2 years gone by

March 13th. The bane of my existence.  2 years ago, the absolute worst day of my life.  It replays in my mind over and over again.

2 years have come and gone since Preston passed away.  It's hard to believe.  It's been the longest 2 years without him.  How I wish he could be there to see his little sister grow.  I bet he would teach her so much.  I bet they would have so much fun together.  Instead, she is deprived of his sweet existence.

I wish I wrote on my blog more often.  Time has made it so I don't need to write as often.  The arrival of Samantha, has reduced the amount of time I have to write.  I think of my little man every single day.  I constantly talk to him, as Sami's guardian angel.  I miss him eternally.

I don't like to remember this day.  I have said it before, I wish I could erase it from the calendar.  But it is hard to forget such a day.  I don't wish to celebrate this day in any way, but I do like the thought of making it into a family day.  This year, that didn't really happen.

The day was difficult for sure.  As to not help things, for the first time, Sami is sick with a cold.  A stuffy nose and a little cough.  Given the date, I hardly slept last night wanting to make sure she was breathing ok.  On top of her having a cold, hubby and I also have it.  And I had some minor food poisoning last night.  Perfect storm right?

We spent as much time together today as possible, but it was interrupted by naps so that we can all heal from this cold.  And then chores that had to be done because tomorrow is Monday, and my first full week back to work.

The nice thing is, despite feeling ill, Sami still flashed her smile a ton today.  Which helped a ton to get through this day.

Every day without Preston remains, and will always remain difficult.  I can't fathom that 2 years have passed by, yet like I said earlier, it's also been a very long, dragged out two years.  I reckon that every year that passes will feel like that when it comes to my son.

Sweet P.  How I miss you.  How I wish things could be different.  I long to hold you and cuddle with you.  I pray that Heaven is a beautiful place, and that you are able to flash your smile for everyone.  I pray that you continue to live on in people's hearts.  People you've met, people who you've touched through this blog.  For sure, you live on in my heart.  Every single day. I love you. xxxx

This is the last picture I have of Preston.  Taken 3/10/2014

March Madness

No I'm not talking about basketball.

I've been totally dreading the month of March.  So many triggers.  So many changes.  So much to adapt to.

In 11 days, it will have been 2 years since we lost our son.  2 years... where does the time go?  I honestly can't believe that it has been that long.  And at the same time, it feels like AGES ago since I last saw Preston's sweet smile.  Since I last kissed his forehead and rocked him to sleep.  It's maddening really.

In a handful of days, Samantha starts daycare.  I'm not looking forward to it at all.  It's frightening because Preston was at daycare (mind you a different daycare) when he stopped breathing.  It's scary because I won't be there every minute to check on her.  It's so difficult because I don't know how she'll react, or handle it.  Her first day, is going to be a long day for me.  Her first month will be difficult.  The first year... I just don't feel ready... but life isn't about being ready is it?

I return to work in a week.  While my mind is ready for the stimulation, and the hectic every day work... my heart isn't.  Ahead of schedule, I am reminding myself that the days will fly by.  That I will be surrounded by people who support me and care about me.  I remind myself that I will have tons of pictures that I can hang up to make missing Sami a little less painful.

It is a lot to deal with.  I'm not ready... but ready or not... March is here.

One day at a time.

One step at a time.

One moment at a time.  Life is so precious.  Life is so fragile.  I've known that for a long time, and I'm reminded of it every day.  The first month back to work is probably going to be really difficult.  And all I can do, is take it slow.  Love every minute that I get with Sami.  And just try to remain calm in the meantime.

Preston, mama misses you daily.  I wish you were here...

To everyone out there, hug and kiss your loved ones.  Tell them you love them.  Life is precious... more than you know.

Positively February 2016: Day 4

Being happy doesn't mean everything perfect.  It means you've decided to look beyond the imperfections. - Unknown

Happy had been a word I've struggled with since losing Preston.  For a long time I felt like I didn't have the right to be happy, or I shouldn't be happy.  I felt guilty when I had happy moments.

It still happens that I feel guilty for being happy.

The truth is though, I need to have happiness in my life in order to live, to survive.  And while I'll never be as happy as I could have been, I do get to be happy.

While I'll never be completely happy, I do have the right to be happy.  I lost a child, but it doesn't mean that my life should be eternal doom and gloom.  I continue to be sad every day that I don't get to have with Preston, but I also know that he wants me to be happy.  Especially now that his little sister is here.  She deserves to be happy.  She deserves to have happy parents.

And in no way, does being happy mean that I've forgotten my child.  I think this is a fear a lot of mourning parents have. If I smile, or am happy, others will judge me and think that I am over the loss.  They will think I don't care about my baby enough.

You don't get over the loss.  Ever.  And if anyone judges you and thinks that you don't love your child enough, you don't need them in your life.  Surround yourself with people who will support you, lift you up when you need it.  Sever ties with those that make you feel worse.  You have every right to happiness.  It won't be perfect happiness, but you can certainly have it again if you allow yourself to see past your loss.  It'll be with you always.  Your child will always be a part of you.

Positively February 2016: Day 3

Find a place inside where there's joy, and the joy will burn out the pain.   - Joseph Campbell

My sweet boy.  I remember the day we had professional pictures taken like it was yesterday.  I'm not good at remembering things vividly.  I remember that day really well.  And after Preston passed, I felt so much guilt.  Guilt for going back to work.  Guilt for sending him to daycare.  Guilt for not spending as much time with him as I could have.  Guilt for not being there for his final moments.  And guilt for wanting a picture of him as an angel.  I thought it would be cute.  And of course it is cute, but I felt and still feel like I tempted fate... given that now Preston is a real angel.

Guilt is one of those emotions that often appears into my conscience.  Sometimes it is brought on by an event, or a thought.  Sometimes it just lingers for days on end.  It's probably the grieving emotion I've felt the most aside from sadness.

Sadness.  Guilt.  These emotions are what made me need to find some joy to be able to survive.  To be able to move forward.  To be able to get through each day.  

My place of joy?  Remembering all those special smiles that Preston would flash at me.  All I had to do was smile at him and there was his beaming smile.  I have hung on to the memories of the happiness that exuded from my son.  I have grasped on to the notion that Preston would want me to be happy.  That he would want me to find a reason to smile every day.

And it's worked.  For the most part anyway.

With the arrival of Preston's sister, Samantha, I've now another pure source of joy.

Positively February 2016: Day 2

"Start by doing what's necessary; then do what's possible; and suddenly you are doing the impossible."  - Francis of Assisi

This one is so true.  While grieving, whether right at the beginning, or at any point during your journey where you feel the need to - just do what you have to do.  Eat, even if I know, you aren't hungry.  Sleep if you can.  I know it's tough.  I needed sleep aids for a while myself.

