when the hard gets harder

I've been missing Owen so much more than usual lately. I always miss him, but lately it's been more intensified. Maybe it's because Mother's Day was recently here and Father's Day is approaching. Maybe it's because one of my very best friends just had her first child, and Owen isn't here to grow up with her. It just isn't fair. I keep searching through my phone and computer for new pictures of Owen. Ones I didn't know I had or haven't seen before. But there aren't any, and that makes me sad and angry.

I did find this one though. When I look at this picture I see a body weary from childbirth, a face swollen from tears, eyes gazing at the precious child that was knit in her womb for nine months. I see so much love. I love how Owen's little hand wrapped around my finger. I miss this so much. I wish I could have dreams about him and remember them. I haven't had a single one. It would be like a little piece of heaven if I did.

I've been missing Egleston a lot lately and all of the people there. It's probably a strange thing to miss, but those are the people that knew Owen with us, and that was the place that he lived. If we still lived in Atlanta, I can promise you I would be a frequent visitor in the CICU to drop off goodies for the staff and gifts for the families. 

Life isn't all sadness. We have so much to be thankful for. We love, love, love living in Charlotte and our home here. This is the most "at home" I've felt in years. I have enjoyed planning and hosting a baby shower here in my home last month and using my creative energy again, I especially love decorating my home little by little and making it our own. We have enjoyed exploring Charlotte, trying new restaurants, and establishing roots here. We both love the people we work with and are so thankful for our jobs. 

It's nice having life come back to normal. We're adjusting to what this new normal is with our baby boy in heaven. I think one of the the hardest things for me is figuring out how to balance joy and sorrow. From the outside people might think that things have gotten easier for us as time has passed. That's certainly what I used to think about people before I experienced this form of loss. But it hasn't gotten easier, we've just better adjusted to the pain in our hearts and have learned (and continue to learn) how to carry it through each day. We know we don't carry it alone. 

I recently started reading Kara Tippetts' book The Hardest Peace, and I have already learned so much from it. If you're not familiar with Kara, she recently lost her battle to cancer and knows what it truly is to suffer. In the introduction of the book she writes, "This is not a book about trying to win at having the hardest story. This book is about a broken woman on a journey to know the hardest peace. Peace in the midst of hard. I speak both generally and specifically of hard, because hard is often the vehicle Jesus uses to meet us, point us to that peace, and teach us grace." 

I feel that I am in the middle of this journey of hard. Instead of rushing the hard away, my prayer is that my heart and mind will be open and that I will grow and minister to others who are also experiencing hard. That I will draw closer to Jesus in this journey and keep a soft heart in the process. And on the days when the hard gets harder, that I will find comfort in the great comforter who can provide peace like no other.

Respite Retreat

Right after we lost Owen, I read Holding Onto Hope, by Nancy Guthrie. Her words spoke to my aching soul in a way no other human could. In the book, she wrote about losing her daughter Hope and the grief that follows such a loss, but a grief filled with hope in the Lord. My cousin and his wife also lost their son Joseph six years ago. They know Nancy and her husband David and told us about the retreats they host every year for couples who have lost children. They attended one themselves, and said it was the best thing they did. After hearing that, I knew Brian and I needed to go. In January, we had the privilege of doing just that.

As the weekend approached, I became quite anxious about everything. The weeks prior to going had been another "dark patch" in my grieving process that didn't seem to be fading. I knew the weekend would stir up lots of really difficult memories and emotions. I was nervous about hearing others' stories and sharing our pain, not knowing what that would look like. The moment we walked into the door, my anxiety went away. Nancy Guthrie was there, greeted us by name and welcomed us in. We spent the weekend with eleven other couples, all who had lost children. I can't tell you how comforting it was to be surrounded by people who truly understand every single thought, worry, ache and pain that we feel. We were able to share Owen's story and listen to the stories of all the other beautiful children. You can imagine how emotional and difficult that was, but it really was good to listen, share, and be heard. When you meet others who have experienced this same loss, there is an instant connection. Those eleven other couples felt like family that weekend. There was lots of time for conversations and getting to know them better. Every thought they shared, I have also felt. We were able to encourage each other through dark moments we have faced or will be facing.

One thing Nancy said really stuck with me. She said, "Nurturing our grief is how we mother our child." I love that. It's so true. As a mother, when you're faced with life without your child to care for, you have to nurture something, and the closest thing to our child is the grief we are left with. The way she said it made me feel more like a mom than I have felt since April when Owen died. In that setting with eleven other moms without their babies, I felt like a normal mom. Something I long to feel every day. It was so comforting.

I wanted to be a sponge that weekend and absorb everything I could. The whole weekend was so good, but the last morning was my favorite. It was a time of praise and worship where we went through scripture together followed by songs. The focus was on hearing Jesus speak into our sorrow. That's really the goal in all of this, right?

Emptiness is what I feel  the most (other than deep sorrow) after losing Owen. My arms are empty. His crib is empty. Our house is empty. My heart often feels empty. Nancy spoke about that emptiness. We looked at 2 Corinthians 12:9, "My grace is sufficient for you; for my power is made perfect in weakness. She said God is saying "My grace is going to be enough in the form, timing, and quantity that you need it. I'm going to fill up the emptiness." She said that we see emptiness as our biggest problem, but God sees it as his biggest opportunity. God created the heavens and the earth out of emptiness. He filled it with light, life, and goodness. God spoke it into place. He is enough and he will fill our emptiness.

I also struggle with wondering about the "what if's" during Owen's life... I wonder if he would still be here if we made different decisions about his medical care. It's such a horrible and dangerous place to go in my mind. What if Owen stayed on ECMO one more day, or came off two days before when he was stronger? What if I ate something that caused his heart condition? What if I knew about his sickness before he was born? Would that have changed his treatment and given him a better chance? Those are just a few of the many what if's I think of. We looked at Revelation 1:17-18 that says, "Don't be afraid! ... I hold the keys of death and the grave."  Jesus holds the key to life and death. He's on the other side of the door to receive. Even though it feels way too soon to say goodbye, it was right on time. She went on to say, because Jesus holds the keys, we can surrender the "if only's." While I don't like that it was the right time for Owen to die, it's so incredibly freeing to be reminded that nothing I could have done would have changed the outcome.

