A Letter From Samuel

Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep is the organization that came to take photos of Samuel after he was born. I know I've said it before, but I'll say it again: those photos are priceless to us.

Since it's the season of giving, we like to ask our family and friends to consider making a donation to NILMDTS in Samuel's name. Any amount helps ($5 anyone?) and it would mean a lot to know other families are receiving this gift in Samuel's name.

NILMDTS created this letter for us to share with you:

Thank you for remembering Samuel this Christmas <3

The Dark Side of the Moon

Today is Thanksgiving. It's also 2-years ago tomorrow that we were sitting in an tiny office at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, hearing the news that our baby was going to die.

How does a person face a day like today? I don't know. You just get up and get through like every single other day in your life. You tell everyone you know there is no chance you'll even consider attending one of their "let's thank God for all the wonderful things he's done" meals.

Instead, you have a day filled with flash-backs of those days when you found out the news. You re-live the nightmarish appointments and the attempts to help. You remember the moment they realized there was nothing more to do. You hate that this is your life. But you just keep going because it's all you can actually do.

I recently "met" a new mother online who's carrying her baby with a condition that sounds almost exact like Samuel's condition. I have to say, talking with her is stiring up somethings that I haven't faced in a while.

She's talking about how her family is pressuring her to have faith. How much they imply that if she doesn't have faith, it'll be her fault when her beloved little baby dies. (Can you see where this is going?) Oh. my. goodness. My heart is so heavy for her. I know that pressure. I can practically hear those words coming from the mouths of everyone I ran into during that time. oh. my heart.

I completely understand that no one has any ill-will when they say things like "if you just have faith, God will listen and help you". I get it. It's what we've been trained to say in these situations. But what people don't understand is how utterly dangerous those words are.

Just like with her, there was no medical intervention left beyond what we had already tried. I had a team of doctors who had literally written the book on his condition. One of whom had actually designed the shunt used as a possible intervention. If they said "there is nothing more we can do", it was absolute truth.

We had started down the road of making peace with the fact that we weren't going to get to keep him. It ripped my heart out. It was devastating. But it was truth and we were doing what we needed to do to love him and prepare.

But then, time and time and time again, someone would stick in their completely misinformed option that "God heals when you just believe enough" (have I made it clear how terrifically WRONG this is?) and we began to wonder...oh my goodness...what if that's true and then it's our fault he dies?!? Take one moment to consider how horrible that would feel to think that you may be the reason  your child died. What would you have done?

When the people you trust tell you things like this, and your situation is desperate, what else can you do?

To this day, I shutter inside when I talk about this. Literally shake in repulsion and embarassment. The day we bought into the lie of "prayer + faith = healing", is the day my faith took an irreparable turn towards failure. I'm so ashamed I was not strong enough to stand firm in my own beliefs instead. In my moment of greatest weakness, I grabbed hold of that lie.

I trusted, I believed, I told everyone we met that God was big enough to heal him; To just "wait and see". We set up a room, we purchased him things, we acted as if he'd be just fine. To us, that was standing on firm faith. In hindsight, it was the desperate attempt of desperate people to feel like we had control over something uncontrollable.

It's funny, when he was sick, people from all over the country sent notes and prayers and told us how awesome it was to see us have such strong faith. Everyone wanted to be apart of this big miracle that was going to happen. We were praised for standing so firmly in our beliefs and everyone just "knew" God was going to heal him.

Then, he died.

God did not help us, he did not save us. Our faith couldn't sway him. And now, do you know what I hear from those same people who were so behind us previously? I hear things like "How dare you act like God was a vending machine. You can't just put in a prayer and expect Him to do whatever you say". Or, "You had faith in faith, not God". Or, "God is mysterious and none of us can understand why he does what he does". All of this from the very same people who just months before had told us we just needed to have faith or we'd be responsible for his death! huh

Funny, while Samuel was alive you all said if I just believed enough that God would help us...I guess now that you've all seen proof that it doesn't work like that, you have to blame me. Otherwise, your own faith would suffer the massive wound my own has.It's the same thing people do to rape victims. If you blame the girl, then you can protect yourself  from the ugliness of it all. If they blame us, then everyone can go on believing they have control over the fate of their lives.

Everyone wants to be on the "I know a miracle baby" bandwagon. But when that miracle doesn't happen, it's instantly like a ghost-town. People get outta there as fast as possible so they don't get any of it on them.

Suddenly, it's the dark side of the moon. 

And here we are, broken and empty, with no one to turn to for answers, and no one says, "I'm sorry I was part of that lie" or "you did all you could, it just doesn't work like that".

My faith is not something I like to talk about anymore. I did my very best to put the things I read in the Bible into practice. I did everything I've ever been taught about how to be strong in my faith. I believed with every ounce of my heart that God was big enough, that he was endlessly loving and massively powerful. I had no doubt of who he was. Now, that's all gone. gone. and people don't want to hear about it. They want to think I'm just in some "stage of grief" and someday I'll pop out of it and go right back to believing again.

They are mistaken.

Once you put every once of your faith into something that fails, there is no recovery. I don't believe in anything anymore. Nothing anyone says about God sits right with me anymore. It all feels like a great big scam.

My trust is gone.

So today, on this day of being thankful, I don't really know what to do with myself. I'm thankful for the people who have walked with us this entire time. The people who know there are no answers and don't try to make them up. The people who accept us as we are and don't believe it's their job to "fix us". For the beautiful babyloss friends I've made who love and support me even though their own hearts as just as broken as mine.

