May 3rd - 1 year

Up until yesterday, I dreaded the 1 year mark of my baby's birth. I'm going to be honest, I haven't even been back to his grave since he passed away. I just didn't want to miss him anymore then I already did every single day. And I felt like somehow, it would be like pouring salt in the wound. 

But as May 3rd came and went, I came to understand a little more about what it means to heal. Saturday morning I was staying at my in-laws preparing for plans we had made with both families for the 1 year mark that night (more on that to come). Because they live so close to Primary Children's, I decided to go there, and my sister-in-law, Lise, joined me. I knew no matter how terrified I was, I had to confront my fear. Jon was studying for the MCAT he takes in a few days, and he told me later that he couldn't have done it, even if he wanted to. That surprised me; there are few things my husband admits to not being able to do. 

As we drove up the familiar hill past the U of U flags and the "Primary Chilrden's" sign, I suddenly felt a peaceful feeling come over me. We parked, and walked through the entrance and passed the front desk, and it felt like a déjà vu. My heart pounded as we made our way up the elevator to the NICU. We stopped at the locked doors that require you to call in and tell them the family you are with before they will let you in. I suddenly missed what it was like a year ago, when I had full access to anything I wanted because I was the mother of a baby there. But now he was gone, and I was a stranger to them. 

 I thought there was no way they'd let me in, but for my own sake, I had to try. I picked up the phone: "Reception, can I ask who you are here for?" came from the other end. Suddenly the thought crossed my mind: "You should have never come here." But I mustered up the courage and told them I wasn't there for anyone, but I had a son that was born exactly a year ago that stayed here and eventually died here and I just wanted to go inside for just a minute. She sounded confused and eventually said "Okay, but we can't let you go in any of the rooms." I told her that was okay, and the doors swung open. It felt surreal as I made my way up to the front desk, passing the room he died in on my way there. I was greeted by a nurse, asking how she could help me. The receptionist told her, "She lost a baby here last year." The nurse responded kindly, "Oh! Who was your baby?" Suddenly, the tears started coming before I could stop them. "My baby?" I thought. It threw me off guard how hard I had to try not to start bawling. I rarely cry just because someone brings him up, but the familiar feeling in that room, the fact that his incubator was right around the corner, and the room he died in was just a few steps to my left.. I couldn't speak without crying. 

It felt like no time had passed, like it was just yesterday I was here with Jon for hours at a time, worried about whether Jon Gabriel's condition would continue to get worse. I wanted so badly to be able to walk around the corner, see him in his incubator, tell the nurse I was his mom, and be able to hold him again. But that wasn't possible, and I knew the nurse that had greeted me was still waiting for a response, so I managed to whisper, "I'm sorry".  That was all I could say. "Don't you apologize," she said softly, "Take all the time you need." She gave me a hug and 2 other nurses came up and asked what the situation was. They both asked if they could give me a hug and told me how sorry they were, and it occurred to me that they saw this kind of thing all the time, but they treated me like I was the first. It reminded me how good the team at Primary Children's was to us when we found out about the defects and made plans for surgery, and how hard they fought to keep my son alive for those  5 days he was here. 

After a few minutes, we left. I went and sat in the lobby for a minute, and just let myself cry over how hard it was to go in there knowing he wasn't there anymore, and allow all the emotions to hit me all over again. But within a few minutes, something beautiful took place inside of me. I felt liberated, and a relief swept over me as I realized I had overcome a major obstacle. I left Primary Children's feeling whole, like I had done my part in allowing myself to be comforted. 

And it occurred to me that sometimes, the healing is in the aching.  

9 months

This Friday, February 7th, marks the 9 month mark of my baby's passing, and while I know that it may seem like a long time for some, there are days when it feels like just yesterday. 

I like the idea of being able to track what I have felt over the course of the past few months, so I can understand how my grief has changed over time. 

I still have people ask how I'm doing..

They will never know how much it means to me that they still acknowledge that even though it's been 9 months, 

I still struggle. 

The other day, one friend messaged me on Facebook and asked, "How are you doing, Madds, really??" 

It caught me off guard. 

I've spent 9 months striving to be at the point where I can feel completely back to normal. 

It caused me to really think about her question, and I think I've finally come up with an exact answer. 

To be honest, one day will be hard, then the next is even worse, but then one day i'll wake up, and  i'll feel more capable of moving forward and more hopeful that happiness is indeed in the future.

And then, bam.. 

I'm sad again, I feel scared and lonely, and I don't want to keep going. 

