A Cry for My Boys

So I'm reading the story of what happened with the Chapmans. Steven Curtis Chapman is a singer I greatly respect and I love his music. So when I heard of what happened with their daughter 4 years ago, it touched me. I felt so sad for them. How tragic that such an unpremeditated thing like backing into a driveway had such a devastating effect. I wondered what happened and felt such empathy for them. What an awful hardship to walk through. What a tragic loss. How would that son cope with this? How would the family cope? And now I am getting to find out.

Being a fan of this singer, one of my favorite performers, it's interesting to learn the inner workings of his family and life. I saw him perform in 2000 or 2001. It was a great evening and he even shared a powerpoint of his family. He talked to us as though we were good friends. He was humble. Real and a real performer. This is something I notice being a performer myself. When someone does it well and isn't about how awesome they are, I appreciate their talent even more. When they enjoy it and don't get caught up in being on the stage, it's a real treat. Anyway, how they dealt with it. What has it been like for them? And is it similar to the path we have walked?

And now I am learning that yes, there are other similarities that I have not found with the other mothers. Like how do you help your surviving children cope with the pain and grief. Mary Beth speaks of how she would cry out to God to be with her son who was involved. How she would cry out for Stevey Joy to be healed of the pain she had for seeing her sister die. I have done the same thing.

It concerns me how this will affect my boys. And what damage has been done? And I hope that God does a miracle in them so that they can become all that they should be. That this should serve only to strengthen them and give them a story that will point others to God in some way. In a way that we can't necessarily understand right now.

One of the Chapman sons said at the Memorial Service that it's like God is an abstract painter. When you are right next to the painting you can't see the picture He's painting. You have to take many steps back because His canvas is so huge. And then, when you've taken a lot of steps back, you can begin to see the beautiful work of art He is making. And like them, we are right now still pretty close to the canvas so we can't make out what's being painted yet.  We've taken some steps back but it still isn't necessarily clear to us what He's putting on that canvas.

I have haven't finished the book but I know I can pray. I knew that and have done it since before I read this book. And I can let them know that I am here to speak with them whenever they want to talk about it. But mostly, I just keep reassuring them that I love them no matter what. They have never had to do anything to earn my love. They are my sons and they have my love just from that. But I am curious what the last pages will hold as far as their son, Will, and their daughter, Stevey Joy, are concerned.

Oh God, you can turn all the bad into good for those who love you and are called according to Your purposes. We need for You to do that in the boys. In Your mercy, please protect them from the evil that this can become in their lives and make it a good thing that shows Your glory.

The Epiphany

Actually admitting out loud that a portion of my pain over losing Andrew stems from my view of his perception of me has turned out to be quite a huge bite to chew. I couldn't sleep last night because of it. I went to bed at about 4 am. Tomorrow is really going to hurt since it takes an extra day for the lack of sleep to really impact me. Gosh do I miss the days of being younger where such an event only took a day or two to recover from. Now it can be up to a week.

Anyway, I kept thinking about it and crying. We're talking sobs. Loud cries. Evidently this is a bit larger of a piece of the puzzle to work through than I thought. But the flood of pain and sorrow that was released by this revelation and acknowledgement has been a bit overwhelming. I stayed in my pajamas and eventually got myself together to make dinner for Mark, spend some time with Alex alone and put the boys to bed after some family theatre time.

So I let myself feel this a bit and acknowledge it so that it can pass. Now I feel at peace again and ready to tackle a new week of work.

God is good all the time. And all the time God is good. Whether it feels like it or not. And my epiphany has caused me to ask a vital question of myself. I may feel insignificant or unnoticed or as though I am not special at times. But what about my other boys? My husband? Others in my life? It's not enough for me to realize I feel that way at times, whether true or false. But what about them? What am I doing to make sure that they know that I think they are special? So that they know that they are significant? That God has plans and purposes for them. That there is a reason that they exist. Do they know that? And how can I make sure that they know this and not struggle with this as I have so often in my lifetime and still do at times?

God show me how to do this for others. And remind me of how I have my significance, my identity in You.

Why Andrew Was/Is So Special to Me

There are still questions. Maybe there always will be. There is still pain amongst the sorrow and the moving on in life we are managing to do. But I wonder if anyone understands this. I have not really shared this before.

Andrew was very special to me. We shared a bond unlike any other I have not known with my other boys. Not because I love them less or them not being as special. I think it's probably because we had to fight for him in the beginning. He was the underdog. This little tiny doll-like person that we didn't know whether he would live or die those first few weeks. I am always one who is drawn to the underdog. Movies about them overcoming just get me. And oddly, I was kind of an underdog growing up. An underdog that fought for the other underdogs.

