Octobers

The other day as I parked the car Finn looked over to see a family getting out of their car. There were three kids and he said, "I wish Cale was here. Do you wish he was?"

It always makes my heart skip a beat when I see how Cale's absence has impacted Finn. He's said similar things - like the time he mentioned that the neighbors have three kids in their family and we should have three. I think he really would like to have a (living) brother and it pains me that he doesn't, but it also makes me happy that we talk about Cale enough that he really understands that someone is missing and that Cale should be here.

.....

On the 15th of this month I lit a candle for Cale, like I always do, but I couldn't help but think how much even that simple act has changed over the years. It seems grief has really grown into an almost comfortable aspect of my daily life. The sharp pain and literal ache of not having my baby is more infrequent, replaced by a somber yearning for what should have been.

I'm both grateful to be at this point in my life and also at times nostalgic for the days when the missing was all consuming. 

.....

It was eight years ago this month I learned I was pregnant with Cale. Those precious memories of the excitement and hope we felt have not been tainted by his death. I can think of our time with him and feel gratitude and happiness because it was a time full of so much love. He was wanted, he was loved, he is loved, and he is missed. This October and all others.

................................................................................................

Cale's 7th Birthday

My nephew Wolf was born last week. He's perfect, beautiful, and healthy and my sister is exhausted and emotional and absolutely on Cloud Nine with her sweet baby. It genuinely is wonderful to see (and I got to be there in Arizona for his arrival!), but of course it brings heavy emotions closer to the surface. My parents have three grandsons and two granddaughters and the three boys were all born in June which is special. When asked how many grandchildren he had, my ears couldn't help but eavesdrop as my dad replied, "five, but four living." I was so grateful for that reply and that acknowledgement of Cale.

What Wolf's arrival reminded me of was not only how damn special and amazing a newborns (SAFE) arrival is, but just how sad I am that Cale did not have that experience. Of course I'm sad for all our family has missed out over these last seven years, but I was reminded that his birth was not a celebration. It was grief and heartbreak and darkness. And that's just so unfair. Because he was and is none of those things. He was excitement and hope and love and he is beauty and gratitude and LOVE. 

Seven years seems so big, but I find myself thinking that every year. Early on I used to think how it was my baby who I was missing. I wanted my baby back. But lately I've been searching for what my seven year old would be like and it seems he's a familiar stranger to me. I've always said I miss who he was and miss who he should have been, but what's hard is missing what you don't even know. Who you don't even know. Tonight at dinner Finn asked why Cale had to die and after telling him that I just don't know and I wish he didn't, he simply stated, "but he should be here with us." Yes, sweetie. He should. 

Happy seven to you, Cale. Wish you were here with us. Always.

................................................................................................

Pregnancy & Infant Loss Remembrance

October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month. It used to sit a little heavier on my heart, and while this month will always hold a tender spot in my heart, the 15th especially, the emotions surrounding this month have just changed over the years just as my grief continues to evolve.

I want to always do something to acknowledge Cale and talk about him a little more on Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day/Month, but this year was the first year that we really didn't do much. In the past we've participated in walks to remember, balloon releases, and candle lighting ceremonies. I've made candles for family and friends to light, and made a bigger deal in the past about inviting others to join us. But having just moved to a new country, move in to a new (empty) house, all we did this year was include specific thanks for Cale in our prayers and light his candle. It felt a little odd - like it wasn't really enough, but I'm also at a much more comfortable and aware point in my grief where I understand that the small gestures and the big ones can hold just as much meaning.

When we flew to England I carried Cale's urn in my bag that went on the airplane with me. Unfortunately at some point it got a chip in the bottom of it. It's a very soft stone (I don't entirely remember what we ordered - I think it's marble, but maybe not). His name has had some wear to it over the years as the engraving probably wasn't super easy on a gentle stone. And there is a little more wear on his name after our recent move. 

I was pretty upset about it, and had emailed with a few friends, but my friend Brooke made me feel better when she wrote, "I know that it's his so you want to keep it pristine and perfect and protected, but I kind of love that it's a bit damaged. Because it doesn't just sit in one place untouched--it's moved and carried and loved on and traveled with. Like how many people can say their urn is so well loved that it gets chipped?"

And that helped me look at it a little differently. Cale isn't with us how we ever imagined or wanted. But we can still do our best to ensure he is a remembered and loved part of our family. Even if that means just lighting a candle and sending him love.

................................................................................................

Father's Day Discovery

Yesterdays' Father's Day was nice and low key.  Miles was the lucky recipient of a wheelbarrow this year, Finn gave some cute answers to questions about Daddy, and I made an Apple cobbler. Father's Day complete. Also, by "made" I mean bought. We did spend part of the day at the beach which was enjoyable. We drove down to Jekyll Island as the beaches there are dog friendly and we brought Roscoe along for the trip. Really the day wasn't much different than our normal weekends, maybe that will change as the kids get older, but for now Father's (and Mother's) Days are pretty uneventful.