And what's necessary might be different from one person to another.  Some need to stay in bed for a while.  I on the other hand needed to dive into something productive like work.  So I worked a lot of hours and it kept me going.

Once you are in a better place, start doing a little more.  That might be cleaning the house, or doing the groceries.  It might be cooking or going on a vacation.  Take it slow.  If you need to go back to just the bear minimum, that's okay too.  There's nothing wrong with that at all.

And one day, you will realize that you are doing the impossible.  You survive.  I've often heard the counterproductive comment "I couldn't go on after a loss like that" in relation to losing my son.  You know what, I thought that exact same thing until I was in the situation where I didn't have a choice in the matter.  We do the impossible every day, and survive.  Life doesn't stop, even when time seems to.

Take it a step at a time, and one day, you will realize that you are Superwoman/Superman.

Positively February 2016: Day 1

I thought I'd try doing Positively February again this year.  Hopefully I'm able to keep up with it.  I will try my best, but as most know, as a mom, free time is not always easy to find... especially since I want to spend as much time as possible with Samantha before I go back to work in 5 and a half weeks.  How time flies...

"Grief never ends... but it changes.  It's a passage, not a place to stay.  Grief is not a sign of weakness, nor a lack of faith... It is the price of love." - Unknown

What I've come to learn in the last almost 2 years is that grief truly does never end.  I think of my son every day.  Some days, it makes me smile.  Other days, it's as painful to think about him as it was in the days after losing him.  Just today, we put Sami in one of Preston's old fleece pajamas.  The one with the penguins.  It was too much.  We had to take it off within 10 minutes of putting it on, even though she was fast asleep.  Triggers still exist that will send us into a tailspin even though we have so much joy in our lives again with our little girl.

I agree that grief isn't a place we should stay in.  While grief never ends, it's a journey.  Not a linear journey by all means, but a long winding journey filled with peaks and valleys.  I often have memory flashes of Preston while rocking Sami.  Or while playing with her as she learns to smile.  I love every minute with her, but it's certainly not always easy.  She's filled a huge part of the hole that exists in my heart, but she will never fully fill it.  Nor would I want her too.  I love Preston just as much as I love her.

That makes it so hard sometimes.  I want to be so happy, yet here comes a memory that just makes me want to fall apart.  And it's not her fault.  I hope that when I do shed a few tears, it doesn't cause her any anxiety.

I've never felt that grief was a sign of weakness.  Nor have I ever felt that keeping on going after Preston passed was a sign of strength.  It's purely survival.  You don't have a choice.  You keep going.  And faith?  Well, yes, my faith is still shaken but I continue to pray.  I continue to be mad at God and often ask for his forgiveness for being mad at Him.  But I believe He understands.  He lost his son too after all.

Grief certainly is the price of love.  I wouldn't trade having had Preston in my life for anything in the world.  It was worth every second.  The pain I still feel today, was worth it.  Don't be afraid to love because you might lose.

I don't know how positive this post has been, so let me end it this way.  Grief is a non-linear journey.  Don't get discouraged if you feel that you are taking a step back.  Or taking 3 steps back for every one that you take.  It's ok to feel weak.  Basically, anything you are feeling is ok.  You need to feel what you need to feel.  I would however urge anyone who feels overly depressed to talk to someone.  Let it out.  What you are thinking and feeling, share it.  Share the love you felt.  In time, you will see that your grief takes different shapes.  I hope one of those shapes, even if not all the time, takes the shape of positivity. <3

Sleep

Preston - 3 weeks old

Sleep.  It's meant so many things in my life.  For years, I would sleep a lot.  On weekends, I would sleep until the late hours of the morning.  After my bowel resection surgery, I figured out that I slept that much because my body needed it to try and heal itself.  Crohn's disease had taken it's toll on my body, as I was tired.  All the time.  After the surgery, I began needing less sleep, a significant amount less of sleep.

When Preston was born, sleep was difficult for the first month or so.  He was so small, and I worried at all the little noises he made.  Plus, I was up every 2 and a half hours to pump and feed him.  As he got bigger, and didn't need to eat so often, I began sleeping more.  Looking back on my time with him, even with his small size, and being a first time mother, I only remember being exhausted a couple times.  Sleep was never something that bothered me.

After he passed away, sleep was really hard to come by.  The evenings and nights had been ours.  The late night feedings.  Rocking in the nursery.  Telling stories.  Playing after his evening feeding until it was time for sleep.  It was all gone and I struggled.  For a while, I had to take anxiety pills so that I could actually sleep.  After I had gone back to work, during the week, I'd get just a couple hours of sleep each night.  It would take forever for me to fall asleep.  A couple hours after going to bed, when I finally would pass out, I would soon wake up.  4 to 5 times a night.  Again it would take a while to fall asleep, perhaps not hours, but by the end of the night, if I had 2-3 hours of sleep... that was pretty good.  To allow my heart, body and head to rest.. Friday and Saturday nights, I would take Xanax.  It lasted for a couple months until I was able to get a little more sleep as time went on.

With Samantha... sleep is difficult.  I constantly feel the need to check on her.  Mostly because of what happened to Preston.  But, she has a lot of noises that freak us out.  One in particular where the squeaking noise she makes sounds like she's choking, but she's not.  Needless to say, it often keeps me up.

When she doesn't burp well, I usually can't sleep for fear that she'll spit up and choke.  This usually only happens when she falls asleep while eating. This has resulted in many sleepless nights.  I do try to sleep.  I really do.  And some nights, I manage.  Other nights, like last night, I fail miserably.  Her noises were really difficult - on top of her usual squeaking, she sounded like she was wheezing.  I was alone with her, and it was enough to give me a panic attack.  Finally she fell asleep and when she woke up in the middle of the night, the wheezing was gone.  I didn't get any sleep until the early AM hours.

With time, I hope that sleep will come more easily.  I hope that Sami's noises become less stressful.  As time goes on, she will sleep more at night which will hopefully result in the same for me.  In the meantime, I take it a day at a time and take some daytime naps, when sleepless nights occur.

Samantha - 3 weeks old

Possibly my favorite picture.  The only picture that shows both my babies.  Preston represented in my special locket around my neck, and Samantha in my arms. <3

Embarking on a new roller coaster ride

Hard to believe that our daughter was born 2 weeks ago already!  We are so thrilled and blessed.  That being said, it has been an incredibly emotional 2 weeks.

