Begone 2014

2014... A year I wish I could forget except for a handful of weeks.  Don't let the door hit you on the way out.  This year was challenging, not in a god way.  This year was sad.  This year couldn't really have been worse.  I don't hold grudges.  I don't like throwing hate out there, nor do I like being negative.  But good riddance!!

Ironically though, I feel a twinge of pain seeing this year end.  My son saw 2014.  He was alive last year at this time.  Pretty soon, I won't be able to say that.  It's a scary concept.

Dear friends and family, I wish you a happy 2015.  A healthy year.  Don't underestimate health.  It's such a privilege to have.  Be happy and smile more this year - think of Preston, I hope it makes you smile.  Challenge yourself because you only live once.  Be a kinder version of yourself, especially towards you.  You deserve all the happiness in the world after all. <3

My sincere best wishes for this new year that's minutes away.

Outpouring of love & support

I was contacted by two ladies I've met on the BBC boards and read their messages.  There was a mom who'd just lost her infant, and they felt like I'd be a good resource for her, and that it'd be a fabulous idea if I could reach out to her.  Of course I did so as soon as possible because I know all too well how difficult this journey is.  How alone you can feel even when you are surrounded.  How you try and recalculate everything you did to see if you could have done something differently.  How you are forced into making decisions you never imagined you'd have to make. A funeral.  Burial or cremation.  Do I want to hold my baby again or should I stay away because he/she won't look the same and it might ruin the memory of your child.  All decisions I had to make.  All decisions I had to make at the lowest point in my life.

When I connected to the forum thread about this mother losing her son Archer, I was floored.  I was absolutely bewildered in amazement by how much love and support this mom was receiving - on a non-loss forum.  Pages and pages of supporting comments, outpourings of love and women helping this mother through the absolutely worse time of her life.  Hugs.

Virtual or not, support can be so powerful.  It can lift you up and help you through the wild waves of grief.  While no one experiences grief the same, while all experiences are unique, while we are all on our own journeys, support can make such a difference.  This thread, where hundreds have replied to this mama's cry for help, and thousands have hugged this sweet soul, is a sign of what I've hoped to see since losing Preston in March.  The silence is breaking around losing babies.  It's less taboo.  It's talked about.  Perhaps there is hope for us not to be shunned because our stories are too sad.  There is hope that we will not be sequestered from future happy events.  Hope does float.

In the last couple of days, I've posted a couple times in this thread, in the hopes of letting this mom know that she is not alone going through this horrible journey.  I don't know that I've touched her, but something pretty amazing happened.  My blog went from 50-100 views daily, to 3500+ in the last two days.  A couple of people reached out to me.  One made my day yesterday - I got my long awaited sign from Preston:

"artisticdevelopment" writes:

...at lunch today the window of your blog popped back up on my phone with a picture of Preston smiling zoomed to the full screen. I don't remember doing that! I felt like he was saying "Hey! What do I have to do to get your attention! Write to my mommy!" I'm terrible at typing on my phone but I didn't want to waste any more time so I'm writing you now. I wish I had something eloquent to say but the best I can do is Preston was beautiful and he sure printed himself on my heart. Xoxo.

Just wow.  I cried.  I smiled.  My heart skipped a beat.  2014 has been a challenging year to say the least.  It started off so great... the best 9-10 weeks of my life.  I'd thought 2012 was a sucky year... Boy was I wrong.  I'm not sad to see 2014 go away, but at the same time, I did have some very happy moments.  As almost everything is in my life now, it's bittersweet.

Basically, all this to say, don't underestimate the power of love and support.  It can do magical things, as can positive attitudes, but that's a little difficult to have when you've lost part of yourself.  So thank you to all who are support Archer's mama.  To all that are supporting Evan's mama.  You are truly making a difference, even if you can't see it.  Those first few months are fuzzy, blurry and foggy.  I don't remember them well.  Re-reading my early blog entries and totally don't recall writing them.  Thank you for supporting them, and continuing to do so.  Thank you for helping break the silence.  Thank you, for your compassion.  Dare I say, thank you from all grieving mamas.

A cold winter day

Today was an almost perfect cold winter day.  The ground was covered in the purest snow of white.  The sky was vividly blue and void of clouds.  The air was still making the below freezing temperatures bearable.

I got an early start on my day and did the groceries as early as possible. I'd wanted to do so, in the hopes of getting a roast into the slow cooker for a nice dinner.  We bought a quarter cow from my in-laws last fall and still have a lot of meat left; many of which cuts that I don't cook with often.  I asked Brett to go pick one yesterday morning so that it could thaw and he picked a chuck roast.  I'd never really cooked one of these so I searched the ever reliable internet and found this recipe: Slow-cooker Pot Roast.  I noted a few ingredients which I didn't have and bought them today along with the rest of the groceries.  As I didn't read through the whole thing, I failed to realize I was out of red cooking wine, and beef broth.  How does one run out of beef broth anyways?  I improvised and used white wine instead of red, and vegetable broth instead of beef broth.

As the roast, vegetables and sauce started heating up, delicious aromas filled the house.  It sure made us both very hungry all day!  Every 2 hours, Brett would ask: "Is it time to eat yet?"

As the roast tenderized in the crock pot, I enjoyed a productive and fun day.  I reviewed a lot of paperwork, as kids outside were sledding down the small hill of the green belt that lies behind our house.  Just a year ago, I'd watched children doing the same, as I held and rocked Preston, all the whilst telling him how we would go sledding together the following winter.  How things change.  I didn't wallow in the pain of my loss though.  I just savored the memory.  Perhaps the intoxicating incense of the spices that permeated the house helped make it so.  Delicious food and smells have a way of making people happy, somehow, don't they?

In between piles of paperwork, I played a few games and did enjoy an evening with friends, online on World of Warcraft, as we attempted to defeat two different encounters.  While we were not successful, we learned a lot about the fights, and laughed quite a bit.  It's nice to be able to have fun and laugh.

An so, it was an almost perfect cold winter day.  Sitting by the fire, a cat on my lap, hubby by my side.  Only one thing it missing; a perfect, smiling little boy.

A new kind of Christmas

Christmas has come and gone.  It once seemed so far away, yet it appeared out of nowhere.  I dreaded this day, and now I don't have to worry about it for a whole year.  "The first of everything is the hardest", I've been told.  I've also heard that "the second year is often worse".  I don't know what to expect, and I don't wish to sit around trying to anticipate how difficult every future day of my life might be.  Instead, I will simply take each day on as it presents itself.  I highly doubt, any day can be worse than March 13, 2014.  If I could erase this day from the calendar, I would in a heartbeat.

So how was my Christmas?  It was tinged with sadness, but at the same time, I was surrounded by loved ones, my husband at my side.  Brett's mom had purchased a little candle for us to keep lit on this holiday, something Brett had requested.   We lit it on Christmas Eve and it was a very emotional ritual.  A sad reminder of what is missing, what will never be.  It was very powerful and hit me like a truck I wasn't expecting.

On a side note, I was already in a somber mood.  On my way home, an ambulance came blaring down the road going in the opposite direction... in the same direction it had gone to try and save my baby boy.  I cried the whole way home, which was just a few blocks.  I know in my heart that the EMTs tried so hard to revive Preston.  As did the doctors and nurses in the ER.  As did the nanny, I hope.  I still can't help but feel powerless when I see an ambulance, especially when it's lights and horns are roaring.  It's even worse when it's clearly coming from the hospital by our house, where I found out both my babies were gone.