Exhaustion is another struggle I've faced. Grieving takes so much energy. More energy than I even have most days. "Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens and I will give you rest" - Matthew 11:28. Jesus' invitation and command is to come to Him and He will give us rest. Often times when I come to God, I come with my own agenda. I have plans and dreams and long for them to be met more than I long to draw closer to Him. Nancy said that to rest in Him means surrendering all of our plans. This is the hardest thing for me. When Owen was alive, I remember coming to God, and asking for healing. There was one point though when I asked for healing, but also for His will to be done. It was the scariest thing for me. I knew that in doing that, I was surrendering to my plan for Owen to become healthy and live a full life. Instead, I was accepting the fact that God's will could be to take him home. During these past ten months without him, I still have plans and hopes. I struggle with where my hope lies. Does it lie in having more children and job security and health, or does it lie in the Lord? Letting God be enough even if my prayers aren't answered and coming to Him without an agenda is where true rest is found.

Everything I've felt. Emptiness, anger, regret, sorrow, weariness. It was all covered during this one Sunday morning at the Respite Retreat. As we said our goodbyes before heading home, I went up to Nancy and tearfully told her that I knew people say that healing can happen, but that I honestly didn't believe them. But during that weekend, I wasn't sure how, but my heart experienced some healing for the first time. I am so thankful to Nancy and David for continuing this ministry. As anxious as I was to come, I didn't want to leave. I'm thankful for new friendships and a deeper relationship with God because of it.

New Year

2014 was the happiest year of my life. Brian and I met the love of our lives, our precious baby boy. For several hours, we were bursting with more joy than ever before. Our son was in our arms, looking into our eyes, and he was perfect. For forty-three precious days we got to hold his hands, stroke his head, give him kisses, read to him, talk to him, pray for him, and watch him. I have mixed feelings about 2014 being over. While you may look at our year and think it was the worst year of our lives, I'm actually sad it's over. I hate that those moments filled with Owen are over. Starting a new year really doesn't change anything. The pain doesn't just go away. It will always be here. You don't just move on after losing your child, you have to figure out how to cope so that you can continue to live! I've never relied more on the Lord in my life that I have in 2014. I often ask him to help me to do simple things that I feel are impossible. I's such a relief to know that  I'm not alone and that I don't have to rely solely on my own strength because if that were the case, I'd crawl into a hole for the rest of my life.

Last year we had dreams for what 2014 would be. We dreamed of meeting our son, bringing him home, watching him grow, and being parents. We had no idea we would hit our highest high and our lowest low in the same year. I have dreams for 2015, but my heart is scared to dream them. It has been shattered to pieces and hasn't been put back together completely. Some days it feels more broken than others.

I miss the happiness and innocence I used to feel, and I know that I will never be the same. This has been so discouraging to me until a dear friend who has also experienced great loss pointed out that it's actually a good thing. She told me to watch for the good because it is coming. She asked if I believe her when she says that suffering brings precious gems. Tears flowed as I read her words. I found such hope in them. I do believe her, only because she has gone through it before. I honestly can't see how that's possible right now, but I believe her. I do. 

Today grief hit strong. It knocked me to my knees and the ache felt almost as fresh as the day Owen died. I went back to the sermon my uncle Vann preached at Owen's funeral. He used the story from John 11 when Mary and Martha asked Jesus to heal their brother Lazarus. John 11:6, "So, when He heard that Lazarus was sick, He stayed two more days in the place where He was." Vann talks about how the word "so" is interesting. Jesus could have gone immediately to Lazarus and healed him, but he didn't. He waited until he died because he wanted Mary and Martha to know Him more than a healer. Vann presented a question in his sermon and asked, "How is Owen's death going to impact you? What difference is it going to make in your life? What is your "so" going to be? It could be that God gives you a heart for a particular ministry. It could be that you grow in your faith. It could be what causes you to come to Christ." 

My "so" is lots of things already, and I believe it will be more. I want that to be my focus in this new year.

Book & Blanket drive in honor of Owen

In a little more than two months, we will celebrate Owen's first birthday. While this is not the type of celebration I had hoped for, we would still like to make it a special day and do something meaningful in honor of our sweet boy. We would like to host a Book & Blanket drive for the babies in the CICU at Egleston, and we'd love for you to join us! 

Books and blankets were two of the most special things to us during Owen's life. Reading to him created memories I will never forget. I remember which books were his favorites, his first, and his last. I love being reminded of Owen when I see his books in a store. 

Having our own personal blankets made the hospital feel so much more like home. I loved choosing which blanket would be his "bottom sheet" and which one he would be wrapped in each day. We were given so many books and blankets at baby showers, so we had plenty in our rotation each day. I would love to give other families memories and a little comfort of home in the midst of such tragedy. 

Blankets can be gently used or new. I will wash all of them before packaging them. If you would like to join us, you can mail items directly to us, and we will package and deliver them to Egleston at the end of February. Email us at brianandallisonparker@gmail.com if you would like our address. Thanks for the support you have shown us this year. Our hearts are heavy as we have entered the holiday season and approach Owen's birthday without him here. We are thankful for special ways like this one to continue to remember him and spread joy to others since he gave us so much joy in his short time.

**Update: Friends in the Gwinnett area, if you would like to drop items off locally, let me know. I have people who are available to collect items from you locally.

anger

I've been a little silent lately because I'm in a dark place. My goal in sharing our journey through Owen's life and dealing with is death was to encourage other parents going through the same thing we are. It's important to be real. People keep asking how we're doing, so I thought I'd share... We have a lot to be thankful for. God has provided a new city, a new home, new friends,and secure jobs for both of us. All of those things are important, but none of it seems to compare to the amount of sadness we feel. I want to tell people that I'm doing great and that I see God working in my life like never before, but the truth is I'm having a hard time seeing that right now. My heart is hurting deeply. I want my grief to be redeemed. I know it's possible, but I don't feel like it is.

I'm angry. I'm angry that thousands of people prayed for our son to be healed, and that God didn't answer our prayers. Why does he heal other babies but not ours? I'm angry that Owen's little body went through so much poking and prodding in his 43 days. I'm angry that our first experience of becoming parents was so extremely traumatic. I'm angry that we will go through another Mother's and Father's Day with empty arms. I'm angry that I have a hard time being happy for other people when they experience blessings. I hear stories of God's goodness in other people's lives because of Owen. It's great, but none of it seems worth his life. I'm angry that I feel this way and that it isn't getting any easier.