The fears of loss in pregnancy, and the fears for a healthy baby went away when Samantha was born.  She had a good cry when she came into the world and although she was small (5 lbs 13 oz), she looked healthy.  While these fears went away, new fears appeared.  Fears I knew would be there, but feeling them has been more overwhelming than anticipated.

It is difficult to sleep.  Not because I have to be up every three hours to feed our baby, but because of that crippling fear of loss.  I constantly feel like I need to watch her.  That need has lessened since the first few days, but it is still there.  At this time, the only person I trust to watch her as I sleep is my husband.  It's not that I don't want to trust other people, I'm just still very sensitive to the loss of Preston, and that loss has created an immense fear of losing our daughter too.  I do not want to live in fear forever, and every day it seems to slowly get better, but it will take time.

The most stressful moments so far?  There has been several but the stand outs - when the nurse took our daughter for her 15 minute check up on night two (or one?) and she was gone for 30 minutes.  She hadn't been eating well and it felt like at times she was choking.  My tired mind, and my aching heart jumped to irrational conclusions and I began to panic that something was wrong.  Turns out, she had some amniotic fluid in her belly which was making it hard for her to feed, so they decided to do a lavage, removing all the fluids from her belly.  Not being aware that this was going on, I had a mini anxiety attack and hubby went to look for her.  All in all, everything ended well as she started feeding better again.

The other moment was when we were re-admitted a day after going home due to Samantha having jaundice.  Our little girl had to go on the bili-bed.  It was absolutely gut-wrenching.  Her cries as she couldn't see anything due to the baby goggles.  Her cries as we couldn't pick her up to soothe her.  Her constant wiggling from one side to the other as she tried to soothe herself.  Finally, we decided to give her a pacifier to help her fall asleep.  It worked as long as she sucked on it long enough without spitting it out.  For what felt like hours, I would have to stand there, with my finger propping the pacifier, all the while trying not to provide any shade on her.  She was on the high-tech bed and LED lights for 14 hours... some of the longest hours of my life.  Moments of relief happened every three hours when I got to pick her up and feed her.  Needless to say, I didn't sleep for the duration of our hospital stay (which thankfully was only about 24 hours).

We've had a lot of happy times, which I plan to write about.  I've also struggled with memories of Preston.  The first time I rocked Samantha in the nursery as it reminded me of the times I spent with Preston in that same room.  Listening to the songs that play from the baby swing.  Sometimes, just holding her.

As we embark on this new ride, I am reminded that it will be filled with twists, turns, highs and lows.  I pray that the lows are few, though I know I will never cease to miss my son.  I pray that the twists and turns are minor.  Most of all, I pray that Samantha lives a long (very long), healthy life.

The day before

Dear Preston,

We bought you a new ornament this year.  I think it's a nice tradition to get you one yearly; make you part of our celebration.  In 2013, I bought you "Baby's First Christmas", never once thinking it would be the only one we spent together.  Last year, I made the ball ornament at our Angel Eyes Christmas gathering meeting.  This year, we got you a bunny ornament since bunnies always make me think of you.

I hope you come join us, somehow, someway for this year's Christmas celebration.  We'll have a candle lit all day, as we did last year.  We put up decorations this year.  A tree, stockings (we have one for you too), and the Christmas village.  That's about it though.  Maybe next year, we'll muster up the courage to put up lights outside and more decorations indoor.

With your sister on the way, having something to celebrate at Christmas has been easier this year than last.  However, it doesn't make it easy.  I don't know that it will ever be easy.  Forever, we will be missing you.  On our laps, in our arms, running around.  Your smile, and pure love.  We do have one thing though - you will ALWAYS be in our hearts.  Wherever we go, whatever we do.

Tomorrow, as you know, things will be changing...

Your sister will be making her entrance into the world.  Know that this does not mean I won't be thinking of you every day.  Please know that our relationship doesn't change.  I will always love you.  You will always live in my heart, and a piece of my heart will always be with you.  No one, not even your sister, will ever fully mend my broken heart.

Love you always,
Mama


As for you my dear blog readers, yes, you read correctly.  Samantha will be here in less than 24 hours.  For the past 2 weeks, I've been on bed rest at home.  While I haven't been confined to an actual bed, my activities have been extremely limited.  Making easy meals, running a few errands, decorating the Christmas tree, wrapping presents, and doing a lot of sitting down and watching TV.

I've also been going to my OB's office twice a week.  I've been plagued with headaches, some days they are worse than others.  My blood pressure has fluctuated between normal and slightly high.  But I've had no other symptoms displaying possible pre-eclampsia like I did two years ago when I was pregnant with Preston.  On Friday, my OB wanted to see us again on Monday, as to evaluate if I was starting to go into labor, and to make a plan given that she's going out of town this upcoming Friday.  Monday, there were absolutely no signs of me being in labor.  As with every visit, I had a non-stress test and everything looked good.  Baby girl had a good heartbeat and moved around.  However, when came time to measure my belly for size, my doctor felt that the baby might be small.  For this reason, she asked us to return the next day for a full growth ultra-sound.

We did just that.  Tuesday morning, despite the blizzard, we drove to her office, waited a long time since the ultra-sound tech was late, and had the scan.  Things looked good on the monitor aside from Samantha's size.  Two weeks ago, she was measuring 6 lbs 1 oz.  At this point in pregnancy, she should be gaining about half a pound a week.  She measured 6 lbs 5 oz yesterday.

My doctor believes that what is happening is that my placenta is starting to calcify earlier than it should, restricting the nutrients that are being supplied to baby girl through the umbilical cord.  She's active, has grown, and is performing her "breathing exercises" inside the womb which are great signs.  However, having her come out now will give her the best opportunity to really thrive, and grow.

And so, I have a c-section scheduled tomorrow.  I'm not in labor, and am not exhibiting any signs of labor.  I was induced when I wasn't in labor 2 years ago and that resulted in a c-section.  Given my history of pre-eclampsia, and the fact that my blood pressure hasn't been super stable, my doctor, who usually doesn't recommend c-sections, suggested that this was the route for us to go down.  It is the safest and best choice for both my health and the baby's.  The other reassuring factor - I'll be 39 weeks along tomorrow.  That's a good month more cooking than what Preston got.

In just over 12 hours time, our little darling girl will be here.  We are stoked.  We are nervous.  We are happy, and anxious.  For me, this pregnancy has been filled with ups and downs.  Fears of loss, fears of complications.  While those fears aren't completely gone, and I know that a different fear of loss will appear tomorrow, I am looking forward to meeting this little girl that's been squirming inside of me for the better part of 2015.

I can only pray that she has a long life ahead of her.  I will pray day in and day out.  Bad days, hard days will come.  I know it.  But I hope, that all in all, we give Samantha a long happy life.  And a healthy one.