Literally a roller coaster of ups and downs. 

Can any of you relate? 

I am lucky to say that the roller coaster is beginning to even out a little more for me. 

But even though the heart ache and sadness come less frequently, there is one feeling that still comes back frequently, that I have not been able to pin point until just recently:

Fear. 

Time has begun to heal my heart, and in the process it's attempted to heal my memory.. 

But fear still remains. 

Yes there is fear of the future, but it doesn't compare to the fear of the past. 

The truth is, death is traumatizing. 

Some cases are more traumatizing than others, but to watch someone die.. 

Especially your child,

it changes you. 

There's nothing on this earth like it. 

And to this day, May 7th, 2013 still haunts me. 

I remember holding Jon Gabriel close and begging God to take good care of him for me, with the comfort of knowing we still had a few hours left with him.

But his heartbeat started to drop before we were ready to say goodbye. When that happens, the big machine makes this loud beeping sound that would put any parent into a panic. 

Jon and I both knew, no matter how much we didn't want it to be true, it was time to let him go. 

 Jon went to go get the nurse.. I remember I didn't envy what that walk across the hall to her room would have felt like.. 

Jon Gabriel was in my arms, and the nurse hurriedly removed the wires, the only thing keeping him on this earth, 

then she quickly left the room. 

 We were able to see his face completely for the first time. 

It seemed so unfair, he looked flawless from the outside. 

I put my face close to his and held him as he struggled.. 

I had assumed I would be able to handle it, but I was wrong. 

"I can't do this" I gasped, feeling void of strength. 

Jon took him out of my arms, and I jumped up, my face full of tears, 

and walked anxiously to the corner of the room. 

I ran my hands through my hair. The tears stopped, 

my breathing increased as my chest felt heavier, 

and for the first time ever, I had absolutely no answers. 

All I could do was whimper a short prayer. I had no idea how to handle what I was feeling. 

I've never felt so desperate; never so useless. 

There was absolutely nothing I could do, and it was the worst most humbling feeling.

"You have to hold yourself together," I thought, "Your son is dying, and you won't get this chance again." 

I took a deep breathe, and hurried and sat back on the couch with Jon, who had our baby in his arms and was whispering in his ear. 

When I sat down Jon handed him back to me, and I spent his last few seconds on earth kissing him good bye and telling him I promised I'd see him again I just didn't know when.

His body went limp, and he was gone. All within 2 minutes. 

The rest of the night was a b l u r. 

We bathed and dressed him. There was a big cut on his back from when they hurried and pulled him out during the c- section. 

"My poor baby.." I cried. I felt another sharp blow to the chest. 

I remember I would have been willing to give anything on the earth, to see him come back to life. 

Despite how horrifying yet beautiful it was to spend time taking care of him even though we couldn't do it for him while he was alive, 

I honestly know I was carried in those moments. 

Something made those moments with his lifeless body easier for us, and I couldn't shake the feeling that I knew he wasn't gone completely. 

The nurse had told us that when we were ready to leave, to just wrap him up and leave him on his little bed.. 

I don't know how I left that hospital room, but I did. 

It helped me appreciate the strength that comes from others prayers, because without them I couldn't have done it. 

I literally felt carried.

It's a strength that's indescribable, and it carried on to the days that followed. Even his funeral was surreal. 

That is why my first few blog posts about it didn't have these details, because the details didn't stand out to me. It was the feeling of hope and strength I had received that stood out to me most. 

But after a couple of months, the darkness came.

Slowly the demons began to take over. 

The trauma.. the guilt. 

Thoughts too scary to acknowledge, because acknowledging them would mean having to feel a deep and dark pain that I don't think I can handle. 

One of the worst fears is the fear of yourself. 

The fear that everything happened because of you.. 

Or that everything will happen despite of you.

That somehow, you are the cause, you are the reason for the pain, because you aren't capable of preventing it. 

Thoughts like: 

Why didn't I appreciate more the moments he was safe inside of me, as active as any other little baby? 

What would his cry sound like? Would he have had his dads smile? 

He had a distinct smell, I loved it, so why can't I remember it? 

Was I too quick to let him go? I remember feeling like I needed to get it over with, how could I even feel that way? 

I must have caused the defects, how else would they have happened?

I know so many people who have been through much worse, so why am I having such a hard time still? 

How could I not be strong enough to hold him the whole 2 minutes before he was gone? 

Why did I not appreciate his perfect beauty, why could I not be there for him more as he struggled? 

What if one day, the dark feelings get to be too much, and I snap? 

