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

Capture Your Grief 2015 - Normalizing Grief

After a loss as tremendous as losing a baby, normal is a word that goes out the window.  You are no longer normal.  Your reality is turned upside down.  You feel sequestered as you try to navigate the map that is grief.  Twists and turns when you least expect it.  Detours at every corner.

When we feel a certain way, we believe that it isn't normal.  For me, my first fears of not reacting normal were when I was still in shock and I couldn't cry.  My brain was telling me I should be a ball on the floor, unable to function, crying uncontrollably.  Except I was numb.  My body was protecting my heart.  I soon learned from reading about other experiences and talking to other bereaved parents that there was no right or wrong way to grieve.  Part of me wanted to feel what I would have considered normal (the ball on the floor) but grief had another path for me.

And while normal as we knew it might be completely out the window, with time, we learn to create a new normal.  Mine includes this blog and memorializing Preston.  Mine includes a lot more positivity than what existed before losing Preston.  Mine includes a whole new outlook on life, where the small things are appreciated to a new degree.

With today's subject, CarlyMarie requests that we share an experience that might make someone else say "Hey, I feel that way too!" (quote from CarlyMarie's page), therefore normalizing grief.  Our experiences are all different.  Our journeys all differ.  Our emotions diverse.  But at some point, hopefully we cross the path that someone else has traveled.  I will try to do that by sharing something new.

When my fears of miscarriage dissipated with my current pregnancy, some fears instilled themselves in me.  Fears that Preston would be forgotten.  Fears that others would think that now that I have another baby, I can "move on", whatever that means.  Fears that people might think that with Samantha's arrival, I won't have any more sad moments.  Fears that society expects me to finally stop grieving.  It's part of the reasons I kept this pregnancy under wraps for so long.

And I know better.  Preston will never be forgotten.  Not by me.  Not by his father.  Not by his family.  Not by his friends, our friends.  Not by those who have truly been touched by his smile, his story, his being.  #SpreadHappinessForPreston is here to stay. Every year.

Moving on is an interesting concept.  If I can be brutally honest, losing a baby is not something you "get over".  It's not something you get past.  It stays with you.  Every day.  Another human being will not change that, no matter how loved.  We aren't talking about buying a new laptop because you broke your previous one.  We're talking flesh and blood.  We're talking a little life that you helped create.  I won't move on, and honestly, I don't want to.

I've had many reasons to be happy this year.  And last year.  I have a lot to be grateful for.  I know it, because I made myself take a 30 day challenge (the first post of this series can be found here).  That doesn't mean that I don't miss my son.  That doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt.  My heart continues to bleed every day.  And while Samantha will help cauterize the scar Preston left on my heart, it will continue to bleed.  I will continue to miss him.  I will continue to fear losing her, the same way I lost him.  Innocence - gone forever.  Sadness will follow me like a shadow.  And I know that it's okay.  I know that I can and should let it in, when it needs to.

I will never stop grieving.  That's all there is to it.

Yet, all that being said... those fears I mentioned before, they are still there.  And I know some people will have those expectations of me.  Of my husband.  People will always judge.  Let them.

Rise above, and know that you are not alone.  Grief has no timeline.  Certain events or moments, don't make it go away.  Your grief, can be what you want it to be, what you need it to be. Don't let others dictate it, or how they think it should be.

Sacrifices

I don't enjoy being in a foul mood and I seldom get angry.  It usually takes a lot to get under my skin, but since losing Preston, I've found that it is slightly easier for me to get mad.  The nice thing is, during one of my last group counseling sessions, I learned that just because I get angry, it doesn't make me an angry person.  Much like guilt, anger is a "normal" feeling when it comes to grief.

A couple months ago, I read an article that totally rubbed me the wrong way.  Yes, months ago.  That's how long I've been stewing before starting this post.  It was titled:  "10 Sacrifices Every Parent Makes That No One Talks About"

My first reaction was anger.  And that's only because my perspective is different from the majority of the population.  Most people have not lost a child, though that could be argued considering 1 in 4 pregnancies end in loss.

One of the first thoughts I had was "Sacrifices?? Don't they know how lucky they are to have a child???"  Now, I'm not saying being a parent is easy.  While Preston did make it feel almost effortless to be a mom, it's not that there was no work involved.  It's not that I didn't get exhausted.  He was my life, meaning, I didn't have much time, if any for anything else between, him, work, hubby and chores.

Thing is, I didn't care.  It was wonderful.  And now, that he's not there anymore, I envy other parents.  And yeah, it stings when I read comments like "I don't ever have time for myself", or "OMG, my kids kept me up all night, they wouldn't sleep".  And I do get it, we are all human.  We need to express our frustrations, and complain, if only every now and then.

