturing where her nursery furniture would be placed, and I sat in the middle of the freshly laid beige carpet. The smell of new fabric was overwhelming, and I touched my belly imagining sitting in that very spot with a wiggly baby laying in the carpet before me.

That image never became reality, and now sitting in that spot I was only reminded of her short time with us. The feeling of wanting so badly to be awake all night in that room. I must say, I do not appreciate the new mothers who make comments about how hard it is having a baby who doesn't sleep much at night. Or who cries all the time. Who has colic. Not trying to sound like your typical mom who lost a baby, because I DO know how tiring other children can be, but I would wake up in the mornings after Savannah died HATING that I slept through the night. I would have given anything to be with her all night long. To hold her in my arms for the rest of my life if that is what it took to have her here.

This morning, I sat showing my mother "The Moby Wrap." It is a safer "sling" that allows you to cradle your baby close to your chest however often you'd like so you can still manage everyday tasks. I've had the cheaper version of baby carriers from the stores but was not impressed enough to use them regularly. Especially being the last one I had with Brody ended up on recall after he was a year old. But I love the sense of closeness the Moby Wrap offers. "Baby wearing" is what they call it. Well, I can assure you Moby Wrap or no Moby Wrap, you won't find me without baby wearing.

I've heard a lot, "you will spoil your baby." Can someone classify this to a mother like me please? Spoil your baby in the sense they will want to be held all the time and will demand too much of your attention? Spoiled in the sense they cry because they desire the touch of their mommy? That bonding experience? If that is spoiling them, I think I will take those chances. I have a baby that I carried for nine months I was not able to hold. I held a baby as she passed away. My baby never got to cry for me, and I've spent too much time crying for her. I was never disturbed to feed, change, or love on them.

Now when I see a baby, or infant longing for their mother's arms I have a hard time seeing them turned away to their independence. These unknowing bystanders are clueless to the effect it has on my heart. Socially acceptable. This is a word I must remind myself of. It is not "socially acceptable" to yell through tears, "please hold your crying baby, I never got to hold mine and I would give anything for that opportunity again." Not socially acceptable.

Now have I turned into a Saint of a mother? Ha, hardly. There is no such thing. Even in the event you loose a thousand children. {And Heaven forbid.} Children are difficult. They are loud, can be slightly obnoxious at times, nagging, tattling, bickering, mess making, and down right frustrating. For someone to not say any of those things have been in their list of descriptions would be lyyyyyying. They will draw on your walls. YES, THEY WILL. Even if you stare at them. {Add sorcerers, to that list.} They will break your favorite decorative figures. {My ceramic little girl that was given to us after the funeral to represent Savannah in heaven.} She will now always remind me, that Savannah was not perfect, but we LOVED her anyways. Children will sometimes even lie to your face. Even if you saw them commit the "crime." More so my beloved three year old, but again it is all apart of the learning process of life. If you do not ever find any of these things irritating, I would have to wonder if you were possibly in a coma. {I pray someone is protecting your oxygen from the small children in your house as well. And if anything your tank will probably be drawn on.}

So no, I'm not a perfect mom.

My hair is not always perfectly neat. I do not make homemade cookies everyday. I do not have boys that don't try and pumble each other at any given opportunity. I have on occasion thought bedtime was the most beautiful part of my day. {Oh I ADORE the sight of peaceful, quiet, sleeping children.} I get upset when long tentacle beetles are brought in to say "hello mommy." I don't understand why the floor under my table looks worse than the aftermath of Pearl Harbor after every meal. I've considered taking every one of my children in for hearing tests because of their incompetence in listening. I sometimes forget that my children are only seven, six, and three. I admit there are times that I have expected too much from them. I've lacked patience at times, when I shouldn't have. I've raised my voice.

But...I've questioned every decision and reaction I've ever had. I've wished I could start bad days all over. I've said my fair share of sorry's. {Mommy's can and should be sorry too.} I've said no, and yes. I've given punishment when due and praise where deserved. I've slowed it down. I've experienced the feeling of life if any of them were no longer with me. I miss them the second they are away from me, and would live in constant missing them if their life slipped away. {Even the constant questioning.}

Loosing a child doesn't make motherhood any less frustrating. It doesn't make it "easier." It just reminds you of what is really important. The things you don't want to take for granted. The things you would miss. In a sense maybe it makes it harder. Being a parent to a child in Heaven and children on earth, there is always a hidden fear. A fear that you cannot protect the ones here from everything. The fear you didn't protect the ones gone, enough. A constant reminder that we are not guaranteed a tomorrow. It makes the "hard" days harder I think.