Miles and I have talked before how Father's Day doesn't sting as much for him as Mother's Day does for me. It's still a little bittersweet, but it's just different. Of course we both think about Cale a bit more and on the way home from the beach we found ourselves talking about Cale a lot and sort of walking through details of his birthday and delivery. While doing so, we made the realization that the resident who delivered Cale is now assigned to the same unit as Miles as a family medicine Doctor. He didn't remember the name of the resident (who we literally had no encounter with other than when he came in near shift change to deliver Cale) and so he never put two and two together, that he now works with this same guy, until I mentioned his name. Miles called him to see if he did his residency in 2010 at the hospital where Cale was born, and sure enough it was him. He remembers that night, but didn't remember Miles, so he never put two and two together either. I was glad he remembered Cale's delivery, though I also would hope that he would remember it. I imagine residents going through a Labor and Delivery rotation don't deliver many stillborn babies, at least I sure hope not.

When Miles got off the phone with him I started to cry. I can't really put my finger on it, but it was just pretty heavy to realize there's a connection to Cale out there that we hadn't discovered. Miles said he is curious what their next encounter will be like as I imagine Miles' phone call caught him off guard and maybe it took him a bit to process it as well - that nearly five years ago he delivered the stillborn baby of a guy he now works with. I told Miles I would like to meet him. Most people I know have a relationship with the doctor who delivered their children, but when I was pregnant with Cale I didn't have one consistent doctor. I was seen at a small clinic until the last month of my pregnancy when my care was switched to the hospital and there I was seen by whomever was on call. The doctor who told us the horrible news that Cale had died would go on to be the same doctor I saw throughout my pregnancy and delivery of Finn. We essentially picked him because of the kinds and compassion he showed us that day. However when Cale was born it was nearly midnight (11:45pm) so a different doctor and resident were present for his delivery. And now that same resident, the person who literally was the first to hold my son, one of the few to have seen him, works with Miles. Just crazy. And a heavy realization to make only one week out from Cale's birthday when my emotions are already a little (a lot) tender.

I know these days will never be what they should, but I'm glad they can still be special (or low-key) and that we can celebrate Miles being a father because of all of his children. I wish I got to see the kind of relationship he would have had with Cale and I wish he got to hold all his kids yesterday. And while I'm so glad Finn and Mary (and Roscoe) got to love on Dadda yesterday,  I couldn't help think back to the day I saw him as a father for the first time as he gently held our first born son. It confirmed what I knew all along, Miles is a wonderful dad and all my kids are so lucky to be loved by him.

Someone didn't want to be rinsed off after the beach

................................................................................................

Joe Biden and Grief

The year after we lost Cale I started to connect with a lot of other loss moms, mostly through blogs. It was (and still is) a really great outlet for me to not only express my grief, but to be able to share it with others and in turn, share in their grief. It's like the saying "misery loves company," but really I think that any intense emotion loves (and needs) company. Because just being able to identify in another the feelings you are experiencing can be really helpful and dare I say even healing, or at the very least reassuring.

When I read the news of Joe Biden's son this morning I got that achy feeling in my chest for him. Because on top of the devastation of losing his son (who has two children of his own), he had already lost his wife and daughter over forty years ago. Another example where enough is enough! How some people can escape life tragedy free and others seem to be hit repeatedly is maddening and mind boggling to me.

When I first started connecting with others, I read a post from my friend Brooke in which she talks about how stillbirth needs to be more talked about and not a shameful secret. She writes:

There has to be a way to let people know that a stillborn baby will break your heart, but it doesn't have to wreck your entire life.

Because that is what people need to know--it's what I still need to be told.

I've said a million times that there is no upside to the loss of a baby, there is no silver lining, there is nothing that will ever make this remotely okay.  But there should be a way to say that this is an event that you can survive.  That this great loss can hollow out your guts and also enrich your life in unexpected ways.  That great sorrow can make room for great joy.  That you will survive this.  That it will change you forever, but not all of those changes will be bad.  That even five months later you will still hurt more than you ever have in your life, but you will also find hope again.  This sort of information should be out there.

And I think that while horrible that Joe Biden and his family have endured another loss, maybe his story will help shed some more light on grief and tragedy and things that we often don't talk about, at least not as frequently as we should. Because take out "stillborn baby" and insert whatever heartache you're enduring and Brooke's words still ring true. Car accidents can break your heart, but don't have to wreck your entire life. Cancer and war and sibling death and violent attacks and on and on and on, all these things can undeniably be horrific events in ones life, but as Brooke said, great sorrow can make room for great joy. Joe Biden himself said that himself, that grief doesn't go away. It just makes room for other things.