I've tried incredibly hard during this pregnancy not to complain, though my husband constantly reminds me that I didn't really complain with Preston either (love you honey).  It's mentally frustrating, and causes me extreme guilt whenever I do complain - whether it's because my back hurts, or because I have some acid reflux.  I'm so thankful to be pregnant and get the chance to be the mom to a living child again, that whenever I do complain, it just makes me feel awful.  It makes me feel like I'm being ungrateful for this little girl that's growing inside of me.  It makes me feel like I'm making light of what I've lost.

And that's just the grief talking really.  I'm human too, and I should be able to complain about back pain if I want to.  Or about craving a Pepsi.  At the same time, I do feel better in my skin when I minimize my complaining... I guess I'm still trying to find a happy medium.

What were the sacrifices mentioned in the article you ask?  It's beside the point that I'm trying to make, but most of them were really trivial - "I don't get to decide what we watch on TV."  "I have to be friends with the parents of my child's friends whether I like them or not."  "My child will just blurt out embarrassing secrets."  "I have to cook separate meals for everyone."  "I have to watch my language."  "I don't have time for my hobbies."  "We have no schedule, it's out the window." "I constantly have to explain sarcasm."  "I can't eat out without feeling guilty."  "I've had to forfeit spontaneity."

When you decide to become a parent, that comes with sacrifices.  We all know we're going to have to make sacrifices.  A lot of them.  And if that's something that you're going to hold against your kids, maybe it's just my grief talking, but maybe you should rethink the having kids thing.  It's so frustrating hurtful to see parents who neglect their children.  And I don't personally know anyone who does, but the news is always so riddled with these stories.  It makes me want to cry every time.  I was a good parent and I lost my child, and some people abuse their children and they keep theirs.  It makes no sense.

Moral of the story if I have one?  Again it's just because of the perspective I've earned through the loss of Preston.  Try not to see what you don't get to do as a sacrifice.  Try to see what you have as a privilege and a wonderful gift.  There's so much beauty in this world, and if we concentrate on the good, on the positive, take it from me, it can change the way you see the world.  It can turn most bad days into better days.  And don't we all deserve better days?  You have more power controlling that than you realize ;)

21 months

Milestones are interesting.  Some mean more to one individual than to another.  Many of the milestones Preston reached, such as smiling, giggling and rolling over, mean more to me than to the average parent.  They did when they happened, and they do now that they are all I have.  Someone's child walking for the first time might mean more to them because they were told their child would never walk.  There are so many variables that come into play.

The milestones I've had to deal with over the last 17 months though, are much different to what I would have imagined.  The first weeks without Preston, the first month, the first year, his first birthday that he never got to celebrate on Earth.  What's striking to me though is how some of them are harder than others when you don't feel like they should be.  For example, on Wednesday, Preston should have turned 21 months old.  It's not one of those anniversaries that you hear about often, like the 1st birthday, turning 18 months, or two years.  Just 21 months.  It hit me really hard, for no apparent reason.

Perhaps it's that it got me thinking how I need to prepare for #SpreadHappinessForPreston day, coming up in less than 3 months now.  Or perhaps it's because just a month after his 2nd birthday, he should be meeting his sister for the first time.  Or perhaps, it's just that the hole that was etched into my heart when he died, is still just as large as it was on that horrible day.

I struggled with guilt again.  Why was I okay on his 18 month birthday, but not today?  Why do I feel decently most of the time when it feels like I should still be heavily grieving?  What is wrong with me? Does that mean I loved my child less than other parents?  What could I have done? Should I do anything differently this time around?

The truth is, I don't have any of those answers, other than knowing that I loved and continue to love Preston more than I ever though humanly possible.  Him not being here, doesn't make me love him less, it just makes it more difficult because I don't have many ways of expressing it toward him.  I can't tell him to his face.  I can't kiss him.  I can't hug him.  I can't show him how proud I am of him.

But, I can do what I've been doing.  I can continue to try and be the best person that I can be.  I can continue to try and motivate others, whether they are going through a similar journey or not.  I can continue to smile every day to honor Preston, who adored smiling and giggling.  I can continue to share him with the world and hope to touch someone's heart.  With his story, or simply with the happiness that you see on his face.  That is his legacy and I will continue shouting it on top of mountain tops as long as I'm around.  Will it change the world?  Probably not, but I owe it to him to try.

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.

A peek into the ebbs and flows of child loss

Monday - March 2, 2015: 5:30pm

I think it's going to be a tough month.  I'm feeling tired, though I blame Remicade.  It seems this time, the fatigue didn't hit me until Sunday as opposed to the night of my infusion which was Wednesday.  I'm feeling emotional.  I've shed some tears already this month.  What triggered it? Simple memories.  Reminders of what should be and what isn't.