Every day I'm constantly on the verge of tears. I come home from work at night exhausted from trying to hold it together all day. I've been feeling angrier and sadder than ever before. We have a lot of annual events in the fall. Weekends with friends, birthdays, holidays... All of it is hard. This time last year we thought, "There will be an eight month old with us next year!" I bought cute little flannel shirts, moccasins, puffy vests, and hats last fall for Owen to start wearing now. I hate that he's not here to wear them. Birthdays and celebrations are darkened. It's hard to get excited and celebrate. I can't believe it's almost November. Life keeps moving forward, yet my heart feels scarred and frozen in a state of pain. I long for the innocence I once felt but never appreciated. My whole perspective on every single thing has changed.

I know that anger is one of the stages of grief, but I'm ready for it to pass. I'm angry at God, but then I remember that because of him, Owen has eternal life. It's a constant battle I face every day. My prayer is that Owen's life and death, and all of the trauma we faced during his life will make me a better. I don't want to be bitter. 

When Owen was alive, I posted updates on his caringbridge site. At the end of each post, I always listed blessings no matter how difficult the day was. God was present in our lives during Owen's life and cared for us in unexpected ways. He continues to bless us in unexpected ways. A friend encouraged me to continue to continue to write down all of the blessings I experience so I can see where God is in my grief. I know he's there to walk through this with me if I let him. 

a few more changes

I haven't written about our recent changes because in the grand scheme of everything, they seem so insignificant. We are thankful that a new home and  a new job for me has fallen into place.

In June, I was hired as an SLP at a multidisciplinary pediatric clinic that is very reputable here in Charlotte. I feel honored to be a part of their team. I spent the last six years working in the schools full time and additionally part time at a small private practice. This is a bit of a change, and it has kept me quite busy. It feels good to work again and get back in a routine, although I grew quite accustomed to staying at home and having time for more things than I usually do. I have met some great people at my new job which I am thankful for. Because of Owen, I look at my work in a different way. I am able to relate to the families I work with so closely without them even knowing it. I also have a new compassion for my patients after all all we went through during Owen's life that I wouldn't have had otherwise. 

On August 28th, we closed on our first home. The home buying process wasn't necessarily smooth, but now that we're in our new home, it's all a blur. Maybe it's similar to childbirth on a much lesser scale... You forget the pain when you see your precious baby's face for the first time.

We moved in from the apartment we were living in temporarily (which is five minutes from the house) with the help of some very dear friends. 

We love this home so much. It is an older house with lots of charm, and it's in a great location. On our first night moving in, seven people came by to introduce themselves and welcome us to the neighborhood. I visited forty-three houses in Charlotte with our sweet realtor, but none of them compared to this one. It was meant to be, and we are thankful to start our family memories here. 

Even in this new home it feels like someone is missing. Someone is missing. He will always be missing for the rest of our earthly lives. One of the bedrooms in our house feels like it should be Owen's. Most of the baby items were taken to Brian's parents a few weeks after he died, but I kept a few special items that I wasn't able to part with. And then there were random items like bibs and a puj tub that were mixed in with miscellaneous items in boxes when we moved. Unpacking those items was so strange. I unpacked the chalkboard that I used to count the weeks of my pregnancy. It still says "Baby Owen - 40 weeks!" It's hard to believe that there should be an almost seven month old baby here. I see pictures of other babies born around Owen's birthday, and they all look so big. They're sitting up and smiling and interacting... I wonder what Owen would look like at that age and wish for those moments and memories we never had with him. 

I'm waiting for the day when the shades of my "darkened glasses" are clear again. I long for my heart to be made whole and for the emptiness I feel to go away. Sometimes I get discouraged that it still hurts so badly, but other days I'm truly amazed at how well I'm doing. I know we all live every day by the grace of God, but for the first time in my life, I can truly say that it is only by God's grace and strength that I am able to live and move forward in life. Missing him, loving him with all my heart. Sweet baby boy. 

six months

It was so wonderful to start a new tradition today honoring Owen by random acts of kindness. His six month birthday was the perfect time to start. Instead of waking up with a heavy heart, I woke up excited about doing something out of the ordinary to celebrate Owen. I know so many people continue to pray for us. Today I felt your prayers. Right before my run this morning, I saw this post on instagram.

This sweet woman (who lost her son Aaden a few years ago), is praying for specific women by name who have also lost babies while she trains for a half marathon, which happens to fall on Aaden's sixth birthday. I saw my name written on her arm, and got chills. I'm so thankful for her heart and her prayers. As I was running, I relived my favorite moments of Owen's life in mind. I completely zoned out which made for a very fast first two miles. :)

Later this afternoon I decided to browse an antique mall. When I was checking out, I overheard an employee telling someone that she just lost her granddaughter. I looked over at her, made eye contact with her, and told her that I just lost a baby too. She came over, gave me a hug, and we both started to cry. It was one of those moments that caught me off guard- my tears wouldn't stop. She told me about her granddaughter and how she only lived for two weeks, yet she fulfilled her purpose in those two weeks more than anyone else could have. I told her about Owen and how he did the same in his six weeks. I told her he would have been six months old today, and how we were planing on celebrating his life. It was a short but meaningful few minutes with a stranger that I felt such a huge connection with. I left the store in tears. A mixture of happy and sad tears. I'm thankful for the blessings I continue to experience throughout my grief. 

Thanks so much to everyone who participated in random acts of kindness! I loved seeing pictures flood social media and getting texts through out the day of things people were doing in his honor. There were some great posts! Leaving flowers on someone's doorstep, making a cake for a friend, paying for some's Redbox movie, leaving an extra tip at a restaurant, making breakfast for coworkers, buying a new mom a Starbucks gift card, giving "The Little Engine That Could" (Owen's last book) to a fiend's daughter, leaving money taped on a vending  machine, making granola for another family, buying someone's coffee or breakfast in the drive through, leaving a Duncan Donuts gift card for the employees at the pool shop, passing out cold drinks to people at a hot bus stop, buying a Walmart gift card for an employee who was having a hard day, serving a meal to a large group of people, making a donation to a chapel for parents who have lost children, donating clothes to  a foster child... I'm sure there are more that I'm missing.  