We are approaching five years without our boy. Five years in which my grief has changed and moved and made room for other things, but never completely subsided, nor would I want it to. We grieve big because we love big. I suspect the Biden family will need to grieve big for a long time and I hope it's a reminder to the public that doing so is not only ok and healthy and normal, but also a reminder to those also grieving that they are not alone. And if we can all empathize with the Vice President and his family, hopefully we can do that a little more with the people in our every day life as well.

................................................................................................

Reflections on Mother's Day

I gave very little thought to Mother's Day this year. Such little thought that my card for my own mother has yet to be mailed. Honestly I prefer for it to mostly be just a normal day. Well, that's a lie - I mean, I'm more than willing to take advantage of Mile's offer for me to partake in some solo shopping, and am more than fine relinquishing all diaper changing for the day, but for the most part I don't like to make a big deal of the day. Everything I wrote last year still holds true. Every day I think of Cale. But that ache is a little more acute on Mother's Day, the emotions a little closer to the surface.

I still had a lovely day with my family - we went to church and then indulged in a breakfast and a half at our favorite breakfast joint (I ordered huevos avocados and we split the banana pecan french toast) and then I ditched the family for a trip to the outlets and grocery shopping (because going without kids actually is a treat).

One thing that stood out to me this year was the tenderness in which people seemed to handle the day. I think there is more of a socially acceptable acknowledgement of what Mother's Day means to different people. I'm glad the day is handled with such empathy, via social media or news outlets, and I hope it makes people feel a little less alone. I hope it makes people feel a little less afraid to share the grief that can be associated with Mother's Day. As Glennon Melton with Momastery said:

 You can’t fix a friend's grief, but that’s okay because grief isn’t supposed to be fixed. It’s not something we need to grab from each other. Grief is holy. Your friend doesn’t want it taken away from her. Sometimes a mama’s boundless grief is the only proof she has that she loved boundlessly. Great grief is the price of great love. So forget about making it better. Just call, or email and say: I am thinking of you. And of your baby. And I love you. And I’m so sorry. You are not alone.
That’s all, That’s all we can do. We don’t have to make it better. We just have to remember.


It's good advice to remember on Mother's Day, but great advice to remember always and I'm so grateful to those who remembered with me this year and hope that the day was as gentle as possible for those with some aching in their hearts.

................................................................................................

Heavy Conversations with Little Kids

I recently had a really nice conversation with a new friend here in Savannah who shared with me that her mother had lost a child (a two year old) before she was born and she always felt like she was an inadequate replacement for that child. It really struck me to hear her say that. She went on to compliment the way I parent Mary and Finn despite losing Cale, which really meant a lot, but it really had me thinking about the importance of parenting after loss and how hard it can be.

A big concern of mine is that I do not project my emotions on to my (living) children any more than I normally would, had we not lost Cale. What I mean is that I don't want Finn (and Mary, though I'm starting to see it more with Finn since he's older) to mistake my feelings for their feeling, but at the same time I do think it's important for children to learn empathy and I think part of the way you do that is you have to teach kids how you feel and hope it helps them better understand how they feel.

Our kids will always grow up knowing who Cale is, and helping us celebrate and remember him. When Finn asks to see his pictures, I show him. I don't want Cale to be forbidden or off limits for Finn, but at the same time I don't want to push him to talk about Cale or love Cale in any way that isn't his own.

We have a book, Someone Came Before You, which is a short children's book about a couple losing their baby and going on to have another baby. Finn occasionally will pick it out to read and is becoming more aware at the emotions and the story - "Oh, are they sad?" "Did they miss their baby like you did?" things like that. He will ask me if we were sad when baby Cale died and I will tell him yes, we were very sad and once when my friend Amy asked him how he was he said he was "sad because we lost baby Cale." Which, don't get me wrong, I think is very sweet, but I honestly think that was more a reflection of a recent conversation and not really him being sad or feeling like he was missing Cale.

About a week ago Finn was flipping through a book we used to read a lot when he was just a new toddler called, What's Up, Duck? A Book of Opposites, and he came in the room to ask me "is that duck sad?"

I said, "yes, he's sad."
"Why is he sad?"
"I don't know. Maybe he's sad because he was naughty or maybe he's sad because he was in time out."
"I think he's sad because he lost his baby duck."

When that occurred we had not been talking about Cale recently so I found it interesting that he associated the duck's sadness with losing a baby. Again, I think it's sweet, but I also want to ensure that he understands that being sad  can be associated with lots of things. And I do I think he grasps that - he will tell me he's sad when he misses mommy or daddy or when he's in time out or that he's sad for other logical (and illogical) reasons.

