Due Date

Dear Noah,

Today was supposed to be your birthday. While I am sure you would not have actually been born right on schedule, it doesn’t erase the significance this date has on my heart. It’s been almost 4 months since you left this earth, and not a moment goes by that I am not swallowed in grief. 

It amazes me how life goes on without you. You brought so much love and joy with you, that it seems in your absence the sky should turn black and the depths of the earth should moan at her loss. It seems impossible that the sun could keep shining, birds could keep chirping, children keep playing… When I step out I want to scream of your existence, and how much you were loved. Your tiny presence in this world seems to me to be something everybody should know about. You came and you were important. You weren’t a clump of cells, or fetal tissue. You were ten fingers and ten toes. A beating heart. A baby boy. You cried when you were born into a world that meant nothing more to you than needles,wires and tubes. You were so strong up until the moment you took your last breath.

What was going to be one of the happiest days in my life seemed almost coincidentally to fall the day before Thanksgiving.  I looked forward to giving thanks for the newest addition to my family. That happy day has now been replaced with somber, reflective, heart wrenching misery. In this reflection however, I have realized through all this pain, you have given me so much to be thankful for. You allowed me to love you and become a mom again to a little boy who I will only know in heaven. You made me look my biggest fear in the eyes and overcome, scarred but stronger. You have helped me to become a better mom to your brother. You strengthened my faith in our heavenly father and changed how I look at this whole world. Your passing pushed me into decisions I would not have otherwise made which invariably changes the path of my entire life.  You were only here for 2 hours and yet my life will never be the same.

This Thanksgiving I still am thankful for you. You opened up a door in my heart I did not know existed and while you may not be in my arms this year, you will be in my heart and held tight in your Father’s arms.

 I still, and will always, see you as one of God’s greatest blessings to me.

Love,

Mommy

My new blog! Check it out!!

So, I have decided to start up another blog because I love blogging, but after my last one got too buggy (not this one) I had to shut it down. This blog will remain open and will be updated from time to time and when I get pregnant with my rainbow baby I plan to update this one regularly again so don't click unfollow!!

But until then, please follow me at my new blog. It's a humorous blog meant to capture the happy moments of my life.
http://noelherman.blogspot.com/

The words I never got to say

Dear Noah,

I still remember clearly the morning I found out we were expecting you. I was home alone in the bathroom staring at the two lines on an EPT shaking with excitement. I had to sit down because my legs suddenly became paralyzed. I can’t tell you what I was thinking, because in reality I had too many thoughts in my mind to form even one coherent thought. The first person I told was your big brother, Nathan. We giggled and laughed as I excitedly rambled on about what a baby brother was. From day one I knew you were a boy. We rarely discussed the possibility of a baby sister.

I couldn’t get ahold of your daddy for an hour. This truly was the longest hour of my life. I knew he had to be the next person I told but living alone with this secret was enough to make me feel like I was going to implode. It was just too much joy to keep all to myself.

I didn’t come up with any cute or creative way to tell him. I barely got a whispered “I’m pregnant” out past the excitement induced lump in my throat. It wasn’t until he came home that night with two more pregnancy tests and a bottle of prenatals that we were truly able to celebrate. We considered you our reward for the past 14 months of deployment. However, in retrospect I can’t imagine that we could ever do anything so grand or spectacular that we would be worthy of such a gift.

 The night I first started bleeding I was still high on excitement from the news of my pregnancy. That began the most emotionally exhausting journey I have ever taken. I was so scared of losing you, you were only a week old and the size of a pen tip but I loved you the same then as I love you now. When I saw your heartbeat on ultrasound it was at the top my list of happiest moments ever. I cried. I never imagined it was the beginning of the end.

As the next few months went by, and my belly got bigger and bigger I began to feel your kicks. You were so strong. I felt your first taps at 9 weeks. I thought I must be crazy but the movements got stronger and stronger until there was no doubt that it was you saying hello. Daddy could not just feel, but could also see your movement through my belly at 12 weeks. I was amazed by what a strong little baby you were.