Looking forward to meeting you little lady! Stay tuned ;)

Walking a fine line

This weekend, I was asked how my blog was going.  I was honest, and said, not great.  It's not that I don't have anything to talk about, it's just that I feel like I'm walking a fine line between talking about Preston and loss, and his new sibling to be.

This blog is about my son, about living through loss, about sharing my experiences, sharing my son, and hopefully helping someone.  I don't want this to become a blog just about my pregnancy and about this new baby.

But at the same time, there are so few resources for someone in my shoes.  I haven't connected with anyone else who lost their firstborn to SIDS.  And while I have connected with a few people who have had a child after loss, they are very few and far between.  I haven't encountered anyone though that had a child after SIDS.

So perhaps, I'm in a prime position to offer some insight into what I feel, what others in my shoes are feeling.  And at the same time, I don't want to be off-putting to any of my readers who might have just experienced a loss, for readers where the loss is still too fresh and where pregnancy is a trigger beyond any other.  

And so, that's where my mind has been lately.  Struggling between the loss and the pregnancy.  Finding the perfect mix, that will help others, without alienating anyone.

Perhaps there is no perfect formula.  All I can do, is share what I'm feeling, what I've lived, and how I survive and hope that it is enough to help others.  All I can do, is continue to try and make Preston proud, continue to share him with the world, and pray that he continues to make a difference.

The return of Jake

I've discussed in the past how soap operas sometimes create a story around difficult subjects.  One of those being death, but more specifically, the death of a baby or child.  I know GH did it back in the early 90s, when they told the story of B.J.'s being involved in a drunk driver accident.  Amidst the peak of their grief, her parents make the painful decision to donate their daughter's organs, one of which, her heart, is transplanted into her ailing cousin.  From what I've seen through my years of watching GH, it's one of the stories that was played out with the most heart.  I don't recall seeing it back when I was in my early teens, but I've seen several flashbacks, and just wow.

Since then, I've seen several other storylines involving the tragic death of a child.  Sam's daughter Lila being stillborn.  Elizabeth losing her 3 year old son Jake, after he was hit by a drunk driver, his own (adoptive) grandfather Luke Spencer.  Similar to B.J.'s story, his parents donated one of his kidneys to save Carly's daughter Josslyn, who was suffering from cancer.  And most recently, the death of Gabriel, Sabrina and Patrick's son who was born too early.

If you would have asked me 10 years ago, I probably would have told you that I appreciate this kind of story.  Perhaps that makes me sound morbid, but the tragedy brings out exceptional acting.  It makes the characters more human.  And at the same time, it makes the viewers feel more human.  You react to these stories and you react pretty intensely.

Almost a year and a half after losing my son, I have a different opinion.  I admire the writers for trying to tell these stories.  These stories that no one really wants to hear about.  Most fans are outraged when a baby or child is killed off in a soap opera.  But you know what?  This happens in real life! Be outraged about that!  Be so outraged that as a society, we do something about it.  More research needs to be done; on why so many stillbirths still happen, on what causes SIDS.

Use these stories to see how you can help grieving parents.  You might say, there isn't much that can be done, but support goes a long, long way.  Just being there to listen, can make a huge difference.


I finally caught up by watching all my backlogged DVRed episodes of General Hospital.  I must say, I was pretty excited to do so, as they brought back some fan favorites as they close out a story which will result in the departure of Luke Spencer, as his portrayer, Anthony Geary, retires.  One of these fan favorites, Jonathan Jackson, who played Luke Spencer's son, Lucky, for several years.  He's now a regular on Nashville, and so I knew his return would be for a very limited period of time.

The scenes between fictional father and son did not disappoint.  Part of the storyline, let's just say it completely caught me off guard.

It turns out that Lucky found out that his son, Jake, was alive - held captive on Cassadine island by Helena.  With Helena, everything is possible.  With his legendary parents, Luke and Laura, at his side, they rescued Jake, who is now 8, and brought him home to an incredulous Elizabeth.  Oh how envious I was of her.  I was just as flabbergasted as she was when they first showed his face on the screen.  They have one of the twins that played him 5 years ago, playing him now.  Unmistakable that it's the same little boy.

All those emotions, and thoughts that crossed her mind - I felt them as I watched the story unfold.  Not wanting to let him out of her sight.  I feel like I'm not going to want to let my baby-to-be out of my sight, however unrealistic that sounds.   Feeling like it's not real.  I often still feel like this pregnancy isn't real.  It's hard to wrap my head around it, even 18 weeks in.

Whatever the case may be, I tip my hat to General Hospital.  Thank you for telling stories that aren't always easy to share.  Thank you for making me feel like I'm not totally empty inside.  I may have been so shell shocked, that my own son, Preston's death left me finding it hard to cry, but you help me rediscover that I'm not heartless.  One of the most difficult realizations for me was the guilt I'd feel when I wasn't able to cry over my own loss.  It felt horrible.  I felt like maybe my love for my son wasn't enough.  Living out someone else's story, makes me realize that I'm just too close to my own story, sometimes, to feel the intense emotions.  My heart tries to spare me.

Keep on doing what you are doing for as long as you can.  Maybe, one day, we'll see a SIDS story.  It would be a very difficult story to watch, but I am confident, that it might help put the word out there, that this is still a serious problem and that something needs to be done about it.

Surviving what should be ordinary events

There are events that you know you will attend one day.  And when you think of them, you foresee enjoying the experience, with loved ones surrounding you.  You don't think about how you will make it through.  It doesn't even come to mind to think about if you'll even be able to bear a minute of it.

Events such as barbecues, birthday parties, baby showers, weddings, meeting a new baby, and even just a gathering of friends.  It's the middle of July, and as summer always does, the occurrence of such events has been by the handful.  For more than a month's time, it seemed like every week was filled with such events.

As a grieving parent, there's a tough balance to find.  You want to be there for your family and friends, but a big part of you just wants to run away and hide.  Hide from the babies.  Hide from the blissful and innocent happiness.  Hide from what could have been but isn't.

After losing Preston, I had to adopt a new philosophy when it comes to such events.  At this point in my life, I don't know if it's a way of life that will stay with me forever, or if it will one day go away completely.  As with most things, my humble guess is that the answer lies somewhere in the middle.  What is this philosophy you ask? I've probably mentioned it but here it is:  Have the intention of attending, but allow yourself to leave at any point in time, even if that moment is when you are halfway to your destination.

I realize that it probably sounds rather selfish.  Thing is, I've had to make the decision to not care whether it does or not.  It's what I have to do.  It's part of my survival.  It's probably part of the survival of many grieving parents.  Sometimes, I just have to do what's right for me.