Earlier this week I got a message from a friend. She told me she was talking about heaven with her four-year-old. He was saying that he didn't want to go to heaven because he likes this world just fine. She started telling him all the great things about heaven and why it will be better than here. He then said, "Oh and I can meet baby Owen and see how big and strong he is." It totally made my day. It warms my heart to know that people still remember my sweet boy. 

Happy six months sweet Owen! We love you and miss you every moment of every day. We can't wait to see how big and strong you are in heaven one day! 

five months

People often tell me what a strong person I am. How they can't imagine what I'm going through, and that they don't know how they would be able to get through such loss. I hope I don't make myself look stronger than I really am. Because lately, I haven't felt very strong. There isn't a day that goes by without tears at some point in the day. My pain is extraordinary. Maybe it's getting a little easier, I don't know. I think I'm just getting used to what it feels like to live life with part of my heart missing. I still have days where all I can do is cry and cry and cry some more. Owen is gone, and he is never coming back. I feel peace knowing he is in heaven, and I thank God for that. But sometimes it doesn't help ease the pain that I continue to feel.

I was shopping this weekend and saw a new mom holding her infant. Another lady stopped and asked how old her baby was. The mom said she was seven weeks old. My heart sank and my eyes instantly filled with tears as I remembered that I never saw Owen live to seven weeks. At seven weeks, we had already had his funeral. It still doesn't seem real. I go through every single photo of him over and over and let my tears flow. I am still blown away by how beautiful and precious he was. He will always remain little and perfect in my mind.

After Owen died, a sweet friend sent me Nancy Tillman's book, Wherever You Are My Love Will Find You. I love these words she writes...

"I wanted you more than you ever will know, so I sent love to follow you wherever you go.

It's high as you wish it. It's quick as an elf. You'll never outgrow it... it stretches itself!

So climb any mountain... climb up to the sky! My love will find you. My love will fly! 

Make a big splash! Go out on a limb! My love will find you. My love can swim!

It never gets lost, never fades, never ends..." 

My love for Owen is never ending which means the loss I feel is also never ending. Oh how I wish I could hold him and read him this book. It's so easy to wallow in my pain and think about all that I don't have, when really, there is much to be thankful for. 

I met a new friend today who also lost her baby boy around the same time we lost Owen. She was talking about heaven and how she believes her son will welcome her there whenever that day comes. Hearing this brought tears to my eyes as I imagined Owen standing there waiting for me and welcoming me with a huge smile and his arms wide open. I can't wait for that day.

I've really been trying to find where God is in my pain and grief. I need help finding him in it. I know he is "close to the brokenhearted," but I don't always feel it. I'm reading a book right now that reminds me that Jesus has experienced every single feeling I feel right now. In a way, it makes me feel closer to him. In Hearing Jesus Speak Into Your Sorrow, Nancy Guthrie writes, "When we hear Jesus speak into our sorrow, we hear his assurance that he has been here before us and that he has things about himself to reveal to us in this hard place, which we could not have been ready to listen for and learn without the hurt." I'm hurting in a pretty major way right now, so I am certain that God is calling me into a deeper, more real relationship with him than I've ever had before. I have to keep reminding myself of this on my darkest days. Owen's life was for a purpose. My pain and suffering after losing him is for a purpose. The question is whether I will be willing to submit to that purpose and grow from it. I really hope so...

Owen would have been five months old today. I am celebrating him today and all that he has given me. He taught me how to love unconditionally, and he taught me more about God's fatherly love. He gave me a new perspective on hope and where my hope lies. Happy five months, sweet boy! I love you with all my heart!

first anniversaries

First anniversaries. There are so many. The day I found out I was pregnant, the day we first heard his heartbeat, the first ultrasound, when we found out he was a boy, feeling kicks for the first time, baby showers, etc... It's a lot.

Sometimes I close my eyes and imagine holding Owen against my chest with his face next to mine. The weight and warmth of his body, his fresh baby smell, and the softness of his skin. I ache for it. The advice I got from other parents before Owen was born was to let the nurses take care of things while we were at the hospital. It's your only time to get a break before you go home with your newborn and it's never ending chaos. My advice to parents would be the opposite. Never put your baby down. Enjoy every single moment. The good and the bad. You never know what the future holds. Every moment is precious. I can count the times I held Owen on two hands, I can count the number of times I heard him cry on one, but I lost track of the number of kisses we gave him. It was too many to count. I'm so thankful for that.

Looking at these pictures brings back so many memories. I remember what he smelled like and how soft his arms were. I remember telling him, "Don't worry. Mommy's here, and I'll never leave you... You're gonna be just fine." I loved telling him "Good morning sweet boy!" I said it to him every single morning. I say that to Toby in the mornings now and wish so badly I was still saying it to Owen.

We only have a couple of short videos of Owen. The one I go back to over and over again is his first bath after he was born. I love watching it and remembering how it felt to see our son for the first time before we knew anything was wrong. He was perfect. The nurse showed Brian exactly how to bathe him when we were at home. But we never went home. In a way, I feel robbed. We have so much love for him and no one to give it to. Losing a child is difficult period. But when you lose your first child, you don't have other children to love. You're a parent, but you don't have anyone to hold and love. You don't fit in with other parents- you fit in more with people without children. It can feel isolating. I think it's cruel to be given the gift of life and then have it taken away so quickly. How can a loving God allow that to happen? It's a battle I face at times... My mind knows that God is good and sovereign and that he has a plan... All of those things are true! I know that. But it doesn't help my breaking, hurting heart and the knot I feel in the back of my throat so often.

Sundays are especially difficult because they were Owen's week-old birthdays. He would have been nineteen weeks old today. Every month when it becomes the 23rd, I wonder what he would look like and what he would be doing developmentally. I see other babies and wonder how they are so healthy. A healthy baby is truly a miracle. Maybe it's because I lost a baby, but after Owen died, I have heard of so many other babies being born sick and dying. I hate how common it is. My heart breaks for those parents as I can truly feel the weight of their deep sorrow. Before Owen, I took life for granted. I hope I never will again.

I think about Owen every single day. I still feel like someone is missing all the time. In some ways, living in Charlotte has provided a little relief. I'm not constantly reminded of him every single place I go like I was in Atlanta where I was pregnant and imagined our life happening after he was born. It's still painful to see moms with babies in their arms and families with strollers. Today babies were baptized at church, and it took everything inside me to hold it together until after the service. I know it won't always be this way.