When I got the results of my quad screen back and they told me the grim news that you were likely suffering a disability, I sobbed. I was so sad to imagine my sweet child going through life with such hardship. But I knew God made you in his image and you were special to him. And with that knowledge I was happy again because I knew that no matter how you came out, nothing could change my love for you.

At my 20 week ultrasound when they told me that you were fine my heart soared. I know there were no words that could bring me more joy. When they confirmed my suspicion that you were indeed a boy, I cried again. I imagined you and your brother tossing a football, and stuffing frogs in your pants pockets and climbing to the tops of trees. I knew if you were anything like your brother I would have my hands so full between your shenanigans. And I couldn’t wait. The thought of two precious little boys was almost more than my heart could handle. I always liked boys better anyway (this is our little secret if you ever get a baby sister!!).

When I got put on bedrest just a few days later, I was bound and determined that I would lay there on the couch the rest of my life if it meant you would be healthy. When my water broke and they told me you only had a 27% chance of living I think I went numb. I worried, and I cried but I don’t think I could fully absorb the full shock. I still don’t think I have. With every bleed, and setback and every visit to the doctor to receive more bad news, I never lost hope. Maybe it was a period of “invincibility” since things like this always happen to someone else, right?  I felt like my emotions were a battle of good and evil within me, in a constant feud between optimism and despair.

The week you were born I knew my pregnancy was coming to an end soon. I could feel it. Whatever “it” was. My last day with you was spent on the couch just like the 31 days before it had been spent. I wish I could live that day over again. You had the hiccups a few hours before you were born. Your movements were so weak and labored. It pained me so horribly to imagine you struggling inside my body as you were literally crushed by lack of fluid. I knew that to just wiggle your toes took amazing strength. But that never stopped you. No matter how cramped it got in there, you still kicked your little heart out like you always did. I wish I could have just laid in silence and counted your hiccups and movements that by then were rarely noticeable from the outside.

The doctors think that you grabbed onto the edge of my placenta which started the final abruption. I wasn’t too worried when I started having another bleed. When hard labor began I still remained calm. I could feel you moving and I knew you were safe. It wasn’t until I was lying in the hospital bed and they told me you were going to be born in a few minutes that I finally cried. I was so scared. I knew that under the best of circumstances your outlook was bleak at only 24 weeks old. And these were the worst of circumstances. Your big brother was there and he gave me a kiss as they took me away to surgery. I lay on the table, nearly losing consciousness several times as I prayed and prayed for you. Then they put me under.

When I woke up you were the first thought in my mind. Your grandma was there and she told me you were alive. My heart soared. We had done it! Then I slowly got the news that they had done all they could for you, and while you were alive your lungs weren’t able to work and you were brain damaged from lack of oxygen. I wanted you to wait for your dad but he was still hours away when they brought you to me.

I was in awe of you. I couldn’t imagine how someone so small could be his own independent person. I could barely hold you. I was so scared to hurt you. You had been through so much in the hours before that I wanted to hold you to me and provide as much comfort as I was able in your last few minutes of life. You looked so much like your big brother that it makes missing you hurt all the more. Your daddy was on the phone and he knew he wasn’t going to be there in time to meet you so I held my phone to your ear as he said hello and goodbye.

The entire medical staff surrounded me, you attracted quite a crowd! I was still groggy from the medication they gave me and didn’t immediately realize what was happening. The chaplain who had baptized you put her hand on mine and prayed for us. Then they asked for my permission to remove you from life support.

I kissed you goodbye and held you tight as they removed all the tubes from your face. Although I know it was just delaying the inevitable, I would have gladly delegated that decision to anyone else. Giving permission to end your child’s life is nature’s cruelest joke. It defies everything you know as a parent. I would have taken a bullet for you. How could I give up on you?

When the doctor told me you were gone, I hit a brick wall at a hundred miles an hour. I felt the impact without the physical damage. I stopped breathing. I don’t know how long it was until I finally gasped for air because time stood still. I guess that small part of me that had stayed hopeful all along was a lot bigger than I realized. The book that “should have been” my life was slammed shut so abruptly that it made my core shudder.

I’m so sorry Noah. I spend most days feeling like I failed you as your mother. My womb was the one place that you should have been safe. And instead it became a hostile environment that gave up on us. I hope you know the things I would have done for a different outcome. We had a good fight, you and I.