I have to say though, most of the time, I've done ok.  I haven't had to turn around when I was halfway there.  I think if anything, the worse I've done (and the worse we've done as a couple) is leaving early instead of staying through the end.  Instead of staying until 10:00, maybe we leave at 7:30 or 8:00.  Not too bad right?

The toughest though?  Sounds silly, but a baby shower at work, which was a really short baby shower.  I hadn't attended one since my own in 2013.  Baby showers are such happy occasions filled with the cutest things you can imagine and full of shrieks of happiness.  For most people, it's just one of those joyous events that you wouldn't' even blink about twice.  Normal.  It felt far from normal to me.  I smiled a lot, but the whole thing tugged at my heartstrings a little.  I survived, and perhaps my own pregnancy gave me strength to get through something so baby related.  It doesn't make it easy though, and it certainly doesn't make me feel like having a baby shower myself.  Anyway, I already had a baby shower for Preston, and you're just supposed to have one right?  I feel like I will be able to dodge the bullet.

The other tough ones, probably the most ordinary get-togethers.  The ones where there seems to be more kids running around than adults.  I try to not let these moments get to me, but sometimes I just find myself starring at the kids, longing for my own, wondering what he'd be doing.  And I probably look like a crazy person doing it.  Those thoughts can be haunting.  Especially hours later.

As for my proudest accomplishments this summer?  So far, it's probably holding a newborn and not breaking down and completing the quilt square to honor Preston.  Our close friends just had a baby about 6 weeks ago.  A second boy.  Beautiful little guy.  Quiet little guy.  Part of his personality reminds me of Preston.  My friend asked me if I wanted to hold him a month ago.  I'd thought long and hard about it since he was born, and I took the plunge.  I said yes, but urged my friend to stay close by, just in case I couldn't do it.  I held that baby for over an hour.  He slept the whole time but I did it, and some of my fears melted away.

Since finding out I was pregnant, the thought of "how am I even going to hold my own baby" crossed my mind.  It's not an easy task.  Those fears were quietened when I realized I could hold a baby.  A boy no less.  Maybe the biggest test will be to ask me if I can do it when the baby is 16 weeks old, or around 11 lbs.  That challenge might be bigger.  And maybe the problem is, I don't quite remember what it felt like, which is why it wasn't so hard?  I get frustrated with my memory for not remembering certain things.  I wish I could remember, in clear detail, those 16 weeks instead of being plagued by the vivid memories of losing him.  When it was already all over.

On happier note, I did complete the quilt square to honor Preston.  The Angel Eyes foundation will be putting together a quilt to hang in their office, and I feel so blessed that my little guy will be part of it.  I put so much heart and so many hours into it.  I struggled parting with it.  Thankfully, I have an incredible husband who blew up the picture I took below and had it framed.  Now, I have it forever...  and who knows, maybe when I'm not so sick and tired of seeing threads and needles, maybe I'll make another one.

For now though, I'm entirely satisfied with staring at my masterpiece, smiling as I remember my true masterpiece - Preston himself.

The Mother's Day Puzzle

Today is International Bereaved Mother's Day.  Today is a day I wish I didn't know existed.  If I had my way, I would be celebrated as a normal mother, on Mother's Day, in a week's time.

When society can't see your children, they don't think of you as a mother.  You aren't having the sleepless nights that come with having a newborn.  You aren't stretched thin between your mom, wife and work responsibilities.  You don't worry about your child getting hurt as they start walking, or when they are playing outside.  You don't have to prepare bottles, do endless loads of laundry, or console a crying baby.

What society fails to understand is, you are still a mother.  You have the same amount of sleepless nights, if not more.  Except instead of waking up to your crying baby, hungry baby or wet baby, you wake up to the realization that your baby is gone.  This happens, every single time you wake up.  For a long, long time.

You may not be stretched thin between the same responsibilities as a regular mom, but you are stretched thin nonetheless.  You have to continue performing your daily tasks, as well as deal with a roller coaster of emotions.  You have to battle those instincts of feeling you are supposed to be doing something - like getting that bottle ready, buying more diapers or putting away onesie after onesie.  I would also argue, that I still try to teach Preston about the world.  I talk to him often; sometimes just to tell him I love him and miss him, sometimes to teach him about the new flowers that are growing around our house.  I talk to him about patience.  I try to show him how to be a good person.  Unnecessary I know, he's got the best teachers in Heaven.  Regardless, those motherly instincts to want to teach your child don't go away.

I may not be able to worry about him ever getting hurt, but I also can't ever worry about him getting hurt.  No booboos to fix with a kiss.  No crocodile tears.  No making your kid stay home because they aren't feeling well and feeding him toasts while he watches cartoons under a blanket all day.  And sure, no fear of greater injuries, but I'd rather have that fear, than nothing at all.

Despite all of this, I understand that being celebrated as a mother, would be a tough concept.  Even for me, the mother in question.  What am I celebrating?  I don't feel like celebrating without my son.  What do I want out of Mother's Day then?  Perhaps recognition that I am a mother, despite everything that's happened.  A day to think about Preston and be happy.  Remember him and all his kicks and smiles.  Reminisce on that pure happiness that once existed in my life, and hope.  Hope that one day, I can find pieces of it again.  And as long as I'm wishing for things, at the risk of becoming highly unpopular, I wish for a blizzard.  Like we had last year on Mother's Day.  Like we had on what should have been my first Mother's Day.  That day, where I felt closest to my son after having lost him just a few short months before.

If you are reading this and are like me, a bereaved mother, whether through miscarriage, stillbirth or child loss, whether you've had more children after, or if you had some before - you are a mother.  You are a beautiful, strong mother.  I wish you peace today, and peace next Sunday, as Mother's Day rolls around once again.

Positively February: Day 27

"To get up when you are down, to fight more intensely when you are struggling; to put in the extra effort when you are in sheet pain, to comeback when nobody expects you to, and to stand tall when everyone is pulling you down are what make a champion." - Apoorve Dubey

So many quotes still unshared, many that I saved throughout the month of January in preparation for this event I named Positively February.  I guess there are some I opted not to use, because while inspirational, they didn't have enough positivity tied to them.  I found this quote today and I just had to share it.  I've never heard of Apoorve Dubey, but the Internet being the amazing tool that it is, enlightened me rather quickly.  Mr. Dubey is an entrepreneur and the author of an international bestseller "The Flight of Ambition".  Another book to add to my "to read" list.

A champion.  I tend to associate champions with sports.  Perhaps it comes from being from a city that reveres hockey like a religion.  The Stanley Cup Champions... I remember seeing the Canadiens hoist the cup in 1993.  It was marvelous.  The Olympics carve the path for new champions, or returning champions.  They are crowned with medals.