Most of all, I'm thankful for Bryan. I'm thankful for my beautiful son, Samuel. I'm thankful we chose to carry him and to fill up his little life with love. But that doesn't make it okay that he's not here. And I'm certainly not going to spend my day being thankful for all we have because I would honestly trade every single person and thing in my life for Samuel to be here instead. Nothing we have is good enough to overlook Samuel's absence.

Please take moment today, while you're stuffing your face, screaming at the TV, and planning your big shopping trip tonight, to stop and remember all the families who are broken-hearted today. Who are empty inside and missing the one they were made to love.

I wish all of them as peaceful a Thanksgiving as possible. Even if that means they are "celebrating" it from the underneath a blanket with a pile of tissues soaking up their tears. 

Faith's Lodge Holiday Tribute 2013

Yesterday, we went to the holiday remembrance event for Faith's Lodge. We had attended last year as well and it was very special for us.

This year, we decided to invite our parents and three of my siblings to join us. We are probably not going to do something together for the holidays, so it felt like a special time we could get together and remember Samuel.

It was good.

There was a grief counselor to speak about coping through the holiday season and I liked a lot of what he had to say. It was clear he had both experienced grief himself (the mark of a good grief counselor) and had a great deal of professional experience.

Then the Minneapolis Gospel Choir performed. It was so good.

I'm not a big crier in public. Somehow, it seems too personal to let someone I don't know see that place inside, so I typically prefer not to. But despite my best attempts I couldn't help but sob my way through it. They did this absolutely beautiful rendition of the song Seasons of Love, from Rent, that incorporated our babies/children in the words. I can't even tell you how special it was. I've never heard Samuel's name sung before and it was moving to my heart and soul. There is something about your baby's name being used with honor and reverence that really touches your heart.

Here is the video of some of the songs.

Seasons of Love starts at 4:40 and if you go to 8:35 you can hear his name.

The first song is called Clouds and was written by a young man who had terminal bone cancer. (Read about it here)

These are the lyrics:

Well I fell down, down, down
Into this dark and lonely hole
There was no one there to care about me anymore
And I needed a way to climb and grab a hold of the edge
You were sitting there holding a rope.
And we’ll go up, up, up
But I’ll fly a little higher
We’ll go up in the clouds because the view is a little nicer
Up here my dear
It won’t be long now, it won’t be long now.
When I get back on land
Well I’ll never get my chance
Be ready to live and it’ll be ripped right out of my hands
Maybe someday we’ll take a little ride
We’ll go up, up, up and everything will be just fine.
And we’ll go up, up, up
But I’ll fly a little higher
We’ll go up in the clouds because the view is a little nicer
Up here my dear.
It won’t be long now, it won’t be long now
If only I had a little bit more time
If only I had a little bit more time with you.
We could go up, up, up
And take that little ride
And sit there holding hands
And everything would be just right
And maybe someday I’ll see you again
We’ll float up in the clouds and we’ll never see the end.
And we’ll go up, up, up
But I’ll fly a little higher
We’ll go up in the clouds because the view is a little nicer
Up here my dear
It won’t be long now, it won’t be long now.

At the words "it won't be long now" I just lost it.

Every night as I climb into bed, I look at the picture of Samuel's sweet little face and tell him "One more day closer, Samuel. I'll be there soon". It's like marking the days on the wall of this prison. Every day done is one day I'm closer to being with him forever. But it's so far away. So very very far. So when I hear "it won't be long now" it brings up all the feelings around the length of our separation. I can only wish "it won't be long now".

It's not often anymore that I go deep in to that place of missing him and hurt that I did yesterday. That place of pure raw grief. Many times I want to go there and can't. It was cathartic to go there.

I'm really glad we went. I wish we had more things like this to do for him. It makes me want to go back to Faith's Lodge soon. I forget how healing it is to be around people who get it and don't require any pretending.

I need more of that in my life.

19 Months {and 2-years}

Today Samuel would be 19 months old. Sometimes when I stop and really think about it, I can't even understand how he got "so big". He's a baby forever, that's all the photos we have, but he's growing up in heaven. I find myself losing touch with what he'd be like now. I have a general idea of a toddler running around, but it's only when I stop to really think about it that I find I can't place him exactly in terms of development.

Would he say phrases? Would he sing? Would he try to get out of naps? 

I have no idea.

What does he look like now?

I have no idea.

What would he want for Christmas? What are his favorite things to play with, eat, do?

I have no idea.

It breaks my heart that I don't know. I hate it with my entire being.

Today is also 2 years since we found out something was wrong. It was today, two years ago, that we heard those horrible words: "I'm seeing something concerning" as we watched our little love dancing around the ultrasound screen. The beginning of the end. The day I lost my innocents forever.

Yesterday, I felt dead inside. I cried for a while. I made myself do somethings. I went to bed at 7:45pm.

Today, I work up early and I just feel...I don't even know. Sad. Empty. Tired. Longing for things to be different. Missing him enormously.

The past two years have been so very hard. So very long.

I'm so sad he was sick. I'm so sad there was nothing we could do about it. I'm so sad he died.

I'm so glad we carried him. I'm so glad we put our life into loving him. I'm so glad I got to meet him. I'm so glad I got to hold his hand and tell him I love him face-to-face.

I just miss my baby.

The long week

You know those times when you're really sick and you feel like you're going to throw up, but you hate to throw up so you do whatever you can do avoid it, only to end up throwing up and feeling better afterwards?

That's how grief is sometimes.

You try to keep it at bay, but it builds up and builds up until you just have to let it all out. I normally feel better when I actually get it out. It doesn't change the fact that he's not here, but sometimes you just need to stop trying to act like you're "better".

I've been putting my grief aside and it's catching up with me. 