My friends were usually those who were not wanted by anyone else. I just couldn't help but feel bad that they were alone so I would reach out to them. We were a group that stuck together for the most part. We stood by each other and dreamed that we would overcome and do more than our classmates thought we would due to our "station" or "status". We weren't necessarily at the bottom of the totem pole but we weren't too high up on the popularity chart either.

Well, anyway, so Andrew fit well into this "group" that always get my heart. The way I'm wired by God.

And due to his time in NICU, we got to have some time alone just he and I for a few weeks. Time to get to know each other without any distractions. Time I never really got with the others. We would talk. I'd sing to him. I'd tell him about his brothers and daddy and about life and he'd snuggle close and I just fell in love with him.

And the fact that he wanted to breastfeed, something his brothers never really wanted, just made that bond more intimate to us and special. Something unique that I shared with him alone and meant so much to me. And I think for that, he really gripped onto mommy. Even when he came home, it was clear that he was mommy's boy. Despite my working, I was his mommy and very special to him as he was to me. Again, not that I love my other sons any less. It's just something that we seemed to share.

So losing one who I was so close to, one who looked at me as though I was the most wonderful person alive, was hard. I have screwed up and not been as patient with my other sons as I would like. Lost my temper. Hurt their feelings unintentionally. Not taken the time always. Missed it on other occasions. I love my sons. But I have not done this mothering thing in a way that I would prefer. With Andrew, I knew I could start anew and really made an extra effort. Because of how he looked at me and related to me, I wanted to try to do it better. And in some ways had really done that. I gave myself to him in a way that I wish I had been able to with the others. But sadly, and regrettably, past baggage and emotional hurts kept me more guarded with them. More distant. I just wasn't able to give myself as I think a mother should.

So here I was trying to turn over a new leaf so that Andrew wouldn't have to live through some of the mistakes I had made with the others. And I felt like I might be accomplishing that finally. And then, he's gone. Ripped from me.

In my thinking, someone finally seemed to see me as being very valuable and loving. Someone that was special and giving. Didn't know how I have screwed up multiple times before in so many ways in life. To Andrew, I was mommy. I was love. I was there. I was his. I was special and very significant. Someone he looked forward to seeing. He thought I was really something. And it felt so nice for a change to have that in someone. It touched me deeply and irrevocably. And meant so much to me.

And then he was taken from me.

I know it's not entirely true in my head that he is the only one that thought this of me. But when so many have conveyed otherwise for so long, it takes that much longer to undo the damage. And it seemed like Andrew was a part of that. I meant something to someone. And even though on a few occasions I have been told that I am special or significant to someone, I was finally special to a child of mine. He looked forward to seeing me and saw no wrong in me. And that reaction has been even more rare in my lifetime. At least from my perspective. Except that he possibly wanted me to hold him more. And I wish I had held him more now that I know that that time was so limited.

So, anyway, that is part of why it hurts so much that my little special is gone. The other part is just that he is my son. And that pretty much says it all.

I need to go wipe my nose now and wipe my eyes.