Will I get to be with him then? 

Will I ever get another child? One I don't have to say goodbye to before I get the chance to love them completely? 

The unanswered questions have led to a darkness I didn't know existed. 

Nightmares that cause me to wake up covered in tears and sweat. 

If I had to experience something this horrific, then my life must be free game and anything could happen.. 

On the worst days, it's enough to make me just want to sit in a corner, put my thumb in my mouth and cry like a baby. 

While slowly i'm healing, the fear, and the reality of the unanswered questions are still very much there. 

The terror of that night will never go away completely. 

How helpless and small I felt, watching him suffer and slowly pass away, while there was nothing I could do to stop it. 

It will always haunt me. 

And yet, I can feel myself changing every time I choose not to let the fear engulf me. 

I can feel myself growing a little stronger every time I hold on to the truth I have been given. 

Because despite the horror of that night, despite the pain and fear that have followed ever since, 

I know, I was meant to experience this. 

Like somehow, I agreed to it. And because I agreed to it, 

I have managed to find the light, despite the darkness.

I know that I wouldn't understand the power and the beauty of the light, if the darkness didn't come back to haunt me every so often. 

And while the light exists, and it offers peace and understanding, it is ok to acknowledge the darkness that's there too. 

It's in each of us, and it's not about how much is there, but about how we will overcome it.  

This picture hangs in my living room:

It was given to me by some good friends after Jon Gabriel passed away. 

It has always brought me comfort as I have pictured my son in the arms of our Savior, 

knowing he is safe and secure.  

But one day as I was having a particularly difficult time, my eyes graced that picture and  a voice spoke to my mind, 

"You're my child too." 

And those days when I did feel carried, when I did feel someone was taking the burden for me, 

it was Him. 

And just like little children have an inherent kind of trust in their parents, the Savior can offer us complete feelings of peace and calm, when we put ourselves trustingly in His arms. 

And when I let Him, he helps me fight the dark feelings.  

Because they don't come where He is. 

A few years ago, when Jon and I would study in his lab together, he had a playlist on Grooveshark that he would play over and over. 

The song "Demons", by Imagine Dragons was one of the songs. 

I had never heard it before, and I remember really liking it.

The song still brings back memories of those study nights in Jon's lab, but now the words have a deeper significance. 

The cover below is by Hearts and Hands, and it is amazing! 

I have to say I like it  better than the original. 

I went to high school with Garrett, the lead singer, and he has always had incredible talent.

The lyrics have a different meaning to me now then when I first heard it a few years ago.. 

But I guess that's how it works, 

 as more of your story begins to unfold, you learn how to relate to more people and experiences. 

And as difficult times continue to take place, you'll realize you can never go back to the normal you once knew.. 

But that's the price of greatness. 

And to me, it's a price worth paying.

♥♥♥♥♥♥

A New Year

As the New year got closer and closer, I couldn't help but think of last New Years Eve, 

a year ago:

We were making egg rolls at my in-laws house, one of their fun holiday traditions. 

Besides feelings sick to my stomach (because the smell of just about everything made me nauseous in my first trimester)

I remember as it got closer to midnight, I couldn't shake the question in my mind.. 

What will life be like exactly one year from now?

This wasn't going to be like any year before. 

I was newly married, which offered its own set of challenges, opportunities for growth and maturity, and exciting adventures. 

I knew we'd have a 6 month old baby come the end of 2013.

But that was about all I knew.

I didn't know whether or not the baby would be healthy, I just assumed they would. 

I didn't know if I would be able to finish school or continue to work with a new born. 

I didn't know if we would be able to pay for labor and delivery and all the extra costs that come with a new baby. 

I didn't know where we would be living, or what kind of health insurance we would find.

I wasn't sure how Jon's MCAT would go, or how the rest of his academic endeavors would pan out. 

I didn't know what we'd name our baby, or even whether it was a boy or a girl. 

I didn't know a lot of things, 

but I continued to let all of these unanswered questions occupy my mind.

Not only in that night, but a majority of the time, my thoughts found their way back to worry. 

If I could go back to that night..

If I could just have one hour to talk to that girl I was one year ago, from the perspective I have now.. 

I would tell her this: 

"Stop. 

Stop wondering.

Stop worrying.

No amount of questioning,

no amount of worry or stress will prepare you for what is about to come.

You have to change what you think about, because you are not meant to be in control of what happens to you.

There will be multiple occasions in 2013 when you will hit rock bottom, and you will be angry that you aren't in control. You will think that surely you know what is best.