It's been tough this past week. Bryan has been super sick and at home. The poor man has shingles. Our schedule is all messed up since I've been trying to help him be comfortable and I've been sleeping during the day and awake all night. It's kind of a big mess everywhere and I only care enough to notice it, not enough to actually do anything about it (yet). Samuel's 19-month birthday is this week, so I'm already feeling that. It's also the 2-year anniversary of the day we found out something was wrong. (Wow, it's been a long, hard two years.) The holidays are upon us and I'm trying to balance trying to do something special for Samuel and wanting to just crawl in a hole until it's all over. I'm trying to do something special for All That Love Can Do for Christmas and I'm looking forward to it, but it's a lot of work. I'm just kind of worn out.

This coming weekend is a remembrance event for Faith's Lodge. I'm looking forward to going, but I also know it will be emotional. Last year there was lots of tears, but I'm glad we went. I'm hoping this year will be the same. I want to find something special to wear, but that means going shopping so I'm not sure if that's going to happen...

One good thing: my first official Still Standing article went live on Friday and it was met with a lot of appreciation and support. That meant a lot to me. You can read it HERE. It still feels a bit surreal to be speaking to such a large audience. I little scary and a little bit intimidating. So far, so good though!

I think I just need some time to get it all out. Maybe some Samuel-bunny snuggle time. Maybe some crying my eyes out. Maybe some "no we're not going to come to Thanksgiving because we are not going to pretend to be thankful when our life is like this" notes to family and friends.

I'm tired and I miss Samuel.

Left Behind (again)

Well, today sucked. SUCKED.

I haven't had a day this bad in a long time.

I woke up today and things were fine. I recently learned of a family who is carrying their baby after a fatal diagnosis and I was going out to shop for things to put in their care package. (If you don't know, I send out care packages in Samuel's memory to families who carry to term).

I was about half way through shopping when I got a message on my phone. I stood to the side of an aisle to read it and my heart stopped when I read the note from a fellow babyloss mom who wanted to let me know they are expecting their rainbow. It's really hard to put into words how it feels when I read those words "we're expecting/we're pregnant". It's like the wind is knocked out of me. It's like the life drains out of my body and I go blank. (For some reason, it's especially hard when it's someone whose loss is more recent then mine. It's like they are cutting in the rainbow line... crazy, I know)

It's really hard to hear. I want to feel happy for them. No one deserves a baby more than someone who's lost one... But I can't help but hurt. I can't help but go to that dark and lonely place in my heart that wonders, Why don't I deserve happiness? Why don't we deserve a healthy baby?

When I get to the place in my heart, it gets really ugly, really quickly. Rage and hurt and anguish flood over me. I can't breathe, I can't focus, I can't function. In my minds eye theres a scene of me screaming and shouting and crying, throwing things all around and shoving people out of my way as I try desperatly to get out of the store. Instead, I put on a brave face, shove the half-full cart up to the cashier and do my best to act like a normal person as I try to check out.

I finally made it out to my car and I sat there and cried and screamed, snotted and choked until I had nothing left.

My soul screams out, Why don't I deserve happiness!?

Why is it that people tell me there are pregnant? I will never understand it. Someone is going to have to explain it. I'm especially flabergasted when it's a babyloss mother who tells me. Of all the people on this planet who know exactly how hurtful it is to hear of a healthy pregnancy, it's a babyloss mom! I honestly don't get it.

Several people have told me they are pregnant lately. I'm at a loss for how to say this in a way that people will understand, so I'll just keep trying to say in the way I have before. PLEASE, please, please - don't tell me you're pregnant! All it's going to do is ruin my day and hurt me. I can't possibly believe that's your goal.

I can't find a way to be happy for you when I'm so very brokenhearted that my baby was stolen away from me. I can't celebrate with you because I don't understand why I don't deserve happiness when you do. I won't watch as you take your perfect little baby home because my house and my arms are desperately and  endlessly empty.

Do you think that makes me a bad person? Well than I guess I'm just going to have to be a "bad person". If you knew what's in my heart, you'd know the truth. 

There was a time just after Samuel died when it felt like everyone on the earth was pregnant. (really, all the time since then). I could turn to my babyloss friends to vent and we could commiserate with each other. But now I'm one of the only people who hasn't had a healthy little rainbow to bring happiness and hope back into their lives.

Once again, I'm left behind.

From Curlsofred

On trying again too soon

*I know there are differing opinions on this, and that's okay. Everyone needs to figure out what feels right to them and do that. This is just my opinion and I need to get it out. I can only hope that this helps people to pause and consider what I'm saying.

There is a lot of talk in the babyloss world about when it's the right time to try for a rainbow. There is no definitive answer. But it breaks my heart time and time again when I hear stories of woman who try asap and then have a terrible, anxiety-filled pregnancy and go on to really struggle once the baby is born because they have not faced their loss. I always have to wonder: how fair is that to the new baby (or yourself)? Would you want to grow up always wondering if you only exist because your brother or sister died?

The other situation  I see is women who have to deal with secondary infertility on top of their grief. I don't think I have to even tell you what monthly dissapointment does to an already broken heart. It's defeating, to say the least.

And let's not forget that none of us gets a free pass. Nowhere does it say that if you have one baby who died then you automatically get to have a healthy baby on your next try. Rainbow babies can - and do - die. All the time. I have seen mothers who have another loss when they haven't even begun to heal from the first. All that does is multiply the grief from the original loss and force you into facing the loss you didn't in the first place. Not the mention the pain of knowing you have yet another baby in heaven. Let's just say it gets very ugly, very quickly.

