Saturday nights

Two weeks ago right now we were holding him. 

For both the first and the last time...

And now I have to wonder, am I going to stop whatever I am doing every Saturday night at 6:00 and think back to that moment? 

Last week I did...at his memorial celebration.

Tonight we did...as we walked among hundreds of people at Grand Haven. 

But tonight was different somehow, we had some distractions, and for that I am grateful. 

Finally, a decent day. I cried some, but not like yesterday. 

We'll see what tomorrow brings...

Losing it.

Today is by far the hardest day I've had since Will's death.

I don't know why or how this day is any different than those that came before, it just is.

Maybe its just that I can't help but thinking we were so close to the end of the pregnancy, or that today I would have been 34 weeks, or that now it is August and I would have been due next month.

That is what makes the death of Will so painful, all the crushed hopes and dreams of our future. As Tim and I lay talking last night I told him for the first time in my life I couldn't picture anything for our future. He described it best...

When we left California (and even before) we had a whole picture in our minds drawn out on a page, things and dreams that we were looking forward to...plans for our new family.

Two weeks ago that page in our book was torn out, leaving only a view of a new page. Completely blank and stark white. Waiting to be filled up again...but we aren't ready.

So today I didn't want to, but I had to get out of the house. During this time I realized just how foggy my mind has gotten. I stopped to get gas and pulled the car up on the wrong side where there is no gas tank. Ugh. Honest mistake...well, I pulled around and then did the same thing on the other side of the pump. And then again. It just wasn't clicking in my head. The people at the gas station must have thought I was completely insane. I was so disgusted with myself that I just gave up and drove home (without getting the gas). Why am I actually admitting to this embarrassment? I have no idea...maybe because I don't know whether to laugh or cry at how stupid that is.

All I know is that losing Will is making me lose my mind.

moments

A long time ago, I learned that you can live without a person...I guess that comes from the reality of war and watching others have to do exactly that in the military. 

Carry on, even when they probably feel like dying. 

Even so, each day has been a struggle. A struggle to get out of bed, to be motivated about anything, to gradually work ourselves back into society.

I guess what gets me is that I know I can live without Will...

I don't want to~but I will...

I'm just not prepared to live an entire lifetime without him...

So just like one of Tim's deployments, this time without him is broken down into days. 

Weeks and months are unfathomable. To think that far ahead is overwhelming and unimaginable. So Tim and I go day by day. This week there have been bad days, but there have also been tolerable days. We are finding our new routine. For Tim it is work, for me...it is healing and surrounding myself with friends and family.

The cards and support have been pouring in. This helps Tim and I tremendously to see how many lives Will reached without even leaving the NICU. 

What we hear most is how many people prayed for a miracle, that they didn't understand why God would take such a beautiful baby from us, and that many prayed harder for Will than anything else in a long time...You and me both.

We all seem let down that there wasn't a complete miracle...that Will didn't just pop out with lungs and shock all those who gave him a grim prognosis...then it occurred to me.

What if the 52 hours we got with Will was the miracle?

As his mother, I'll be selfish in saying aloud this is not what I prayed for...but I also have to change my thinking, because way back when they didn't even know if he would make it long after the delivery. 

I was prepared for them to bring him to me in recovery saying there was nothing they could do.

But instead, we got to see him for two more days...

that is more than some parents get.

And when he passed, Tim and I were there, holding him and comforting him...

and that is more than many parents get to do.

So, one day at a time...one moment at a time. 

We know there will good and bad of both for awhile...

Two weeks ago today we had the best moment of our lives. I'll focus on that.

But I have also come to accept that there will continue to be times when I just sit and cry.

And then moments where I am able to move forward.

But I just miss my baby, that is all there is to it.

Grief.

When the alarm went off this morning, before I even opened my eyes...I remembered. 

And that sucked.

To start a day with such an intense sadness is new to me. Yesterday, Tim went to work again and we began our "new life" with a "new routine." It didn't go so well. And I really don't expect it to for awhile either. 