I am continually blessed by friends and strangers every single day. I still receive cards in the mail from the hospital notifying us of donations made in Owen's honor. These cards make me so happy. A close friend gave me a beautiful print with Owen's name on it. It was made by a mother who lost her second child when he was just 5 weeks old. She has a shop where she sells beautiful art in honor of lost babies. She wrote me such a sweet and sincere note that I will forever treasure. I have been inspired by her story and am learning so much from her. I love what this print says at the bottom: Never forgotten. Forever loved.

I'm learning the hard lesson that my identity is found only in Christ. Not in being a parent or a wife or a friend or in my career. I have a heavenly father who loves me and carries me every single day. Never in my life have I had to rely on his strength more than now. If it were up to me, I would have chosen for Owen to live and to continue on a slower path of spiritual and personal growth. But for whatever reason, it did not happen that way. I am grateful for a God big enough to handle my questioning and doubt and confusion. I am grateful for his faithfulness and his gift of life. 

a little bit of closure

Our last week in Atlanta was an emotional one for me. There wasn't a day without tears, and some days were filled with lots. Moving to a different state two months after your baby dies probably isn't the wisest decision. A move brings a lot of stress, and stress is harder to handle these days. We knew it was what we needed to do, but we were also aware it could stir things up a bit. The worst part of grieving the loss of Owen is that I never know when it will hit me. It hit hard last week...

We went back to Egleston last week for the first time since Owen died. It was weird to be back. When we stepped off the elevator on the second floor of the hospital, we had mixed emotions. It felt like no time had passed at all, but at the same time it felt like so much had changed. The parking deck, the smells, the bright yellow and orange walls... everything brought back so many emotions. The most intense moments of our lives were spent at this place. When we rang the bell to enter the CICU, we so badly wanted to tell the receptionist that we were there for Owen Parker and that we were his parents, just like we had done so many times before. When we walked in the unit, we were greeted by some of our favorite people. I made a list of people I wanted to personally thank, and I came up with over sixty individuals. I wish we could have seen them all that day, but I'm thankful for those we did get to see. We laughed and joked with everyone like old times. They all wanted to know how we were doing, and we wanted to know the same about them. I think coming back was healing for not just us, but for them as well. Owen's life and death left a lasting impact on their lives too. I kept telling everyone how much we missed them, and how much we missed Egleston. They looked at us like we were crazy, but it's true. All of the doctors, nurses, respiratory therapists, social workers, chaplains, therapy dogs, receptionists, cafeteria workers, janitors, etc. will always hold a special place in our hearts. Egleston is a happy place for us because it is where Owen spent his life. That's where most of  our memories with him are.

I remember sitting next to Owen's bed and seeing other families come back to visit with their little ones who were former patients. They all looked so healthy and strong and brought so much joy to the staff in the unit. I wanted SO BADLY for Owen to be one of those success stories. I wanted to bring him back one day and amaze everyone with how well he was doing. I wanted everyone to see him grow big and strong. Even though we weren't able to bring him back with us, it was still good to come back for a visit. Over the past few months, I made a bunch of crotcheted hearts just like the ones I made Owen. When we went back to Egleston, I dropped them off for the nurses to pass out to other babies on the floor. I attached a little note of encouragement for the moms. I know it's not much, but it made me happy to give something to other babies in honor of Owen.

The other highlight from our last week in Atlanta was visiting with the family who we stayed with for six weeks while Owen was in the hospital. We went to their house for dinner, and it was so wonderful to be back. This family was one of the biggest blessings to us during Owen's life. We really clicked with them and became very fast friends. I'm not sure if I ever mentioned before that they also have a son named Owen. We sat around and visited, looked at Owen's baby book, and talked about our upcoming move. They called the cardiologist who lives next door to come over and visit also, so we got to talk to him. He had been on Owen's case since the very beginning, and he was there the day he died. We loved chatting with him and hearing him say that people on the floor are still talking about Owen... It makes us so proud. He really was a special little guy. We all miss him so much.

Leaving Atlanta felt like the end to a chapter in our lives. We have been in Charlotte for a week, and at times it feels like none of that with Owen ever happened. When I look at pictures or videos of him, my heart breaks and longs for him. I never knew how physically draining grief was. It's completely exhausting. Occasionally my arms will physically ache. Like I need to be holding my baby. I can't explain it, but I have heard other parents who have lost babies say the same thing. At my last session with my counselor, he told me that it will get better. He said that my heart will slowly heal. I tearfully told him I don't believe him. I want my heart to heal, and I don't want to be bitter or angry or sad, but I can't imagine it getting any better. Part of me does believe him since he also lost a child....

Overall, our move went well! We ended up subleasing an apartment from some good friends of ours for three months while we look for a house. We had lots of help from friends and family packing, cleaning our house, and unpacking which was great.

Brian drove the truck with Toby who apparently wasn't the best passenger...

The next day, we celebrated Natalie's birthday! We are loving trying out all the fun restaurants that Charlotte has to offer.

Charlotte already feels like the best fresh start we could have asked for. I can't wait to share about our life here in our new city. We really love it. Brian started his new job and loves it, and I'm in the process of looking for work. Thanks for your continued prayers for our family as we continue to try to move forward as best we can. We will never have complete closure on our life with Owen. He does not belong to one chapter of our lives- he will be a part of all the chapters to come, and we are happy to take him with us in our hearts.

in a funk...

I've been in a funk lately. Maybe it's because I've been so consumed by packing for our move and living in a house full of boxes stacked to the ceiling. My environment unfortunately affects my mood. I haven't taken as much time this week to feel. Last week, my grandfather passed away. He was 90 years old, and lived a healthy life up until the very end. It was a hard decision whether or not to go to his funeral. Of course I wanted to go and honor his life, but I wasn't sure I was ready for another funeral. It had only been two months since Owen's... Everything is still so fresh and raw. I decided to go, and I'm glad I went especially since all twelve of his grandchildren were there. We haven't all been together in years. My mom was with him right before he died. She held the phone up to his ear so that I could say goodbye. I told him I loved him, and I told him to give Owen lots of love in heaven. It's a sweet thought to think of my grandparents with Owen in heaven, but it's also extremely painful- a reminder that Owen isn't here for me to hold and kiss and love.