I've been warned that for some, the second year is tougher. I am less than two weeks away from that horrible day which took my son away.  My emotions feel volatile.  I feel awfully vulnerable.  Right now, I want to crawl under a rock and just stay there for a month.

Fortunately for my conscience and for my heart, I have a support group meeting tonight.  I hope that the experience, wisdom and understanding of others who have lived through this milestone will guide me through it.  A milestone I never asked for, and never wanted.

I feel like I've been on a constant healing wave for months now.  The holidays were hard, but they were overall better than I expected.  Preston's birthday... while gut-wretchedly bittersweet, was really a wonderful day.  I saw the outpouring of love and happiness his life created for others.  I was so happy in my own sadness that day.  I was so proud of my son.  I'm proud of him every day really, but it's so hard to quantify because I can't compare it with the normal achievements a little boy should be accomplishing.

Today, it feels like I just got hit by a tidal wave, and it shoved me onto the shore of a deserted isle.  Do I feel alone? No.  I see so many others who are part of the community no one ever wants to be a part of - the community of bereaved parents.  The sea of anniversaries, be it that of a birthday, a due date or an angelversary, is taking me over the edge.  So many others like me, out there, suffering.  Suffering through the unimaginable.  Agonizing over the why. Oh the why... I could write for days about "why".


Monday - March 2, 10:00pm

Interestingly enough the "subject" of our meeting tonight was about grief and the acceptance of grief.  Intellectual acceptance versus emotional acceptance.  The journey of a bereaved parent is filled with power struggles.  The most predominant one, at least for me, the mind versus the heart.

My mind knows what the heart won't accept.  My heart feels what my mind doesn't understand.  It's enough to drive a person crazy.  Acceptance can have several connotations.  To some it can mean moving forward, while to others it means forgetting.  Acceptance can mean peace.

Tonight I talked about how I struggle with "acceptance".  After my miscarriage and learning how sick I was in 2012, I made peace with losing my baby.  With Preston, I can't see myself ever being there.  I'm not delusional.  I know my son is no longer on Earth.  My mind understands.  It doesn't mean my mind accepts it.  Perhaps it's the only place where my mind and my heart aren't struggling over who's "right".

These past couple days have shown me that the ebbs and flows of grief are still ever so present.  Even though my mind tells me that I've been through tough days before, you'll get through tough days again, my heart tells me that it doesn't want to right now.

As I was driving home tonight, lyrics from different songs stuck with me.

"I don't wanna waste another day, keeping it inside, it's killing me.  Cause all I ever wanted comes right down to you.  I wish that I could find the words to say (...)  I'm inconsolable."

"I don't wanna wait another minute to hear something that I already know."

"The pain is all I want to feel."

I'm not trying to say that I often keep my feelings inside.  I truly don't.  I mean, I write about the way I feel almost daily.  But these lyrics speak the truth to me.  Everything I ever wanted, always comes right back to Preston.  I think about him every day and my heart has a hole in it.  That hole, with time, will slowly fill up, but it will never be whole again.

Waking up every day, my mind knows that my little boy is no longer here.  Yet, every day, I wake up and feel like I'm learning it all over again.  It's a constant smack in the face.  I know... but because my heart aches for my son, it's something I continually have to be "told".  There are days, where I just wish I didn't know... or wish I already knew, even though I already know.  Sounds like a line out of friends: "They don't know that we know that they know".  My brain is like Monica and Chandler, while my heart is like Rachel and Phoebe.. or vice-versa.

What I felt more intensely though was "the pain is all I want to feel".  During the month of February, I read a countless number of quotes.  I want to say I remember reading something along these lines: "Grief is the price we pay for love".  The pain I feel in my heart, is a testament of my love for Preston.  And sometimes, I need to feel that painful agony that is deep rooted grief.  Much like sometimes, I need to feel true happiness when remembering special moments we had.

What will the next days bring? I do not know that answer.  Deep grief? Comfort?  Smiles?  Tears?  More than likely, it will be a combination of it all, much like today was.  And there you have it, a sneak peek into my mind... from tragically upset to peaceful understanding in the span of hours.

Positively February: Day 28

Here we are.  February 28th.  Has your month been filled with positivity?  I feel like mine has.  I want to thank everyone who participated in this movement to increase positiveness in each-others lives.  The quotes that you shared with me were all so inspiring and filled with love and wisdom.  I feel so much richer after this experience, and I look forward to re-reading these quotes throughout the next month, and will continue to refer back to them throughout the difficult days that come randomly.