Just don't ask me if the baby keeps me up at night. If I'm lucky I'll answer, "thankfully yes."

Don't "suggest" that I hold my baby too much. Because only if I'm feeling socially acceptable, I'll refrain from saying,

"your right, I should have just held my dead one longer." 

Lives that never get a chance.

This subject has been on the front of my mind for quite a few months now. Night before last, as though God was trying to push me into writing a blog on those feelings, my husband told me something that was more than startling. It was horrifying.

Here at A Story Unfolding, I feel as though there are beliefs I have that alienate some readers or may aggravate people of opposite views. So in hesitation to writing this blog, I understand that I may upset someone or possibly loose viewers. With that being said, being I was a 16year old mother, and a mother who has also buried a child, I feel I am more than qualified to say what I am about to say...

Recently at an Abortion Clinic in the country we've become so proud to demolish, a young girl went in to receive what is known as the "kill pill." The FDA approved medical abortion pill "Misoprostol," which causes contractions to induce labor for women, is given after an initial pill is taken, "mifepristone." The young girl, was unaware of how far along she was, and after a "guessed" due date, was given the abortion pills. She delivered a full term, still born baby a few days later.

This is heartbreaking.  Maybe to some out there, this doesn't effect them. But my heart aches. I am sure many people in the world might retort by saying, "these young mothers deserve a chance." But I've been a teenage mother. I have put my blood sweat and tears into what others flush away.
Look at the beautiful girl she is growing into...

If those women could see a picture like this of their unborn child, would they still feel the same way? If they wanted their babies, yet death was unavoidable would saving a life be a little less taken for granted? Had I been eight weeks pregnant with Savannah and was told "your unborn baby has a Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia and a zero percent chance of survival," I would have still carried her to term. I would have one hundred more babies all with CDH if God gives me the chance to see their precious faces. To love them, and hold them. To give them every chance in the world.

I'm not saying you have to keep the baby, for there are so many families out there who cannot receive such a beautiful gift for so many different reasons. A new law is trying to be passed in some states. Adoption only. Making it illegal to perform abortions, and if you do not want your baby, adoption is the only option. I see nothing wrong with this.

3,700 abortions are performed in the United States everyday. 

That's 154 every hour, or 2 every minute! 

{http://www.abortionno.org/Resources/fastfacts.html}

Babies that were NOT wanted.

SIDS alone takes 7,000 babies a year.
583 a month, almost 1 baby an hour.
 {http://www.sids-network.org/facts.htm}

Still not as much as abortions,
But keep in mind that is JUST SIDS!
That isn't including Congenital Defects,
Prematurity, and many many other occurances.

Multiply that by three...

Because these babies WERE wanted.
So with every baby lost,
there is a mother and father crying over a casket.

The answer is not always black and white.

Eventually life will bring so much color to you.

I've talked with some of the ladies at the local Crisis Pregnancy Center here in town, and have offered to share Savannah's Story and Video with any ladies considering, "the easy route." With any luck Savannah could go on to save ones, like her, with no voice...

{Spread the word.}

Be my baby.

In case you have missed this single father's popular youtube video... tonight seeing yet another video of this admirable daddy singing with his precious daughter did in fact make my heart ache. We have a tendency, especially as the mother, to forget that when our babies die, our husbands truly loose something as well. Daddies hearts break in the same way as mommies... they just express things a little differently.

So when you watch this video, whether you have lost a baby or not, please try and look at the love this father has for his daughter. You can see it radiating from both him... and her.... And imagine the pain one must feel to never have a chance to sing duets side by side...

Sarah, is always singing.

I would like to picture Koady and Savannah singing

this song side by side as well...

"Be My Baby."

-The Ronettes
{Jorge & Alexa Narvaez}

{Pause the Playlist on the 
side before watching!!!}

Rockabye Baby.

There is something magical about a baby. Wouldn't you have to agree? Such a small little life. A little soul. So innocent and fresh from the hands of the Lord.

Bliss. 

Yes, a baby is bliss.

Now as a mother, there is divine treasure in having a daughter. Just as there is for a father, who longs for a son. I have two boys, and don't mistake me for thinking my boys are anything but delight in my heart. Because I couldn't and won't imagine my life without their unbridled spirits. They have showed me a world outside of my own girly wonderment. But again, I believe every mother wonders what it would be like to have a daughter. Someone to relate to. Someone who lives on Venus with us, rather than the enchanting confusion coming from Mars.

I've mentioned before since our loss of Savannah, that I long for another girl. No. Not for me actually. Yes, I love my girls. But, I long for another girl for a much deeper reason. Sarah.

