1 year, 3 months and 26 days

It still feels like yesterday.

"Get over it"

I will never get over Sawyer's life or his death...

I will never get over making the decision to end my son's life.

I will never get over how it felt to hold a brand new baby in my arms, and watch him slowly die.

I will never get over the way he gasped for air and kept fighting for his life, while my husband and I watched in horror and disbelief, that he kept fighting to live.

I will never get over his nurse checking over and over to hear when his tiny, broken heart finally stopped beating.

I will never get over knowing that the last time I saw his sweet face and touched his soft skin, was when I had to put him into a tiny, black box from the funeral home.

I will never get over you, sweet baby. Never.

When it hits you

I always check on Sadie before I go to sleep.

I never did that until everything happened, and I honestly don't know if I'll ever stop checking on her.

Last night I quietly walked into her room, pulled a pink blanket away from her face and gave her a soft kiss.

Her cheek was warm and soft. Perfect for kissing. And then it hit me.

Sawyer's cheeks.

When I kissed them - they were cold. Sunken in.

The thought of it made me gasp.

I never knew what it felt like to kiss his face when it was warm.

I try to think about the new baby and what it will be like to hold him in my arms. But I can't imagine it. As hard as I try, I can't see it at all. Maybe it's my head protecting my heart. Maybe I'm just completely paranoid and it's useless to try and make me feel better about the way I just feel.

After I closed Sadie's door, I sat on the floor in the hallway and just cried. My poor baby, those tiny cheeks.

If I only knew...

I thought we were doing well.

Today, was hard. Such a small word to describe the enormous pain of reliving every moment of one tiny life.

I feel so much guilt.

We were getting ready to go to bed and I couldn't remember if I prayed the night before he died. I looked at Erik - my eyes filling with tears, "Did I even pray? I must not have prayed hard enough."

How many times did we visit the NICU on his second day? Was it really only three? What kind of mother visits her sick, premature son only three times in an entire day? I never should have left his side. I wouldn't have ever left his side if I knew...

The last visit we had with him was perfect. I held onto his tiny hand and stroked his delicate cheek. I remember talking with his nurse, we were all so hopeful for Sawyer.

The last thing I said to my baby was that I was sorry for not being there more. That every single day I would be able to visit longer and longer as my body healed from the c-section.

It was so hard to leave him that night because he looked so good. His color, his stats - he was stable for the first time since he was born. We went to sleep with peaceful minds, thinking that we had better rest up because the coming weeks and months that were ahead of us were going to be long.

If I only knew...

Tuesday morning

Today felt like the day.

Tuesday.

The day after Memorial Day.

A trip up to the hospital.

The last time we did the exact same thing on the exact same day, it all started.

I was awoken out of my sleep when my water broke. I was half-dazed, walking to the bathroom and could feel my pants starting to soak with fluid. I thought I had urinated on myself at first.

When I turned the light on, I looked down to notice that my pants were tinged with a pinkish color. I smelled them. It smelled like nothing at all. I knew what happened.

Erik had been sleeping on the couch because he had a terrible cough just like me. I punched him hard in the back to wake him up. I had him smell my pants too. Same thing, nothing.

I was terrified and shaking. Erik called my mom and told her she needed to get to the house, now. I - and I still have no idea why - took a shower. I felt that I absolutely had to take a shower first before we could leave. Besides, we had time - no one was here yet to watch Sadie.

While I was in the shower, Erik had tried to call our friends - Carrie and Mike - a few times (they live just a few doors down from us) but there wasn't an answer. So he ran down to their house and rang their doorbell until someone came downstairs. Carrie was here just minutes later as we were ready to walk out the door.

I will never forget how scared I was at that exact moment - Carrie gave me a huge hug.

I remember the sound of my shoes as they pounded down the stairs out to the garage. I remember driving in the darkness and silence all the way to Chicago. I remember Erik pulling into the parking garage, desperately telling the attendant that I was in labor - where do we park? I remember, with each contraction, thinking that we were never going to make it to the hospital.

We did make it. And for that time, we were still okay - together. Three hearts beating.

Anticipation

Here we go. Sawyer's birthday and angel day coming up this week. Everyone keeps telling me the anticipation is worse than reliving the actual days, but it's not like I'm actually anticipating anything.