"One day at a time.  One moment at a time.  One step at a time."

Fitting to end this month with one of my own quotes? I think so.  And I use the words "my own quote" very loosely as I presume these particular phrases have been said many times before.  Individually for certain.  Together, very likely.  Regardless, these are words that I have tried to live by since the middle of March 2013. My mantra if you like.

One day at a time.  I felt the need to be able to go back to "normal" life after the haze of the first weeks started to subside.  It was an unrealistic expectation.  I always used to have a plan.  Do this at this time, do that on that day.  I hit a wall I didn't see coming when I tried to do something as simple as the groceries.  The trauma that was losing Preston, let's just say it left me hardly being able to see past my own nose.  "Normalcy" may have been something I wanted and needed to attain, but it was necessary for me to realize that it wasn't going to happen instantly.  It took a long time to build up a new routine.  Long time... time is relative.   To some, my "long time" may seem extremely short or way too lengthy.  We all experience grief differently and at different paces.  Grief is a never ending roller coaster filled with mountains and valleys, and you never know the trajectory it's going to take.

When I realized I couldn't just go back to my old life, I started taking things slow.  Letting the grief hit me when I needed it to, a moment at a time.  I took things in life, one step at a time.  I slowly started back at work by working from home for a little while.  And then I started going into the office, and got a ride for a couple weeks so I didn't have to be alone on the train.  And when I finally felt a little more stable, I started taking the train again.  I did the same thing with doing the groceries.  Instead of being out of up to two hours so I could shop all the specials, I just went to one store, and bought the essentials and was out of there in half an hour.  It made that task a lot easier to complete.   You see, I used to do the groceries on Saturday, and when I would get back home, I'd have some special mama time with Preston.  It was fabulous.  Not having that anymore so suddenly, it made it hard to do the groceries.  Especially with the baby aisle, and all the holiday aisles serving as reminders that I didn't have a teddy bear or a cute little outfit to buy for my son.  The ever so constant presence of babies in shopping carts didn't help.

Is it easy to do the groceries now, almost a year later?  Easy is not the word I would use.  It's now more tolerable.  It's not as hard on my heart.  I still avoid the baby aisle, not that I have many reasons to actually go down that way.  I still sometimes get emotional when I see too many babies, or a teddy bear.  Or the wind blows.  When those moments come though, I let them.  And when they are gone, slowly, I get back to what I was doing.  One step at a time.

I hope that this quote has a way of reaching you.  I wish with all my heart that it helps you in a difficult time, and that it helps you along your journey, whether you are going through a journey of grief, or any other difficult life altering odyssey.


PS.  I've wanted for a long time to create a memorial page for Preston.  I didn't know how to go about it, and thought it might be a bit much.  Today, I found a few Facebook pages for blogs that I follow, and it inspired me to do the same for my blog.  Perhaps it will be a way to attract more followers and gain a bigger audience.  Perhaps not.  Either way, it will be just another space to share my little boy, his smiles, my experience and hopefully wisdom on surviving the loss of a baby.  If you wish to join this page the link is https://www.facebook.com/SpreadHappinessForPreston. Thank you.

Positively February: Day 25

"When it rains, it pours... but soon, the sun shines again."

When it rains, it pours.  I think I've probably heard this saying more than any other in my life.  And like many other sayings, it has stood the test of time and has proven to be right.

Everything seems to always happen all at once when going through tough times.  Granted, something bad could happen tomorrow and I'd be asking life to give me a break!  I've had enough tough times for a lifetime, yet I know they are more than likely far from over.  Such is life.

Out of the darkness comes light.  Every morning the sun rises again.  Once the rain ceases, the sun comes back out, and there is often the chance of a rainbow.  All these metaphors are symbols of hope for renewed happiness.  And while we cannot often see that happiness is not terribly far away, it is something you will, if you let it, appear down the path of your journey of grief - down the path of your journey through life.

Time doesn't heal all wounds, but it does help cauterize the wound, and leaves a wonderful scar full of memories.  Embrace those, never let them go.  They will help you through this adventure we call life.

Positively February: Day 19

"No matter how far you've gone down the wrong road, you can always turn around."

I hopped on the wrong train on my way home.  I didn't realize, until I was just about at the end of the line, having gone East instead of South.  Oops!  Thankfully, the trains run pretty often around rush hour and I was home just 30 minutes later.  This train and mine look alike and have the same route, until one keeps going South, while the other forks East.  I was listening to Pandora, and so enthralled in my game of Solitaire that I didn't notice until I looked up to get an idea of how close we were getting, that I was not where I should be.