Growing up, I had two older brothers. There was such an age seperation, that a bonding relationship never became. But these brothers of mine, these two close in age siblings, had something in common. Their gender. You can just relate better to your own gender growing up I believe. I remember feeling like an outsider, watching a communication that I have always lacked. My cousin became my "sister." And from slightest touch and feeling of what a sister was like, I couldn't imagine growing up, having a daughter, and having her grow through life without that relationship.

I don't have a diluted vision of what sisters are. I know, boy or girl, they are not always going to see eye to eye. They aren't always going to braid each others hair and enjoy sharing secrets. But I believe siblings go much deeper than that.... And I wanted that with Savannah. I want that now for Sarah.

This Christmas, all Sarah wanted for Christmas, was a baby doll. Now, Sarah has never ever been into playing with baby dolls. Barbies yes, dolls no. I couldn't just pick her out any old baby doll. I didn't care, what sounds it made, what movements it mimicked, or how much it cost. I knew that Sarah's desire for a baby doll Christmas morning came from an emptyness she was feeling too. Sarah's arms were empty. And even though she is only a mere six years old, I know with all my heart, her arms were longing for Savannah to fill them these past holidays. This baby doll had to have big brown eyes, and a round head. That was all that mattered. Now, that may seem like a simple task... let me tell you, it's not. Common baby doll eye color these days?:: Blue. There is nothing wrong with blue eyes, and I probably would have gotten a blue eyed baby had it not been under these circumstances.

My mother and I found, Savannah doll, at Target late one night Christmas shopping. The store was quiet and dead. I picked that brown eyed doll up and held her in my arms. I lifted the bottle up to her mouth, and stared as this plastic toy's face moved in up and down motions as if to really be drinking its bottle. I giggled, feeling the slightest bit uncomfortable cherishing a moment with Savannah doll. "Sarah might wonder where her doll is one night, only to find me rocking and feeding it in Savannah's room," I said outloud. Again I chuckled trying to maintain the tears I could feel welling up in my eyes. My moms heart ached as she looked at me, and my plastic, brown eyed Savannah.

Months have passed since then, and I reassure you that I haven't found myself rocking that baby doll... atleast in my own time. Two nights ago, while tucking the kids into bed, Sarah asked me to hold her baby doll while she situated all of her beloved animals surrounding her. There I was, rocking that brown eyed doll again in my aching arms. She cooed and giggled at me, as if she really did love me. Delicately handing the baby over to my Sarah, the doll started to cry. I quickly kissed Sarah goodnight and rushed out of the room. Standing outside of the now dark bedroom, I put my hand up to my chest trying to find the strength to breathe again.

The pretend baby, the plastic doll, cried as if it was longing my arms... just as much as my arms are longing to hold, "her."

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.

How children all grieve differently.

Savannah is important.

But there are three other little people who have stolen a piece of my heart as well. And since I don't ever want to portray Savannah as "my favorite" due to the circumstances, I wanted to introduce you to some of my other heartbeats, & explain how they have been coping with the loss of their baby sister...

Sarah Nicole

Born June 18th, 2004

Our first girl. Was the only girl before Savannah arrived, in a group of four boy grandchildren. She started first grade this year and really is thriving with every second. She is headstrong and opinionated; yet compassionate and and tender hearted. Sarah has wanted nothing more than to have a sister. She nurtures and mothers her brothers, but also recognizes the amount of testosterone that is running through the Fraser household.

Savannah was going to share secrets, makeup, clothes, and Sarah's love for all things girly. This is what Sarah dreamed of atleast. She has handled the loss of Savannah, and the dreams of everything that came with having a baby sister amazingly well. She doesn't like that she never got to see her, and that all she has for memories are photographs. She is old enough to understand most of what has happend. She doesn't like the outcome, but she loves that her sister, the one she has waited for, dances with Jesus. She is optimistic that this next baby will be allowed to stay, and {hopefully} will be a girl. We'll see Sarry girl, we'll see. Just remember sweety, "everything happends for a reason."

Michael David

Born May 22nd, 2005

I had a rough pregnancy with little Michael. Blood clots, depression, and pre-term labor. Michael was born into our world instantly sucking his thumb. He is our highly sensative, high strung, quivery voice, teddy bear. He is a contemplating, internalizing, loving, caring, snuggle bug. And that is exactly what he has done with Savannah's death.

He contemplates. He internalizes.