I can tell you that the things that are about to take place..

even though you may not see it, 

they are a tender mercy.

You won't understand it, you will be pretty miserable, pretty heartbroken and hopeless..

It will take time..

But I promise, you'll start to see the light again.

You'll start to see that through those moments when you were completely lost and alone,

they were leading you closer to home.

Without those moments that brought you to your knees,

your life would be mediocre at best.

Never too happy, never too sad.

Never really knowing your limits, because you've never been close to them.

And there's one thing you need to know, 

the mediocre don't make it home.

Yes, it will be incredibly hard. 

Harder then anything you've experienced up to this point.

You'll question yourself. You'll question God. You'll question life in general.

But in the end, you'll be grateful you aren't in control.

You'll be grateful He loved you enough, to lead you home."

If I could go back to a year ago, that is what I would tell "me"..

Not because it would change the outcome, but because it would have saved me a lot of time and energy that went toward worrying about things that I couldn't control anyway.

It would have reminded myself to put that same amount of energy toward things I can control, like my own personal development, and my happiness in the moment.

I've always wondered what people mean when they say "Live each day like it's your last".

To me, that's stupid.

You'd be like, crying.

Just take every day for what it is: a new day.

A new opportunity to work toward the person you want to become.

I don't believe living life to the fullest means you have to embark on some incredible adventure everyday. 

I think learning to control your thoughts, choosing to think about things that motivate you, drive you, and make you happy.. 

and working hard toward the goals you've set,

that's what it means to live life to the fullest. And consistently doing this will lead to happiness. 

And you may end up realizing you were on an adventure all along. 

I've learned this year that happiness take incredible amount of effort, both mentally and physically. 

And I've made a few resolutions that can take me one step closer to embracing each day in 2014.

Taken the last day of 2013, after he almost killed us both with fireworks:) 

I won't tell you all of them, because I know you probably don't care,

But I have three that I'm pretty stoked about.

1. Let it go.

Forget about the what if's and maybes. All those do is create expectations that make it impossible to be happy in the moment. Instead I want to focus on things that I have control over, like how I can become better, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. If I recognize that some things I just can't control, I won't stress myself out attempting to. 

I have this goal, and it's probably dumb. 

But the goal is that one day I want to be that mom that just found out there was a bill that forgot to get paid, and there was a huge late fee. Even worse, it will be when Jon is in residency and the majority of that small income will be toward paying off student loans. At that same time, I picture one of my kids coming up to me telling me he forgot to do his homework, while another knocks their plate off the counter leaving shattered glass and food everywhere. Jon won't be around much, and I will feel pretty lonely and worn out.

One day, my goal is to be able to take all that little stress, and remember this moment and think to myself,

"You knew this would happen." 

And then, I want to be able to take a deep breath, maybe laugh to myself because it will be the last thing I want to do, and let it go.  I want to put that energy toward taking it one step at a time, rather then focusing on the stress and worry. I know my reaction will have a far bigger impact in the long run, then a missed assignment, a late fee, or spilled food. 

This may not seem like a worthy goal, but I see it benefiting far greater things. 

2. Be honest.

No, this isn't because I'm a cheater or a liar. This is because I want to be more honest in my blog posts. 

The truth is, losing my son was devastating. But it's not the only part of my life that is hard. There's actually a lot more to it. Those things you read above about the "moments that brought me to my knees" those moments didn't just involve losing my baby. 

But you probably didn't know that huh? 

I want to be more honest, because reading blogs that share perfect pictures with perfect stories do nothing for me. Those moments, that I can guarantee almost everyone feels at some point, yet you think to yourself, "Am I the only one who feels this way?" I want to articulate those moments, so people leave feeling a little better, knowing they aren't alone. 

No, I'm not going to give you all the details about arguments Jon and I have. But I'll tell you there are plenty. I won't tell you about the family issues, but I'll let you know their there. 

Because I want to be honest. I'm human, and you are too. Now that we've acknowledged that, lets make each others journey a little bit easier. And we can start by not making one another feel worse with unrealistic portrayals of our lives. 

3. Put Jon first.

Does that sound sexist? I don't really care. That boy is so good to me. I care about him more than anything and I want to be better at showing it. I know that putting my marriage first is the best way to help me become better. Whether it's a better student, a better employee, a better mother, putting Jon first will help me get there. 

There you have it. My 3 main goals.

2013 was hard in every sense of the word, and I wouldn't trade it for anything..

But I am definitely grateful for a new start! 