I am expecting to reflect, remember every moment and contine to ache for the baby who died in my arms.

It's not anticipation, it's my son's life.

Too short. Too soon.

May 29th, 2010

The last picture taken of me while Sawyer was still safe inside my womb. A blurry picture taken with Erik's phone. I was happy here. Happy because I could just lay back and listen to his tiny heart "woosh" with every beat. Little did we know, just how broken it was.

One year ago, my sister was having a birthday party for her son, he was turning three. Erik had just picked up Sadie the night before from my mom's house - that's where she was staying while I was home on bedrest.

I was so excited to see Sadie and even more excited for a long holiday weekend together. The days sitting here by myself were really starting to get to me. I was trying so hard to stay positive even though I knew something was just not right.

My sister had called to try and convince me to come along with Erik and Sadie to the birthday party. I wanted to go, so badly. But I was on strict orders from the doctor to stay put. My sister even offered to make up a place on the couch for me in her den, and bring me food or whatever I needed as the party went on - but, I didn't want to be stuck in the house, on a beautiful day with everyone feeling sorry for me. Alone, yet still surrounded by everyone. So, Erik headed off with Sadie to the party without me.

While I sat at home by myself I couldn't help but notice that something wasn't right with Sawyer. He was making his kick counts (10 within an hour) but the thing is, he wasn't exactly kicking. He was barely moving. Just enough for me to notice, but not enough to make me feel that he was okay.

We had known that my fluid was very low for the past month. I tried to relate that to the reason why he wasn't moving the way I felt he should be. But something in my heart kept telling my head to worry. And that's what I did.

I called over to the party and talked with my sister - crying between sentences, overwhelmed with dread. She said I shouldn't worry, and to call the doctor just in case.

Then, I called my sister-in-law who is a NICU nurse and explained to her how I felt. She has this very gentle way with words, and highly suggested I just go ahead and call the hospital. I needed that encouragement. I needed to know that what I was feeling made sense in some way.

By the time Erik came home and put Sadie to bed a few hours later, we were on our way to the University of Chicago. When I arrived, the standard tests were done. NST, BPP and everything checked out perfectly. The resident who took care of us that stormy late-spring night, reassured me that coming in wasn't a mistake. That she'd rather see us here and be wrong, than stay home and be right.

Two days later - she delivered our son, limp and gray, after my placenta abrupted.

Moments we miss

The ache to hold you in our arms again has been growing and growing the past few days.

Sadie and I picked out the cupcakes that we're going to bake for you on your birthday. White cake with yellow frosting and baby blue sprinkles. I think it's perfect.

Today, we were putting away a lot of Sadie's old infant toys after running them through the washing machine and setting them out to dry. Sadie dutifully helped put all of the toys carefully into your brother's toy box. Then she said "Can I play these with baby Sawyer when he comes home?"

It's moments like these that take my breath away. Moments like these that are a constant reminder of everything we have missed out on with you.

Sawyer, you are so loved - can you feel it?

We miss you so much. We love you.

Baby Pickles update - 32 weeks

What a day.

An emotional up and down day.

I haven't written much about the new baby in a long time, mostly because things are going so good - I almost hesitate to say great because I don't want to jinx anything with him. And normally, I'm not the type of person to wish on falling stars or throw pennies into fountains, but I sure have found myself quietly hoping and praying for nothing but the best.

I made our first delivery through "Sawyer's Heart Project" to the NICU at Comer Children's Hospital. Ranae - the counselor who was there with us through every single step of our loss with Sawyer - met me at the clinic to pick up the blankets, sleepers and handmade hats. We had a really nice visit but with it almost being a year to the day of Sawyer's birth and then death - a lot of the talk was heavy. I still can't believe how far we have come in such a short amount of time. I truly credit the love and care of the staff at Comer for that initial start - so I was quite thankful to give back today.

After meeting with Ranae, I had my first NST and BPP. I haven't had either since the very day Sawyer was born. And I had been looking forward to the tests for the past few days since it had been about two weeks since I was able to see our little boy via ultrasound. I did not, however, expect to go into a full-blown panic attack once all the monitors were strapped onto my stomach.

The swoosh-swoosh of the baby's heart brought me right back in an instant. And I completely lost it.