I've learned that champions shouldn't only be attributed to sports stars, phenoms of a discipline.  Champions exist all around you.  Hitting rock bottom and finding a way to rise again, no matter what that all-time low might be.  Trying when all the odds are stacked against you.  Not letting the pain stop you from living.  Doing what you have to do to keep going.  We are champions.  We are amazing individuals for enduring the pain that is the loss of a baby.

And we aren't champions on day 1.  Sometimes, we aren't champions every day.  Sometimes it takes years to achieve, other times it takes months.  There's no timeline.  Look to those days where you reign in all your willpower to do more than you've previously done.  Use those days where you triumph over the pain of your loss to motivate you and prove to yourself that you can and will survive.  Easy to do?  Not at all.  It's a struggle.  It's a tough, tough battle.  But you can do it.

I can't say I've felt people pulling me down while going through this journey of grief, but I know many women who've lost a baby who have had people tell them that they should move on.  People that wonder why they aren't over the loss "yet".  People who think that because the loss was early, that it doesn't really count.  These people are wrong.  All losses matter.  You start to love, yearn and parent a child as soon as you know you are pregnant.  No life is more important than another, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

I don't often feel like a champion.  After all, I stumble through each day missing my son more and more as time flies on by.  I do have days where I feel stronger than others.  This month has been pretty incredible actually...which is what I needed heading into March.  I quite honestly don't want to turn over the calendar page.  Maybe in needs to be February just a while longer.  Or maybe I need to flip to April.  Unfortunately, whether I turn the page or not, March will be here on Sunday.  In 15 days, my son will have been gone a year... A year!  That sounds absurd.

With all that I am, I will channel my inner champion.  I will channel your inner champions to lift me up through this difficult month.  And once again, I remind myself.. I've lived through the impossible and I'm still standing.  I've got a good track record for getting through sad days - 100% actually.  I will survive. I can and I will.  

Positively February: Day 26 & PoP Workshop - Session 2

"You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face.  You are able to say to yourself, 'I have lived through this horror, I can take the next thing that comes along'.  You must do the thing you think you cannot do." - Eleanor Roosevelt

Today, I felt like Rachel's Pursuit of Purpose Workshop was perfectly suited to work with my #PositivelyFebruary movement.  Today's session is about fear. Rachel poses the following questions:

"What has living by fear cost you?  What has living by fear cost others around you? What fears do you have that make sense?  And which ones are False Evidence Appearing Real?"


Going back to Eleanor Roosevelt's quote, I will preface this by saying that my fears today are fewer than they have ever been.  Losing Preston put a lot of things into perspective.  Fear is one of those things.  I am always so frustrated to feel like I've learned all these lessons because I lost my son.  It's a terrible realization that I struggle with every day.  I'd give all this knowledge back for my son.  I wish I didn't learn these lessons, or at any rate, that losing my son wasn't the price to pay.  It's not like I led a bad life before he passed away, you know?

Growing up, I was probably the most shy little girl you would have ever known.  I didn't do public speaking.  I didn't raise my hand in school even if I knew the answer.  I didn't do presentations in front of the class.  I've so often asked myself why.  Why was I this way.  The only answer I've come up with is fear.  "They've never heard me talk, if I talk now, they'll make fun of me".  "What if they make fun of my voice."  "What if I sound funny, English isn't my native tongue".  Needless to say, this fear was a vicious circle.  The more afraid I was, the less I was apt to doing what I feared.  One day, my mind said "screw it", or whatever a 10 year old says.  There was a public speaking competition of some sort and that's when I spoke in public for the first time.  In front of hundreds.  Was I scared? Terrified.  Not sure how I got through it really.  But from that point on, that fear was lessened by 100%.  My confidence grew.  This fear cost me though.  I cost me confidence at an early age, and perhaps that could have made for a totally different life.  But, I don't regret who I am, so has it really cost me in the end?

Fears can be debilitating.  They create a vicious cycle you can't escape.  Except that... you can.  While I was able to conquer my public speaking fear (for the most part - I still tend to get nervous when I have to talk to a crowd, but who doesn't right?), that fear of fitting in and being accepted is something that stayed with me for a long time.  I don't enjoy not being liked.  I try hard to be a nice person and to always be nice to everyone.  Being afraid of not fitting in.  I think it's a rite of adolescence is it not?  I think, that this is a good example of "false evidence appearing real".  We are all unique individuals and life has taught me that we all fit somewhere.  Maybe it's not where we want.  Perhaps it's not where we expect.  Fitting in, wherever that place might be, can be difficult.  Life isn't easy.  I think lately, society incorrectly teaches children that everyone wins, that you get handed a medal for just participating.  I think it's teaching some younger generations that they are entitled to whatever they want.  But life isn't easy.  It isn't fair.  Life is hard, and you have to work at it to make it a good life.  And even when you work hard, even when you do everything you are supposed to do, sometimes everything will come crashing down when you least expect it.  Maybe it would be better to teach hard work, determination and yes sometimes defeat to our children.

Life has taught me that fears aren't worth it.  Being sick as often as I've been, I feared death quite fiercely.  The pain was often so intense that I wondered if that was what dying felt like - especially in times of flare-ups when inflammation was so ever present.  Or when my gall bladder went septic, or had my first bowel obstruction.  Those were scary times for me.  Justified? Perhaps, but probably blown out of proportion too.  The thought of surgery scared me beyond belief for a long, long time.  When I went in for my bowel resection surgeries, I couldn't have had a better attitude about it.  I felt brave and knew that as scary as it was, it was the right thing to do.  I conquered that fear.  And it gave me hope for conquering more and more.

Do I have irrational fears?  I don't like snakes and wolves and would totally freeze up if one was near me.  I am scared of crickets - and run away when they are near for fear that they will jump on me. Yuck!  Do I have a reason for these fears? Not really.  Yet even if I see these on TV, I cringe.

Fears that make sense?  During my whole pregnancy with Preston, I feared a miscarriage.  Every time I went to the restroom, I was afraid of seeing blood.  It's something I fear will be with me for any future pregnancy.  Additionally now, I will be filled with anxiety for the first 14-16 months of our next baby(ies) life.  Warranted?  Yes, I think so.  Will these fears go away? Probably not, but I hopefully won't feel them every single day.  Hopefully, every day means a lessened sense of fear.

Other fears? Like Rachel, I often fear that I am not enough.  I want to help others, and often wish I could make my blog reach more people.  So many people suffer in silence.  So many feel like they don't have a place or person to talk to about their baby that they lost.  I feel a need to help others find that outlet that let's them release their pain, that allows them to speak of their baby if they feel the need to.  The dwindling number of daily reads often reinforces that fear.  What can I do to get more views and touch more people?  How can I find the right words to touch someone?