The death of a baby is a massive trauma to your life, your heart and your soul. Massive. It does not take weeks, or a couple months to heal. It takes anywhere from 18-36 months (statistically-speaking) for a person to begin to feel "better" after such a loss.

It's so common - probably expected - for a mother who lost here baby to want to get pregnant as soon as possible. I would imagine it's the most common question doctors hear. "When can we try again?" In support groups I see woman who have just lost their babies (some even just days/weeks out) talking about wanting to try again. The babyloss mother in me says, "Yep, I get it!". The therapist in my seees huge red flags and sirens going off. "It's WAY TOO SOON! Face your grief first!"

It hurts my heart.

Firstly, because I know that desire. I know it precisely. My arms are desperately empty. I know the drive that comes in the early days of grief to have another baby quickly to help ease the pain. But I also know that passes as you face your grief. When it comes up again - after you've begun to heal - then you'll know it's real and you're actually ready to add to your family.

Secondly, it hurts my heart because I believe it's more an attempt to bypass grief than an actual longing to have another baby. How many people do you know want to get pregnant right away when they have a 4-6 week old baby? It seems to be natures way of trying to "fix" the problem. Here's the truth of the matter: the reason it feels so right to have a baby asap is because you should have a baby. When you're pregnant, you should have a baby to raise when it ends. That's how it's supposed to work. Your brain says, "what? No baby? Let's try this again". What you really want is a do-over. What you're really longing for is the baby who died. And neither of those things are possible.


So to the mother who just lost her baby I say this:
I'm so deeply sorry for your heartache. I'm broken-hearted with you. You will love and miss your baby for the rest of your life. Life will never be what you planned, but someday you'll be ready to create a new plan. Please, please, please, give yourself - your body and your heart -  time to heal. Give yourself time to process, time to face the enormity of the loss, and time to seek healing before you jump into trying again. Part of healing involves facing your loss. That means you have to face the fact that you can't have a baby with you as you planned. You have to face that your family is not going to be what you planned. I know (BELIEVE ME) how much it hurts, how unbearably empty your arms are, and how much it seems like having another baby will help, but I also know that grief will not just sit on the sidelines while you go about your plans. You either face it now, or face it later. Give yourself a break and just allow yourself to heal.  When the time is truly right, you'll know.I'm so very sorry, sweet beautiful mama <3.

When a woman has faced her grief, when she has allowed healing to enter her heart, when her body has recovered from the pregnancy that ended in heartache, that's when it's time to begin expanding her family. That's when she'll be ready to face the challenges of going through a pregnancy when the reality of loss can no longer be ignored. To mother a child that is not a replacement, but instead the hope of a new beginning. That's when a rainbow is truly healing.

Goosebumps!

Something great has been in the works for a few weeks and I can finally announce it...

Yep! I've been added as a regular contributor to Still Standing Magazine! If you don't know, Still Standing is a magazine for families facing baby loss, child loss and infertility. It's also very helpful for family and friends who want to learn about loss and how to support someone facing these heartbreaking issues. It's a beautiful resource! I'm absolutely honored to be apart of it.

I hope my words can touch the hearts of the people who read them. I hope I can speak into the lives of others who are hurting by validating their feelings  and by telling the truth about what it's really like to live after loss. I hope I can help break the silence of babyloss and heal the hurts created by a society that either pretends the death of a baby is no big deal, or has no idea how to respond.

Mostly, I hope to be the voice for my little Samuel. To teach about Carrying to Term and how to be true to your grief. 

My articles will appear on the 2nd Friday of each month. I'll be sure to post a link here too. You can read my bio HERE (scroll down to my name).

I already submitted my first article and I have goosebumps! It's one thing to write here, another to write for such a large audience.

Words, don't fail me now!

2013 Wave of Light

Last night was magical.

The anticipation of waiting for 7pm to come felt something like when you were a child and Halloween was about to happen. You start to get ready and you have this sense that a lot of other people are getting ready too. Then, it begins. The posts, the photos, the light and the love...streaming through the computer screen and out into the world for all to see. It's truly a beautiful sight.

It feels like the one night where people pay attention. They take the time to look and listen. They take a moment to stop.

We lit all the candles we had in our great room. Our dark rooms became warm and glowing and the smell was amazing. It felt so comforting. Samuel's table was at the center of it all.

I watch on FB as hundreds of babyloss families and the people who care about them posted photo after photo of beautiful memorials to these very loved and missed little babies.

It's so beautiful, but so heartbreaking.

This year seemed so much more "attended" than last year. I think it's really catching on in the babyloss world that it's a night of remembrance but also healing and beauty.

Many of our friends took the time to light a candle for Samuel. It really means so much to us. I'm always sad that more people don't join in (how hard is it to light a candle and take a photo?) but it makes those who do feel so much more special to us.

Thank you!! To everyone who helped make last night beautiful for us. It does our hearts good to see our little guy being remembered.


Here is to all the beautiful babies missing from their mama and daddy's arms. You are LOVED and you are MISSED!

The artwork was made by Katie Daisy.

*Learn about the Wave of Light at: october15th.com

Exactly Right

This morning I ran to the store to pick up a few things. On my way out, I noticed a woman standing at the back of our car, with her hand over her mouth in a concerned way, reading the sticker we have about Samuel.

As I approached, she said, "Is this your car? Samuel Evan?"

"Yes", I replied, "He's our son. He died just after he was born last year. Those are his little feet prints".

"Oh my goodness. I'm so sorry. What a beautiful tribute...and a beautiful name". She touched my arm.

"Thank you", I said as she walked away.