We shared a sweet, albeit short, journey and you’ll forever hold my heart. You will always be my little boy. Not a day goes by that your memory doesn’t monopolize my thoughts. I’d give years off my life for one more minute with you. But I know you are safe with Jesus now. When I really get to missing you I ask Jesus to give you a hug and kiss for me. I hope he answers my prayers.

Some days I get angry that I now have to carry this grief around with me forever and that my future will forever be haunted by an empty place in my heart. But knowing what I know now, I would do it all over again without a second thought. As the age old saying goes “It’s better to have loved and lost, then to never have loved at all.”

I find great comfort and anticipation in knowing we will be together again. But until that day you will live on forever in our hearts.

I will always love you son,

Mom

One in heaven...

“How many kids do you have?” seems to be the cruel question of the year. Maybe I just never noticed when people asked me before, but now I am painfully and acutely aware whenever this “getting to know you” pleasantry is exchanged. It’s a nauseating gut shot that leaves me awkwardly tripping over words. I never know what to say.

I had two, I have one.

But that’s not something you tell the little old cashier at Walmart who’s busy making googly eyes with your toddler. She’s just trucking along, waiting for the last 2 hours of her shift to end. She asks because she needs something to break up the monotony of her evening, not expecting a grieving mother to drop a sob story in her lap.

I have one.

As all of my fellow mommies in this awful walk of life know, you can’t just leave it at that. Sure, it’s the easiest answer. But the guilt of sweeping your other child under the rug for the sake of simplicity will eat away and gnaw holes through your heartstrings. It seems as though we have a new mission in life. Validating our babies’ existence becomes a purpose driven goal. They are no different than our living children when it comes to love and overwhelming pride. But since having a dead baby is taboo and uncomfortable we are forced to choke over words to avoid making the asker feel awkward.

I have two.

Seems like the most appropriate answer of all. But that opens the floodgate of questions. 

“Boy or girl?”

Easy answer. Beautiful baby boy.

“What’s his name?”

Still easy, Noah Ethan.

Then comes the harder questions. 

“How old is he”.

Even that one can be answered to the extent of “He was born August 6^th”. Strange way to answer the question, but still allows you to avoid a difficult subject with a complete stranger. Then comes 

“Where is he?”

I hate this one. He’s buried in a box 3 feet under. Thanks for asking!

So without fail, telling them I have two children always ends in an awkward exchange about what happened. Then I take my change and leave the store quickly to avoid looking like a psycho mom that can’t accept my loss who walks around claiming to have children that I don’t.

So, for now when people ask, I continue with a tongue tied rant that probably makes no sense. I figure that “one on earth and one in heaven” will probably be the answer that I stick with in the future. But not until I am able to come up with a Reader’s Digest version for why Noah died. It’s not that I mind talking about him. But I don’t feel like giving a ten minute explanation every time I run into the Piggly Wiggly for a gallon of milk. I think I just need to get a T-shirt….

6 weeks post partum

I had my 6 week postpartum appointment yesterday and I will start with the good news because I am in a kind of good mood today. He said my scar looks great, I appear to be healing up well (we will get to this in the bad news section). I can start exercising again, which is great because my Zumba kit came in the mail this morning and my sister and I are anxious to get started on it. But the very best news is when we can try again for another baby!

Apparently, we had a miscommunication which I understood to mean I had to wait a year to TTC again. I guess after a C-section he recommends 18 months between babies. Not 18 months to try again which was what I thought, but 18months between labors. So, I only need to wait 9 months from my last c-section before we can try again. And we already have almost 2 months behind us. So about 7 more months and we can get crackin' in the baby making department. It will be bittersweet but I am losing time! I know it could be worse but I wanted all my kids before I turned 28 and at this rate that will be impossible. He also said that next time I will be "red-flagged" which means more visits and we will be more pro-active to include progesterone shots and precautionary steroid shots for the baby's lungs. I am glad to hear that. I really felt like nobody was listening to me this last pregnancy when I knew something wasn't right. I got written off as a paranoid preggo in my opinion. That, or that things were so hopeless that "why bother with this one?" I am just excited to put this chapter of my life behind me and get on with happier things.