While we were driving this weekend, lost in our own thoughts, I blurted out,

"It feels like we were almost winning the game, then we got dealt a card that said "Return to Start..."

It truly feels like we are starting over.

And then there is this feeling like we are suffocating from sheer grief...we just miss him so much that it feels like we can't breathe. And then other moments we are okay.

A roller coaster.

We stepped off one at the hospital and onto another the day Will died.

Tim read in some grievance book that described it as this...

"One is not suicidal, but you just feel like dying..."  Yup. That pretty much sums it up for me.

And as I cry and try to think back over everything that has happened since we moved here, I realized that I have mourned my baby not once, but twice. The first time, at 18 weeks, when the doctors said Will would miscarry at any time. We went through a grief process...and then it never happened. As the weeks went on, my hope built, especially in the hospital. I started to believe that the longer he went, the better chance we had. And when I saw Will, I really believed we were going to be blessed and he would pull through. 

Which now makes this grief even worse. Because for a few moments we could hold him, kiss him, talk to him, and watch him as he moved and kicked and was full of life. 

And then all of a sudden he wasn't.

And now I just don't understand why all this happened the way it did...And in my head, I look up to the heavens and scream...

"Just what do you want me to do with this, God?!?! 

What do you want me to do with this grief, this whole experience?"

It feels like a deep cut. On the outside, I'm sure with time people won't see the damage this cut has caused. I will always feel it.

However, the scar on my stomach will always be there, proof that he was here. 

And then there is this blog. Started to be a family update, which it will continue to be. But instead of documenting the progress of a baby, it will be documenting the process of our family's grief. From ultimate loss, sadness, and anger,...to hopefully acceptance, and eventually...maybe...the partial healing and renewed hope only a new life could bring. 

But we will never become fully healed from this grief. 

When Will died, a piece of Tim and I went with him. 

And even though I know I should be looking up, as our quote says at the top of this page...

I can't help but be looking back.

More pictures

Here are a few more pictures of Will.
These were taken by a professional photographer from Whispers, a service offered by the NICU, which is free to parents who lose a child.

These photos are now priceless to us...

Celebration of Will

Saturday was a beautiful day. 

Sad, but beautiful.

Our house was filled with family and friends, all brought together by one little life. Truly amazing. And then there were all the new friends who have come into our lives solely because of Will. For this we are grateful.

Thank you to everyone who was able to come and recognize his short life...and to all the others who were here in thought and spirit. We are thankful for your continued prayers, cards, and emails.

If there is one blessing to come out of this heartache, it is that Will has brought so many people together out of hope and love. 

And it is because of that love, that Tim and I are finding it so difficult to accept that we now have to live without him. 

To look at the new tree planted in our front yard and see it grow through the seasons, instead of our son.

To recognize this new life of being parents without a child.

And it will only be love that will eventually conquer all and help to carry us through this.

One week

It seems that my life has been filled with countdowns of sorts for the last few months...now we have begun a different kind of counting~days we have had to live without our baby.

This week has been a blur of tears, preparing for today, and getting settled back into the house. I can't help but think that never in a million years would I have guessed the first gathering in my new house would be celebrating the short life of Will. That is hardest. We had such big dreams for this house and our new lives here.

I'm trying to get used to this new life; waking up in the middle of the night in tears, wandering around the house attempting to do something useful...learning to breathe again. Leaving the house is crappy. I wish that I could wear a t-shirt that says, "Don't ask me how my day is going, I just lost my baby." But instead I just attempt to smile and say that I am fine to the stranger at the store. 

I hate lying...but know that I will be doing it for a long time.

All week I've wanted to write, so many thoughts are going through my head, but I just can't make sense of anything yet. I'm still trying to see the silver cloud lining through the tears and heartache. I know the only thing that will help is time.

For weeks all I could do was pray for Will and a miracle that his lungs were developing. That he would come home with us.

What do I pray for nowadays? Not sure...

That someday we'll be happy again. 

That maybe one night soon I will have a dream and will see the baby I can't stop thinking about when I am awake...