I fear March 13th.  I fear March altogether yet there's no avoiding it.  Merely days away. I shudder.  How do I overcome this?  Hopefully, I'll tell you in about a month's time.

We all have fears, rational or not.  I think it's part of human nature.  The secret though?  You can surmount your fears.  Easy to do?  Not at all.  But if you don't try, you won't know.  And if you think you can, you most likely will.  This notion was reinforced for me on the train this morning as I listened to Britney Spears belt out "Now I'm stronger than yesterday. Now it's nothing but my way" and came across this quote - "I can and I will. Watch me".  I don't fear death like I did before. The monumental loss of my son doesn't mean I invite death to take me, but rather gives me something to look forward to once my day does come.  I will see my son again.  I don't fear being judged as I did through my early adulthood.  Someone doesn't like me? Eh, their loss.  Life will throw more my way, I am sure.  I pray that it is not another pregnancy or child loss.  Actually I pray I don't have to deal with any loss for a long time.  However, whatever life is going to throw at me, whatever fear comes my way, I will try my best to vanquish it.  Actually, fear - "I can and I will. Watch me."

Do you have fears that need conquering?

Positively February: Day 16

"You can do the impossible because you have been through the unimaginable." - Christina Rasmussen



"I couldn't do what you do."

"I don't know how you do it."

"I couldn't go on"

"I would just die"

Believe it or not, I've had the above things said to me, or some variation of them anyway.  Did they upset me?  Considering the circumstances, I understood that my friends, family and acquaintances just didn't know what to say to me.  At the same time, my mind and heart was still grasping at what occurred.  Losing your child is something you dread, but something that really is unimaginable, because really who wants to put themselves through that much torture by imagining it?

I've read the accounts of many grieving parents in these past 11 months.  These words, to many, stung.  They didn't feel helpful.  When you think about it, they aren't helpful, quite frankly.  However, having lost my son, I can tell you that in the moment, I can't be sure that I wouldn't utter similar things.  You feel helpless toward your friend, your family, but you want to do something and words just come out.  If you are the recipient of such words, when the dust settles a little and you regain your footing, I hope you are able to realize that no harm was meant.  No loved one would dream of adding to the pain we already feel.  What we are living through is already inhuman.

What do I say to "I couldn't do what you do" or "I couldn't go on"?  I say, yes you could.  I don't wish it upon you, but you would, because you'd have no alternative.  It isn't strength, it's survival.  Or perhaps it is strength, but that strength was built up through survival.

What do I say to "I don't know how you do it"?  Quite frankly, I don't either.  I take it as it comes.  One day at a time.  Sometimes one moment at a time.

What do I say to "I would just die"?  Part of me died.  A whole big chunk of me died, and I'm still trying to find a way to make a whole out of the pieces that remain.  My life is completely different.  In many ways, it is worse.  It's filled with sadness.  Be that as it may, I will boldly say, that in certain ways, my life is better.  I appreciate everything a lot more.  I see beauty in everything.  I have much more compassion and empathy.  I don't take anything for granted, or at least, I try very hard not to.  I try not to let negativity into my life, again there's a lot of try involved.  I have a lot more resolve.  I feel I have a true purpose.

I pray that I would have found all these positive things if I was still holding my son with his legs and toes wiggling around as he loved doing so.  I refuse to see it as a lesson I've learned through losing Preston.  If it is, dwelling on that fact wouldn't do me any good.  Regardless, this is who I am now.  I can do the impossible.  I'm surviving the unimaginable every day of my life.

You can do the impossible too.  Is it unimaginable for you to get that promotion you've been wanting? Or unimaginable for you to get your dream job?  What's stopping you?  Make the unimaginable possible.

Positively February: Day 9

"You are not alone"

I saw this quote this morning on Facebook, on the First Candle SIDS/SUID Support Group Page.  It's one I've often seen posted by Allison Glover who is a grief counselor at First Candle and manages the Facebook page.  She like me, is a SIDS mom who lost her firstborn son.  She's shared the quote "You are not alone" on several occasions.  I felt it was appropriate for today.

Through grief, we navigate every day and often feel solitude.  We feel excluded.  We feel alone.  Even when surrounded by friends and family, we continually extremely lonely.  Forsaken even.  Our thoughts often propel us further down a path of seclusion.

What we all need to be reminded of though, and often, that we are not alone.  1 in 4 pregnancies result in a loss.  You are not alone.  That means, there's most likely a handful of women you know that have suffered a loss.  Additionally, support groups for all types of losses exist, and I bet you anything, even if your loss doesn't fall exactly into the categories of a certain group, you wouldn't be turned away.  

I attend monthly group meetings for SIDS parents, and while the majority of parents who attend are SIDS parents, I've met several that did not lose their child to SIDS.  They are never shunned, and are more than encouraged to attend.  You are not alone.

Truth is, no one's story is exactly the same, there are people out there who will understand.  There are people who will know the feelings you are experiencing, even if they aren't in the same exact place you are.  Even if they felt anger before guilt, and you felt guilt, then anger.  

You are not alone.

There is a loss community out there for you.  Whether it's on BBC or through a charitable organization like First Candle, or Angel Eyes.  Whether it's through a counselor or something suggested by your church, or doctor.  Whether, it's simply through reading the chronicles of bereaved parents like me through blogs.

To add another quote - "Family isn't always blood.  They're the people in your life who want you in theirs - the ones who would do anything to see you smile and who love you no matter what".  I'm blessed to have a wonderful family but I'm also extremely fortunate to have my grief family, who make me feel less alone, day in and day out.  I pray every day that I am able to return the love and support you always have shown me.


On a total side note - I wanted to share two pictures of Preston.  They are among my favorites, and you most likely have seen them already.  I like how he goes from totally focused, to all smiles in an instant.  Gotta love that his little leg is out of focus, reminds me how much he loved to kick around all the time.  Miss you baby boy.

I wanted to share those today because I took them one year ago today, on February 9th, 2014.

Positively February: Day 3

"Healing takes time and you are doing the best you can.  And that is perfect."

I'm unsure of the author of this quote, but this is something I need to be reminded of often.  Maybe less now, but for months and months I struggled with the fact that I'd have a really good day... and the following day I'd feel like I was hitting rock bottom.

Healing is a process that I will live with forever - with regards to my physical and mental health.  With my physical health, having Crohn's means that I will inevitably one day have another flare-up.  I will need extra medications to bring down the inflammation in my intestines and scar tissue will build up.  Hopefully, the flare-ups happen few and far between which would mean a lower chance of repeated bowel resection surgeries.

