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."