I recently hung up the sketch of Cale and Finn came over and said, "ohhh, is that baby Cale?"
"It sure is, buddy."
"Is Cale my broder? Did he died"
"He is you brother, honey and yes, he died."
"He's so little."
"He was. He was just a little baby."
"He will grow bigger so he can't die"
"No, sweetie. I wish, but when you die you go bye bye and you do not come back."
"Sometimes you do"
"No, honey, you can't"
"Do you want to go downstairs with me?"

And so we went downstairs and left it at that.

I want to talk about Cale, but don't want to force a conversation on him. I wish so badly Cale could grow bigger so he won't die and I love that Finn asked that question, as heartbreaking as it was.

I just hope that Finn (and Mary) never, ever feel like an inadequate replacement for Cale. But I also don't want them to feel like an adequate replacement either. I want them to know how special Cale was and is and how special each one of them are simply for who they are.

................................................................................................

What Four Years Post Loss Looks Like For Me

The aching and the longing are still there, just not as acutely present. I can look at baby boys and find that my eyes don't well up with tears as they once did. In fact I can look at baby boys and not feel much of anything as they aren't my baby boy. Seeing brothers play together still makes me sigh, but it's an inward and silent sigh.

I usually don't initiate it, though sometimes I do, but when I talk to pregnant women, I can ask them questions about the future they are preparing for. I never ask, "is this your first?" or any question related to numbers of children, but sometimes I wonder if I should as there are times that I want to be asked those questions so that I'm afforded the opportunity to talk about Cale. Yet four years later I still don't always have the right answer and sometimes give a response that later causes anguish and guilt. Speaking of guilt, four years later and the guilt still plagues me in regards to all I failed to do after Cale was born. I'm afraid it always will.

Four years later and I'm still (thankfully) very much a part of the little kiddo stage of life. Conversations about crawling (not yet) and sleep patterns, pottery training, and tantrums happen almost daily. It's a season of life that I'm not ready to move on from for several reasons, but one of which is the connection it has to Cale. When the kids are older and no longer babies, I worry about what will happen to my forever baby. His presence will fade further and further from conversations and memories of pregnancies will start to blur.

As I mentioned before the age itself doesn't bother me as much as it once did. Perhaps that's because the age itself is getting less distinguishable. I should have a four year old, but four year olds don't cause me the same ache that one and two year olds once did. I suspect as time moves on it will be events that cause more reflection than age - I should have a kindergartner, a high school senior, etc.

Four years has me not only missing my baby, but also who he should have been. What's hard about that is not knowing who he should have been and not knowing exactly who it is I'm missing. Maybe he would have loved construction vehicles as much as Finn, or maybe trains or race cars would have been his obsession. What would his favorite food have been? What book would he want to read over and over? I have a hard time picturing what it would be like to have him as a four year old because he will forever be our baby.

Four years later and the acts of kindness people do for and because of Cale still mean as much as they did just following his death. Four years later and I still, very clearly, remember who was there for us (and who wasn't).

Four years has taught me that when I do bring Cale up and share his story with someone new, their reaction will lay the groundwork for any future relationship I may have with them. Four years makes you able to discern the keepers from the rest much more quickly and unabashedly.

Stories of loss and love and kindness and pain still resonate much more with me than they did over four years prior and I'm realizing more and more how connected we all are by the stories that are sometimes hard to share.

Four years later and I still can't believe he's not here, yet as I recently read another mom state, I think I'm accepting that he died (though I will forever hate the unfairness of it), but not able to accept that he never got to live. His death will always be wrong and horrible and I'll never be ok with it, but I am able to recognize it a little more for what it is - the worst kind of bad luck possible. A fluke and a tragedy.

Four years post loss and I still miss him every single day. 

Four years later and I love him just the same. 

................................................................................................

Blessed

When we moved to Georgia and met with the leasing agent to sign for our house, she looked at Finn and Mary, commented on how cute they are (I agree!), and told us how blessed we are. It's one of those comments that I smile for, nod in agreement, and yet cringe inwardly. After she left I asked Miles what he thinks when people make comments like that - saying how "lucky" we are our how "blessed" we are. We agreed that those comments are well intentioned, and true, and yet they are still just a little hard to digest. Because on one hand, I want to say, "if only you knew." If only you knew that we actually have another child who died at birth. That eight months after his son died, Miles' brother was killed in Afghanistan. That we had a miscarriage in between Finn and Mary, that the two cute children you see before you - it's not that we don't think we are lucky to have them, it's just that you don't know just how insanely lucky we are to have them in spite of all the bad luck that has come our way.

Several months ago I read this article which really resonated with me. The author argues that Christians should stop saying how blessed they are when it comes to materialistic possessions. That the definition of a blessing, or being blessed, according to the bible is pretty much the opposite of what modern day society depicts.  (eg - Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted  - Matthew 5:4).