I didn't sleep great Christmas Eve, not anyone's fault.  We had opened one present each that evening.  Brett was psyched to open his new gaming laptop.  I think that was the happy highlight of the night for me.  For a long time, Christmas to me has been about giving.  Don't get me wrong, I don't dislike receiving presents but I have more than I need, so it's very difficult for me to give ideas for presents.  I'm always thankful for what I receive, and this year is no different.

Christmas day was fun.  There was a lot of cooking in the kitchen.  A lot of laughter as we joked around.  We opened a lot of presents and everyone seemed genuinely happy.  Preston's Nan had put up a stocking for him, filled with Hershey's kisses.  Everyone received a kiss from Preston.  It was bittersweet, but it felt really nice to have a moment dedicated to him.  We ate more than we should.  We reflected on what were were grateful for.  While the Lord did not answer all my prayers this year, he did bless me with a sweet little boy for 16 weeks.  For the rest of my life, I pledge to share him with anyone who will open his heart to him.

There was no Christmas miracle, but Preston's presence was around.  I didn't feel him, or see a sign from him, but I know that he wasn't terribly far away.  I hope to see signs again, one day soon.  I really long for them.

And as for a Christmas wish, I'm still struggling with making a wish since they've seldom come true.  But if I can wish for something simple, it's that everyone had a nice Christmas with family.  That everyone had safe travels. That if you were without a loved one, that you found a way to smile, if only for a moment, and that you found a way to incorporate your loved one into your celebration.

Filled with kisses from Preston

Thanks to hubby for putting the meat pie together as I napped on Christmas day.

The Lonely Red Tree

For the past month the picture above has been what I stare at, from my seat on the train as I await for it to depart for Denver.  Why are the lights on all these trees white, except for a lone one which garnishes red little bulbs?  I've hypothesized for a month now.  I'm sure I'm reading way too much into it, but so go the thoughts in my head...

Christmas is a time of light.  A time for happiness, a time for family.  A time for celebration, a time to be grateful for Jesus and the sacrifices He and God made to give us this life that we have.  A time to rejoice.  However, for some, Christmas is not as joyful.  Some are homeless.  Some are alone.  Some are apart from their families as they try to protect our countries.  Some are without a loved one because they passed away this last year, or maybe years ago and it's just not quite the same without them.  For some, Christmas is a painful reminder of what they do not have.  I think this is well represented by the slew of trees decorated in white surrounding the one lone tree adorned in red.

You have to notice though, this lonely red tree is not off on it's own.  It is flanked by the sea of white lit trees.  Do I feel lonely this Christmas without Preston?  Absolutely.  Do I feel sad this Christmas because my son isn't here to see wrapping paper fly all around him? That he doesn't get to enjoy playing with the box instead of the toy inside of it?  Undeniably, yes.  Do I feel incomplete as I sit surrounded by loved ones?  Unfortunately, I do.  However, I am that - surrounded by love, by light.  Just like the little red tree.

Not only is Christmas about coming together with loved ones, but it is also about opening our hearts to those less fortunate.  We donate to food drives, and charities.  We give coats that we don't use anymore.  We offer our homes to those who don't have a place to celebrate.  We have light in our hearts and don't ostracize the sad, the lonely, the hungry.

To whoever decorated those trees, thank you.  Thank you for the reminder that I am not alone feeling this way on Christ's birthday.  Thank you for making me think all month, and come to peace with the fact that it is acceptable for me to feel sadness throughout this holiday season.  Thank you for giving a new meaning to the town of Lone Tree, that same town my son was born in.  This little lonely red tree gave me a lot of inspiration, and hopefully it did for many others.

Wishing you a Merry Christmas.

Tradition metamorphosis

Growing up, Christmas was filled with tradition.  We would go to 8 o'clock mass at l'église de Ste-Geneviève and for a couple years, St-Thomas a Becket since I was part of the choir in grade school.  We listened to the readings and the sermon.  We sung along to the Christmas carols sung by the choir.  My favorite was always "Angels We Have Heard On High".

After mass, we would spend an hour or so with our neighbors, at their house.  The adults would sip eggnog as we the children wondered what Santa was to bring us in a few hours.  We pestered our parents, I'm sure, to find out when we were going home.  When the time finally came, we were told to go to bed, so that mom could finish the midnight dinner and so that Santa could come and leave presents for us under the tree.  To this day, I still swear that one night.. I heard the giggling of bells on our roof.  Crazy right?

A few hours later, we were awakened.  Santa had come down the chimney and spread out presents, perfectly and neatly under our tree.  We ate appetizers and opened presents, raveling at the prizes we were just awarded.  Once we were done, we had a nice family dinner in the dining room, at around midnight or 1am.  Roast beef was usually on the menu, along with other deliciousness like mashed potatoes and tourtière.  Dessert often included chocolate goodies or petits fours.  Yum!  I wish I could recall this a little better.  We then went on to play with our loot until the wee hours of the morning.  We went to sleep, and woke up to a Christmas morning brunch.  We sure did eat well..  Thanks mom!

As we grew older, and the illusion of Santa lost it's luster, the unwrapping of gifts was prolonged as one present at a time was opened, so that all could see what the other received.  It was a good time, and I really enjoyed spending that time with my family, and observing their expressions as they opened gift after gift.  I guess the presents didn't matter so much.  It was more the thought behind them.  I struggle with finding the perfect gift more and more every year as we are all at a point in our lives where we really have everything that we need.. or at least anything that can be bought that we need.  Somethings you just can't buy.

Now that I am in Colorado, there is no Christmas Eve "Réveillon".  That is more a French-Canadian tradition.  I do feel though that I've been able to incorporate some aspects of my previous traditions into my new traditions.  We are allowed to open 1 present on Christmas Eve.  Sometimes we even get to open our Christmas stocking on Christmas Eve.  The Christmas stocking is a new tradition for me.  We didn't put those up as children.  There was one big stocking that my mom filled with presents, one for each of us.  We have appetizers and drinks and spend family time together.  The next morning, we open presents, one at a time, and the person who last opened a present, gets to choose the next present to be opened.  I rather like that.  We had started doing the same back in Montreal, and I assume that this has continued.  Later on Christmas, we have an early dinner which is very traditional - turkey, mashed potatoes, green beans, stuffing, rolls.  Since I started making my meat pie, it was added to the menu, and I don't think any of us would feel that it is Christmas without it.

This year, yet again, I believe that our Christmas traditions will experience a metamorphosis.  I would like to have a candle lit the whole time, for Preston, so that we think of him throughout the festivities.  Perhaps, he will feel our love for him and stop by for a little visit in the mountains at his grandparent's house, which he only visited once.  I hope that in the years to come, we go back to driving around our neighborhood to see the beautiful lights and decorations that have been put up to spread light and cheer.  I hope that it makes me smile, like it used to.  I hope that I find the courage to set up my Christmas village again, and that perhaps, by then, Preston has a little brother or sister that can admire it.