I've found myself feeling angry lately. I'm angry that God took away our perfect gift. I'm angry that my days aren’t consumed with snuggles and crying and napping and dirty diapers. I'm angry that I can't dress Owen up in cute outfits and post pictures. I'm angry that I didn't get to take a picture of Brian holding Owen on Father's Day. I'm angry that I don't know what he would look like now at almost four months old. My anger then turns into jealousy of other families with healthy living children. Yesterday we went to a grocery store we don't usually go to. We pulled into a parking space, but the sign above it said "parents with children." It felt like knives stabbing into our chests. We had to pull out and park two spaces away. I hate it. I hate feeling angry and jealous. And I hate that it is a constant battle throughout every single day. 

Some days I wake up and ask myself if all of that really happened. I have flashbacks from the hospital...Remembering the beeps and the monitors and the tubes. I would trade any of Owen's worst days alive for any day without him. There were moments at the hospital when I didn't think it could get any worse. This is worse. Everyone tells you how having a baby is like nothing else in the world- the love you feel for that child is instantaneous and unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. I felt that love the moment I laid eyes on Owen. I still feel that amount of love for him, but at the same time, I feel that same amount of intensity in sadness.

Ronald Greer writes in his book Markings on the Windowsill, "It has been said that the death of a parent is the loss of one's past; the death of a spouse is the loss of one's present, and the death of a child is the loss of one's future." I had Owen at the age of twenty-nine. He was my future. I most likely have a long life ahead of me, but every single day, I will feel the deep loss for my baby boy.

I discussed the stages of grief with my counselor: shock and numbness, flood and grief, despair, and integration and affirmation. I told him that I have gone through them all, and continue to go through each stage again and again. Sometimes multiple times in a day. He said that is completely normal. It's a cyclical process. A never ending one. He said that for important losses, there is no closure. Mourning is not a task to be completed but a process to be engaged.

I keep trying to remind myself of my determination to gain as much as I can out of all of this. When I'm in a funk like this, I want to ask God "why?" But I know that's not the best question... Instead ask, how am I going to grow from this powerful experience in my life? Sometimes I don’t really see growth. I see ugliness in the forms of anger and jealousy. But I know that God is working even if I don’t feel like he is… He is present even when I don't feel his presence. 

“I will never leave you or forsake you…” Hebrews 13:5b 

"...I will turn their mourning into joy; I will comfort them, and give them gladness for sorrow."  Jeremiah 30:13b

moving forward

May, 2014. This is when Brian and I decided it would be a good time to start looking for a new job and possibly relocate. Owen would be three months old, I would be finished with my fifth year working at my school, and Brian would be finished with school for computer programming. Moving with a baby wouldn't be ideal, but it would be such an exciting time full of new beginnings.

For over a year, we have had the desire to move to Charlotte. We love North Carolina, and we both felt strongly about settling down there eventually. After Owen died, we felt like we needed a fresh start. We didn't know what that would look like, but we decided to go ahead and start looking for jobs. Charlotte could be our fresh start. We knew it wouldn't fix our problems, in fact, it could make them worse. But we knew ultimately that it was where we wanted to be, and this seemed like the right time to move forward.

It all happened so quickly. Within two days of sending out resumes, Brian had a phone interview with a financial company in Charlotte. Two weeks later, he interviewed in person, and four days after that, he was offered the job. And not just any job... This is a job that he really wants. It's exactly what he wants to do. He accepted the offer, and we will be moving in June. 

We are thankful for the opportunity and excited to be moving back to North Carolina, but our happy emotions are dampened by our sadness. Owen should be here with us for this move. Our grief counselor gave me an analogy that is so true. He told me that I see everything now through dark shaded glasses. Every single thing, even happiness is darkened now. It sounds depressing, but it's just the way it is. Faking it and not feeling these emotions would just make it worse. I don't like to be sad. I'm not normally a sad and emotional person. It takes so much energy to grieve. But it's important. I have moments of happiness and excitement, but those moments are not the same as they used to be. This new job and move should be such celebratory events, and they are. But they are darkened a few shades... 

He went on to say that over time, if I let myself grieve and let my emotions out, the lenses of those glasses will become lighter and lighter. This man lost his two-year-old in a car accident thirty years ago. He knows. Hearing this from someone who has also lost a child has so much more weight than it would from someone who has never experienced this type of tragedy. He said that it will take a lot of time, but it will happen... Slowly, the lenses will get lighter and lighter. I am looking forward to that day when they do. 

Owen has given me a whole new perspective on life. I find myself not stressing about the little things as much as I did before. Big things like packing up our house, finding a place to live, starting a new job, living in a new city, and all the other stressors that come with a move are all so minor in the grand scheme. Owen has also taught me to pray differently. Instead of praying for things to happen because I want them to happen, I ask God to show me if it is what he wants for us, and to make it clear. I think he made Charlotte a pretty clear "yes", and he is already starting to work out all of the details. 

Leaving Georgia is bittersweet. This is where Owen spent his entire life. In my belly in our home and at Northside and at Egleston. Those will always be special places to us. We are also sad to leave our family and friends that we have spent the last five years with. Even though Charlotte is a new city for us, we already have support there. Some of our closest friends are there, and it is the perfect central location to visit other friends and family who live just a few hours away. We are excited about a new adventure. Owen is coming with us in our hearts. He will always be with us wherever we go.

*Photo credit: weblogcharlotte.com

yesterday

Yesterday I had to go back to work.Yesterday also just so happened to be the day Owen would have turned three months old. Before he was born, I was excited about this day. My maternity leave would end right before summer, so I would only have to leave Owen for just a couple of days. It was the perfect time to have a baby. I dreamed about this day before he was born. I wanted to be able to bring Owen to work to introduce him to my friends there. I wanted to pass him around for people to hold. I wanted to talk about how much fun it is to be a mom and have a baby.

It's kind of crazy how much I thought about and anticipated during my pregnancy... I think it's only natural. I tried not to have expectations about what motherhood would be like because that typically sets you up for disappointment, but I really was excited. I was excited to have a baby. My baby. I didn't have unrealistic expectations, but during the second half of my pregnancy when miscarriage is less common, I never considered the possibility of my baby being sick after birth and dying. I pictured Owen in every single part of my life which is part of why it's so sad now. He's not here. I wanted him before he was born, and I still want him so badly.