That was exactly right. That's exactly how people should respond. Good job, lady in the Herberger's parking lot! You've made my day better than is was. Thank you for taking the time to stop and care.

I got in the car feeling validated. My little guy was special to her and that makes all the difference in the world.

18 Months

Well, here we are, 18 months. It feels more substantial than other months. I guess it's more like a milestone. We're half-way to 2. I don't even have words for that. I guess maybe flabbergasted?

I woke up this morning feeling so heavy-hearted. So empty.

I thought of things I could do, but it all seems so empty and meaningless. Our house is so quiet and calm. I wish there were little boy sounds. And smells. And messes. That would be awesome.

But there's not, so I went back to bed instead.

I got up when Bryan came home for lunch.

I feel so bad. I feel so sad. I feel so hollow.

I'm tired this. I'm tired of my life. I am longing to be done.

I've become accustomed to feeling like this. This is my new life. Empty. Hollow. Skewed. 

I look at his pictures and it feels like it was a million years ago that he was actually here.

We're going to try to do something special for him tonight. Many times, it just seems so pointless to do anything, but we'll try. If we come up with something good, I'll post it later.

Most days don't feel quite this bad. I guess there is just something about 18 months that hurts a lot. That's a long time. He'd be so big. I hate that he's not here. I miss him dearly. 

Tomorrow is the Wave of Light. People around the world will be lighting a candle at 7pm (their own time zone) in memory of a special baby gone too soon. (You can learn all about it HERE.)

If you know me, will you light one for Samuel and post a photo of it on my FB wall? Or email it to me? It would mean a lot to me <3.

Happy 18 Months in heaven, Samuel! We MISS you! We LOVE you!

Adrian Peterson: babyloss father

I have to say something about this.

This past week, something atrocious happened to one of Bryan's favorite Vikings' players. Adrian Peterson's 2-year old baby boy was beaten to death by the son's mother's boyfriend. (I don't want to know the details, it's too horrible. Google it if you want to know more).

When Bryan told me my heart just broke for this family. What kind of soul-less monster could beat a baby to death?

Another set of parent's have joined this nightmare of a life we live every day: babyloss.

Today, Bryan turned on the game and we were listening to the pregame chatter. There was some guy talking (thankfully for him, I don't know his name otherwise he'd be hearing from me) who was spouting out such utter nonsense I amost threw up right then and there.

Something about how "when life's storms come along we have to stand tall" and something about how "God allows these storms to test our faith" and on and on until I made Bryan shut it off.

Where to begin?!

First, the death of a baby is NEVER just one of "life's storms". This is not something we all have to deal with.  His precious little baby was beaten so severely that he died. I can't think of anything worse to have to process as a parent.

Second, what kind of horrible sadistic god does this man believe in? One who sits by and watches a helpless baby being brutalized so that he can see how strong his parent's faith is? That's no god I want to believe in!

Third, it's this kind of NONSENSE that helps keep society remain backwards in their thinking about babyloss and grief.  It implies that Adrian needs to be "strong" (everyone's favorite thing to say to a grieving person) and not let this "get him down". Let me tell you right now, he doesn't have to "be strong" at all. He has every right on this planet to curl up in a little ball for the next 2 years (or longer, should he so desire).

It also implies that god is part of this. To say that he could have helped but instead allowed it, gives people the space to believe that "it's part of his plan" or that good things will come out of it. ("It's okay his son died because look at how strong his faith will be!") There is NOTHING that could come out of the death of a baby that would make it okay. If I had the choice between saving 2 million people or saving Samuel... Guess what 2 million people? You'd all be dead.

People have said things like this to me. We all remember the worst of the worst I've heard.  Like the card we received that said "I hope you can figure out why God let this happen so you can move on." (If god were in the business of killing babies to teach lessons, then no baby would be born to teen mothers, drug addicts, child abusers, or  any other of the unfit parents who are currently raising their healthy children - you know, the people who need to be taught lessons). There are so many things wrong with that I can't even go there right now. (Needless to say that card was destroyed and thrown away like the trash it was). And no one who has followed our story can forget the whole "God could have saved him but he didn't...that sucks" comment. (The most heartless, arrogant and disgusting words I've ever been told.) I could go on but that's not the point right now.

People want so much to make sense of senseless losses they come up with any explanation they can so they don't have to face the fact that this can and does happen ALL THE TIME TO ANYONE. (Yes, your baby can die and there is nothing you can do about it!) You can't just put a pretty bow on a pile of crap and call it good.

Anytime you hear that someone's baby died and your mind immediatly tries to find the "good" you've already gone down the wrong road. There is NO good that comes from the death of a baby. Period.

If the parents decide to make something good out of the tragedy, that's their choice. It's not an indication that the baby was meant to die or that it's a positive thing. If you go around thinking God allows certain babies to die to bring about greater things in the world, you are stupid. Yes, stupid. (Okay, fine, at the very least you're grossly misinformed). And you believe in a horrible God.

When, will this stop? When will people understand the ONLY right thing to say about the death of a baby is something like: "What a horrible tragedy", "I'm so deeply sorry", or "I'll remember him/her with you for the rest of my life".

Can we all stop with the trying-to-make-it-seem-nicer-than-it-is crap? I just want to shake the whole word by their collective shoulders and scream "stop trying to make light of babyloss!!"

The man's baby was beaten to death.

It's not God trying to teach him something. It's not "one of life's storms". It's his worst nightmare and he will have to face it every day of his life for the rest of his life.

My heart goes out to him as he begins this lifetime of grief. Once the shock wears off, it's going to get ugly. 

Day two: Identity

I think anyone that knows us, even slightly, knows exactly who Samuel is.

