book & blanket drive 2016
He makes all things new
I miss my boy. I miss him for Hazel. I hate that she doesn't have an older brother here to grow up with. I imagine all of the big brother, little sister pictures I would be taking and how fun it would be to watch them interact. I wanted that for her. As I sit here and type, I have my sweet little girl on my chest asleep. I feel the warmth of her body and hear the little whistle in her breath. She is showered in my tears, but she doesn't seem to mind. It feels good to let myself grieve.
In the last days of my pregnancy with Hazel, my emotions were all over the place. I felt so anxious about her birth. I felt anxiety about all of the triggers I would experience from being back in a delivery room again. I was worried that I wouldn't be able to fully enjoy Hazel's newborn days because they would remind me of what I never had with Owen. The opposite happened, and I am so thankful.
Hazel is the biggest comfort and brings me so much joy. Already this morning she has brought so many smiles to my face. She woke up this morning with an enormous poopy diaper that required a complete wardrobe change. While changing her, she gave us the biggest and sweetest smiles. I heard her laugh out loud for the first time today. She was half asleep while it happened, but it still gave me a glimpse of the real laughs that are to come. On her 43rd day, I am going to hold her a little longer, let her nap in my arms, take even more pictures of her than I do on a typical day, and read all of Owen's favorite books to her in his memory.
Welcome to the family, sweet Hazel!
Before her birth, Brian and I were looking forward to new firsts and "normal" newborn experiences we didn't have with Owen. We certainly got them with Hazel. She has brought more joy into our lives than I knew was possible after such a loss. What a gift.
Team Owen Shirts
If you have any questions about the shirts or onesies, feel free to leave a comment, and I'll do my best to answer! Thanks to Ginna for relaunching the shirt and onesie campaign.
joyful news
We had a trip planned to the mountains the day after our anatomy scan. We decided to bring up pink balloons to release to her big brother in heaven. The walk up the mountain that day was redeeming in a way. Eleven months prior, we carried Owen's ashes up the mountain. This day, we had a new little life growing and pink balloons. I dream of the day we will be able to carry this little girl up to visit her big brother. He will always be a part of her life.
when the hard gets harder
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.
a year ago today
A year ago today we had to say goodbye. We didn't want to. We selfishly wanted him here with us. How can a new little life end so soon? It was too soon in our minds. I hate replaying the events of this day a year go in mind. It was a day we were told to prepare for, but how can parents prepare for the death of their child? It's impossible... We tried so hard to live in the moment. To enjoy every little bit of life we shared with Owen. How can you prepare for holding your lifeless child in your arms? How can you prepare for leaving his body in the hospital, knowing you will never see him again in this life? You can't. But God gives you the grace to handle each moment.
Yesterday, I went into a children's store for the first time since having Owen, to shop for a friend's baby. I went to this store countless times before Owen was born, preparing for him and buying the cutest little outfits. When I made it in and out of the store without tears and a smile on my face almost exactly a year after his death, I knew it was only by God's grace. I can honestly say that nothing I do is by my own power. If it were up to me, I would spend lots of days crawled up in bed in tears. The ache is so deep a year later. People say it will get better with time. I feel like the people who say this have never lost a child. What I find to be true is that your heart gets used to bearing so much pain and sorrow that you learn to live with it. I loved the sermon on Easter Sunday. It was about deep sorrow turning into pure joy. I love the hope of that. In this past year, I have experienced some moments of joy that I am truly thankful for. A year ago today, I didn't think that would be possible. I am hopeful for more of these moments. It's such a strange balance of emotions. I'm still learning how to feel happiness, excitement, and sorrow all at the same time. It's really hard!
I was talking with a friend a few months ago, sharing some of our story with her for the first time. One of the things she said really struck me. She reminded me that God the same God on the day that I found out I was pregnant with Owen, the day that he was born, the day we found out about his diagnosis, and the day that he died. I love thinking about that. Instead of being angry at him for allowing Owen to die, I think of him rejoicing with us when we found out I was pregnant and when he was born, comforting us when we found out his diagnosis, and mourning with us on the day that he died.
After Owen died, I told my counselor that I just wanted ten years to pass quickly so I could escape the intense pain I felt. Now, I want the opposite. I hate that it's been a year since I held Owen in my arms. I don't want anymore time to pass. I don't want to forget things about him- what he smelled like, the noises he made, the softness of his skin... He will always be my baby and the one who made me a mommy. He is irreplaceable.
A year ago today, heaven became a very real place for me. A part of me is already there, and I can't wait to scoop him in my arms, hold him tight, and never let him go. When I was little and trying to understand what heaven will be like, my parents told me to imagine my happiest day, only better. My happiest day was the day I met Owen and held him in my arms. I can't wait for an eternity of those days.
Owen, your mommy and daddy miss you so much, especially today. Our sadness is deep because our love for you is deep. You continue to be a part of our every day. On our way to church on Sunday, we talked about what we would have put in your Easter basket this year and how cute your little outfit would have been. We fantasized about a family Easter picture after church. We still call our small bedroom that has some of your furniture in it "Owen's room." I still have your same pair of socks in my purse that I had a year ago when you were in the hospital. I smile every time I see them there. Every day we miss you. You have changed our lives for the better, and have taught us so much. A couple days before you died, I told a team of doctors that I didn't want to be the one to share your story. I wanted you to live to share it. God had other plans, and I feel honored to not only be a part of your story, but to continue to share it with others. Your life continues to be used in big ways. I'm so glad I'm a part of it
love,
Mommy