The Important Choice

I am reading a book by Mary Beth Chapman called Choosing to See. The Chapman's lost their 5 year old adopted daughter in a tragic accident at their home. I have been reading some different books on grief, stories of people losing their loved ones, some have even dealt with babies dying. Some have been gifts from family or friends. Most are books I have found to try to figure out what others are going through when they lose a child.
I have related to these stories in some ways. We all feel great pain. Ask why. Wonder if we could have done something more to prevent it. Wished we could die because the loss hurts so greatly you don't know how to deal with all of the rush and ebb and flow of the emotions. Asked how we would cope.
But the Chapman story is the most relatable to our circumstances. I have felt very alone even amongst the other mothers I meet with since none of them lost their babies to an accident. So I was extremely curious to finally read about how this couple dealt with their tragedy. You see, their daughter was killed when she was run over by a truck. A truck one of their sons was driving. A scenario very close to our home with the exception that our deceased child was younger and we may never know if one of our children was involved in an unknowing and without meaning to.
Mary Beth is extremely real and honest. Straight and to the point. Their son Will was just coming home. The 3 adopted daughters from China were pretending they were a girl band called the Chapman Sisters in the back yard. Maria adored Will. He was her hero. So when he arrived, she was so ecstatic that without thinking, she ran at the driveway. Her next oldest sister, Stevey Joy, saw what was going to happen and screamed at her sister to stop running so that she wouldn't get hurt. But Maria was head strong. When she had something in her little mind, there was no stopping her. So she kept running to get to her brother not realizing she was headed towards a machine that was much stronger than she.
She saw it happen. Will couldn't see her she was so small so he couldn't stop in time. There was blood everywhere. Mary Beth and Steven ran outside horrified as Will held his little sister's lifeless body streaming for her to wake up. And so began their journey into the maze of confusion of pain, grief, loss, regret and everything else that comes with it.
As they did with their son who ran over his sister, we made to assure Alex and Ryan (who were home at the time and possibly witnessed the event) that we loved them no matter what happened. They were our sons and nothing would change our love for them. It's a message we have repeated to them often before that day and after.
They decided not to turn from God and so did we.
On our way back from the funeral home from making at least some of the final arrangements for our dear son, I told Mark that this time we would respond to a trial in the correct way. We would still praise God becuase circumstances don't change Him. He is unchanging. We would still praise Him and worship Him becuase He is always worthy of these whether we feel it or not. Whether things are good or not. Mark agreed and had already been thinking this.
Four years ago, things started going south for us. Ryan was born around this time. And our response to God was to harden our hearts and walk away practically from our faith. The trial just got worse. Dark days fell upon our family that lead to a year and a half of difficulties. It was awful for us and the boys. And at the beginning of some possible goodness was Andrew. Our gift from God. That's what God told me before he was even conceived. He would be our blessing for reuniting. One that I was reluctant to accept at first. And regret that I ever doubted the blessing he was and is to me.
So anyway, after turning from God before, it seemed that this time, we needed to turn to Him. Fall upon Him because it all made no sense. And we knew that He was the only one to help us. So we both made a conscious choice to say that we still believed in God. We still knew He was good and that He was in control. We thanked Him for our son, acknowledged that we didn't understand what was going on and said out loud that He was worthy of our praise.
And our hearts remained soft.

Mushy Monday

This just gets crazy. Monday morning I was a ball of mush. If you want to know what a human form of mush is, you should have seen me Monday morning. I pulled myself out of bed after hardly sleeping. I trudged through a shower and getting dressed and drove to work in a zombie-like state. I kept wondering how I was going to make it through the day. I was so exhausted and was glad to plop into my desk at work until the release into my chair led to tears that would not stop.

I cried continually for 2 hours and couldn't seem to collect myself even though I was trying to get my day started. People would come over to talk to me and would quickly leave. I was trying to hide my shaky emotional state but was not succeeding well at all. So they would usually back away awkwardly and I would try to bury my head in my computer. It was not a pretty sight.

I try to rotate around who I talk to so as to avoid burning anyone out with my babblings. Unfortunately my choice this time ended up being out of town on business. So the hug was coming across the email and a chance to chat would have to wait.

Well eventually I gathered myself to function and begin accomplishing something. Afterall anymore at work I am so slammed I don't know if I'm coming or going. It's crazy. And I am saddened that my responsibilities are more of a secretary nature than getting to do much design or writing. So it's plowing through this and that onto the next rush thing barely keeping up and often falling behind.

I am asking God to let me leave. At least if I'm going to be treated like a secretary and nothing more I'd prefer to have the title and no expectation of overtime placed on me. Or the hectic stress I have now. But I need to make sure He is opening the door for something else either for me or for Mark.

And here I thought I would work there for 20 years or more. But I also thought I would be able to move beyond my current position into something that would allow me to do things I really like to do. That does not seem like a possibility at all which has been hard to accept. And actually was quite poor thinking on part to assume the company owed me a promotion.Wrong attitude Kay. Where is your thankful heart?

The week Andrew died, I worked 55 hours the week before and put in 42 between Sunday and Thursday noon when I was rushed to the hospital. Cranking on a deadline for a promotion I hoped would happen this year or be able to be really worked towards this year, I missed out on the last days on my son's life for something that was not worth the cost. I didn't hardly hold him or see him that week before he died. And when the new year came, there was no extra bonus for my efforts or a raise to show appreciation for my extra hard work at marketing and project administration. Instead both were smaller than the prior year and my boss hinted loudly that I was not to work on a project like I had that one again. It took too much time away from my regular duties.