Little Bunny. Our Little Love. Our little fighter. The joy in our hearts. The missing piece.

(I wrote about how we chose his name in a previous post: click here to read it.)

He was 4lbs, 8.1oz of adorableness. He was the little guy who would not allow any doctor to tell him he wouldn't be born alive! He was the one who was so busy playing around while I was in labor, the nurses would laugh when they read the charts. "Does he have some toys in there with him?"

He had brown eyes and brown hair with a reddish hue that made it seem like his hair was red in some lights.

He had little tiny "big boy" hands. They were so big compared to how small he was.


He had the cutest little face and looked so much like daddy. 

He sent daddy out all the time for anything meat-based to eat. His favorite requests were cheeseburgers, ribs, and steak. It was all him because mama is not a big meat-eater. I remember being only about 6 weeks along and we were out for a walk in the park (Spring Lake Park!). Suddenly, all I could think about was a cheeseburger. I HAD to have one ASAP. That has never happened anytime before then.I guess he was all boy!

We read to him every day and sang him songs all the time. His favorite time of day was late night (just like mama). That's when he would be the most active. He woke mama up at 6am every morning,  requested a nap at 10am every morning and 2pm each afternoon.

He loved his daddy so much! He would kick the most when daddy read to him.

His favorite joke was sitting still and then leaping on to mamas bladder, sending her running to the bathroom, only to move just as she got there and relieve the pressure. He and daddy had a great laugh about that one all the time.

 He is the 7th grandchild on both sides of our family.

He was wanted more than I can say and missed dearly every single say since he left.

He is Samuel Evan Fredrickson.

Always loved, forever missed.

Capture Your Grief: Day One: Sunrise

October is the national Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Month.

It seems everyone in the online Babyloss community seems to be a buzz with events, memorials and the like this month. 

Carly Marie is hosting an event called Capture Your Grief during this month and I've decided to participate.

Each day, there is an assigned topic to capture with photos, words, etc. It's a way to connect with other babyloss parents, and to examine the things that make up our grief. The hope is to find some healing.

Bryan and I decided to do it together.

Day one: Sunrise

We woke up early and went over to Spring Lake Park. This is the place we spent a lot of time while I was pregnant with Samuel. We took walks every chance we had. It's Samuel's park. We came here for his first birthday and it felt like the right place to capture the sunrise as we begin this month-long journey.

As we came up to the park, I was feeling really sad, angry and frusterated. I don't want to be "capturing my grief". I want to be playing with my little guy on the playground.

For the millionth time, I had to push that aside and say "I can't have that, so at least I can do this".

We walked a little and ended up down by the waterside.

There were fish jumping out of the water. We smiled and talked about how Samuel would have really liked to watch them! I hate that he's not here. I hate it. He would be so much fun right now. I hate that he's gone.

The sky was blue and yellow and pink. It was gorgeous.

 

We sat on the deck in the cool air and watched the reflection of the sky in the rippling water. It was quiet and  peaceful. I missed my baby.

We talked about who we are now. We don't really even know.

Lately, I've been feeling restless. I think it's time to find a way to feel some sort of happiness again. I don't know how to do that. But it feels like I'm ready to try.

For today: we are broken-hearted, feeling ready for change, and missing our little guy <3

17 months

It's been too long. Way, way, way to long. and it's only the beginning.

I miss my baby. So, so much. Every day. Every hour. All the time. I miss him.

I've been quiet here. There really is not much to say. I feel like I could go back to last year and just cut and paste in here what I wrote back then.

People say time heals. They lie. He's still just as missing from our lives as the day he left. How could time heal that? What time does is force you to keep going. It won't stop. So you have no choice but to figure out (sometimes while kicking and screaming) how to keep on going with a hole in your life, your family, your heart and your soul. The people five, ten, twenty years out are not more healed because time has passed. They have simply become experts at living with broken hearts. That's what time does.

When people have never lost a child, they see lifelong grief as weakness, selfishness, and even "making the choice to be miserable". Clearly, they don't understand. It's always funny to me how I can talk to someone who doesn't get it and they almost always say the same worn-out and completely wrong things. Then I talk to someone who does and they say exactly what I'm feeling. Funny because people who don't get it are always wrong. Funny because those who do are always on the same page. How can we all be "doing it wrong" in the eyes of everyone else, when we all feel the same way? Truly, you can't understand until it's happened to you.

The only thing is that I tend to not let people get away with being ignorant. So you can't understand it until it's been your life? That doesn't give you a free pass to stay uninformed. If you're backwards in the way you understand grief, I'll let you know. From the moment you know, you no longer have an excuse.

This weekend was ugly. I'm not going to lie. The 14th fell on a Saturday. It was Saturday, it was raining and it was the 14th. It was ugly. I was not good company. I probably should have just stayed in bed. Unfortunatly for those who encountered me, I didn't.

Whenever we try to just go about life, it always gets ugly. I need to have him part of our day.

Sunday, we focused on him and it was much, much better.

We did up his little garden for fall. I think it turned out pretty cute.

I received an adorable little bear in the mail from Little Pieces of Heaven.

Last month, on his special day, we received this beautiful print from our friend Erin. It's a page from The Runaway Bunny (how do I not own that book?) It says: "If you become a little boy and run into a house, said the mother bunny, "I will become your mother and catch you in my arms and hug you".


Isn't it perfect <3

I wish I could catch him in my arms and hug him forever.

I miss him. My 17-month-old big boy.

It's been far too long.

Love, Paige

You may have noticed I haven't had much to say here lately. I've been in a slump and really just haven't found the words. I'll try to write soon about what's been going on in our small little world.