And so far, 2014 has already started off great:) 

We've set off fireworks, saw the second movie of The Hobbit, and talked ourselves into taking the week off.. 

 I know the challenges of 2013 aren't over yet, but I've chosen to approach them in a new way. 

What have you learned in 2013? And how do you want to make  2014 better?

Happy New Year!:)

This post has no title.

Warning: This probably isn't that uplifting. Well the amazing music video at the end is! But this is my place to talk about my heart, which includes both the good feelings and bad, and if you relate, that's amazing. If you want to comment about how much you relate, I probably will want to be best friends. I am not complaining, I'm really just... expressing. 

Lastly, if you are sick of hearing about this, I totally understand. I honestly don't blame you in the slightest. I sure wish I was over it too. 

What does depression feel like? 

I'm legitematly wondering. 

I googled it, to see if that's what I was feeling, and it wasn't quite it.. 

What I found on google was most depressed people feel as if they wish they never existed in the first place. 

That would be so difficult to deal with. 

I haven't reached that point yet, thank heavens. 

If I never existed, I would have never got to meet my son, or laugh with my husband, or know what it's like to run into an old friend. 

I'm glad I get to experience these things. 

But I have had the toughest time lately. 

Why now?

During those couple weeks of constant ultrasounds and praying and hoping, one of the messages I received was from someone who had twins and lost her baby girl to HLHS. 

I can't even express how much it helped me to have her reach out to me. 

We have exchanged lots of messages since, but something from that first message still stuck out to me: 

"After a year, I finally went to therapy." 

I remember thinking, a year? 

There is no way I will have to do that. 

Her situation was different from mine (for certain reasons) so I was sure I wouldn't need that.  

Now I totally get what she was saying.

They say time heals all wounds.. 

I'd say time is a living hell. 

But I guess it's all part of the deal. 

The 5 stages of grief: denial, anger, depression, bargaining, acceptance. 

I don't even know which one I'm at anymore.

I feel angry/lonely/scared a lot. 

I'm not angry with God. 

He's only given me an opportunity to prove myself, and to be 100% honest, I'm grateful that he trusts me. 

Mostly I just feel anger at myself. 

Why? I honestly can't even tell you. 

Most times I just regret not appreciating certain moments with him more. 

Or because I don't think I'm being strong enough. 

 I still wish things could have turned out differently. I still wish my son didn't have to feel so much pain. I still wish he was here, and I could hold and kiss him whenever I wanted. 

I still cry. I still hurt.

More than I think I should.   

People tell me how strong I am. 

But I'm feeling less and less strong as the days go by. 

So I did this really dumb thing, that I'm now regretting. 

I thought, "This fall Jon's gonna be busy (he's always gone.. poor guy) , so I'm gonna make myself so busy that I won't have time to be sad or lonely." 

17 credits, 7 hours of internship, and 20 hours of work later, and I'm dying. 

I've learned, nothing can keep me from feeling things. 

If I feel sad, I have to allow myself to feel sad, and not just go about my daily routine just pretending it's not there. 

Luckily I'm getting by. 

Getting somewhat close to A's.  

Jon submitted a story I wrote about our son, and just a few weeks ago I found out I won a scholarship from some pretty amazing people.

That was a really big blessing. 

I got to go to a luncheon and meet the couple who gave it to me. 

It was a really cool experience. 

It makes me want to be more giving of myself. 

After all, everyone has their own story. 

And if this music video doesn't make your whole day, then I just don't even know..:)

Also, do you see why this post doesn't have a title? 

Because I don't even know the point i'm trying to make right now. 

I guess sometimes, it's ok to be sad. 

You don't always need a point. 

♥♥♥♥♥♥

This moment..

        

I'll never forget it. 

National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day

My emotions have been all over the place lately. 

(If you are new to this page, and have not read my sons story, you can read about it here, and here) 

Sometimes I'm happy with my life and grateful for everything, including the good and the bad. 

Other times I feel emotionally .. heavy. 

Like I'm carrying around an emptiness that actually weighs tons. 

And I think, "What's the point?" 

I now know what people meant when they told me the pain would never go away completely. 

But I never knew that even 6 months later, I'd still feel a stab in the chest when I see his picture. 

That I'd still get tears watching video footage of him.  

That I'd randomly be walking to class, and just wish someone on the way knew him like I did. 

Or just had been through the same thing, so we could talk about it. 

These feelings are not always there. 

And that's what makes it hard. 

Why all of a sudden? I often wonder. 