But because of the way the most people view blessings, it's equally hard to digest the fact that the Bible says I'm blessed because I mourn. It seems counter-intuitive. But I'm trying to get better at not cringing when I hear people tell me how blessed I am, or how lucky we are. Because the fact of the matter is - we are blessed (both in the biblical sense and the modern sense). We have two adorable and healthy kids. I was able to carry and deliver three children. It really is amazing and I'm trying to handle those comments a little more graciously and let go of some of the bitterness. When someone tells me I'm lucky, I can't look at these faces and disagree.

Cale's death was unlucky and awful and heartbreaking. But it doesn't make Finn or Mary's presence any less wonderful. In fact it has the opposite effect.

It's just that even when I have some clarity and I can accept at face value how lucky I am, I wish I was even luckier. I wish I was even more blessed. I wish I had a nearly four year old who also needed a story and a snuggle before bed. I wish being blessed didn't feel like it had an asterisk next to it.

......................

As we round the corner to Cale's fourth birthday, we are raising funds for The Zoe Foundation, a local non-profit that helps newly bereaved families who have lost an infant by providing resources, support and funds to help cover memorial expenses. We will be running a 5K in July which benefits the Zoe Foundation and felt raising funds for their worthy cause would be the perfect thing to do in honor of Cale. If you would like to help us by making a donation, you can do so here. Any amount is greatly appreciated.

................................................................................................

Mother's Day

Last week as we were waiting for our stuff to arrive at our empty house, I was laying on the floor with the kids. Roscoe, who was probably the only member of the family not to mind the lack of furniture, happily came over to join us for a snuggle.

I grabbed my phone to take this picture, although it looks as though Finn were the photographer. Of course Mary, who had been smiling moments prior, decided she would make this adorable stink face for the picture.

It's hard to see, but I'm wearing a necklace with a little gold disc that reads, "cale." Miles got it for me last year for Mother's Day. It's a beautiful necklace and if I'm not wearing it, I'm usually wearing a silver one with his name or one with his initial my sister-in-law gave me. But almost every day, I have some sort of Cale jewelry on.

But I wish that instead of pretty necklaces symbolizing my first child, that the space in the bottom right of that picture was occupied. There will forever be an empty space in our family that I wish was filled with the immeasurable, yet massive, absence he left behind.

I miss him.

I miss him as Mother's Day approaches and I can't kiss his sweet face and look into his brown eyes and thank him for making me a mother. And I miss him on days that are sunny and beautiful and I can smile and laugh and hold my two other children (and fur baby).

I will miss him on Mother's Day and I will miss him always.

Mother's Day will always be bittersweet for me, as I know it is for so many. And to be honest I don't want the day to be much different than any other day because of the emotional complexity it brings. Today I saw some beautiful hydrangeas at the grocery store and sent a picture to Miles as a hint for a last minute gift idea. Seriously, Miles - you could just get me a plant and I'd be thrilled. Typing that out is just another reminder how much I am turning in to my own mother. Which I suppose is fitting given the topic at hand.

This Sunday I suspect will be like all days, and like all Mother's Days. A little sad, mostly happy, and also sort of exhausting. If the weather cooperates we plan to go tot he beach (because we live near a beach now and I plan to continually remind my friends and family of that fact to lure them in for a visit). And I will enjoy the day and our two kids, one who probably won't sleep through the night, the other who probably will sit in time out at least once. And I'll miss their brother with a little extra tug at my heart on the day I can claim as mine, because of him. So this Mother's Day, if your heart is heavy and your missing your own mom, or one of your kids, or your chance to have ever been a mom - I hope the day is a gentle one. And hope someone buys you a nice plant.

................................................................................................

Grief and Closure

When bad things happen, do we need closure?

My friend Erica recently sent me this TED talk on grief and closure. In it, Sociologist Nancy Burns discusses the space between grief and closure. She talks about how closure isn't even something we should strive for and how it doesn't even exist. She gives examples of people who have endured heartache and tragedy and how they have grieved and been able to move on with their life in a healthy manner, but never fully experience closure of their grief or their loss. She not only explores this as a sociologist, but as someone who has endured loss, and therefore grief, herself when her first child was stillborn. She said a lot of things that resonated with me and I wanted to share a few.

Don't tell them to find closure. Meet them where they're at.

She talks about how when you see someone grieving, a loved one especially, you want to end their pain. You want to bring them out of the circle of grief and back in to the circle of joy. But that's not what we should do. We need to recognize that someone can carry grief and joy simultaneously and we shouldn't push closure on them, but rather let them experience their pain and be there along with them while they do.

The concept of closure distorts what's going on with our grieving.