This prompted me to find a different quote than what I'd planned out at lunch time.  We all, at some point, take the wrong turn.  I've done it many times.  Sometimes it takes you some place wonderful that you wouldn't have stumbled upon otherwise.  Sometimes, you are forced down a road you don't want to go down.  And while you can't erase going down that road, you can most certainly turn back.

Everyone experiences life differently, sees it in their own unique way.  For the first several months of grieving, I needed something to do.  I worked, and worked and worked.  I don't need that constant distraction anymore, I've gone down a new path of healing.  It took me a while to get there.  It will take others less time, or more time.  There's no set pace.  It's not a race to the finish.  And I'm not saying that burying myself into work was the "wrong" way to grieve either.  I just found a new path to go down.

Take the road less traveled when possible.  It might be the wrong path.  It might turn into the right path.  Keep in mind though, if it is the wrong path, or it feels wrong, it's never a problem to turn right back around.  I invite you to attempt allowing positivity into your life even if it is a difficult time.  If it doesn't feel right, you will have tried.  And you can try again later.  If it doesn't feel right for now, it's not the wrong answer to turn around.

Positively February: Day 18

"I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel."  - Maya Angelou

Maya Angelou.  For the past couple years, I've seen some of her quotes being shared on Facebook.  Lovely quotes too.  Meaningful.  Things that make you smile.  Think.  What a beautiful soul this woman seems to have had.  It inspired me to use one of her quotes today.  There were so many to choose from:

"Try to be a rainbow in someone's cloud"

"If you only have one smile in you give it to the people you love"

"It's one of the greatest gifts you can give yourself, to forgive.  Forgive everybody."

However, the one I chose is the one that spoke to me the most.  I think she was right in what she said.  You don't forget how people make you feel.  Good or bad.  I remember the people who hurt me most.  I remember the people who made me happiest.  When it comes to memory, mine is not great for details.  I often have a hard time recalling what I ate for dinner the previous night.  However, I easily am able to recollect how it made me feel to have teenagers write ridiculous things on my locker in high school.  It felt awful.  The cruel nicknames, and for what reason? I was a quiet girl who minded her own business.  At the same time, I remember extraordinary details about some of the times someone made me incredibly happy.  I remember my wedding day almost better than any other day in my life.  I remember one night, rocking Preston for hours.  Listening to my iPod and signing him all the songs I knew the lyrics to.  I remember how tiny he was.

I remember it like it was yesterday.  And that right there, also makes me feel the deep pain of his absence.  It wouldn't hurt so much if I didn't love him so dearly.  I suppose that is the price of love - profound and endless grief.

I hope this doesn't make it sound like I'm always sad.  I am not.  Remembering Preston most often brings a smile to my face.  He was and is and always will be a symbol of happiness for me.  But yes, I do feel the sadness too.  Sometimes the sorrow feels bottomless.  At times it is more subtle, like the shadow that follows me everywhere without my noticing it.

The important thing is, our memories are completely linked to our emotions.  Conversations and actions will fade.  Feelings do not.  Tread lightly when you think about saying something that might be hurtful.  "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all".  Pranks can be funny, but taking them too far can break someone.

Taking it to the opposite spectrum, reaching out your hand to help out someone in need could change their day, their life.  Just imagine how that would feel!  Offering comforting words during a difficult time... from experience, I can tell you it can change everything.  I remember and will always remember the people who have supported me, and who keep on supporting me.  They have a treasured place in my heart.  They have been my saving grace. <3

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 15

"I may not be there yet, but I am closer than I was yesterday."

Healing can be a slow process.  Healing is not linear as it is filled with waves.  Waves of emotions and events.  All the same, every day, you are closer to being healed than you were the previous day.

Every day where you get out of bed, you are one step closer.  Every little step you take, you are closer than you were yesterday.  A little step it all it takes.  Getting dressed.  Making dinner or just actually eating.  Going for a calm walk.

I know.  None of it is easy.  Especially not during the first days, first months, first special occasions.   Not to sound depressing or pessimist, it's never really easy.  It's just different and it becomes part of you.  Healing, slowly but surely becomes part of your reality.

With positive energy and thoughts, we can achieve a lot of really amazing things.  Most importantly, for me anyway as a bereaved parent, it helps me with the notion that I am doing better than I was yesterday.

Set-backs occur for sure.  Just yesterday I found myself crying as I looked at pictures of Preston.  This isn't something that usually happens.  For whatever reason, yesterday, it brought a half hour of tears.  It felt like daggers kept stabbing me in the heart.  Does that mean that yesterday, I wasn't closer than I was the day before? No.  Grief is not linear, just like healing.  I just keep reminding myself of what my friend Krystal's told me many times.  Every day, I am one day closer to being reunited with Preston.  And that's all the proof I need to know that this quote is for real.