Today, Bryan went to a Twins game with some of his family. He came home and handed me a little red box, tied with a string, and a note card.

It was a gift from our sweet little niece, Paige. She wrote a note saying how she found this special gift for us and misses us.

There was also a note from my soon-to-be sister-in-law, Ashley. She wrote to explain how they had recently taken Paige and her brother to the MOA and, while there, told them they could each pick out something special for themselves. Paige stayed quiet and did pick anything out. This is what she wrote:

"We reminded her over and over that she could pick out something for herself. She didn't seem to have any interest and we were about to leave when she pulled me aside. She whispered that there was one thing there that she has wanted for some time, but she didn't want it for herself. I had her show me what it was even though she was reluctant. She grabbed my hand, walked me over to the display and pointed it out. She said she was afraid that we wouldn't but it because it was for you and not herself."

At this point I'm all chocked up reading it! What a sweet little girl!

This is what she picked out for us:

 It says "I love Samuel".

Couldn't you just cry?! It really meant the world to me. Just when I was starting to feel like everyone has forgotten...it really made my day. It's perfect and I'll treasure it <3

I know one little girl that will be getting an amazing Christmas gift this year!

Drawings from the Heart

Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep is the organization that sent photographers to take the beautiful pictures we have of Samuel. They provided us with the gift of hundreds of photographs we can treasure for the rest of our lives.

They are currently hosting a drawing contest to raise funds to support their organization (no bereaved family is charged for this priceless gift).

They asked that children who love and miss these beautiful babies submit a drawing he/she made in memory of the baby. You can then vote for each drawing and the winners will be displayed in a NILMDTS calendar. Every submission will also be added to a table book you can purchase as well.

Learn more HERE.

A few of my nieces made some very special works to enter into the contest. Would you be willing to vote for them? It costs $1-$5 to vote, but 100% of the proceeds goes to providing this priceless service to families facing the devastation of babyloss. (All donations are tax-deductible!)

Will you help this AMAZING cause and help Samuel's drawings win?
*The top 12 drawings will be in the calendar.

You can vote for:

1. Thalia
2. Thea
3. Cate

Thank you so much <3

This Place

I'm in this new place in my grief. It's a calm place. A place where love resides.

The pain - although ever-present and impending - is not as heavy. It's not as hard to breathe.

Just like so many other places in my grief, it's hard to find the exact way to express this feeling.

It's as if Samuel is so cemented into my being, our lives, our family, that nothing can possibly remove him. There is no "will I forget/move on?" Impossible! There is only a sense of forever. He's forever ours.

One thing I hate is being misunderstood, so, in a way, I'm apprehensive to write this. I know someone will take this to mean I'm "okay" now. That's incorrect. I'm not okay. I miss him every single day and long for him always. I'm very aware of his absence in every single thing I do. His voice, his face, his life, his everything is always missing. I'm not okay with it.

But it's not so hard to breathe anymore.

We're finding a way to survive the heartache no person should ever have to face. Ever. But it's all we can do.

It's funny how suddenly crying out of the blue is just a part of my day now. Missing him in a way that makes my heart tighten is just who I am. Turning away from pregnant tummies and babies in strollers is my new way of life.

I guess this is what they call our "new normal". Always missing him, never complete, but surviving.

We've created a safe place for our grief and our love and it's good enough for now.

I don't know what tomorrow or any day after this will bring. I just know this place is working for me.

Up North

This past weekend, Bryan and I headed up north for a much needed break from life. Since we didn't go over the 4th, we decided to go to Grand Marais.

Every year, our city has a family fun festival. It takes place at the park across the street from our house. It's rides and games and families as far as the eye can see, and it lasts several days. Last year, we were up north when it was happening, and this year we knew we'd rather be away than watch (and hear - it's loud) nine thousand families having fun together. So we packed up and headed out on Wednesday night.

Since Bryan had to work a full day Wednesday, our plan was to go a little over half-way and spend the night We found a great priceline deal. When we pulled up, I felt the strong urge to lock the doors and immediately drive away. I have never seen such a scary/dumpy hotel! Aside from the creepy and rundown building, there was the 500lb woman in spandex flirting with the 100lb long-haired, leather-vest and pants, eagle t-shirt guy slugging out of a bottle contained in a brown bag (both smoking like chimneys) at the front entrance and the group of hooded teens all lurking around the trunk of a car looking around every so often and making me wonder what on earth they were up to. Needless to say, this was not my kind of place.

(Sure, I want to go see Samuel, but I can think of better ways to get there than to be stabbed to death with a rusty screwdriver in the dirty beds they undoubtedly had just because some junkie needed the $5 cash I had with me.)

We parked across the lot to look and I begged Bryan to just let us leave.We had prepaid so we'd have to lose the money, but I told him I'd pay him back, just please lets go!

(I would have taken a photo to show you, but I probably would have had to turn it over to the state as evidence of some type of criminal case.)

We left and went as far as Duluth instead. We found a safe and clean hotel and the next day we continued on as planned.

I found a great little house to rent and it was perfect. We had a really nice weekend, just relaxing and being away from it all. We ate some amazing meals, walked the entire town several times, and relaxed on the beach.

As always, we both missed Samuel so much. We always talk about what we'd be doing with him, what he'd be like and how much we miss him. Our family will never be complete and it's very sad for us.

We were down by the lake just before we left and we made him name with the pebbles. I like to leave a reminder of him wherever we go.

His fifteen-month birthday was on Sunday, as we drove home. I cried. I missed him. As always, I day-dreamed of what should be.

I miss my little love so much <3.