Closure makes it seem like there is a definitive end in sight. And when you are grieving, especially in the thick of it, it's easy to want to feel like there will be an end to your pain and those that love you want to take away your pain. Because in those early days and weeks, the pain is all consuming. When I went out in public the first few times after losing Cale, I had a lot of anxiety. My heart would literally race and I'd be on the edge of tears when doing simple things like grocery shopping. What if someone asked me about my baby? What if no one did? Can they tell by looking at me that I just lost my child? What if I run into someone who hadn't heard? Etc. It was suffocating and so hard. But, it got easier. But it didn't get easier because I found closure or had it pushed upon me. It got easier because little by little joy trickled back into my life. And the thick circle of grief I was in started to blend with the circle of joy that existed, but was hard to see, much less experience.

We live in a world that needs to be in better touch with our humanity.

I loved that line. We need to know that it's ok to carry both joy and grief together. That they don't have to be separate entities. I don't need to have this false sense of closure over losing my first born son to be able to continue on in life and love and find joy in my other children. I think one of  the most important things you can do when someone has experienced loss (of any kind), is to respect their grief over that loss and what it means to them.

There's freedom in knowing you don't need closure to heal.

There really is. It's just that you often don't realize that until the healing has already begun. I liked this line because it recognizes there is a difference in healing and closure. Closure implies you're all done, you're all better. And it just doesn't work like that. I'm continually healing over the loss of Cale and will be the rest of my life. I've long since gotten over the anxiety of going out in public, newborn babies (especially boys) don't make me want to burst into tears as they once did. I've healed in many ways. But, I will always grieve. I will grieve for the enormity of his loss and all that could have been. I will grieve for what we have missed out on these past few years and what we (and he) will miss out on the rest of our lives. And that grief - it's ok. The loss is not ok, but the grief is.

We grieve because we love.

................................................................................................

Missing Daren, Three Years Later

Three years ago today my brother-in-law Daren was killed by and IED while leading Soldiers on patrol in southern Afghanistan. He was the goofiest, happiest, and most genuine person you ever could meet.

A lot has happened in three years since his passing, and yet it doesn't at all feel like three years. It still feels like I could just pick up the phone and hear his voice. I wish I could. I wish he was here to meet Finley and Mary. The only child of ours that Daren has gotten to know is the one we never got to know. I firmly believe, and am comforted at the thought, that Daren is with Cale and has been looking out for him. It makes me ache for them both all the more, but I'm thankful they have one another now. 

The other day Finn pointed to a picture of Daren and said, "dats Daren Hidalgo" and then spelled Daren (he is enjoying spelling 'Finley Daren' lately). I'm excited that Finn is nearing an age where he can learn more about Daren and eventually grasp the importance of his middle name. I was five months pregnant with him when Daren was killed. After Daren's possessions were sent home, his mom found, and sent us, a card that he had purchased while in Afghanistan and never mailed. It was a congratulations card for a baby boy. He may have been a clown a lot of the time, but Daren was one hell of a thoughtful guy.

I haven't broadcasted this information, but Miles is deployed again. I'm sure it's especially somber for him today, to be back where he was when Daren was killed. I wish we could be with him today as we remember his brother, but I will spend part of the day with his other brother Jared and his family, as well as Daren's best friend Phil who lives near us and has become a good friend over the last couple years. We'll probably exchange stories and laughter, a few tears, and hugs and forever miss our beloved and wonderful Daren.

Here is the tribute and remembrance video for Daren. If you haven't seen it before, please take a few minutes to watch and help us remember him.

What October 15th Means to Me

Dear Friends,

I don't know what I did on October 15, 2009. The day wasn't significant to me. I wish it had been. I wish I knew the importance of the day without having to be personally affected. But I didn't. Not until a year later after we had lost our son Cale and were in the thick of grief, did I come to learn about Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day. And every year since then, the day has had special meaning.

It's a special day because it means that as a community, of bereaved and non-bereaved, we can come together to honor the lives of those who left us far too soon. Each year we ask our family and friends to join us and light a candle - not just for our boy, but for all those who are missed. The thought is that if everyone lights a candle at 7pm, in all time zones, there will be a worldwide wave of light. It's a lovely thought and even lovelier image. We ask that you light this one candle on this one day, but know that when you do it's every day we miss them. It's every day we ache for them and wonder what life would be like had we never had to lose them in the first place. And know that when you light that candle, it means so much.

It means you haven't forgotten Cale.

It means you still hold him in your heart. And that you miss him too, despite never knowing him.

It means you acknowledge the profound tragedy that was his loss, but also the profound importance that is his life.

It means you acknowledge all forms of pregnancy loss.

It means that you are grieving yourself. For your own loss or that of someone close to you. Or that you're grieving along with us, something that is rare and touching.

It means that you are thankful for the gift of life and grateful for the pregnancies and the children you've been blessed with.

It means that you aren't too shy to reach out.

It means that little actions make a big difference.

It means . . . so much.

So thank you, in advance, for lighting a candle today and honoring all the babies who are loved and missed every day.

................................................................................................