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 8

"A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step" - Confucius

So you probably think I'm redundant as this goes hand in hand with my mantra - "One day at a time, one step at a time".  That's how important I think it is for us to set small goals especially when you are dealing with the unthinkable, but even if you aren't.  You can't reach the goal without taking steps first.  You can't cross the finish line before crossing the start line.

We often set too many goals at once, or goals that are too ambitious.  Maybe it would be a good idea to set a goal, and then set objectives within that goal.  For example, I want to do a good thorough spring cleaning in the house.  I could say, I want it done by the end of February, or even March, and that could be really unrealistic.  I'm away from the house for basically 12 hours every weekday.  Instead, these are my objectives - one room per weekend.  And if something comes up one weekend where I can't get it done, then so be it.  Whether that "something" be that we're going away for the weekend, or that I'm grieving too hard another.

One foot in front of the other.  One small step at a time.  I truly am on a journey of a thousand miles.  More likely, an endless journey.  By embracing positivity, by allowing healing into my life, and by taking things slow, I hope to make this journey less painful to go through.  For me, for others around me.  For others, who might be able to do the same.

Preston, thank you for helping me keep this attitude, when the biggest part of me, wants nothing to do with positivity and moving forward.  I couldn't do it without having you in my life, in my heart.

Positively February: Day 1

Well February is here!  I've looked at so many positive sayings and thoughts since losing Preston, and so many of them touched me and helped me heal as I reflected upon them.  I hope that by sharing some of these, you find some healing too.

I found this positive thought, and it seems to be perfect for starting us off:

Get up, dress up, show up & never give up

One of the hardest things after losing your child is just getting up and going about your day.  Your routine has just been shot to hell and not only are you emotionally shattered but you are also disoriented. Nothing seems real.  Nothing makes sense.  Time seems to stand still but the clock keeps on ticking.

This phrase reminds me that of my new motto: one day at a time, one step at a time.  It takes a lot of willpower to get up every day, especially those first couple months.  Just getting up, out of bed, is a step taken towards the healing path.  If it's all you can do for weeks, or months, consider it an accomplishment.  It truly is.

When you feel up to it, take the next step and get dressed.  Do your hair, or make-up.  If you are up for it, all of it.  Taking these small steps, one at a time, will help you build a new routine.  It'll be difficult the first times, but it'll get easier with time, and repetition.  I strongly believe that routine helps with establishing a healthy healing path.  It gives your mind something to expect, something to concentrate on.  It gives your body a pattern to follow, and your body needs the routine too.

I will take the phrase literally and say that the next step is showing up, though it doesn't have to be.  Throw yourself back into social situations when you feel up for it.  It will be difficult and being in a crowd can be filled with triggers - moments or things that remind you of the loss, the pain and what you once had.  Showing up can mean telling yourself you will go, with an open ended option to leave at anytime.  It can mean trying to go, but turning around when you are halfway there.  One day, you will make it to the door and walk through.  And it'll feel okay.  The triggers won't be as intense.  One small step at a time, is all you have to do.

Never give up.  I don't have a choice to give up, life didn't stop even if it feels like it did.  The first weeks, months were incredibly difficult.  Difficult really doesn't begin to explain how painful it was to go through.  It's still "difficult", but I suppose the pain is less intense.  This doesn't mean I love my son less than I did 10 months ago.  It just means that my heart and mind have come to accept what has happened.  Doesn't mean I like it.  It doesn't mean I want to accept it.  It doesn't mean that any morning is easy to awaken from.  I've come to appreciate everything in my life a lot more though, and that's a blessing.  Not something I asked for.  It came at a high price.  I'd exchange this appreciation back for my son any day.

The lesson here is that we all have survival in us.  It's in our blood, because really when you have no other choice, your body and your mind will go into survival mode - as long as you allow yourself to it.  Just take it a moment at a time.  Survival isn't a race.  It's not a competition.  It's about overcoming the worse possible thing that can happen to you, and finding a way to continue on.  For me, it's been appreciating the blessing that Preston was in my life, for the short time he was with us.  It's been sharing my son's smile with the world.  It's been sharing my experience, in the hopes of helping someone.  And I'm proud of my son for taking me down this path.  His smile reminds me every day that happiness exists, even in the darkest of times.  You just have to take it a day, or a moment at a time.

The day I wished I lived in a soap opera

General Hospital has been really good lately.  I guess, they are gearing up for "February Sweeps" which usually makes for interesting story lines.  If you aren't familiar with the "sweeps" term, it's basically a month were Nielsen logs everything targeted households are watching on TV and therefore they try to make their shows as good as possible to attract the most viewers possible.  At least, that's how it started and I think the goal was to help advertisers target their audiences better.