However, I do know what caused the emotion the past few days.

For over a week I have felt major pregnancy symptoms. 

I brushed it off.. I knew it was probably just hormones.

Still, I secretly enjoyed the symptoms. 

It brought back a reminder of being pregnant with him, and with it the comfort of experiencing a little piece of the past. 

I was too terrified to take a pregnancy test. 

I knew my heart couldn't handle having another baby right now, 

yet I knew I'd be disappointed if the test was negative. 

I know it sounds complicated. 

I guess dealing with the loss of your baby is a complicated recovery process.

Today is National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness day. 

In fact, Ronald Reagan proclaimed the whole month of October as Pregnancy and Infant Loss awareness month.

This day was dedicated by Robyn Bear, who had 5 miscarriages and had little to no support, because it wasn't something people acknowledged..

Read more about it in the NY times here

Luckily, this is no longer the case. There are great support systems for women have lost children, and some of the best support comes from family, friends, and neighbors.

In honor of that day, I'm working on a post: 

"What to say to a woman who has lost a baby"

Not because I'm an expert, but because I would want to know what to say if someone I knew had lost a baby. 

And I know what helped me specifically.

A few weeks ago I had emailed one of my prior neighbors, whom I have always admired, and in her reply she mentioned how she had suffered multiple miscarriages. She said something I will never forget: 

"You have a good sense of the pain a mother feels at the loss of a child. I've often thought that in the next life, I want to stand with all the mothers who have felt this pain. I would proudly stand next to you there." 

To all the mothers out there who have had to say goodbye to their son or daughter in this life, I echo my friends statement: 

In the next life, I would proudly stand by you. 

Knowing that despite the tremendous heartache, we overcame.

♥♥♥♥♥♥

Beautiful Heartbreak

A journal entry: 

Dear Journal, 

It's been 26 days since my beautiful baby boy was brought into the world. 

And 22 since he passed. 

I've made it through 22 days. 

 Sometimes I miss him so much it makes my heart ache and breathing seem difficult.

Everyone has moved on, I don't blame them.

They didn't know him like I did.

While life has gotten back to normal, in a way it hasn't.

I'm not the same. I'm completely changed.

But it's a good thing.

People ask, how are you? 

It's a valid question.

But I don't know how to reply.

"Good" just doesn't seem adequate.

"Ok" isn't accurate either.

I'm better then ok. I'm better then good, even.

But I'm still hurting.

My son has changed me.

Everything Jon and I do, our son is on our mind and in our hearts.

Instead of seeing life as stressful, or monotonous,

now I see it's just beautiful.

I try and see life through my sons eyes.

Every detail.

And the most beautiful part is the unseen.

What we don't see, but know is there.

And somehow this experience has brought me closer to the unseen.

"Prove you believe in things not of this world.." 

A feeling that came over me as I laid in a hospital bed and found out I would have to say goodbye to my son in this life.

Proving is a painful process. But it is also a rewarding one.

The whole experience, if I had to sum it up in one word, it would be:

Defining.

Every detail about the experience has defined my life.

Do I really know I will see him again?

Do I truly believe in an all powerful, and all knowing God?

Is the power of the atonement, unconditional?

And the answer?

The truth is, this experience caused me to question these things more then ever. 

I never doubted it. I just needed to be reminded, because so much was on the line. 

And now, I know it so much I can't imagine questioning it ever again.

This rings true in every detail of my life.

Before I make a choice, I think, what would my son think of me?

If he was watching, would he be proud to call me his mom?

I hope so.

And when I am tempted to complain or feel sorry for myself, I think of his tiny body on that table.

Fighting to be on this earth for just a little bit longer.

He was our little fighter.

Something he got from his daddy.

Guilt still tries to find it's way in sometimes.

But the what if's don't matter now.

He wasn't meant to stay. 

And even though I struggle everyday to accept that fact, I have managed to, for 22 days. 

No matter how many tears it requires, or how painful it is. 

I know he wasn't meant to stay. 

He is healed, and he is happy. 

And through tender mercies given by the Lord, I have come to know that my son knows I love him so much.

That brings more comfort then I thought possible,

       and more joy then I thought I was capable of feeling. 

It's a beautiful heartbreak. 

Tomorrow, Jon and I go to Cali with my family.

Our days have been filled with working full time, emotional ups and downs, and lots of phone calls and meetings trying to figure out hospital bills, medical records, and getting signed up for fall classes/internships. 

We need to get out of here. 

And now that most of it is finalized, we are!

Can't wait:)