Which leads me to the bad news. Apparently when it rains it pours. After my surgery I bled for about 4 weeks then it tapered down for a week to the normal yellow color (TMI I know!! lol). Then after about 4 of 5 days of that I started getting period like cramps followed by what I assumed to be my period. And it was no joke! I bled harder this period than I did after having either of the boys. And this "period" has been going on for about 10 days now. He said this is not normal, doesn't necessarily indicate a problem but if the bleeding does not soon (completely stop, no spotting or anything) I will need to have a hysteroscopy done, possibly followed by a D&C. He thinks that because of my abruption, when it pulled away it left behind microscopic placental cells that just keep bleeding and bleeding and he will need to go in and remove them.

Just what I want, more surgery....

But, like I said, it could be so much worse and I will just focus on that --versus how screwed I feel I got in this whole scenario. I found two Bible verses this morning though that spoke to me and gave me a much needed attitude adjustment:

We often suffer , but are never crushed . Even when we don't know what to do , we never give up . In times of trouble , God is with us , and when we are knocked down , we get up again.Corinthians 4 : 8-92

Be Patient and trust the Lord . Don't let it bother you when all goes well for those who do sinful things.Psalm 37:7

Lastly, I was on the internet yesterday and I came across a song purely by chance. I just hit play on it and went back to what I was doing, only half listening to it. Imagine my surprise when I heard the following lyrics. Normally this would put me into such a funk, but it put a smile on my face and has really changed my attitude. Kind of like a little sign from the Lord (especially considering the weird chance of me finding the song the way I did).

Hello, Goodbye

Michael W. Smith

Where's the Navigator of your destiny?

Where is the Dealer of this hand?

Who can explain life and its brevity

'Cause there is nothing here that I can understand

You and I have barely met

And I just don't want to let go of you yet

Chorus:

Noah, hello, goodbye

I will see you on the other side

Noah, sweet child of mine

I will see you on the other side

And so I hold your tiny hand in mine

For the hardest thing I've ever had to face

Heaven calls for you before it calls for me

When you get there, save me a place

A place where I can share your smile

And I can hold you for more than just a while

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Upxwtz32yVE

If you're going through hell, keep going.

It seems like it's been forever since I blogged. It really feels like things are crazy around here even though they really aren't. I think it's just taking me longer than I would like to get back to normal.

I feel like I have had a bit of a "grief relapse". I had been stuck in the angry, pissed off stage for a few weeks and the last few days I have gone down a step in the "stages of grief" chart. I am back to being heartbreakingly miserable.


When I was pregnant with Noah, right around 18 weeks I had a dream. I dreamed that I had a baby. I woke up  from something (don't know why I was asleep in my dream) and I had a tiny little version of Nathan in my arms. I couldn't believe how much it looked like him. Thinking back on it I can't believe the similarities between that dream and what happened in real life.

I feel like I have been struggling more than normal lately. Anger is a major component in my life right now, along with jealousy, and it's not a pretty thing. I have been praying for relief from my ugly feelings but it would appear that I am going to have to make a bit more effort in this one. One of the biggest frustrations to me however is that I have heard so many stories of people who in their darkest hour get angry with God. They scream and they cuss and they practically taunt him to "show me what you're made of". And God grants them what they want.

To me this seems to unfair. I never wavered from the knowledge that God had a plan for me. I never looked at it as some sort of bargaining act. I just prayed for acceptance. I knew His will would be done and it was never in my hands, and I just begged the Lord to give me the strength to get through it. And my son died. That's what makes me so angry. That all these other people have a spiritual temper tantrum and their babies live. And I do what I feel is expected of me and put my faith in the Lord, and my son dies.

I imagine the Lord doesn't reward for good behavior while we are still here on earth. And maybe at the end of the day, all of the people in a rage with God were at their breaking point so God was merciful to them. He knew that David and I could weather this storm perhaps and that's why he picked us. I am just so miserable.