And maybe, just maybe, we can put up a stocking for Preston, where anyone can drop a letter to him, or what they wish he got to see, what we think he might be like.  Perhaps that will be too hard, and the stocking will need to simply be reserved for the sharing of happy thoughts, for us to read to each other and remind ourselves, of all the things that still exist that make us smile, bring us happiness.

Have your traditions remained the same throughout the years? Have you been able to incorporate old customs into your current festivities?

How is that comfortable?

Cats live like royalty.  They own whatever room they are in, and will not let you forget it.  There is no rule they won't break.  They are waited on hand and foot.  They don't have to work.  They sleep and play as much as they like.  What a life!  Yet it's not a life that I would enjoy living.  I spent months being unable to work because I had to wait for paperwork to be processed by the government and it was depressing.  I don't know that I'd enjoy having someone do everything for me.  I enjoy cooking.  I could probably do without the housekeeping duties, it's not something I enjoy at all.  I'm certainly not a great housekeeper, though I am trying to get better at it.

The cat trait I'd love to inherit though is being able to find comfort anywhere.  Whether it be in a box that's too small for me, sprawled out of the cold floor, or on the bed, with part of me hanging off.  I don't find comfort in a lot of places.  I can't fall asleep in a moving vehicle.. which made for an interesting trip to Hawaii for our honeymoon.  I know we had a layover somewhere... Oakland maybe.. and there was a delay, or there was just a really long wait between flights.  I think I was so tired that the details are really blurry.  All I know is I hadn't slept for what felt like 24 hours, and just totally crashed when we got to the hotel in Waikiki Beach.. Oops!  Though I blame Crohn's Disease too.  Pre-surgery, I slept a lot more.  It wasn't rare that I'd sleep until noon on the weekend.  I usually don't get past 9:00 am now, but it's usually closer to 7:00 or 8:00.  A little bit better than 5:00 on weekdays right? :)

All in all, I don't sleep well if I'm not at home in my own bed.  I love watching TV, but need a blanket for ultimate comfort.  I would snack all day long if I could because that too is very comforting to me, but that wouldn't really make sense for a girl trying to lose weight.  Food, warmth and sleep.. the trifecta of comfort!

I don't know how cats find it comfortable to fall asleep on the cold hardwood floor in the middle of winter.  Some things make sense, like Acro napping all afternoon in front of the fire place... oh so gracefully with his belly in the air.  I actually think that it would be too warm to sleep right by the fireplace, but I'm not a cat so who knows.  I guess that as long as they find it comfortable, I can't say I have a problem with that.  I love that they are comfortable.

I find my home as a whole comfortable.  There are a million projects to make it even more so, but I want this to be my forever home.  We dreamed of bigger houses as our children got older.  With Preston no longer being with us, I don't want to leave the comfort of this house that he knew as his only home.  It was comfortable to him.  He unlike me, could fall asleep anywhere.  The vacuum cleaner didn't wake him up, nor did the roar of the train in the distance.  I need a lot of coziness to stay asleep.

Regardless of my inability to sleep soundly like the rest of my family, including my crazy cats, this home is filled with warmth.  This home will forever bring me comfort as it's a reminder of the life that Preston lived, even if just for a short while.

What is your trifecta of comfort?

Puzzle piece

When Preston passed away, something inside of me broke.  I feel smidgens of my old self resurface on rare occasions for but a fleeting moment.  Someone asks "how are you".  My replies range from "okay" and "not bad" to "good".  I used to always be good.  Whenever I say good now, I'm jolted back to reality a few moments later when the realization of what I've said strikes me. 

Good?  I'm not good.  Don't get me wrong, I'm also not rock bottom bad either.  I just float in between content and sad.  My soul was shattered into a million puzzle pieces when I heard the words of the nanny over the phone: "Preston's not breathing".  I feel paralyzed whenever I think of that moment.  I didn't freak out like I should have.  I think I must have already known that it was over.  

Not where I wanted to go with this... I often feel like I'm the piece of a massive puzzle, and every day, I find another piece to connect to and become a little more complete.  Some days, I realize the latest pieces that I connected to, were the wrong ones.  I have to search for the correct ones all over again.

Watching "Scrooged" last night, Brett's favorite Christmas movie, I realized that I may be a bit of a Scrooge myself this year.  No decorations around the house or in my cubicle at work.  No Christmas shopping in the stores, I did it all online to avoid the contagious spirit of the holidays.  No Christmas music.  No Christmas village, which I've been putting up every year since we moved into our house.  No Christmas baking.  

I was so excited about Christmas last year.  Before Preston was born, I had bought a "my first Christmas" onesie for Preston.  I thought it was the cutest thing and it made me thirsty for all the holidays we were about to have as a family.  Christmas itself, but also Easter, Valentine's Day, and Halloween.  All holidays that have special significance when you are a child.  There's magic all around these special occasions.  And of course, it would be a while until these had any type of significance for Preston, but nonetheless it was exciting and happy.  I had no way of knowing that he'd only be limited to one Thanksgiving, one Christmas, one New Year and one Valentine's Day.  The onesie didn't state "My first and only Christmas".

Would it have been better if it did? No it would not.  I just wish I could go back and soak it all in again.  Appreciate the family moments more than I did.  Hold my baby boy more, for longer.

"Scrooged" ends with the cast signing "Put a Little Love in Your Heart".  It hit me.  That's what I've been trying to do with #SpreadHappinessForPreston.  That's what I've been trying to do to honor my sweet little man.  I've been trying to promote kindness and happiness because that's what Preston was to me.  It's not always easy.  So hopefully he helps me with this one, and puts a little love in my heart, so that I can get through this special occasion without him in my arms.  Hopefully, he shows me the way to that next puzzle piece.

Blindsided

I watched the Survivor finale tonight.  As per usual, this season, this finale had blindsides, where unsuspecting contestants get voted out when they felt totally safe.  Being blindsided sucks.  But Survivor is ultimately a game, and so it doesn't seem so dramatic in the grand scheme of things.

I was blindsided this afternoon.  I was searching my work email for some information, which I found.  The email was dated March 13th, at about 11:50am.  My colleague was telling a vendor that I had returned from maternity leave and would take over the task at hand.  I was oblivious that in just a few hours, my son would be gone.  I'd had an unpleasant conversation with the nanny that way.  Preston had spit up, bad.  I was worried because I'd explained to her how to burp him to reduce the occurrences, and it seemed that she wasn't doing it since she said "before I knew it, he drank the whole thing before I could burp him".  No, not my son.  He didn't drink fast like that.  She wasn't paying attention.  I was upset by it, but what could I do really.  I figured, I'd talk to her when I picked him up on my way home to work.  Back into my work I dove, until my cell phone rang a few hours later with the worst news of my life.  I'll stop here.

That email this afternoon, it just brought everything to the forefront.  Blindsided when I least expected it.  The reminders of Preston are everywhere.  The Enfamil box that's pictured above is in my pantry.  I was going to switch Preston from Newborn to Infant, the following week.  I'm just the formula is now expired.  I'll never use it.  But I don't want to throw it out.  It doesn't blindside me, because I know it's there.  Much like all the rest of his things that are scattered around the house.  