Every night at dinner, Michael never ceases to amaze me wiht his genuine heartfelt prayers on behalf of the baby girl he treasures. {They are such powerful prayers from a five year old, that one day they almost brought my brother to tears.} Michael prayed for Savannah while she formed in mommies tummy, and Michael continues to pray for her even after her soul has left us. Knowing the size of Michael's heart, when he is grown with a family of his own, they will gather around their dinner table and he will say a little prayer for Savannah.  Thanking the Lord for bringing her home to Him, so he could help her breathe again...

Michael although he hasn't said much, has been showing signs that he isn't handeling her death well, although I am sure he is unaware of it. I don't think he is struggling due to knowing he misses his sister, I think he is dealing with the grief and is unaware of his feelings. Michael loved kindergarten when he first started this year. He looked forward to it all last year, when I homeschooled Miss.Sarah. He did well the first few weeks, and it wasn't until after Savannah's death and the chaos that was our home there after, that Michael turned into someone I had never met before. He has stories everyday of kids being mean to him. I'd watch in the mornings as he would seclude himself from the other children on the playground, and sit by himself. He hasn't been progressing in his learning, as if he has shut out the world. He reminds me daily that he misses Savannah, and is worried I won't be there to pick him up everyday when school is over. This summer, {in an uphill battle} we managed to completely break Michael of sucking his thumb. The age had finally come, and it was beginning to effect his teeth and bite. He didn't suck his thumb during the day, but at night when he was sleeping, in would go the thumb. We were so proud of him, and he was especially proud of himself. Savannah left us. There is now nothing we can do to to keep the finger out of his mouth. Morning.... noon... night... it is there. I don't have the heart to prevent it right now. Last night, as he laid down to go to sleep {staring at a picture he has hidden in a special place of Grandma, while sucking his thumb} he took his finger out of his mouth and asked me, "are Grandma and Grandpa going to move to a new house?" I told him no, as I pulled the blankets up around him. He continued staring at the picture, so I asked, "why?" He proceeded to tell me that if Grandma and Grandpa moved away they wouldn't tell us where they lived and he wouldn't see them again. {Grandma and Grandpa-especially, are Michael's world. His little, stressed out world, revolves around their involvement in our family.} And it dawned on me. Michael, in his own little ways, is associating Savannah's death, the fact that she is a member of our family, but we will never see her again, with everyone who is close to him. We are here now, but are we going to be here in an hour, tomorrow, next week even? Needless to say, Koady and I made the decision to remove Michael from kindergarten this year, so he can spend some quality time here... where he feels safe. Where everything is going to be okay. We will give Michael some much needed time to just grieve... with the comfort of his family surrounding him. I'll always be here Michael, no matter what.

Brody Peyton

Born December 19th, 2007

What is there to say about Brody. {If you knew this little boy, you would know exactly what I mean.} He radiates more energy than the sun. Mischief should have been his middle name. He is unable to sit still... it is a battle to get him to follow directions... his noise level could break sound barriers... he is impatient and impulsive to say the least. My husband refers to him as {which there is no better way to describe him} our force of nature. But as you all may be counting your blessings as you read this that he isn't your son, Brody is also very loving and very funny. His hugs could bring you to tears. And when he grabs your cheeks, looks straight into your eyes, and tells you, "I yub you mommy," you know every second of his utter frusteration is worth it.

Obviously, with Brody being two and a half when Savannah was born, he is unaware of the loss in our family. We were going to have a baby. Okay. Now we have pictures of "baby abanna." Having a new baby is pretty darn cool to Brody. It will never have the same effect on Brody as it does on Sarah and Michael. And though this may seem awful to say, it makes me sad for him. I don't want him to feel the hurt of loosing her, but I know that the hurt makes it real. The hurt makes Savannah real. He will always know that Savannah is his baby sister. That he is her big brother, but he will never fully grasp how major the loss was to us. Thank you Brody, for making me laugh during this time, and definatly keeping me busy...

"Mommy loves all four of you...

...more than you will ever know."

Johnson & Johnson.

Night before last in our usual routine, I took my little ones up the stairs to begin bathtime. As I began filling the tub with warm water it came to my attention that I was completely out of shampoo. I looked under the cabinet for shampoo, because usually there are extras on hand. Ofcourse that night there wasn't. But...


Sitting quietly up in Savannah's closet sat one of her many bottles of Johnson & Johnson baby shampoo. The chaos of children around me was silenced as I stood in her closet doorway staring at the bottle of golden soap. It stared heavily back at me. I felt my body begin shaking as I slowly reached for the full unopened bottle.


I saved her shampoos, her body washes, and her lotions. I saved her desitin, her baby q-tips, her baby powders, and the bottles of hand sanitizers. All in hopes and knowledge that they would come to use someday. That they would be used someday. I just didn't expect the need to arise so soon.