With my mental health, I don't foresee there being a day where I don't think about my son.  Thinking about my son doesn't always make me sad, but it happens.  I miss him every day, but I know that it's unhealthy physically and mentally for me to immerse myself into sadness all the time.  So I try the best I can not to.  It happens that I fail completely.  It happens that I let the anger get the best of me.  I do let the guilt eat at my soul, try as I may not to.  There are days where all I want to do is scream, and shout and kick whatever is in the way.

It's all in futility though.  Nothing will bring back Preston.  All I can do is embrace this path of healing, and live a life that honors the memory of my son.  My son has given me so much, and part of it is this journey down the path of healing.  It's opened my eyes to so much.

So I welcome the healing, and the bad days.  The days of regression and of deep grief.  All I can do, is take it a step at a time.  And that is, just as quoted, perfect.

Positively February: Day 2

"What we have once enjoyed deeply we can never lose.  All that we love deeply becomes a part of us." - Helen Keller

I found this quote not long after we lost Preston.  It brought me a lot of comfort and with time, I've come to truly embrace it because I find it to be very true.  Preston lives in my heart and he is forever a part of me.

Love works in mysterious ways.  It blindsides us.  It overwhelms us.  It makes us whole.

We suffer heartbreaks.  They can bring us to our knees.  They can take the breath out of our lungs.  A heartbreak can shatter our whole world.  Trust me, heartbreaks do exist and not just in love songs.

But the thing is, Helen Keller is right.  Relationships have a way of changing you, of shaping who you are as a person.  At least, this holds true for people you love and respect.  You want to be the best you can be for them.  You learn from them, and strive to be like them.

I probably sounds weird that I strive to be like a 16 week old baby, my son.  Yes, a part of me does strive to be more like him.  I strive to find that pure happiness that my son had.  I strive to not let things upset me so easily.  Not much made him cranky or upset.  I strive to continue learning, like he did every day.  I strive to not worry what others may think, he sure didn't.  I strive to share that happiness that resonated from him because I really FEEL like that is something he would want me to do.

So read Helen Keller's words.  Read them several times.  Let them sink in.  Know that no matter when you may have lost your baby, he or she is with you always.  Simply because, our babies, are forever a part of us and they will live on in our hearts forever.

Positively February - Coming Soon

As March approaches more rapidly than I'd like to admit, I become more and more anxious.  I don't look forward to reaching the milestone that marks 1 year since I last held my baby boy.  I've said it many times, if I could, I would erase the date from the calendar altogether.

I'm not a magician, or omnipotent, and therefore making a day disappear is not a talent of mine.  Too bad.  That'd be pretty satisfying right about now.  As I read my friend Krystal's blog entry today, about the random acts of kindness her friends, family and strangers did to honor her twin boys on the day they were born and died, two things struck me:

One of my goals as your mother is to not let your memory be grief.

What an amazing concept.  I want that.  It sounds really difficult, but I really, really want that.  I felt awful a couple of hours ago.  I was at the doctor's office, for my Remicade treatment, and asked if they would take my blood pressure 3 times in the span of 5-10 minutes.  I applied for more insurance at work.  Because I've had and have medical issues, they asked that I fill out a couple questionnaires and the blood pressure one included having recent readings at 5-10 minute intervals... anyway, I had to explain that.  When I got the look from the nurse (who was really kind by the way) that said "you're in your 30s, why do you have blood pressure issues", I explained how I had pre-eclampsia and how my BP was abnormal for 8-10 months.  Anywho, later as she was about to stick an IV into my arm, she asked about my baby and I let her know he passed away.  The look on her face was of complete devastation - like she regretted asking.  I felt bad for being truthful.  I felt sad because I miss my son.  I felt really vulnerable too.

I am probably still a little on edge from last night.  I attended a rosary for one of my colleagues' father who passed away last week.  I wanted to be there for her, like so many people were for me when Preston passed.  I knew I couldn't attend the funeral which was today, since I had my Remicade appointment, so I attended with Jocelyn who was super nice to drive me and give me the flexibility to not go should I not feel up to it at the last minute.  The rosary was held at a funeral home, the same company, different location, that handled Preston's memorial and cremation.  That notion itself was rather difficult, but again, I really wanted to be there for my friend.  For the most part, I think I dealt with the ceremony with dignity.  I struggled with seeing the open casket, as the embalming reminded me of the last time I saw Preston.  The same pale, artificial look.  I had to look away the whole time.

There were a couple things the priest said that hit me pretty hard.  About baptism, which I hadn't taken the time to do for Preston yet.  I'd started looking into it, but probably not enough.  Brings up complicated thoughts like - Preston wasn't baptised, does that mean he didn't go to heaven?  "Unless a man be born again of water and the Spirit, he cannot enter the kindgom of heaven".  That's probably what struck me the most.  Praying about ascension to heaven and the kingdom of God was difficult.  I really, really want my baby boy to be there.  I really, really hope that my transgressions are forgiven and that I also get to go to heaven so that I can be with my son again.

Needless to say, a lot has been on my mind lately... as March approaches, as I try to support friends through loss.  Death is always so hard to understand, accept and live with.  Loss is just quite literally difficult however you look at it.

I guess I'm writing a novel today...  To get back to Krystal's blog entry, the next thing that stuck with me is this:

They say that it takes a village to raise a child.  I can't tell you if that is true or not (...).  But what I can tell you is this - it takes a community of people to keep a memory alive.  I cannot do it on my own.  You have all helped me to keep Conner and Benjamin alive in the hearts of so many.

So much truth exists in this statement.  I too feel that so many have helped me keep Preston's memory alive, like so many have done the same for Krystal's boys.  I'm so thankful for this.  So incredibly humbled whenever someone mentions Preston to me.  The memory of him isn't completely grief.  There is a lot of happiness when I think of Preston.  Thinking of Preston, doesn't mean I need to concentrate on the loss, or his death.  I can honor his memory by smiling, appreciating life, and helping others through difficult times or just because.

And so, if you were wondering about the title of my blog entry, here it is.  During the month of February, on as many days as possible, I'd like to share a positive thought of the day that might inspire, a positive concept that can be built on, a positive experience that gives hope, or anything else relating to positivity.  As March approaches, I'm going to need all the positivity I can get, and why not share it with as many people as I can?

I invite you to share positive thoughts of the day, concepts or experiences.  I will be sure to select some, if not all, depending on how many responses I get.  As always, you are welcome to comment via Facebook, on this blog or via email - tsunaze1@gmail.com

Hopefully, I can make it a month filled with positivism, for you, for me, for all.