I should have been with him. I should have taken a maternity leave but didn't hardly get one of those either. Money was tight and I had little time off accumulated. (My company has no short-term disability leave). And I am still trying to forgive myself. In trying to do better for my family I missed it. And I don't believe I will make that mistake again which is why I am considering moving on. Less stress and more time and energy would be good for my boys and girl. It's just trying to discern if there is a door opening or not for me to walk through after I have little baby bundle. And where can I match my current pay being just an administrative assistant. A step backwards but probably best for my family if I can make sure I bring home enough to take care of all of us. And that's hard. Maybe I'll try for an Exec Assistant position. They can make more than I do now. Well, I don't have to decide right now. No one will hire a pregnant woman despite our current laws. So I must wait anyway. Maybe start updating the resume. Continue to seek God for guidance and wisdom. Maybe He'll do something to amaze me as He has done many times in the past with jobs.

I Just Want My Son Back

I have started reading a book by Mary Beth Chapman "Choosing to See". I love her husband's music. It's very real, has great lyrics that really speak of many facets of life and most of it has a great beat. I saw him in concert once and he was so personable and normal. He shared a presentation of photos of his family like we were dear friends. It made me like him even more. He did the foreword of the book and just glows about his wife. He definitely loves her and is her best friend and partner in life.

Over 25 years together and 4 years ago they had the unthinkable happen. Their evening was going along just like normal. The 5, 6 and 8 year old girls were outside playing when their 17 year old son came home in his truck. He pulled up to the driveway as Stephen, her husband, went outside when Mary Beth heard some commotion that wasn't the usual hype of excitement. She went outside to find the older brother holding his little sister's body screaming for her to wake up. From what I remember hearing it seems he had accidentally run her over. She hasn't gotten back to talking about that yet.

I am enjoying her perspective. Her faith. Her honesty. From what I have read she is quite similar to me in a lot of ways.

She even said at the beginning of her book that despite the lives that her daughter's story has touched, she doesn't care. She only wants to have her daughter back.

I went to the funeral home where we made all of Andrew's arrangements and had our private family visitation the day before the funeral. They had a copy of this book that was just being cataloged into their lending library. The lady who wrote Andrew's obituary, his brochure for his funeral and did the presentation that was shown before his funeral was there. She told me that my blog and what I wrote about Andrew's life and our brochure has been shared with many families since ours. She said it has helped many other mothers to tell the stories of their babies. Has helped them.

While this is good to hear. I would still prefer to have my son back too.

We Buried Him A Year Ago Today

My baby is dead. He is gone. He is really gone.

A year ago we buried him. Today. Around this exact time.

I remember this part being so difficult for me. I felt fairly collected and at peace during the visitation and funeral. I know this was purely God's grace. But I wasn't prepared for the short ceremony at the cemetery. I didn't want to leave him there. I didn't want him to be put in the ground. Oddly, I wanted to keep him with me. Now I know this is a bit morbid and illogical. But the emotional pull to stay with him and have him with me was so strong. I couldn't believe it. I still can't.

I tried to hide it by introducing everyone at the reception we held at church after the cemetery part of it all to the nurse that took care of Andrew most of the last 48 hours of his life. I didn't know what else to do at it. I didn't know how to act.
It's been a year.

At times it seemed like the one year anniversary mark would take forever to come. And at other times we were surprised it was 6 months or 9 months, etc.

You hear that the first year is the hardest. From there it gets a bit easier.

So here we are.

I don't know what to write.

Although the week went by without much telling it was the one year mark. I think it was particularly because last week was stressful at work. A long week. I am behind. Trying to get caught up and then a last minute proposal that one of my people didn't happen to notice until the day before it was due. Gosh do I hate when they do that. Being one who tries to plan ahead especially in work, I don't understand how one can't. Anyway, so Monday was a 13.5 hour day. And that set the tone of the week trying to keep up with all the other demands. And I'm even down by one person I support right now. The Principal I work with is out of the country. So that made last week somewhat doable. It's when he's around too that it gets really crazy any more.

But now that the weekend is upon us, now that the last milestone of our initial steps in our grieving. The awful process of making the final arrangements. The decisions you don't think about with a baby since this shouldn't happen to a baby. Now it's here. The heaviness. The hurt. The missing. The longing. The things I don't like feeling but they come anyway.

I cried as I went to sleep last night. Again. Almost as usual it seems. Not that I do that daily. It's more in the last few weeks for sure I cry myself to sleep. Pretending I am being held safely.

Hopefully the sadness will lift now that we are past the one year point. Well, not so intense anyway or as frequent. I don't know. Maybe just me being hopeful.

At least I have this hope, and it's what helps, I will see Andrew again some day. I will get to be with him again.

Where We Were a Year Ago

One year and here we are. No little special among us except in our hearts and minds.