Love You Forever

Miles deployed when I was 24 weeks pregnant with Cale and came home the day before he was born. Talk about timing being everything, egh? Anyway, before he left we went to Barnes & Noble and both picked out a book for our babe. Miles picked Where the Wild Things Are and I picked Love you Forever. It's always been a book that holds a special place in my heart because it's always been a book that holds a special place in my mom's heart - it was one she read to my siblings and me when we were little. We went on to receive two more copies of it - I can't remember if it was when I was pregnant with Cale or Finn, but to this day we still own all three copies.

Back in August I ordered this picture of Cale's name beautifully written on an Australian beach by an artist and baby loss mother herself.

The picture was first posted on Carly Marie's website where I could purchase a digital copy of it. She had a form you filled out with your baby's name and birthdate and whatever else you wanted displayed on her site the day the picture was posted. I chose the verse from  Love You Forever.

“I’ll love you forever,
I’ll like you for always,
as long as I’m living
my baby you’ll be.”

So I've always loved this book, not only for its connection to myself and my mom, but to Cale as well.

Well, it gets even more special.

A couple weeks ago a friend shared this blog with me in which I learned that Robert Munsch, the author of Love You Forever, wrote the book as a tribute to his stillborn babies, two boys, born in 1979 and 1980. On his website he explained:

Love You Forever started as a song.

“I’ll love you forever,
I’ll like you for always,
as long as I’m living
my baby you’ll be.”

I made that up after my wife and I had two babies born dead. The song was my song to my dead babies. For a long time I had it in my head and I couldn't even sing it because every time I tried to sing it I cried. It was very strange having a song in my head that I couldn't sing.

For a long time it was just a song but one day, while telling stories at a big theatre at the University of Guelph, it occurred to me that I might be able to make a story around the song.

Out popped Love You Forever, pretty much the way it is in the book.

........................................

So here we are, three years from the death and birth of our first son. We'll celebrate him tonight as best we can, but of course I wish we were celebrating with him. I wish I knew so much more about Cale. I wish I knew the kind of three year old he would have become. I wish I knew what his little voice would have sounded like or what his favorite toy would be right now. There's not much I know about him, but I know this much:

“I’ll love you forever,
I’ll like you for always,
as long as I’m living
my baby you’ll be.”

................................................................................................

Rainbow Weekend

A few weeks ago I made a trip to Chicago to spend three days with a group of baby loss mothers and their rainbow babies. There were FOURTEEN of us who made the trip. Fourteen broken hearted mothers who, for the most part had never met before, yet fourteen of us who could not be happier to see one another. It was not weird or awkward and despite the fact that I had only actually met two of these women before, it felt like I knew each and every one of them and only wish I had more time with them. Since losing Cale and connecting through blogs, I have met some very wonderful and genuine friends. Friends I wish I never knew, at least not under the circumstances that brought us together. We've grieved with each other, understood each other, and supported one another during some of the darkest times in our lives. I was asked recently if having another baby was what helped the most after we lost Cale and honestly the answer is no. It was a scary, anxiety filled journey filled with PTSD-esque moments. But it did give us hope and light and the end result, fortunately, was amazing. And yes, having Finn has healed me in a way I never thought possible. But I will never be fully healed. And that will never be Finn's job. What helped me the most was having this tribe. Having people I could cry with, grieve with and walk the unknown with. These bereaved and beautiful women, and many others like them, have been my biggest source of comfort and help these past three years.

But it wasn't just meeting the mamas that made the trip wonderful. Meeting the siblings of all the babies lost was equally special. Finn was the oldest of the rainbow babies, the other 13 falling between 8 and 18 months. These kids are amazing. They each have these wonderful and unique personalities and getting to love on them in person was so special.

But it was definitely bittersweet as we remembered and talked about the 15 siblings who aren't here. The big brothers and sisters they will never grow up knowing, at least not in the way any of us had hoped. Fifteen much wanted, and missed little babies who can only be loved on from afar. Sonja, wearing a sunhat in the first picture, brought gifts for each of the babies. Her mother knitted unique rainbow hats for each child. We all cried when we listened to the touching note her mother enclosed with the hats and laughed as we attempted to get a group picture. Would have helped if someone, whose name rhymes with Binn, would have kept his hat on.

For a wonderful post on just how special this picture is please read Brooke's blog

Cale's birthday is on Friday. I wish more than anything he were here to celebrate it. But I have my tribe. I have my people, and so many others, who will help us celebrate him, love on him, and remember him. And for that I'm forever grateful.

................................................................................................

Right Where I Am 2013: Almost Three Years

Nine days from now my son should be turning three.

He was born nine days before his due date.

Lots of babies are born nine days early. Lots are born even earlier. Most are born alive.

But in nine days my baby will still be dead. And he won't be a three year old. He will still be my baby. My perfect, beautiful baby who was born nine days early, but without the most important thing - a heartbeat.