Thank goodness I had a very understanding nurse who coaxed and convinced me that this time, we'd make happy memories - not scary, sad ones.

After that I had our ultrasound and everything looked fantastic. He kicked, stretched and practiced his breathing. The baby is still in the "frank breech" position - but it's okay because we're already planning a c-section anyway.

I met with our doctor and we finally talked very seriously about the upcoming c-section and birth of our new baby. Quite honestly, I'm scared shitless. I'm scared that something will go wrong. I'm scared that someone will die. I even asked my doctor to promise to be there when the time came for our little boy to make his arrival - to which she agreed.

The one thing that has her a little worried is that "she doesn't trust me" - or in other words, doesn't trust my body. Things are going really, really well right now - but my history of PPROM, plancental abruption and two emergency c-sections don't bode very well for this baby. Not that we are thinking the worst, just trying to prepare in case of another emergency situation.

So yeah, it was a long and exhausting day. A lot to think about and a lot to worry about, but it's okay to worry. It's okay to be scared. I think it would be completely abnormal not to.

Stop time

I don't want it to be an entire year.

Baby Naomi

No one should ever have to see what I saw yesterday - Let alone, live it.

My cousin's baby girl - Naomi - died suddenly this past Sunday. She was beautiful. Laid out in pure white, with the sweetest bonnet I think I have ever seen. Lace blanketed her tiny body. To me, she was perfect.

Surrounding her were many pictures and I couldn't help but notice that in every one of Naomi and her father - he was beaming. There is no doubt, she had his smile.

I kept saying to Erik that this was all too much, too soon. But, I don't think it would have mattered when it happened - it's always going to be too soon.

At the cemetery, they laid her to rest right next to Sawyer. They're cousins, you know.

Two babies who never had the chance to meet. Two babies who will never have a first Christmas. Two babies who will never take their first steps.

And now?

Two sets of parents. Too many broken hearts.

It's a boy

I was wrong, and that's okay!

Breaking down the moment

A friend sent me some great things for the new baby a few days ago and I finally got around to putting them all away today. While I was making room in a cupboard for everything, Sadie asked me if this was all for the new baby.

I happily told her "Yes, it is!"

"Mama?" She replied. "Is this baby going to die too?"

Instant falling. My knees felt like they were cut off. I sat there on the kitchen floor, surrounded by diaper boxes and baby bottles - and I had no answer.

Tears. Too many. Flowing quickly, the same path down my face. Like a river.

At that exact moment my friend rang the doorbell. Shit. I forgot she was coming right over. I was so embarrassed, but there was no way I could not cry. There was no way I could pretend like things were okay - and that's sort of how it's been for a while now. I've been pretending so that other people can feel better.

"Yes our baby died, but we're expecting again!"

I've said that too many times. There. Feel better? No uncomfortable silence. Instead, a happy "Congrats!" and we're moving on.

But, my baby is dead. And it's an unrelentless circle of grief. And it sucks. Up and down. Up and down. Happy and sad. Laughter and tears.

I am thankful that my friend was here though. Thankful for the hugs and the comfort.

I called my mom immediately. I was on the verge on completely losing my mind. And for those of you who never have lost your mind? Thank God for that.

My mom put it perfectly. My oldest brother was Sadie's age when her baby died. She told me that all Sadie knows is this. She sees you preparing for this baby, just like we did with Sawyer and all she knows is that Sawyer died. And that's just how it is.

And she's right. That is how it just "is." Children accept things so much differently than we do. It's a miracle to be so innocent and a very touching gift from God if you ask me.

So, in light of my near-breakdown - I'm thankful. For a friend like Carrie. For the wonderful support of my mother when these moments hit. For all of you, who care about me and my little family. Thank you.

Sawyer's Tulips

Standing over Sawyer's grave today, I still feel like I just had the wind knocked out of me. That I'm still trying to catch my breath.

A new baby kicks inside of me and here I am, standing over the grave of the child that I had to let go. I sometimes feel like a statue. Frozen in the moment, nothing moves except the wind through my hair and the tears down my face.

Sawyer's tulips are already coming up. I bought some potted tulips last Easter when I was pregnant with him. When they died, I made sure to dig out the bulbs and save them - we planted them at his grave last fall. I bet they'll be blooming for him again by Easter.