I have been dreading this milestone for the past few weeks. And here we have arrived. It was one year ago yesterday that he died. One year ago that I thought I was going to die because of how much pain I was feeling from having lost him.

I woke on this day, the 5th, one year with this unbelievable stabbing pain in my heart. It began within seconds of my waking causing me to close my eyes tightly wishing I could go back to sleep and forget another few minutes that Andrew was gone. I remember shaking my head not wanting to remember that the most unbelievable thing had happened yesterday.

I sat up and hung my head shaking it again in disbelief. This couldn't be happening. I remember thinking to myself that it seemed like it would be forever before I would ever stop feeling such a loss as this. That the future didn't seem like it would come. That time seemed to be so cruel.

I actually got out of bed and kept my attention away from the far side of the room. The place where Andrew's pack 'n play and dresser sat reminding us vividly of his existence. The open hole in our home was so deafening. You could feel the emptiness that was the hole left due to Andrew's departure. And it hurt. And for some reason I went into the master bathroom and took a shower. I suppose it was more out of routine.

I called some friends and soon we had some friends over to help out with the boys and to help Mark and I out. After some kind of breakfast, I went into the bedroom to begin putting away Andrew's things. I didn't want to but Mark wanted every trace of him removed from our sight. So to honor him, I tried to do my part even though I did not feel like it. I wanted to hold his things close and curl up into a ball and not exist any longer. I wanted to keep everything as it was for just a little longer. I wanted to leave everything as it was as though he was still with us.

I wanted my son back.

I did alright gathering his laundry until I got to his car seat. It sat at the end of the pack 'n play and we'd load him up into it when we went somewhere. I was already emotional but then I saw a direct reference to his little life. You see, in the seat, lay one of his receiving blankets that he had sat upon. And what's more is that the blanket contained creases and folds that formed the exact imprint of his little, tiny butt.

My eyes welled up with tears and my hand carefully traced down the back and landed on where his little bottom sat just a few days ago. And I lost it and collapsed to my knees as my hand stayed hung over the side of the pack 'n play. In no time I was sobbing and ended up on the floor next to his bed. Mark happened to walk by the room. One of the boys was looking in the room. Mark grabbed the door and asked my son (I don't recall which one it was) to just leave me alone and quietly shut the door. Not long after that SueEllen came into the room and she sat with me as I sobbed.

Eventually I grabbed the blanket and threw it into the dirty clothes and sobbed some more. Torn by my desire to figure out where the mid-point was between my grief process and his. And I hated that I couldn't have that blanket with Andrew's body imprint on it I just wanted to hold that forever. Have it close to me always. I regret that decision still.

After putting that load in the laundry Mark didn't talk much more about packing up Andrew's things which gave me great relief.

The rest of that day is a fog of crying, heartache, trying to force myself to mother the boys, going on long walks to get away to think and I don't know what else.

So different from now. I went to work. Submitted a proposal. Went on with life as though it were completely normal. Carrying his little sister that will not meet him here in this life. Will only hear about her older brother Andrew. The boys all excited about their new sibling. Possibly forgetting their brother a little bit.

But I will never forget. How can I forget my little special?

I love you Andrew. And I still miss you like crazy.

The Odd Thoughts and Memorial Day

I thought about some of the oddest things after Andrew died. The thought of him lying naked on some slab until we got him clothes bugged me. The thought of him being buried in a cemetery alone made me very sad for him. That he was cut open and examined didn't seem right. That we left him alone at the cemetery to be buried by a stranger felt heartbreaking.

How odd. I know his body was just a shell at that point, but these things bugged me immensely and caught me quite off guard. I am usually quite logical about most things or analytical and factual. But the truth was, my emotions and the sentimentality of what his body represented, I suppose, is what rose up so strong in those moments.

But it comforted me to know that he was covered by a sheet. That a member of the funeral home's staff was always present so that he wasn't alone and that we were able to purchase plots for us to be buried next to Andrew whenever that time may come. He would not be alone in the cemetery afterall.

It's like when I go to the cemetery. I haven't gone a whole lot really. But with Memorial Day, Mark asked if we should go. I didn't know what to think until we talked the day before and he mentioned that he went with the boys and his mom. I was out of town visiting a dear friend that I consider to be an adopted older brother of mine with some other good friends of his and mine. So I was unable to go. But when he told me he did that, it hit me funny. Why did he go without me?