Being blindsided takes the wind out of you.  I don't know if it's the same in the context of a game, but in the real world, it just knocks you off balance.  I was emotional all evening.  I felt for Jaclyn on Survivor, who suffers from MRKH, unable to have children of her own, yet wanting them so badly.  I cried for the hurt she must feel.  For the shame and guilt and resentment she feels toward her body for failing her when she did nothing to prompt it.  It hits close to home.  I don't know the pain of infertility, but I know the agony of loss all too well, and I can imagine that the feelings are similar.

Life undoubtedly will sucker punch me again in the future.  If I've learned anything though, it's just to turn the other cheek and say bring it on.  The clock keeps on ticking whether you watch it or not.  Life doesn't wait for you.  You just have to keep adjusting, adapting and try to keep up.

Have you ever been blindsided?  What did you do to power through?

Pursued by colors

If you've grown to get to know Preston through my blog, by now you are well versed in his love for bright colors.  He loved staring at the painting that hangs above our couch.  It's of the city of Boulder, Colorado.  The painting has a lot of blues, greens and reds.  I was so blessed this year with beautiful rainbows that graced the sky.  I do not recall a year where I have seen so many.

The season for rainbows is however behind us for this year.  To my recollection, I have not seen rainbows late in the Fall season and through Winter.  It seems though, that colors pursue me wherever I go.  When we stepped out of the Aria while in Las Vegas last month, the fountain was dancing again.  I'd seen the water jump all around and in fun patterns when we'd arrived that afternoon, but it was different.  The water was multicolored, and it was dancing around as if to say, smile and be happy.

It's obvious to me that this fountain is programmed a certain way, and that this wasn't a sign from Preston, but at the same time.. there are so many hotels on the Strip.  I stopped and stared at the fountain for what seemed like hours but I know it was just mere minutes.  The best shot I could get is pictured above.  It is probably the only thing that really prompted me to think about Preston in Vegas.  I thought of him every day, but it was of my own free will.  This just made me smile and remember how much my little guy loved to watch the bright colors in the things around him.

In the city we live in, every year, they light a star at the top of a large rock that sits behind the downtown area.  They've been doing so since the mid-1930's and every year, I've admired the white lights the star exudes.  We were driving home from Brett's parents house a few weeks ago and I noticed that the star appeared to be changing colors.  I thought perhaps the distance was playing tricks on my eyes, but as we grew closer to it, I realized I wasn't dreaming and the city had used lights which alternate colors.  From red, to blue, to yellow to fuchsia, to white, etc.  Why this year?  Have they been doing this a while and I never noticed?  Another coincidence, given Preston's love of colors?  Certainly, the city has no way of knowing this.  I've tried to research it but to no avail.

I'm chalking it up to serendipity again.  All of it.  I appear to continue to be pursued by colors.  Rainbows, dancing water fountains of all colors and a white star turned multicolored.  I welcome it.  Continue chasing me.  It makes me feel like Preston is not so far away as he seems.

Warmth of the fire

I stayed in bed for quite a while yesterday morning, watching large snowflakes through the slats of the window shades in our room.  It was peaceful and quiet.  The large snow crystals that swayed in the wind transported me back to May, when it snowed on Mother's day as I worked at the kitchen table.  Yesterday morning, I thought of my sweet little boy, and missed him so.

I spent the day in the house, with the storm raging and no car, where was a girl to go anyway?  As I sat on the couch playing World of Warcraft on my laptop, my cats lay by the fireplace, napping by the warmth that emanated from the fire.  How many hours I spent on this same couch last winter watching my baby boy sleep?  How many hours did I rock him to sleep? How many hours did I spend playing with him, making him smile and giggle?

The answer is simple.  Not enough.  I wish I had spent more hours just watching him sleep.  He'd often smile as he slept.  What was he dreaming of? Bunnies jumping from cloud to cloud?  Rainbows over waterfalls?  Fields of endless flowers, filled with vivid colors?  Whatever it was, I'm glad he had such dreams, and I'm ever so grateful that they made him smile, if only for fleeting seconds.  I wish I spent more time holding him.  Rocking him, and bouncing with him in my arms, ever so slightly to help him fall asleep.  I wish I read him more stories, told him more about his family, taught him more about all the wonderful things that exist in our world.

With futility, I wish for many things I can never have.  Never say never? I beg to differ.  Never exists and it is part of my reality every day.  Never is an ugly word, but it follows me wherever I go.  Sometimes it hides in the shadows for weeks, but like a vile monster, it always reappears.  To ward it off, I hold on to the wonderful days I had with Preston.  The precious time I spent with him that will stay with me forever.  I hang on to ever single second of his life that I can remember.

As winter solstice approaches, I hope that Preston has a warm spot in Heaven, should they experience seasons.  I hope that his cloud blankets keep him warm at night.  I hope that he spots by to say hello, as he sees us light that familiar fire all winter long, as we did last year to keep him warm.  May that simple thought, keep us warm inside all winter.

The metaphorical door

Modern Family is probably the show I enjoy most after Friends.  It's has funny and witty characters.  Certainly some of the jokes that are told have been done before, notably on Friends.  The same can be said about the Big Bang theory.  What I like most about the show though is that there's often a moral to the stories that unfold on our TV sets.  The show makes you think and reflect on your own life.  Maybe more so in the earlier seasons than in the latest ones.  There was one quote that really stuck with me as I was watching a DVD of a past season a while back:

Jay: "I've always seen life like a series of doors. Sometimes you get to choose the door you go through, and sometimes you don't get that choice. But you still have to walk through it. So either you can go through kicking and screaming or walk through with your head held high."

There are some doors that are always shut, like Preston's picture above.  There are some that are open only on occasion, and others who remain open at all times.  There exist doorways without doors even.  And then of course, there are the metaphorical doors, the choices we have in life, and the ones life makes for us.  When Brett and I decided to get married, we had different doors in front of us about where to live.  We had choices.  We weighed the pros and the cons on all options before making a final choice.  We walked through a door of our choosing.  When Preston passed away, I was pushed through a door without being offered alternatives.  There was no door labeled "Preston lives if you walk through me".  No matter how hard I wanted to kick and scream, there was no way back, no other recourse.  So I let myself be inspired by who my son was while he was alive.  I allowed myself to be imbued by the grace some parents showed after losing a child.  Some created foundations to memorialize their children.  Others did random acts of kindness.  Some became advocates for other parents dealing with SIDS.  I created #SpreadHappinessForPreston.  It isn't much, but I hope it's made a difference so far.

Life isn't always roses and butterflies.  Life is hard.  So as Jay from Modern Family said so well, "walk through with your head held high" when you aren't given a choice of doors.  Make the most of what you are given in this life, even if it isn't much.  Appreciate what you have, make choices that lead to happiness and when life gets strenuous, take it a moment at a time as you learn to tame the lion that is the only door you can walk through.

Stalled

I've been feeling stalled in several areas of my life for the last couple months.  I can't seem to figure out Christmas presents, which is likely due to my lack of enthusiasm for the holiday season this year.  I've been struggling to find topics to write about, and relating them to Preston or my loss.  I haven't taken many pictures to assist with my blogs since returning from Vegas.

Like a perfect metaphor, my car stalled and wouldn't start again today.  It had stalled on Tuesday at a red light, buy started right back up and I had no issues all week.  Today, I loaded groceries into my car and started my car so that I could go make grocery trip number 2 at Safeway, and my car stalled.  I tried starting it again and it stalled.  I waited, and tried again.  Failure.