I had so much anxiety about yesterday before it happened. I have mentioned before that my home is a safe place for me. Every time I leave my house it becomes "unsafe." On these harder days, I really need to be in my safe place. But yesterday, I didn't have a choice. I had to go back to work. Thank goodness it was a teacher workday. Seeing my students would have been wonderful because I missed them, but it would have been way too hard to talk about my sad news with them. They were excited about Owen. I had a group of sixth grade boys who asked me every week how big the baby was... When I started to get really big around 32 weeks, one of them said, "Ms. Parker! When I was in the lunch room, I saw your baby!" I laughed and asked him what the baby looked like. They were so precious.

Kristin and I talked through the day before it happened several times. We would walk in together, and she wouldn't leave me until I was "okay." So that's what we did. Even pulling into the school parking lot for the first time was hard. The last time I was in that parking lot, Owen was alive. I was nine months pregnant, and he was safe inside my belly. I got out of the car, and walked into the school with Kristin. We passed by the cafeteria first, so I decided to go say hello to my favorite lunch ladies, Delores, Jane, and Evie. I saw these women everyday, and they were all so supportive during my pregnancy. When I saw them and hugged them, I lost it. I just started to cry and couldn't really stop. They were so sweet and encouraging. I wanted to stay longer and talk to them, but I needed to pull myself together. It was just the beginning of the day, and I needed to not be a complete mess.

The day got easier as it went on. It was great to see everyone again. My school has been so supportive during Owen's sickness and after he died. I feel so blessed to work there. Every time I turned a corner, someone new was there to give me a hug and chat with. Ms. Long, our school nurse is an amazing and spiritual woman. She pulled me aside, gave me a huge hug and started to basically preach a sermon right there in the hallway. I wish I could remember everything she said. She told me that God chose Brian and I to be Owen's parents for a reason and that we are going to be blessed. She told me that we have hope! But we also have sorrow. And God is right there, holding bottles to collect our tears. She laughed and said that God has some pretty big bottles for her tears. I just cried as as I listened to her beautiful wisdom.

The day wasn't only filled with tears and hugs. There was lots of laughter, just like old times. It was so great to catch up with everyone and hear about what I had missed in the last three months. There were moments when it felt like nothing had happened at all. Everything seemed normal, but it wasn't. I guess it's my new normal. My anxiety went away as the day continued... I was emotionally drained by the end, but I realized that my school is also a safe place with safe people. So many of these people feel like family. It makes it even harder to say goodbye, knowing that I have decided not to come back for the next school year. I need a fresh start. Our school is splitting next year, and with everything that I have gone through in the last few months, it seems like the right time to move on.

Owen would have been three months old yesterday. When I look at pictures of other babies who are three months old, I can't help but to imagine what Owen would look like now. I wonder what size clothes he would wear and if his hair would be thicker and what his cry would sound like and what his favorite activity would be. It's hard to believe that he has been gone for as long as he was alive. I hate that it's been six weeks since I held his hand or rubbed his head or kissed his soft face. And it's just going to get worse... Every passing day is a day longer that I haven't been able to do those things. But each passing day is a day closer until I get to see him again.

We are trying to figure out how not to move on, but to move forward. A big part of me wants time to speed up. I want to be at the next phase of life. I have no idea what that phase looks like, but I imagine it not being so painful. In the meantime, I am trying to allow God to fill the emptiness in my heart, and to soak up every single little thing he wants to teach me. Owen's life was not a waste, and I am determined to gain as much from it as I possibly can.

the story of the arrow

One thing that Brian and I agree on easily is names. Some couples battle it out and take months to finally agree on what to name their child. Not us. We have had names picked out for years. Owen was our top boy name, so when we found out we were having a boy, there really wasn't much of a discussion. We just knew. But naming a person is hard! It's a lot of pressure. I decided we needed to make a final decision because I wanted to paint letters to hang on his wall. And clearly, that's a big deal. But for some reason, we couldn't really call him Owen until he was born. We had to make sure he really was an Owen first. We told people his name, but made sure they knew it could be changed at the last minute if it didn't feel right. But when we saw him, we knew he was definitely an Owen. 

I remember googling the meaning of Owen just to make sure it didn't have some horrible meaning. When I read that it means "strong warrior" I had no idea how significant that would become in his life. 

Most of you know that I make and sell custom onesies. I have sold a ton of them on etsy and have given lots as gifts. When I was five months pregnant, I decided to make an original onesie for Owen... I wanted him to have a special one no other baby had. I had just gotten some new cute fabric that reminded me of arrows, so that's what I made. I only made this one for him because I wanted to meet him first. I needed to know his little personality! 

On Owen's second night at Egleston, Ginger, one of the night nurses, made him this sign. She wasn't Owen's nurse that night, but she still made it, and he drew an arrow on it! She had no idea about the onesie I had made him. No other babies in the unit had an arrow on their signs, just Owen.

The next morning I remembered the meaning of Owen's name and how significant it was in his life already. I also realized how appropriate an arrow was for the meaning of his name. At just a few days old, he already was a strong warrior. 

The arrow really became the symbol that represented Owen. Friends and family showed their support during his life by taking pictures holding Team Owen signs with arrows on them and posted them on facebook. We had them all hanging on the wall next to his bed, and people at the hospital would come by and comment on how many fans he had. Team Owen tee shirts were made with arrows on them to raise money for his medical bills. Arrows were popping up all over the place. Every day, we told Owen how strong and how brave he was. We told him he was a warrior and a fighter. 

After he died I received several pieces of jewelry with arrows on them. One bracelet came with a card that quoted Proverbs 35:6. "Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight." After the verse, the card said, "Like an arrow, straight and true, God guides our lives. Submit yourself to the one who knows where each path leads."  We included this on the program at his funeral. 

During Owen's life, I didn't know where God was going to lead his path. I didn't know if he was going to allow him to live for hours, days, weeks, months, or years. I wrestled with the fact that by trusting God fully, I had to accept the fact that he may choose to take Owen from me. I didn't want to pray for God's will to be done. I wanted to pray for Owen's body to be healed and for him to live a long healthy life. I can't tell you how painful it was to be faced with the possibility of my newborn baby dying. I knew that God's ways may not be my ways. 