There is something about being far, far away, right on the water, that refreshes you. We came back feeling rested and ready to face this all again. (and thankfully the family-fest was wrapping up for this year).

Since we decided to make our relationship a priority, things have been great between us. It was a nice weekend for us and I'm so glad we went. 

I wish so much Samuel could have been with us. He would have had a fun time seeing the lake and birdies, eating yummy frozen yogurt and playing on the beach.  It would have been a great family trip.

Love, from the UK

I have a beautiful friend named Becca who lives in the UK. She reached out to me a long time ago, just after Samuel died, to say she cared and understood. We've been talking ever since.

She is missing her beautiful boy, Aron <3.

Early this week, I found a package from her in my mailbox. (I love getting things in the mail!)

Look at this adorable banner she made - yes made! - for me. Isn't it so cute! (and perfect for his summer table <3)

She also made this beautiful forget-me-not pin. I wore it right away. Right over my heart. 

Thank you, Becca, for being such a sweet friend!

I know our boys are best friends in heaven.

I wish they were here instead.

4th of July {Chalk Names}

Last night was really hard. I cried like I haven't cried in a while. It just kinda hit me: we should be having such a fun day tomorrow. He would be big enough to play and laugh and have a good time. We would be sharing so many fun memories of swimming and a bbq and watching fireworks.

It breaks my heart he's not here.

When I woke up this morning, out of nowhere I felt so angry. We should be a happy little family, getting ready for a day of family, friends and fun. He should be in his little 4th of July shirt and tiny plaid shorts. I'm so angry that was stolen from us. I'm so angry we are back at the starting point when we should be over a year in. I hate this!

Normally, we would be up north with my "other" family (My friends Jaimi and Traci and their families). But it was too hard to even think of going. Every single one of them had a baby right around the time Samuel was born. In shock, we were able to go last year, but this year would be too much. They will all be running around and chatting and playing. It's too much to bear. So we stay home, once again tucked safely inside while the world goes on around us. How lucky for everyone else.

I usually do well when I have something to do for Samuel. So Bryan and I re-did his table for summer.

It has these cute little water-squirters and sand toys I think he'd like, along with his sun hat, sandals, a beautiful print I just ordered from Katie Daisy, and a baseball frame. So many things we'd be doing this summer <3. (The box holds his ashes).

Bryan made some amazing ribs on the grill and we enjoyed remembering Samuel's cravings. (Remember how much Samuel loved when I ate ribs? I remember one time I woke up at 3am and was dying for ribs. I almost sent Bryan out for some! He was all boy.)

As we were talking, I came up with the idea of doing something special for Samuel and his friends in heaven. We know so many people who have lost their little loves. It's heartbreaking.

Bryan and I made a huge mural on our back patio of all the babies we could think of. I know all these babies are very missed, today and every day. Many of these babies were carried with a fatal diagnosis.

*If we missed your baby, it's not because we don't care. It's our fuzz-grief-brains. Please just say the word and we'll add them in!!

Bryan had to use a ladder to get them all in

Don't mind our super ugly garage that desperately needs new siding...

Just in case you can't see them clearly, here are the names:

Samuel Evan <3
Waylon Dean
Noah Joel
Gabriel
James Jr
Reita
Tossie
Joey
Aron
Adam
Hannah
Charlie
John Carpenter
Jacob
Lily Marie
Gabriel Sloan
Eve
Brooklyn
Bo
Aaron
Owen Nathaniel
Kadence
Isaac David
Alan
Evan Abraham
Hope
Janessa
Finley
Riley Sophia
Shane Jr.
Max Oisin
Jenna
Shawn Patrick
Samuel George
Charlotte
Talon
Emery Iris
Zachary Cooper
Olivia
Lily Hope

We are missing them with you <3

Hopefully, Samuel will have an amazing view of fireworks from heaven.  
We miss you, bunny <3.

Samuel's PinWheel

I miss this little guy so much.

I was having a pretty sad day.


I opened up my inbox and found these. Seeing all the love and care she put into it brought lots of tears and means so much to me.

They were made by Shauna, mama to Janessa and Hope (who live in heaven). You can read her story and learn more about the pinwheel project on her blog. 

Thank you, Shauna, for making my day and helping me remember people care and miss him with me <3.

You are a beautiful mama!

Samuel's Garden (photos) & Bunny's New Shirt

We planted Samuel's garden on Mother's Day. We added a new spot in out backyard (in addition to the side yard from last year).

I really like how it turned out. It has lots of different colors and I chose some special plants (including Dahlia's - my favorite flower) that attract butterflies.

We found some rubber mulch made from recycled tires and I think it looks really nice.

I think he would like his garden.

I wish he were here to see it.

I found the snail and turtle at Michael's. Aren't they cute?

The long view (our vegetable garden is on the other side of the fence).

our poor lawn had a rough time after the drought last year

the stepping stone we made at Faith's Lodge

little bunny <3

the side garden

Always in our hearts <3

Yesterday afternoon, I found a HUGE box on my porch. I opened it to find a brand new sewing/embroidery machine. My parents got it for me as a gift.

I opened it up and played around for a while. It's really nice and I'm very appreciative to have it. Now I can create lots of fun things. (Bryan's shirts may all have a little bunny on the pocket very soon.)

The first thing I made was a shirt for Samuel Bunny. I think it's pretty cute!

I wish I were making it for him, instead.

It's good to have something to work on. It's quiet possible every single item in our home will soon be adorned with our initials... or maybe I'll head to the fabric store...

(FYI - Everyone we know should probably expect a monogrammed item for Christmas this year.) 

Thanks, mom and dad, for the new "toy".