On the one hand I hate to complain because I know things could be so much worse. But on the other hand I want to stomp my feet and punch holes in the wall and shake my fist at someone. Not at God though. I don't know if it's that I am scared to get mad at him, or if I know deep down that in all things God works for the good of those who love him. I think it's a mix of the two. I may be frustrated beyond tears with how this worked out, but if I don't have God and the hope of his salvation, than I really have nothing. I know that this happened for a reason, I just wish so badly it would be revealed to me.

But until that day, I won't let this get the best of me. I still have two boys in my house here who I love so much! I just need to keep on keeping on.

Your life may be the only Bible some people read

This past 2 years I have been a praying machine. As my husband got ready to deploy I prayed the Lord would give me guidance and strength. He would allow me to be both mother and father. That I would be able to manage a household alone for 14 months and that he would fill the empty spot in my heart while my husband was away.
Then he deployed and I prayed the Lord would both go before him and come behind him and serve as his shield and mighty protector. I prayed with all my being that he would come home with all his pieces.
Then my husband came home and I found out I had gotten pregnant that week and I threw up prayers of thanks and gratitude to the Lord, thanking him for the blessing of another child.
Then 3 days into my pregnancy when I started bleeding I prayed the Lord would spare my child and not let his life end as a mass of tissue. I prayed for a heartbeat and hope. Which I was given a week later when the bleeding stopped and my pregnancy continued on "normally".
I prayed for acceptance when we believe our child would have Down's Syndrome, I prayed for hope when my water broke. I prayed the Lord would subside my feelings of jealousy and anger when I got put on bedrest and my pregnancy spiraled out of control almost faster than I could handle. I prayed on my way to the hospital to deliver that he would breathe life into my son. And when my son later passed away I prayed the Lord would grant me peace and understanding and hope for the future.

I pray a lot.

Now I have a new prayer.

My prayer is that I will positively reflect Jesus in my life.Throughout this pregnancy and my loss, I have had an audience of people watching me, many of them non-believers. However, thanks to the Lord I have found peace in the middle of a storm. I have found Jesus in a new way and my desire for others to know him has increased in a way that never before existed. I want my actions to reflect that. I refuse to let my circumstances break me but rather to turn glory back to the Lord. I want to turn my pain into something good. I want people to see the peace I have been given, that can only be found through Jesus and have a desire to find that for themselves. I want them to see the amazing outpouring of love Jesus has for us, and to be aware of the many blessings he has given us and that no matter what life may bring, the Lord will always be there to lean on and renew our strength.

But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness. " Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.

  --2 Corinthians 12:9-10

coffee

A young woman went to her mother and told her about her life and how things were so hard for her. She did not know how she was going to make it and wanted to give up. She was tired of fighting and struggling. It seemed as one problem was solved, a new one arose.



Her mother took her to the kitchen. She filled three pots with water and placed each on a high fire. Soon the pots came to a boil. In the first she placed carrots, in the second she placed eggs, and in the last she placed ground coffee beans. She let them sit and boil; without saying a word.



In about twenty minutes she turned off the burners. She fished the carrots out and placed them in a bowl. She pulled the eggs out and placed them in a bowl.



Then she ladled the coffee out and placed it in a bowl. Turning to her daughter, she asked, "Tell me what you see."



"Carrots, eggs, and coffee," she replied.



Her mother brought her closer and asked her to feel the carrots. She did and noted that they were soft. The mother then asked the daughter to take an egg and break it. After pulling off the shell, she observed the hard boiled egg.



Finally, the mother asked the daughter to sip the coffee. The daughter smiled as she tasted its rich aroma. The daughter then asked, "What does it mean, mother?"



Her mother explained that each of these objects had faced the same adversity: boiling water. Each reacted differently. The carrot went in strong, hard, and unrelenting. However, after being subjected to the boiling water it softened and became weak. The egg had been fragile. It's thin outer shell had protected its liquid interior, but after sitting through the boiling water, its inside became hardened. The ground coffee beans were unique, however. After they were in the boiling water, they had changed the water.



"Which are you?" she asked her daughter. "When adversity knock on your door, how do you respond? Are you a carrot, an egg, or a coffee bean?"



Think of this: Which am I? Am I the carrot that seems strong, but with pain and adversity do I wilt and become soft and lose my strength?