I called Brett so that he could come pick me up and we could figure out what to do.  I see myself as a "half glass full" type of person, but hubby points out I often think of the worse case scenario.  I suppose it must be true since the thought of needing to get a new car came into my head.  My car is 11 years old, not 20.  It's got just under 125,000 kilometers on my car (just about 75,000 miles).  That's pretty low for a car that old.  And so, we're hoping my car just needs a good tune up.  Fingers crossed!

I feel like an angel's been watching over me, and yes I believe it's my son.  I could have easily been on the highway when my car stalled.  No, the two times my car stalled were at a stop light and in a parking lot.  Thank you Preston.  Thank you for watching over mama, even if it should be the other way around.  I don't think I'll ever get over that, but I'm slowly coming to accepting it.  I don't like it.  But, it's the way it is.

So, there's usually a fix for cars that stall.  New spark plugs perhaps?  There's no magic solution for solving, conquering grief.  There are just days that are easier, and days which are just ultimately dark and sad.  And while I feel stonewalled when it comes to certain things, I just have to remember, the roller coaster eventually will start taking me back uphill.

Blue Christmas

Growing up at Christmas, my dad would play Elvis' Christmas album.  It had 20 plus songs, and one of the ones I always liked the most was "Blue Christmas".  For my first Christmas after moving to Colorado, I of course had to find an Elvis album.  I found one, not the same my dad has, but it had the best ones.  I bought a few other albums too.  As a tradition, every year, I would buy a new album.  Last year, I think it was Michael Bublé.

I haven't listened to Christmas music this year.  This is odd to me because I usually can't get enough of this festive music.  I even have a Pandora Christmas station.  I'm just not in a holiday mood this year I guess.  We don't have other children to decorate for, and we're both still dealing with the loss of Preston, that I think decorating would just remind us of what we had last year, and what we don't have this year.

Driving home, I was roaming the stations on the radio and while I've been skipping KOSI 101.1 since Thanksgiving when they started playing only Christmas music, I somehow hit my preset button, and "Blue Christmas" was playing.  I listened to it and reminisced of past Christmases.  And I had a realization.

This year will probably be a blue Christmas.  All the ideas I had for presents for Preston are still there but realizable.  He probably would have wanted to play with the boxes and bags more than the toys, but it would have still been so special to see his eyes light up with all the colored lights on the tree, and in the neighborhood, as our tradition is to drive around and see how others have decorated their homes.  Most of the houses on our street are now adorned with lights of green, red, blue, yellow, and white.  Some blink.  Some appear to travel.

Christmas to me has always meant family time.  It never was much about receiving and more about giving.  Family time is very different without Preston.  Not that we experienced many holidays with him, but I imagined what they would all be like.  I'm sure I will enjoy Christmas day and seeing my family open their presents.  I will enjoy the food and the company.  However, everything will again be tinged with bitter-sweetness.

It will be a blue Christmas, but that doesn't mean it won't have good moments.  It will be a sad holiday, but it will have a lot of happy moments.  Blue doesn't mean bad.  When you are grieving, whether it's something brand new, or something that you've been living with for too long, it is still okay to struggle.  It is still okay to have sad moments.  It is always okay to feel whatever you are feeling.  There is no wrong way to grieve.  If mine means that I will have a blue Christmas, then so be it.  Blue is quite a pretty color after all, is it not?

Acrostically

P - Precious
R - Rare
E - Energetic
S - Special
T - Tiny
O - One-of-a-kind
N - Newborn

W - Warm
I - Irreplaceable
L - Love
L - Light
I - Intelligent
A - Adorable
M - Musical

H - Happy
A - Angel
U - Unique
G - Gorgeous
E - Easy
N - Needed

Preston, you were so precious to me; you still are.  You were a rare find and full of energy once you passed the phase where all babies do is eat and sleep.  You will always carry a special place in my heat.  You may have been tiny when you were born, but you truly were one-of-a-kind, and I'm the lucky mama who got to call you her son.  You were still a newborn when we said goodbye, but that doesn't mean you made less of an impact on my life.  No one else has made more of an impact.

You were warm and loving.  You are irreplaceable.  Please always know that we can never, ever replace you, nor would we ever want to.  You are a symbol of love and light with your angel wings.  You were always really smart.  I could tell, and no one can tell me not to trust my instincts, especially when it comes to you.  You were the most adorable baby I've ever laid eyes on.  I'm biased, but I still believe it whole-hardheartedly; no offense meant to any other baby.  You loved music.  I hope you listen to it often, and I hope I'm not crazy to think that sometimes you send me messages through the songs I listen to.

You were always happy.  I do my best to share that happiness with anyone who will read or listen.  You are my little angel, though I wish you never had to gain angel wings.  You were a unique little being, very special.  As gorgeous as you were, you were just as easy to take care of.  You made being a mama really easy, even if certain moments were hard, and even if losing you is the most difficult thing I've ever had to deal with.  But that wasn't your fault, and I don't blame you.  Your mama and your dad miss you so much.  You were needed.  You are still needed.  I'd like to take comfort in thinking that heaven needed you more, but I just don't understand how that could be possible.

Here you were, staring at that picture you loved so much.  All the colors that you couldn't get enough of :)

Time Conundrum

I spent my train ride home pondering the past couple weeks.  They have been remarkably busy with year end approaching at work, Christmas gifts to figure out and buy, holiday parties in addition all the routine things that need to be done around the house.  I haven't seen the time go by.  I can't fathom that we are nearing the 9 month mark that will mean that Preston has been gone for 9 whole months.

Time has been flying by, and I often wonder if it's a good thing or a bad thing.  On one side, being as busy as I am at work makes the days appear to last just a couple of hours.  It's lunchtime before I know it and the next time I look at the clock, I'm 15 minutes away from "quittin' time".  Days are gone in the blink of an eye and that's good because it keeps me from drowning in sorrow.  At the same time, I often don't know where the time's gone and I feel like I'm always forgetting to do something.  Staying too busy at work and at home feels like it may be warping time.

But it's my coping mechanism, and I'm ever so thankful for it.  As my friend Krystal says, every day is one day close to being reunited with Preston.  Since I long for that day, I will welcome my time conundrum and rejoice that another day has gone by.  Let them flow...

Hues of orange

Today, I'm reminded of a poem my aunt sent me about the colors that exist all around us, and how they are constant reminders of my rainbow, my angel, Preston.  I take the time to remind myself to ask my aunt if I can share this poem on my blog.  Mental note, check!

Orange isn't the most predominant color in my life, nor is it my favorite color, or a color I often associate with Preston.  I do however, am able to find him, and think of him, when I see the hues of orange whether they be as saturated as a pumpkin, or as soft as an peach, pun intended.

Whenever the sun comes up, or goes down, and the sky is filled with bright shades of orange.  There is just something about it that brings a smile to my face, and smiling always reminds me of Preston.  Sunrises and sunsets are just so peaceful if you take the time to admire them.  Of course, it becomes increasingly difficult to appreciate the shifting of the sun as Fall comes to a close.  I am always happy when I can catch a glimpse lately.  I've certainly learned to have a new appreciation for this majestic star that is our sun.