Holding on to what I have

Yesterday was a particularly hard one for me and Erik.

I'm not sure why. It wasn't a significant date and there was no specific reason. The sadness just hung over us.

I could hear Erik in the kitchen late last night, humming a song that we both sang to Sawyer as he died - "You Are My Sunshine" - and he had a chair turned, facing out the window. He was looking at Sawyer's angel turning colors in the dark. I don't know if he knew that I could hear him, but I did. And I left him alone. You learn that about grief. That your spouse sometimes, needs that space to just be. And you grow together in learning how it all works. We grieve so differently, and at other times - we're right in sync with each other.

I crawled into Sadie's bed in the middle of the night. I needed to feel her against me. Know that she was safe and warm. I do that a lot. I can feel my broken heart pounding inside of me so powerfully when I do this...

Because when I yearn for Sawyer, there's nothing to hold against my chest. No cheek to stroke or hair to smooth.

I hold Sadie and I'm grateful. And I pray that nothing ever takes her away from me.

The sun is out today and we didn't talk about anything last night. The mood is softer, Sadie makes us laugh. And a new baby is persistantly kicking me all day long.

The hope mixed with the grief. The love pouring out over the loss.
Posted

Walking a fine line

It is so hard to balance joy with grief...

Hope with sorrow.

Prediction

With Sadie and Sawyer I always wrote a little blog before heading off to the 20-week ultrasound predicting the sex of the baby. I've been right every time so far, which makes me think I'm due to be wrong for once. Which would be okay with me.

Honestly, the sex doesn't matter to us in any way, whatsoever.

The 20-week ultrasound now represents the health of this baby and of the pregnancy and we are hoping and praying for good, no - great news all around.

The echo of the baby's heart that we had 10 days ago was promising, so although we are very cautious - our hopes are high.

Oh and for the record...

I think it's a girl.

The bitter pill

*NEWSFLASH*

Of course I'm happy about our new baby. No shit.

But to say that the happiness isn't constantly interrupted by thoughts of gloom and doom isn't so far off either. Every day I'm grateful and every single minute I'm cautiously optimistic.

It's a horrible feeling to sit through your pregnancy and wonder if you're baby is going to die again. It's a form of suffering that is almost unbearable, until you feel a tiny poke from that miracle growing inside of you. It's a constant emotional battle with myself.

It's been eight months since I last held Sawyer in my arms. Eight months since I had to hand off my only son to a total stranger carrying a little black coffin.

Yeah, sure.

Eight months. But that's not anything. It's a blip in the timeline of my grief.

And guess what?

I'm bitter. I'm pissed off.

You would be too if you were completely screwed out of a lifetime of kisses, midnight feedings or the sweet smell of a newborn's head. And then I see everyone bitching constantly about the woes of parenthood, their jobs and life in general. I literally can't stand it anymore.

So in my bitterness I've sort of resorted to this smart-ass mentality. And that's how I'm dealing with things - I make no apologies for it.

If that's a problem for you - you have some choices.

You can ignore me, bear with me, try to understand or leave me alone.

This isn't easy for me. And I am trying so hard to just try.

Loss and hope

A friend that I haven't seen in a really long time came over for a visit today with her three boys.

Our kids had fun terrorizing each other and making a mess. And as mothers - we were constantly refereeing the mayhem.

In between the yelling and the playing, my friend asked me about my pregnancy. Questions about how I was feeling and what it was like to be pregnant again so soon after losing Sawyer.

Everytime a question came up, one of our children were about to hurl themselves off a chair or decided that the toy somebody else had was worth beating each other up over.

Amidst our shouts of discipline, I didn't really get a chance to answer...

But the thing is, she asked me things that no one ever asks - questions that I think a lot of people are afraid to ask.

But, at that moment, it meant the world to me that someone was acknowledging my pain, my loss - and my hope.

Always heavy

Today is one of those days where I could just cry forever.

The more this baby grows inside of me, the more I miss him.

Two days. Not even two days.

I held him while he died. I held him for his entire life - the end of his life.

It doesn't stop. It doesn't stop.

Time does not make it easier. The person who said that is wrong. It's bullshit.

The weight of the grief? Is always the same. Maybe some days, it's easier to pick up - but the size never changes. It's always heavy.