I lowered my body into the glider that sits in the corner of her nursery, cradling the bottle close to my chest. The door was closed. A crack of light shown through at me. I hadn't sat in her chair in awhile. It was our favorite place to rock together while I was pregnant. It eased my back pain, and soothed her to sleep when she found herself doing gymnastics in my tummy. I would sing her lullabyes and would stare into the words written upon the wall next to the rocker.

"Some people dream of angels... I hold one in my arms."

I looked to those words as a reminder that I would hold her in that chair so very soon. I wish she could have seen her little room. But tonight... tonight, I was rocking a bottle of her shampoo that I dreamed of caressing into her beautiful brown hair. I opened it, and closed my eyes. I smelled it again and again picturing Savannah. And I finally, slowly got up. I walked back to her closet. I ran my fingers across all of her precious little outfits, and shut the closet door yet again. 

As I poured the shampoo into my hands and rubbed it into Sarah's pretty brown hair, I held back tears. Here she was... Savannah was humming right in front of me... and I was washing her beautiful brown hair. My tears then dripped off of my cheeks into the bathwater. But it was a good thing.

I think I will save that bottle when the last drop finally leaves me down the drain...   

Sisters.

I am currently a mother of three sick little ones. Brody started the downward viral spiral weekend before last. I was quick to catch the cough, but no other symptoms. {Which isn't like me at all.} And then Michael picked up the cough, followed by the grand finale of Miss. Sarah. I have been pushing juices and cough medicine, but last night around 12am, Michael woke up crying.


I went to him, thinking he may of had a bad dream. "What's the matter bud?" I asked, tired but still trying to be comforting. He clutched his ear... Ear infection... Awsome. I went downstairs and prepared some motrin, and dug for the ear drops. Once he was pampered, snuggled, and feeling a little better, Sarah stirred. Fever... Double-y awsome. More motrin, a glass of cold water, and another one was snuggled back into bed. As my head hit the pillow {ahhhhh} I knew they wouldn't be making it to school in the morning. And I slowly drifted back into dreamland...


First thing this morning I called the doctors office. I scheduled each of them an appointment being "whooping cough" is on the rise... just to be sure... When I told Sarah she wasn't going to school because she needed to see the doctor she cried. I didn't understand. I thought it must have been due to the fact she was missing school. {See I told you they loved it.} She curled up on the couch and sobbed. I still was in the dark about why this was so tramatic.


"Why do I have to go to the doctor?" Sarah had a perplexed look on her face. "The doctor will make you better, and can probably give you something that will get rid of that nasty cough," I replied. She was quiet for a few minutes. "Am I going to heaven?" My heart jus broke.


We have kept Savannah's story at a childhood innocence level for the kids. Sarah took it the hardest. She wanted her baby sister more than any little one could probably hope and dream. Her prayers were wrapped around having a girl. She bonded with Savannah. She talked to her the entire pregnancy. She got giddy over every pink baby item on the shelves of every store we ventured into. She told me stories of all of the things she would do with and for Savannah. More than nine months went into Sarah's sister fantasy. And all too soon, her plans and dreams were also shattered. She never got to meet her. Sarah only has pictures that goes with her anticipated sister. 


When Savannah was born Grandma and Grandpa explained to the kids that she was sick, and needed to stay in the hospital for awhile while doctors made her better. To Sarah, Savannah was in doctors care. The doctors were supposed to be making Savannah better. But Savannah never came home. 


Savannah is better now... but Savannah is in heaven, not here with us.


I sat down with Sarah and held her. I told her that it is not her time to go to heaven yet, and that God chose Savannah for our family for a special reason but he needed her more than we did. God knew that we would understand and he trusted that.


I told Sarah that Savannah's nurses and doctors were wonderful people who did so much for her and that they took extra special care of her while she was with them. But I explained to her that doctors can only do a small part of God's bigger plan. 


God could have healed Savannah here on earth. He could have healed her before she came to us. He could have healed her after. But he didn't. That doesn't mean he can't perform miracles. That doesn't mean he doesn't exist. That doesn't mean he doesn't love us, or that he doesn't love Savannah. It means he loves her that much more. I then told Sarah, because we praised God as we said goodbye to Savannah it means God loves us that much more too... and we will see her again. Savannah's situation had God's hand in it from the very beginning, just as all of ours does.


Needless to say, we are headed to the doctor {willingly} this afternoon... and we will see that we all come out on the other side. {Eventually & Luckily}


And Sarah will always have a healthy baby sister with her always...