Illogically, the bright construction signs close to our house remind me of my son.  Before he passed away, I seem to recall that there was a huge orange crane just a few blocks down from our house, as construction was starting on the new highway exit which will connect just down the street from our home.  I was looking forward to it, as I knew it would shave a good 10 minutes each way on y commute to work, and 20 extra minutes with Preston made me incredibly joyful.  I still look forward to it, but for different reasons.  I look forward to the day that I don't have to drive by the hospital which is where I found out I was miscarrying baby H and where I found out Preston was gone, even if in my heart, I knew he was gone the second I received the phone call at work telling me that he wasn't breathing.  One day, I won't have to drive by that place without being forced to because there's no other way.

Preston had a mirror for tummy time, and the rim was orange, somewhat like a sunflower.  His mat for tummy time was a little pond with frogs and butterflies.  He didn't love tummy time, but when you caught him in the right moment, he did really good, lifting his head up, trying to roll over and drooling all over the mat and half moon pillow that would help with getting him to lift his head.  If he wasn't in the right mood, well he's just lay his head on the pillow, and eventually would start crying.

Lastly, the orange in the two onesies pictured below remind me of Preston.  The smaller one, preemie size, is the onesie my sweet P had on when he came home from the hospital, underneath his fleece pyjamas.  The bigger one, size 3 months, was probably one of the last things he wore.  Ironically, they both say "Pinch me, I'm cute", which he truly was.  When Preston didn't fit into preemie clothes anymore, I donated them all to the NICU where he spent his first week or so of his life.  They had been good to him and it felt like the right thing to do.  Selfishly, part of me regrets it, because it's one more thing of Preston's that I don't have, and I've lost so much already.  But, I kept the one onesie he came home with.  It's so tiny, as you can tell.  And it reminds me of how good it felt to donate those clothes for babies who needed it.  No one wishes that their child will be born early and need to stay in the NICU.  I would assume that there are rare occasions where you know that it will happen, but in the majority of cases, my guess is that it is unexpected and not something you can prepare for.  We didn't have any preemie clothes.  We borrowed a lot from the NICU and by the time it was time to go home, we'd bought and been gifted several onesies and pyjamas.  I've always enjoyed giving more than receiving, and I think it's still true because, when asked "what do you want for your birthday or Christmas, I never have an answer".  So, I did the right thing, even if I miss being able to look at the onesies, and I rarely look at the ones I do have.  Little ones are using them every day, and I hope that they all live a long, healthy life.  Maybe, just maybe, a little angel is watching over the wee ones that wear his clothes as they fight to grow bigger and stronger whispering gently to them "you can do it".

Scaling down

I finally bit the bullet 2 weeks ago... I joined Weight Watchers to help with my much needed weight loss.  After trying, and failing on my own, without help, I felt that it was time to do something that had the potential of generating actual results.

I've been wanting to lose a good 15 to 20 pounds since having Preston.  At first, I didn't try too hard because I guess I didn't really have time between work and everything else that involves being a mom.  After he passed away, conceivably, it wasn't something that was on my mind at all.  And then I tried.  I tried to motivate myself to do exercise.  I tried to eat better.  I tried to eat less.  I'd lose two pounds over the course of a week or two, and then I'd gain 3 in two days.  So frustrating!

I gained some weight because of my pregnancy, as most women do, but a large portion of my weight was water weight which I lost while I was in the hospital.  The water retention was one of the side effects from pre-eclampsia.  After the c-section, I remember that my ankles were the size of my thighs.  It's like I had tree trunks for legs.  How awful.  Ironically, I've also had legs that looked like twigs - after my bowel obstructions and bowel resections, my legs had gone into atrophy from my being bed ridden for over a week.

However, I think most of my weight was leftover from being on Prednisone, which I had to be on for a couple months after my bowel resection in October 2012.  Have I talked about Prednisone before?  I don't think I have, but forgive me if I have.  Prednisone is a steroid which is given to help reduce inflammation (among other uses).  It has terrible side effects - it makes you hungry all the time, it causes joint pain, it leads to insomnia, you become overly emotional (and often irrational).  Lastly, it gives you the energy of 100 people even if you aren't sleeping.  At least, these are all the side effects that I experienced.

Picture this if you will.  It's Saturday and I decide that I will cook meals for the whole week.  I cook all day and I make way too much food for 2.  Of course, as I cook, I taste, sample and basically eat all day long.  I do the same on Sunday.  I gained a lot of weight because of Prednisone, even knowing that I would be hungry all the time and needed to control myself.  Easier said than done.  I joined a gym when I was strong enough after my surgery and I got in shape.  I didn't lose as much weight as I would have liked before getting pregnant and before I knew it, I was pregnant and was feeling nauseous whenever I tried to eat something and just couldn't bring myself to work out, because I felt nauseous whenever I overexerted myself too.

Could I have joined the gym again?  Certainly, but it's expensive and it means another hour or so that I'm away from the house.  Weight Watchers was $65.00 for 3 months, and I hope to not need it for longer than that.  With WW, it helps me create better meal plans.  I also bought an exercise bike which I promised myself to ride every time I watch General Hospital.  I think the combination of the diet and exercise bike, will help me reach an ideal weight and maintain it... at least that is the hope!  Weight Watchers makes me accountable for everything that I decide to eat.  I've decreased my bread intake incredibly.  I miss it because I love, love, love bread... but it's so many carbs!! Damn you carbs!  I have a good Greek yogurt for breakfast, try to have a salad for lunch (usually with a few pieces of leftover meat from the night before) and have a nice dinner.  So far, it's worked pretty good... but I did have a rocky start.

I signed up 2 Sundays ago in the afternoon.  At this time, hubby was on a juice diet - 8 days where your only meal is juice made from fruits and vegetables.  Every now and then he'd have a protein shake or a banana.  On day 7, that same Sunday, he decided to end his diet a day early, as he was having trouble concentrating and needed to be sharp for work the next day.  "Hey honey, you want to go get a burger?"  Ughhh... How can I say no to a burger??  So I was over my allocated points for the day on day 1.  Great.  However, the way that WW works, is that you also have an allocated optional point bank for the week.  You don't have to use it, but it allows you to cheat or treat yourself to something you really like on occasion.  So I've had a couple cheeseburgers since then.  I had two slices of my meat pie on Thanksgiving and the following day.  Those were high point food items, but worth it.

And the good news.  After 2 weeks, I'm down 5 pounds and just under 2 pounds away from my first goal, the one suggested by my WW app.  It's a cool application.  It can find just about any food you are eating and tells you how many points they are worth.  You can scan a barcode that appears on a food item, and it'll tell you how many points it costs you.  Makes grocery shopping difficult.  Two cookies equals 6 of my 26 daily points? No thank you!

Being on a diet is a hard thing to admit.  My weight has been up and down for the past 2 years and I've just had enough.  Hope does exist.  Part of me is a little sad to see some of this weight go away, as it is another connection to Preston that is disappearing as the pounds fall off.  Overall though, I'd like to give Preston a younger sibling or two should we be lucky enough too.  I know that it will be a difficult journey.  All the parallel reminders between one pregnancy and the other.  The comparison of the first 16 weeks.  The paranoia that will exist until SIDS is no longer something that parents need to worry about.  All the firsts that Preston never got.  I don't know how we'll do it, but for now, I'm hanging on that there is hope.