Anyway, the top story lines right now are:

• The jail break: Sonny, Julian, Ava and Franco just escaped jail... and were in a car accident.
• Fluke: There is an imposter Luke: Possibly the late Bill Eckert? And he's trying to kill everyone the real Luke loves.
• The bombs: There's a bomb on the Haunted Star, where all of Luke's loved ones are gathered for the unveiling of a new clinic.  There's another bomb in the basement of Luke's childhood home, the future site of the new clinic - and Dante's trapped in the basement (and somehow still alive after being hit in the HEAD with a crowbar..)
• Jake was arrested: Jake is really Jason, but had reconstructive face surgery, has amnesia and is being brainwashed by Helena who is in cahoots with Fluke,  Oh and he planted the bomb on the boat

You see the crazy stuff I watch? I suppose I find it entertaining because as ABSURD as some of this stuff is, the actors make it seem real.  After watching General Hospital for so long, I truly find that most soap stars, are much better actors than some really big movie stars.  But, that's just me.  Maybe I just haven't watched enough movies.  But soap stars, they really have a way of making you believe their characters and the emotions they are going through.  

They take you on their journey.  It gives you insight into what someone else might actually be feeling or thinking.  So much so, that often times you feel like you are on that same journey.  We didn't do anything on New Year's eve, which is pretty standard for us.  Brett fell asleep so I caught up on General Hospital.  In this episode, Ric, who was once a very evil character, returned.  Everyone believed him to be dead, as his death had been faked to expose the true head of the Jerome crime family, Fluke.  But now that Fluke's identity was revealed, Ric was able to come out of protective custody, though he was kidnapped, and was now just freed thanks to his half brother Sonny. On New Year's eve, he showed up on Liz' doorstep and I cried.  I cried like I hadn't cried in a long time.

I realized right then and there that I wished I lived in a soap opera.  Where it would be possible for Preston to show up on our doorstep, even if not for another 25 years.  I do live in the real world, I know that won't happen.  It didn't keep me from hoping it could come true, if only for a few moments.  Ric's return really hit me hard.  I cried myself to sleep that night.

Don't feel bad for me though.  These moments happen.  They can be triggered by the simplest things sometimes.  I get through them, as with everything else.  Survival is my new reality.  And with time, I'm learning that survival can bring about beautiful things, wonderful thoughts.

And really, I don't want to live in a soap opera.  Every time someone is driving on screen, there's an accident.  How can everyone be such a bad driver??

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.

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?

Fading laughter

Hearing that the world lost great actor and comedian Robin Williams hit me really hard today.  I didn't know him personally, yet hearing of his death brought me to tears.  Is it because I'm just too sensitive to death now?  I don't think so.  I remember being in tears when I heard that great hockey legend Maurice Richard had passed away.  I cried hearing about Patrick Swayze's death.  But when it comes to celebrities, I think those are the only ones that really moved me and I'm not quite sure the reason for it.  I never saw Maurice Richard play, but I knew how special he was to my home town.  I haven't seen all of Swayze's movies, so it kind of boggles my mind why his death would affect me more than someone else I might have followed more closely.  Perhaps it was just because of my mood that day?

I've always loved Robin Williams though.  Loved all the great voices he would do.  Just adored him in Aladdin.  And Hook.  Mrs. Doubtfire.  There are so many of his movies that I haven't yet seen.  But, he just had a way of always making me smile and laugh.

I saw a quote on Twitter today that I want to share:   

"What else can be said. I guess you never know what is happening inside another human. Be kind to each other".

This is something I've learned too well with the loss of Preston.  I'm sure if you met me on the street, you probably wouldn't know that I'm dealing with this tremendous loss.  It's not that I'm not sad because of what happened, but I try really hard not to be sad all day.  I have to concentrate on other things to avoid falling into endless sadness.  I have to work, and I do enjoy my job, but the other nice thing about work is that there's the expectation of professionalism.  I think because of this understandable and necessary expectation, it allows my mind to rest from the sorrow for a large portion of the day.  It's not to say that I don't get sad at work, or that I don't think about Preston while at work.  I certainly do.  But, I guess it's helped me learn how to hide it when necessary.  And sometimes it is necessary.  I need to be able to be happy for my friends, and family.  I need to be able to concentrate and do a good job at work, or while I cook so I don't burn down the house.  I need to be able to have a good time. I need to be able to survive.