It was an hourly struggle for me... to trust God knowing that He might allow my worst fear to come true. It was gut wrenching. The fact that I had no control over anything was completely thrown in my face minute by minute as I watched my precious baby literally fight for his life, knowing there was nothing I could do to help. 

I felt helpless, but not hopeless.  

I trusted God, but I also prayed boldly for a miracle. We all asked for a miracle. God chose to heal Owen's body in heaven. And yet, we are still trusting... In Holding On To Hope, Nancy Guthrie writes:  

"Trusting God when the miracle does not come, when urgent prayer gets no answer, when there is only darkness-- this is the kind of faith God values perhaps most of all. This is the kind of faith that can be developed and displayed only in the midst of difficult circumstances. This is the kind of faith that cannot be shaken because it is the result of having been shaken."

This is such an encouragement to me. The reality is that I'm sad. Most things are just hard. Everything takes so much energy. I'm living many hours of my days in darkness, but knowing that my faith cannot be shaken anymore than it already has been is a comfort. I am trying so hard to trust God in the midst of my worst nightmare. My discomfort and moments of darkness have awakened me from my routine and remind me that I am not in control. I can be angry at God about my circumstances, or I can draw closer to Him.

On a walk with my friend Kristin last week, we noticed stones on the ground in the shape of an arrow, and we thought of Owen. I see arrows everywhere and they make me smile. Just as I was working on this blog post, I received a package at my door with this framed print inside. It's not a coincidence. It's God's work in everything, even the little things. 

Not only do arrows remind me of Owen, but they remind me that God is loving and that he has a purpose for Owen's life and for our suffering. I have come to terms with the fact that I will never know why all of this happened until I get to heaven. In Holding On To Hope, Nancy Guthrie encourages us to stop asking God "Why"?" but instead "For what purpose?" She challenges us to "look beyond this life and embrace the Redeemer, who will take the pieces of your life and transform them into something beautiful if you invite him to do so." 

eternity

Mother's Day weekend was hard. It was a harsh reminder that I was supposed to be a mom. I am a mom. Owen made me one, and no other person will ever be able to do that. But it's completely different. My reality is that my baby died. Saying those words isn't getting any easier. People say that time will heal, but I'm not convinced... When does it get easier? I can't imagine anything ever hurting as bad as this. Knowing that the pain will never stop is difficult. I will never stop missing him.

I find that doing new things (or things for the first time since having Owen) are really hard. Going for a jog was hard at first... I should be using my jogging stroller. Running errands is hard. I feel like I'm surrounded by moms with baby boys whenever I go out. Last week I went to visit my parents for a few days in Florida. Flying on a plane was hard. I thought that the next time I would be on a plane, I would have a baby with me. Going to the beach for the first time was really hard. I pictured holding Owen close, feeling the ocean breeze, seeing him in his cute bathing suit, and taking a million pictures of his first beach trip. Eating at restaurants surrounded by families, grocery shopping, you name it. It's all hard.

Brian and I spent Mother's Day weekend in the mountains for a little get away. We stayed at a cute bed & breakfast in Asheville. While sitting on the front porch for cocktail hour, visiting with other couples, we were asked if we had any children. It caught me off guard, and I answered "no." I felt sick to my stomach saying it out loud. It just wasn't the time to go into it. These other couples were celebrating honeymoons and anniversaries. We didn't want to dampen the mood. We seemed happy and normal on the outside, but we were hurting so badly on the inside. It made me realize for the first time that this simple and frequently asked question will forever be a painful one.

We spent several hours on Sunday at the spa. The perfect way to try to relax... When I went in for my massage, the massage therapist asked if I had been pregnant in the past year. I told her I had a baby in February. I started to say, "he..." but I stopped. I wasn't going into it with her. She asked if I was nursing, and I said no. I felt instantly judged. She asked if I had a boy or a girl, and I said a boy. She then said, "Aren't little boys the best? I just love my son..." I fought back tears, smiled, and agreed. Thank goodness the questions stopped after that. She then gave me a mimosa and a rose in celebration of Mother's Day. I was flooded with so many mixed emotions. I was glad to be recognized as a mother, and I feel so honored to be Owen's mom, but I'm also filled with such sadness.

When asked what the occasion was for our trip, we said it was just a little getaway... That was partly true. But the other part was that we were there to finally spread Owen's ashes. On our drive up, to NC, I turned around to grab something out of my purse and noticed his ashes in the back. I had a quick moment where I felt like I couldn't breathe out of disbelief because of what were were about to do. I wanted so badly for Owen to be riding in his car seat, looking out the window, on his way to the mountains for the first time for a fun little trip as a family of three.

When Owen died, we knew we didn't want his body buried in some random cemetery in Atlanta that had no meaning to us. We aren't from Georgia, and we don't really have any ties here. It is our home for now, and it is special because this is where Owen lived, but burying him here didn't feel right. When Brian suggested spreading his ashes on top of Bald Mountain, I knew that was what we should do. His family has had a cabin on the mountain for years, and he grew up going to the Bald as a child. His grandfather's ashes were spread there, and it's a special place to both of us We have many memories visiting over the years. Even though it felt right, it was something I was completely dreading... I can't even begin to tell you how emotional it was. It was like he had died all over again. It felt so final.

It was a beautiful day though. I imagined Owen looking down from heaven at us with his big eyes and dimple chin, smiling.

This is yet another place where we will be reminded of Owen. Hiking up to the Bald has a whole new meaning to us now.
Owen has made me realize how comfortable I've been in my life this side of heaven. I have experienced pain, loss, and disappointment, but nothing to this effect. Not only was I comfortable here, but when I thought of heaven, it gave me great anxiety. The concept of "forever" was too much for me to comprehend. Heaven has become a much more real place now that Owen is there. I long for it. I long for my heartache and emptiness to go away. And I know it will when I get there. I relate so much to what Nancy Guthrie writes in her book Holding On To Hope: "I have come to the place where I believe a yearning for heaven is one of the purposes and one of the privileges of suffering and of losing someone you love. I never had that yearning, before, but I do now. You see, a piece of me is there... I now see in a much fuller way that this life is just a shadow of our real life-- of eternal life in the presence of God."