Shaking it off

I was irked on my way home from work today.  As I was finding a seat on the train, the lady sitting in front of where I was trying to sit, was not budging, too busy on her phone, as I tried to get my computer bag under my seat as her outstretched legs lay in the way.  Rude.  That was the word that stuck in my mind the whole trip home.  Vexed already, I became more so, as I saw the woman climb the stairs all the way to her car, parked in a handicapped space.  Clearly, this woman can walk.

Steaming, I walked to my car, and the age old lesson - "Don't judge a book by it's cover" kept surging into my thoughts.  Since Preston passed away, I've been struggling with the concept of happiness.  I know I deserve it, but it is often accompanied by guilt.  Not always, but often enough.  Additionally, since his passing, I've also found myself with a strong dislike for complaints.  Including the one that go on in my head.  Maybe mostly the ones that are in my head.  There exist terrible things in the world - cruelty, disease, famine, war, death.  Complaining accomplishes nothing.

By looking at another individual, there is no way to know what they live with every day.  Perhaps this woman can walk, but can't for very long.  Maybe she's not allowed to over-exert her heart.  Perhaps she has a handicapped child (not that this would entitle her to use these reserved spots when her child is not present).  I could hypothesize all day and never hit the nail on the head.  Much like by looking at me, it would be hard for anyone to guess that my 16 week old son died of SIDS.

I do not like that there exists people who abuse the system, whatever the system may be.  I will often struggle with it because I do things by the book, for the most part anyway.  I lead a good life, yet I still often draw the short straw.  How many people go to the doctor and fake symptoms of depression to get a leave from work?  How many people try to take the train without paying?  How many people take advantage of a situation to make it better for themselves at the detriment of others?  I have no qualms about taking advantage of a situation - as long as it hurts no one.

Grief has taught me a lot.  Well, maybe that's not really what it is.  Losing my son has reinforced a lot of things I already knew and believed about life.  It's opened my eyes to so many things that were right in front of me.  Would I give it all up to be able to hold Preston again? In a heartbeat.  But since I can't, I embrace the gifts I am given.  And today, it is shaking off the little irks that cross my path, and admitting to myself that I might not always understand the bigger picture.  Control what you can.  Let the rest, just be.

No rules

My Remicade infusion was today.  Hard to believe how quickly these come up all the time.  I felt extremely tired today as the biologic was being administered.  I had not felt this run down by the drug since prior to my pregnancy with Preston.  I've talked about how my allergies went away during my pregnancy.  My little sweet P gave me all sorts of immunities.  Over the last few months, slowly, these have really started to wear off.  More and more every time.  I'd say, Remicade is almost back to knocking me right out a couple hours later.

I didn't feel tired enough to go to bed at 6:30pm, like I used to do prior to being pregnant, but I certainly didn't have the energy to do much.  I caught up on Survivor and General Hospital.. 4 episodes of it.  Thank you DVR for allowing me to fast forward commercials, or I'd still be on my second episode!  The last episode had scenes with my favorite character - Elizabeth Webber.  She started on the show in the late 90s and played a teenager.  I was a teenager at the time, and liked the edgy side to her character.  She became half of the next supercouple, along with Luke and Laura's son Lucky, who was portrayed by the excellent actor Jonathan Jackson (not on Nashville).  Over the year, Liz' character has been put through the ringer, yet she still manages to be portrayed as sweet, loving and lovable.  The story-line that should define her most though, is the loss of her 3 year old Jake, who was hit by a drunk driver - small world, her ex-father in law - Luke.

My mind likes to wander.  When I'm tired, as I am now, I don't have much control over where it goes.  Liz doesn't mention Jake enough if you ask me.  Of course, she's a fictional character, but I feel like they should portray her thinking about her son more often.  Perhaps melting down here and there, because she sees a little boy that looks like him, or finds one of his toys under the sofa as she cleans.  I've watched General Hospital for a long time, and I've seen how "people" can react to traumatic situations.  Sometimes, as we see other people going through certain situations, in our mind, we make the decision of how we would react and feel if put in other people's shoes.  Having seen the scenes where Liz loses Jake, I imagined that I would have reacted the same way - complete hysterics.  At the time, I didn't know I would have a son.  At the time, I didn't know that I'd lose a child.  Was it foreshadowing that I asked myself how I would react in her shoes?

That's not how it went down.  I remember screaming.  I remember crying.  And then I remember feeling nothing.  Numbness.  Paralysis.  Indifference almost.  I was upset at myself for not being hysterical like Liz had been.  I was confused.  Did I not care?  Of course I did.  I know that now, but grief can be really evil and implant thoughts in your mind that aren't true.  Like all that guilt.  The guilt was there from day one, and it's always hiding in the shadows, even today.

The point of all this... There may be books, TV shows or movies that tell you how you should feel in situations of grief.  Grief has no rules.  You may expect to react a certain way and then you don't.  That's okay.  Feel what you have to feel, and know that you aren't doing it wrong.  Don't place too many expectations on yourself when you are grieving.  Setbacks will happen, I'm sorry to say.  And if you do react the way you expected, that is just fine too.  Just take it, one day at a time.  If you have to, just a small moment at a time.

A special little place in Alberta

I did a rush job on this picture.  I needed a bookshelf but didn't want to wake up my husband, so this will have to do for today.  Tonight, I wanted to share how my cousin Alicia and her husband James #SpreadHappinessForPreston.

The passing of a child is something which creates very strong emotions.  Hearing about it can make just about anyone react with feelings of sorrow and agony.  For parents, I imagine that is very true. Like most, my cousin was not immune to the news of Preston's passing.  She is family after all, and even though she never met my little guy, she messaged me often; still does.  I appreciate that a lot.  Gone are the days where we would spend time playing games, giggling in the background as our parents enjoyed a special meal together.  Thanksgiving, Christmas or New Years.  Those were probably our annual get together's with the added summer vacation here and there.  Alicia moved away to Alberta, and several years later, I followed suit by moving away from our families.  Quite honestly, I think I live closer to her now than I live to the rest of my family, yet neither of us have had the opportunity to visit the other.  We'll have to rectify that situation at some point.

When I started talking about #SpreadHappinessForPreston, she was one of the first who told me would participate.  She helped me spread the word about Preston's birthday.  All this was so very sympathetic and I appreciate it so, so much.  Alicia's daughter attends elementary school, and this school was damaged by a flood last summer.  Particularly, the library sustained a lot of damage and had to dispose of too many books.  Alicia and her husband requested a list of high demand books and donated them to the school library on Preston's birthday.  An inscription was added into each book to honor my son: #SpreadHappinessForPreston.  A wonderful lady, the librarian, who'm I have never met, will be placing a name plate, with Preston's name somewhere in the library, where these books will be displayed and available to be borrowed.  This lovely woman, was touched by Preston's story, and will be explaining the meaning of #SpreadHappinessForPreston to anyone who asks as my son, will be making his way around multitudes of homes, as children, year in and year out, check out these books from the library.