Really you don't ever know what is going on inside someone else's mind.  You don't know what they have gone through, what they live with every day, the thoughts that they have, by just looking at someone.  At least, it would be the exception when someone is an absolute open book.  For that reason, I think it is super important to be kind to each other, and to ourselves.  Even if someone isn't being nice (I'll stay polite), there's no reason to not treat them with kindness.  Perhaps they are having a bad day.  Or perhaps, no one is ever nice to them, so that's all they know.  Who knows?

I'm really saddened to think that Robin Williams may have committed suicide.  Your own mind can be so cruel.  I am one to think that no one can be more cruel to you than yourself; no one can be harder on you than yourself.  Dealing with grief, I've learned that guilt, self-blame can be really dangerous.  It can take you to dark places.  There's no wonder that many people who deal with traumatic experiences develop depression.  It can be a really tough hole to crawl out of if you don't have a good support system.  Many people who go through a loss, are faced with depression, or suicidal thoughts.  It hasn't been the case for me, but I've come across some through my journey with infant loss.  Don't be afraid to reach out!  If you are filled with sadness, talk to someone: a friend, a family member, others going through a similar experience, a professional.  If you know someone who is going through a tough experience, reach out!  While you may hear things that are upsetting, while it might make you sad, the difference you could make should outweigh all of those things, especially if it is someone you care about.

"It is foolish and wrong to mourn the men who died. Rather we should thank God that such men lived." -George S. Patton

While I will always mourn the loss of my sweet baby boy Preston, I would agree with the second part of the quote.  I thank God every day for giving him to us, even if it was just for 16 weeks on Earth.  Having known him, loved him, held him, has changed my life forever, for the better.  While I wish I didn't have to lose him, I'm so grateful that he was a part of my life.  Robin Williams changed comedy, and was a great actor to boot.  I thank God for giving him to us, for sharing him with the world for as long as he did, for he made so many people laugh, and will continue to do so.  I thank God, for all the other beautiful human beings that have graced our Earth and have since gone.  Many of these wonderful beings were babies.  Some never got to breathe our air.  Some never got to grow for more than just a handful of weeks.  Some we'll never get a glimpse of.  But, all have impacted the lives of others.  All leave a mark.  All matter.

To all who have loved and lost.  To all who suffer in silence.  Don't keep it all inside.  Laughter may be fading on Earth with the passing of Robin Williams, but I hear the angels giggling as he makes them laugh in Heaven tonight.  What a sweet sound that is.

Decisions...



A few days ago, I was chatting with another angel mom about vacations.  She was struggling with going on an extended out of state trip.  This means, she'd be away from her son's grave and it made her very sad; it was very difficult for her.  As I was trying to cheer her up, I realized that, she needed to feel sad.  She needed to feel angry that things didn't turn out how they were supposed to.  She needed to feel hurt and frustrated. 

In that moment, I just wanted to make her feel better, but as I took a step back, I understood that she just needed to vent.  She just needed to release these emotions.  She needed someone to listen and possibly someone to hug her.  Even, as someone who's had a similar loss, I got lost in wanting to make her feel better.  Sometimes, no matter what, we don't feel better.  Sometimes, we need to hurt, cry or scream.  And that's "normal".  I don't like the word normal because after losing a child, nothing is normal.  However, I think it's the best word to describe what I'm trying to say.  Grief is so different for every one that "normal" to one person, can be totally different from someone else's "normal".  So, if you know someone that is grieving and they seem to be struggling more than usual, offer them a hug.  Offer them to listen.  Perhaps offer words of comfort, but if you don't, just being there to listen can mean the world.  There's not much that can be said to make things better anyway.

All this got me to thinking... how am I going to feel when I go out of town for more than 1 day?  How am I going to feel when I have to leave Preston behind?  I'll be going out of town to try to have "fun" but he will remain on our dresser in our bedroom in his little teddy bear urn.  Should I take him with me?  Would that be too weird?  What if I do, and he goes missing?  I haven't quite wrapped my head around all this yet, but I can tell you that whatever the answer I come up with, it will not be an easy one, or a pleasant one.  There are so many things that you aren't prepared for when you lose a child.  Probably because it's nothing you should ever have to think about.

We all have to make difficult decisions during the course of our lives.  If I've learned anything, making a difficult decision isn't something you should do overnight unless you have absolutely no other choice.  I'm not going out of town for another couple of months, so this gives me time to weigh my options and think about what would feel best since nothing will feel great.  Difficult decisions shouldn't be impulsive, or made when you are super emotional.  Difficult decisions should be as thought out as possible, so that's what I plan to do. 

What are some of the most difficult decisions you've had to make? How do you deal with difficult decisions? Do you weigh the pros and cons? Do you go with what feels right therefore trusting your gut?