Am I the egg that starts with a malleable heart, but changes with the heat? Did I have a fluid spirit, but after a death, a breakup, a financial hardship, or some other trial, have I become hardened and stiff? Does my shell look the same, but on the inside am I bitter and tough with a stiff spirit and hardened heart?



Or am I like the coffee bean? The bean actually changes the hot water, the very circumstance that brings the pain. When the water gets hot, it releases the fragrance and flavor. If you are like the bean, when things are at their worst, you get better and change the situation around you. When the hour is the darkest and trials are their greatest, do you elevate yourself to another level? How do you handle adversity? Are you a carrot, and egg, or a coffee bean?



May you have enough happiness to make you sweet, enough trials to make you strong, enough sorrow to keep you human, and enough hope to make you happy.



The happiest people don't necessarily have the best of everything; they just make the most of everything that comes along their way. The brightest future will always be based on a forgotten past; you can't go forward in life until you let go of your past failures and heartaches.



When you were born, you were crying and everyone around you was smiling.



Live your life so at the end, you're the one who is smiling and everyone around you is crying.



May we all be COFFEE!!!

Ways you can help me

So, a lot of people have asked me lately what they could do to help and until now I haven’t had an answer. But as I was laying in bed at 6:30 am this morning unable to sleep, I finally came up with a few ways that you CAN help me, and this may sound rude but here it goes:

1. If you are a chronic “glass half full” type of person chances are I won’t want to see you right now. I am a realist. I understand that the glass is not always half full, nor is it usually half full. Sometimes the glass falls, spills red wine on your new white carpet, shatters, cuts your foot wide open causing you to leave a blood trail across your house that leaves a permanent stain. Then you get a staph infection in that cut which causes you to need your foot cut off but that still isn’t enough and infection gets in your blood stream and kills you. This is life. When a child dies it’s not a “glass half full” type of situation and your attempt to find optimism for me will just make me resent you.

And while we are on the topic of resentment…..

If you don’t have kids - STOP SAYING YOU KNOW HOW I FEEL!!! You don’t know, you couldn’t possibly know. You can imagine how it would feel, but until you become a parent you could never fathom the crazy love you have for your babies. I don’t tell cancer patients I know what chemo is like. I know it sucks but that’s about it. If you want to allow my misery company than tell me that this blows and buy me a beer. When you try and say you know how I am feeling those are considered fighting words. Spare the stories about your dog, your uncle or your cousin’s friend. This just shows a lack of sensitivity (and understanding) to the unique loss of a child.

2. Furthermore, even if you do have kids, you still likely don’t know how I feel. Because if you did, you would understand that you don’t. This is not a one size fits all shoe. Every family is different, and the loss of a child changes every family dynamic differently. For some that means the loss of an only child after 20 years, for others it means the loss of a "baby brother" and having to explain death to a 2 year old. For some it means years of watching your child suffer with a disease, and for others it happens in the blink of an eye.

3.Although I know this is meant well, this is just a personal request. Please don’t tell me Noah is an angel. While highly religious, I don’t believe that dead babies become angels. This sentiment brings me zero comfort and actually starts to creep me out when people tell me that he’s my guardian angel that watches my every move. The thought of my child being an everlasting creeper just doesn’t cheer me up. If you want to fill my head with ideas that bring me comfort then let’s be real. My son is sitting with the angels, hanging out with Jesus and will never know pain. He got to meet his maker blameless as the day the Lord knit him together. Like my Facebook profile picture, I LOVE to imagine him in the arms of Jesus feeling comfort that neither I, or this world, could ever give him.

4. Say his name and say it often, PLEASE don’t make my precious baby the elephant in the room. Although his birth is forever associated with the worst night of my life, it doesn’t change the fact that my second child existed. I love that little boy every bit as much and as strongly as I love Nathan. I am proud of him the same I would be of a living child. He was a fighter. Although he died, he beat some crazy odds against him. He breathed for 2 hours with no lungs. He was considered a miracle and brought me great joy, even if his life did end in tragedy. It doesn’t bother me to talk about it. I didn’t have a lifetime full of happy memories to talk about, but I love to tell you what he looked like. That he had his dad’s nose and his brother’s enormous eyes. He had a little hammertoe just like his big brother. He looked like an exact, albeit tinier, replica of Nathan which thrilled me beyond belief.