(He called me back later and wanted to make sure we were okay. He thought I sounded upset and wanted to make sure I was okay or if I needed to talk about it. He explained that his mother was off, would be working on Memorial Day and wanted to take flowers to put on Andrew's grave. He didn't think she should do that alone and took the boys with. So he offered that we could go as a family when I was back.)

We went the following day. Memorial Day. The boys handled it well. Ryan didn't understand but he doesn't seem to remember Andrew anyway. Alex did fine. And Samuel sat down in front of the grave and told me that he missed Andrew.

"Yeah. I do too. And it's very normal that we miss him. He was a part of our family and still is. And I'm glad you shared that with me."

And me? Well, when we pulled up a huge surge of emotions flew up in me so quickly I teared up and couldn't hardly talk or think. It amazed how I was doing alright one moment and then the next I was a bundle of emotions especially sorrow. I walked to his grave, sat down and cried. With the boys joining me a moment later, I gathered myself a little bit in case they wanted to talk about their brother. 

Eventually I got up to leave. It was too much. And again my mind kept marveling at the emotions involved with a place that holds only what remains of Andrew even though I know he is not there. How odd that such a place makes me feel the loss so fresh and real that I could almost touch it.

I sat down in the van, closed the door and put my head down. Suddenly I just began to cry hard. Mark just sat there patiently and reached over to rub my arm as he watched. I just kept staring at my lap that was blurred from the tears. The boys asked what was wrong and Mark just told them I was sad that Andrew was gone. But that mommy would be all right. And after a few minutes, the tears stopped streaming down my face and my heart wasn't so heavy. I had allowed myself to feel the pain and sadness and now the moment was passing. So Mark started the van and we drove through the countryside on our way home.

And So Marks the Beggining of the 1 Year Anniversary

One year ago today the unthinkable happened. The day started like any other. I fed Andrew around 5 am, changed his diaper and collapsed into bed hoping for another hour or two of sleep. I slept past my alarm, rushed to get ready and headed into the office late at 8:30. I was working hard on a planning project where I was a part of the team. They were heading on their first round of facility tours the following Monday and I was feverishly gathering all of the documentation, drawings and getting the assessment forms finalized for the team's use. I ate lunch and was making progress on getting things done when Sam came over. Nothing unusual there until he asked me to come with him. And bring your purse.

That really made me stop. He was speaking in a loud whisper and I had to wonder what was going on. "This is not about you."

That helped me to move a little faster but I was puzzled as I walked with him to the reception area. "It's about your son."

"My son?" And my mind began to race. Which son? What happened? What was going on? And why was there a police officer at my work? What was going on?

And that was the beginning of a part of our family's journey to losing Andrew to heaven and walking through the process of grieving his loss. Knowing a pain greater than few other.

Mark thought it was yesterday and he said it hit him when he was visiting his dad. I know that it was today. June 2nd. How could I forget? The doctors gave him 48 hours to respond to their course of treatment. He was alive when they induced his coma and never woke up from it. His body even refused to warm up he was so far gone by that point.

So a year ago, I was home having trouble going to sleep. Wanting to be at the hospital by Andrew's side but instead, being at home. Mark wanted to be at the hospital for the night shift. The boys were used to me being home when they awakened and we wanted to give them as much of a semblance to normalcy as we could. So torn but hopeful my son would awaken just fine, I was at home longing to be by Andrew's side in case he needed me.

How will the next few days be for us? I don't think the boys will know. Mark may be just fine. I don't know. I may find them to pass without much. I don't know.

When we lost Lexi, that 1st anniversary of her death was very difficult on me. I was moody and off balanced emotionally the whole week. Mark couldn't understand it until I reminded him that it was the anniversary of her death. Since she was such an early miscarriage, it was like she wasn't really all that real to him. He doesn't mention her when we talk about the kids. All the kids I mean. Not just the ones that are alive with us now. He'll acknowledge Andrew but does not bring up Lexi. I'm the one that has to bring her up. It's just how it is. I carried her. I bond with my children pretty quickly when I carry them. By the time I feel them moving and then have the ultrasound, I am speaking to them regularly and beginning to get to know them. For Mark, it isn't until the ultrasound and then when they kick that they become real in a sense. It's just how he is.

Her death affected me annually for the first 2 years and then became less and less of a difficulty. She died on Valentine's Day so it's hard for me not to recall the date. It's also the day Mark proposed to me. It made that anniversary interesting for those years.

So how will this be for me? Will I be able to function? Will I be able to live that day or just go through the motions?

There is a trembling inside me at the uncertainty. A slight dread. A wish to just pass by the day.