i miss my boy.

Yesterday, I was cleaning out my purse and found a pair of Owen's socks. I couldn't take them out. They aren't special socks, but they were his, and they remind me of him. For a short moment, I felt like a "normal" mom. Most moms find little cars or toys or socks in their purses all the time. I wanted that. I miss him so much. It's only been seventeen days since he died, but it feels like much longer. I don't want to forget him. I don't want to go about my life like it was before I was pregnant. It's so different now, but so many things now are the way they used to be. Before Owen. I don't want to forget anything about him, but remembering is painful. It makes me miss him so much more.

I miss holding his little hand. I miss rubbing his perfectly shaped head. I miss looking into his eyes. I miss kissing his face. I miss touching his soft little arms and legs. I miss his dimple chin. I miss checking to make sure he wasn't laying on top of cords in his hospital crib. I miss dreaming about taking him home to his beautiful nursery and never putting him down. I miss saying, "Good morning sweet boy!" every day. I miss reading to him. I miss changing his socks. I miss picking out his bedding at night for the next day. I miss singing to him every night before saying goodnight. I miss telling him how much I love him and how proud I am of him. I miss telling him how handsome he is. I miss his smell. I miss telling him about Toby who was at home, waiting to meet him. I miss telling him about all the fun things we would do together after leaving the hospital. I miss being pregnant and having him with me all the time. I miss shopping for clothes for him before he was born. I miss dreaming about our life together. I don't want to ever forget anything about him, and I'm scared that I will.

I know that Owen's life, sickness and death happened for a reason. I know that his life brought so many closer to the Lord, including myself, but I wish so badly God could have used another situation to do those things. Why Owen? Why did his precious little body have to go through so much? Why did God have to take him from me? It's just so sad sometimes. As I sit here typing, tears are streaming down my face. I would give anything to have him back, healthy and at home in my arms. I am trying so very hard to let God heal my broken heart and teach me what he wants me to learn through this while I'm so fragile and vulnerable. It's painful.

I find myself being stronger when I'm around others. Maybe it's because I don't want to cause them more pain. It's not that I try to hide my pain when I'm around them though... I honestly think it's through God's strength that I can be strong. I'm not strong all the time though. Another mom who lost her son posted on her blog this quote from a book she read: "Sometimes when our minds and bodies are shattered by life, it is only the spirit that can knit us whole and keep us alive." I find this to be so true.

I've found comfort in reading blogs from other moms who have also lost babies. Everything that they have felt, I feel now. I find their posts encouraging and reassuring. That what I'm feeling isn't abnormal. One of the moms wrote that through her grieving process, she became a much more public person. I relate to that so much. For some reason, during this process, I feel like I have nothing to hide. I'm an open book. You can ask me anything and I'll tell you. I think the time immediately after you lose a child is the most painful, but I'm finding through these other blogs that years later, it is still painful. I often wonder if I am strong enough for this. It's not just a quick fix and everything is better. It is a lifetime of moments of happiness, but also sadness and grief.

We sang this song at church a couple Sundays ago, and it has been on my heart ever since. I am trying so very hard to remember and rest in these truths.

Be still, my soul: the Lord is on thy side
Bear patiently the cross of grief or pain
Leave to thy God to order and provide
In ev'ry change, He faithful will remain
Be still, my soul: thy best, thy heav'nly Friend
through thorny ways leads to a joyful end

Be still, my soul: thy God doth undertake
to guide the future, as He has past
Thy hope, thy confidence let nothing shake
All now mysterious shall be bright at last
Be still, my soul: the waves and winds still know
His voice Who ruled them while He dwelt below

Be still, my soul: the hour hast'ning on
when we shall be forever with the Lord
When disappointment, grief and fear are gone
Sorrow forgot, love's purest joys restored
Be still, my soul: when change and tears are past
All safe and blessed we shall meet at last


  1. Beautiful, honest post Allison. Your heart reveals such strength and vulnerability, a reflection and glimmer of the pain and grief you are living. Thank you for sharing. It helps us remember Owen and allows us to know how to grieve along side you.

  2. Allison, you are such a beautiful mommy. I have been following along from the moment Ginna shared about sweet Owen. While I cannot imagine what you are going through, I, too, have a grieving mama's heart. I began our blog very shortly after losing our twins and writing, for some reason, was one of the only things that made sense. I hope you take comfort in sharing and connecting with others who have walked this path with you and before you. For me, learning I wasn't alone was huge, and when we were ready, joining a support group and meeting weekly with couples in our same position helped immensely. Your faith and strength are inspiring beyond words. Owen will always be a part of your story, and you will never forget those precious memories made with him. I will continue to keep you in my prayers and thank you for sharing your heart and journey with us. Also, if you haven't read Katie's Keepers blog or In This Wonderful Life blog, both helped me so much during those first days and beyond.

  3. Beautifully written. Thank you for sharing your grief. I'm praying for you and loving on you from afar.

  4. Allison, you don't know me, but I am a friend of your cousin's (Jennifer). In 2007, my daughter, Copeland, was born with a genetic abnormality (a chromosomal abnormality, to be more specific) called trisomy-18... and she died eight days after her birth. I have stood, in so many words, where you are standing today... right now... at this moment... and yet, I also understand that grief is unique and doesn't replicate itself exactly, ever. "No man can know another's joys... or another's sorrows." I write on here today not to give you advice or to tell you that one more person out there "kind of" gets it. I write on here to tell you that you're not alone, that as a mommy to a little girl I miss every single day, a little girl who now has siblings who never got the chance to meet her and who ask about her and who wonder what she would like to have for a snack, or wear to church, or what color crayon she'd like best... I miss her. The missing is sometimes terrible, sometimes strangely sweet, sometimes oddly distant. But what I have clung to is that in the Word, we are reminded that "a day is as a thousand years" in heaven, and so, based on that crazy math, Copeland has only been waiting on me for something like four minutes. Praying for you and for your dear husband, as well. -Boothe Farley (Nashville, TN)

  5. You are so strong and brave for sharing your heart so openly and honestly. Just as some of these other blogs you have found have blessed you, I believe that yours will bless others the same. Sending love your way every day! <3

  6. I agree with Nina. I know your blog will give comfort to other mothers who are going through or will sadly go through the same thing. Your writing is so beautiful and I pray for your continued healing.