5. Please don’t forget that I just had a baby. He may not have come home with me, but my recovery has not been an easy one. I just didn’t get the option to come home, crawl into bed and enjoy my baby like a mother deserves. So please understand when I don’t want to do things right away. I likely wouldn’t want to do anything even if I did bring Noah home with me.

6. And as long as you’re being understanding—I have an overabundance of pregnant friends right now. More of you are pregnant than not it seems, and you are all due right in the ballpark that I was. That said, it’s nothing personal but it’s just too soon to have your blossoming baby bellies and perfect pregnancies paraded under my nose. Let me enjoy your pregnancy from afar. I’m not painting my nursery and picking out baby booties. I am packing my son’s life away in a blue tote. While I am happy for you all and wish you the very best , it feels like salt in a wound to see how perfectly everything is going for everybody else when I had enough things go wrong for 15 pregnancies to be ruined. Please don’t pressure me right now, when I want to hang out I know where to find you. Until then let me grieve alone.

7. To those with kids: please hug them a little closer, kiss them a little more- or if you choose not to, at very least don’t blast all over Facebook what a major inconvenience they are to you. Don’t complain about your kids to me. I see my children as the greatest blessing imaginable. My kids are not a burden on me, they aren’t an inconvenience. Motherhood is not a thankless job. I would lay my life down in a second for my both of my kids. I want my sons like I want air. I had to work hard for them. To me infertility and child loss are not things that happen to other people. They define my life. So, forgive me when I don’t pity you for getting accidentally knocked up…again. Or when your newborn is getting up too much at night, or when you can’t find a babysitter to hit the bar. Let me see you loving your kids and appreciating them because it’s next to impossible for me to watch non-deserving parents being repeatedly blessed with children that they don’t care about or want.

8. Please don’t tell me that at least I have Nathan. He is not a spare car. They are not dogs. If your mom died I wouldn’t tell you “at least you still have your dad” because they are not interchangeable people. While I find a lot of comfort in Nathan, he also has made me aware of the power of a mother’s love and what joy my children bring to my life. It makes my loss seem even more real to me. Please don’t tell me I can have more children either. First of all, kids are not a guarantee to me. Both my boys were miracle babies that I should have never been able to conceive. And even if I was popping babies like a rabbit, my next child will not replace Noah and fill his spot in my heart. He was a unique life that was lost. If your husband died would knowing that you could get a new one make it any better?

9. Please don’t think this is something I need to “get over”. My dreams have been shattered. My family is forever broken. Noah was not an early miscarriage that I could only imagine what would have been, he was not a stillborn, he was not medical waste, he was not just a “fetus”. I held him, he looked just like his brother. He lived from August 6 to August 7. He has a birth certificate and a death certificate, he needed to be buried. I held him in my arms and watched helplessly as his heart stopped beating and he took his last breaths. I held him as he grew cold then I gave him to a nurse that took him away forever. While he wasn’t alive long enough for you to know him, he was very real to me. Don’t expect me to get over this quickly. I am doing the best I can but this has changed me in a way that I won’t bounce back from. Don’t try to cheer me up. Grieving is a process of healing.

10. Finally, thanks to the people out there that have supported me and showered my family with love and generosity. I didn’t know there were so many people out there that cared about us this much and your kindness has been remarkable. It touched my heart to see how many people loved our sweet Noah so much and to know that his life did matter to so many. Thanks for your support and love :)

Psalm 55:22

Cast your burden on the Lord, and he will sustain you; he will never permit the righteous to be moved.

John 11:1-57

Now a certain man was ill, Lazarus of Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister Martha. It was Mary who anointed the Lord with ointment and wiped his feet with her hair, whose brother Lazarus was ill. So the sisters sent to him, saying, “Lord, he whom you love is ill.” But when Jesus heard it he said, “This illness does not lead to death. It is for the glory of God, so that the Son of God may be glorified through it.” Now Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus. ...

2 Samuel 12:23

But now he is dead. Why should I fast? Can I bring him back again? I shall go to him, but he will not return to me.” (King David speaking of his infant son who died)