I didn't know this story until just a little while ago.  Reading everything that my cousin wrote me, moved me so much.  This is a story which makes me happy, and that I hope will bring a smile to your face.  The gratitude I have for my cousin, for her husband, for the librarian, and for all others that have been spreading happiness, creating smiles, all in the name of my son.. I don't have words for it.  It's an overwhelming feeling.  I look forward to sharing in detail, all the happiness that my son is infusing into the world, one person at a time.

I am always happy to hear how anyone, everyone, has spread happiness for Preston.  Your kindness, your participation, makes me feel like one special mama.  And yes, my son isn't here to be seen, but I am forever his mother, and damn proud of it!

"Easier to Run"

When I miscarried in 2012, I would listen to Linkin Park's "Easier to Run" over and over and over again.  I think it put verbalized, for me, what I was feeling.  The guilt, the pain, the emptiness.  It's not something I shared with many people.  I didn't talk about it, and I rather regret it because I think it would have helped me.  I've stated before that I made peace with losing baby H.  It's not something I did lightly.  It's something that I had to do to let go of the guilt.  I was sick without knowing it.  Baby H could have, would have been very sick as a result.

It's often difficult to put into words what you feel after a miscarriage, the loss of a baby.  You feel lonely even if you are surrounded.  The baby that was growing inside of you, the one you would talk to all the time, is gone.  In the blink of an eye, everything is different.  You feel the physical pain of the loss which lingers on, once it's all over, as emotional agony.  Do I miss that little peanut? I do.  I'm sorry that I didn't realize how sick I was.  Perhaps things would have been different.  We'll never know, and I try very hard not to dwell on it.

This song, I doubt was written to explain the sentiments a woman feels in the aftermath of the loss of a child, a little baby, a life she helped create.  Nonetheless, I invite you to take in the lyrics or listen to the song.  I hope that it helps you put into words what you are feeling, even if it just for you; as it was for me.

"Easier to Run" by Linkin Park 

It's easier to run
Replacing this pain with something more
It's so much easier to go
Than face all this pain here all alone 

Something has been taken from deep inside of me
The secret I've kept locked away, no one can ever see
Wounds so deep they never show, they never go away
Like moving pictures in my head for years and years, they've played

If I could change I would, take back the pain I would
Retrace every wrong move that I made I would
If I could stand up and take the blame I would
If I could take all the shame to the grave I would
If I could change I would, take back the pain I would
Retrace every wrong move that I made I would
If I could stand up and take the blame I would
I would take all my shame to the grave 

It's easier to run
Replacing this pain with something numb
It's so much easier to go
Than face all this pain here all alone 

Sometimes I remember the darkness of my past
Bringing back these memories, I wish I didn't have
Sometimes I think of letting go and never looking back
And never moving forward so there'd never be a past 

If I could change I would, take back the pain I would
Retrace every wrong move that I made I would
If I could stand up and take the blame I would
If I could take all the shame to the grave I would
If I could change I would, take back the pain I would
Retrace every wrong move that I made I would
If I could stand up and take the blame I would
I would take all my shame to the grave 

Just washing it aside
All of the helplessness inside
Pretending, I don't feel misplaced
It's so much simpler to change 

It's easier to run
Replacing this pain with something numb
It's so much easier to go
Than face all this pain here all alone
It's easier to run 

If I could change I would, take back the pain I would
Retrace every wrong move that I made
Its easier to go
If I could change I would, take back the pain I would
Retrace every wrong move that I made I would
If I could stand up and take the blame I would
I would take all my shame to the grave

This song touches on everything I felt.  I felt like if I tried to forget, it would numb the pain.  It worked for a while, until I set foot into the world and would see pregnant ladies and babies everywhere.  Like a cruel joke.  Commercials for diapers.  A pregnant lady next to me on the train.  A truck that would pass by with advertising for Gerber.  I felt so alone, because I didn't have my little peanut to talk to all the time.  I couldn't share my every thought with him or her as I'd become accustomed to, even just for several weeks. 

I was scared, but no one could see it.  My loss, unless I spoke of it, no one would know about it.  And while I've made peace with losing baby H almost 3 years ago, I still think of this baby a lot.  I never got to know what he or she was like.  I didn't get to imagine who the baby would look like.  Dreams were dashed before they could be formed.  And yet, years later, I remember finding out I was pregnant.  I remember experiencing the miscarriage like it was yesterday.  So much for a happy Valentine's day.

And that guilt, I felt it for a long time.  It was my body after all that was ill, that couldn't carry the baby.  What had I done wrong?  I should have taken better care of myself.  I should have started Remicade a lot earlier.  I should have, would have, could have.  It was always on my mind.  I felt helpless.  Paralyzed by my fears, I thought about it and thought about it.  Day in and day out.  The damage in my insides occurred after years of trying to live with Crohn's disease.  Trying one drug therapy after the other.  Deciding that I didn't need drugs, because I felt "ok".  I was not "ok" but because it was normal for me to be in some pain all the time, perhaps my body got used to it and numbed some of the pain.  I realized that I couldn't change the past, and that regardless of what I did on my own, the damage was there.  I couldn't undo it, but I could fix it, so that baby H would one day have a younger sibling.  That sibling was Preston.  They are now reunited, and hopefully, one day, we can have our happily ever after together.

Whatever you are feeling after a loss, allow yourself to feel it.  Grief walks hand in hand with remorse, desperation and feelings of solitude.  Running is probably not the answer, but sometimes it's necessary to shield your heart.  Just be sure that you have an outlet for your pain - talk to someone, write your feelings down, listen to songs that help you define your emotions.  From there, you will find your way.  You will survive.  How do I know? I've been there.  I continue to be there every day. 

Ornaments

Tonight, instead of a regular group meeting, it was a crafting get-together.  Family and friends were welcome.  I made an ornament (pictured below) and brought home the crafting materials to make a special candle.  I had a nice time, though my mind wasn't totally there.  I apologize to my Angel Eyes family.  You see, the last time I was at the Angel Eyes office, was just a few days after we lost Preston.  Being there again, although everything was different, was difficult on my psyche.

I made the ornament and shared some laughs.  I did mine all wrong, I'm so not the arts and crafty type, but I tried, and I'm not too bummed by the result.  Last year, Brett and I made a hand and foot print of Preston's for ourselves, and our parents.  He was still so small that most his foot and hand fit in the small mold that was designed for one foot or one hand.  I don't think I will ever have an ornament that means more to me.  Not that I use it as an ornament.  It's been sitting on our dresser since we made it.  Close to us.  Always in sight.

Driving home from my ornament making, I so many Christmas lights adorned my sight.  On commercial buildings.  On trees.  On fences.  On houses.  I really do love Christmas, but since the seasonal music has started gracing some radio stations, I've been avoiding them.  I haven't decorated the house.  I don't know that I want to.  That's a very bizarre feeling because I really do love this time of year.  I have a Christmas station on my Pandora.  I've been building a Christmas village since moving into our house in 2010 - a dream I'd had since seeing one at one of my mom's uncles house when I was very little.  I hoped to share this with Preston.  I did for a very short few weeks.

This season, this holiday, I need to find a new way to embrace it.  Maybe this ornament was one step into the right direction.  Maybe, the candle will be the next step.  One day at a time, I will strive to find a way to let the spirit of Christmas find a way into my heart.  And if it fails, there's always next year.  One moment at a time...