Right where I am in my grief is similar to where I was last year. I think Cale has blended in to all our lives as best as possible. Never as it should have been, but he is still here and still an important part of our lives.

Finn can now say "baby Cale." He once grabbed my necklace and I said "Mama's necklace says Cale" and ever since then anytime he grabs any necklace I'm wearing he will either say "baby" or "baby Cale." He looks at his pictures and exclaims "baby!" "baby!" over and over until I acknowledge him. His soft voice saying his brother's name is the sweetest thing in the world, but it's heartbreaking too.

A friend of mine once said the most poignant thing in regards to situations like ours, if I substitute my children's names for hers, the quote goes like this "Watching Finley grow up is the greatest joy of my life. Not watching Cale grow up is the greatest heartbreak of my life. Figuring out how to be a mother to both has been the most challenging and rewarding experience of my life."

As Finn grows, I find that I am still not only learning how to be a better mom to him, but how to continue to be a better mother to Cale, and incorporate him in Finn's life in a positive and meaningful way.

After losing Cale it may have taken time, but there were glimmers of hope that life would still be good. And now, almost three years after his death, I can say confidently that life is good. I still grieve him and always will, but life can still be good, and grief can be beautiful.

................................................................................................

I'm linking up with Still Life With Circle's Right Where I Am Series - blog submissions about where we all are in our journey with grief since the death of our child(ren).

My Grief and My Guilt

When we lost Cale I called only a few people. Miles called the rest and eventually word just got out. I called my parents and they got a hold of my brother who was deployed at the time. I also called my sister Kate, who didn't answer, so I sent her a text just asking her to call me.  When she called she was excited. She asked "are you in labor!?" and I had to tell her that we lost him. That the baby was gone. She cried immediately. She was confused and hurt and I could hear in her voice how very broken she already was for us, for Cale. One of the first people that Kate got in touch with before she flew out to be with us, was her friend Katie. Katie was there for her, she listened, consoled, and was a very good friend to Kate. She even sent us a very kind letter that I still have.

Last week Katie called Kate with the eerily similar and heartbreaking news that this time it was her sister who had lost a baby.

When my sister called me she was so upset. So upset that this tragedy continues to happen, so upset that her friend is hurting, that she knows what she is going through - to not only grieve for the baby, but for her sister as well. She was upset because it brought back so many memories and she was upset because she still misses Cale.

Obviously, I don't like seeing or hearing my sister so heartbroken, but I do appreciate how very real baby loss is to her and how much she loves her nephew.

Kate asked me what they should do. She asked what advice I had for her to pass on to Katie and what she could help with. Immediately I rattled of Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep. I told her to encourage them to take as many pictures as possible, to hold their baby (they didn't know the gender at the time, and learned at delivery that they had a baby girl), and just take their time with her and examine every part of her. I contacted Katie and sent her links and blogs and tips without trying to be too overwhelming, though you just want these people, these poor unfortunate parents who are walking in your shoes, to know everything you didn't and to know that you are so very heartbroken for them.

And I am heartbroken for them. It doesn't matter that I don't know them. Because they lost a baby and that alone means I know them better than I ever should.

When you hear of a new loss, you not only grieve for all that should have been for this other baby and this other family, but it brings back a lot of your own grief. It's not like I don't know that I still miss Cale and am still so sad that he's not here, but sometimes these things happen and just remind you how very much you still hurt and how very horrible it all still is. Despite all the good that has come, despite the 20 incredible months we have had with his brother, I still desperately miss my first son.

But along with my grief also comes a lot of guilt. I don't like that I know what to recommend to a grieving family. I don't like that I know how to respond, or have some helpful things to share. I obviously don't like it because I don't want to have the first hand knowledge and experience, but I also don't like it because a lot of the things that I say are things that I didn't do with Cale and things I will forever regret.

The fact of the matter is that I did not do Cale justice when he was born.

I don't say that to fetch for kind words or for anyone to tell me otherwise, because that is just a fact and always will be. I held him for far too brief of a time and I didn't even unwrap the blanket he was wrapped in. We didn't know about Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep, but when asked if we wanted to take pictures, I said no. Thank God my nurse took two anyway, but what if she hadn't? It would have only make my grief, and my guilt, that much stronger.

I can make excuses and I know that I was in shock at the time, lost and confused, and how could we have known exactly what to do? But as his mother, as someone who carried him for nine months and loved him and planned a life for him, I felt like I should have, and I could have, done more for him in the short time we had together.

What it all goes back to is that I just wish I took my time with him. I do wish I took pictures - pictures of his hands, his little feet, pictures of us holding him, etc - but I mostly wish that I saw more of him. He's wearing just a diaper in one of his pictures, but I wish that I saw that with my own eyes. I wish I kissed his toes, and dressed him in the clothes that were already packed in my hospital bag. I wish I held his hand in mine and really took a moment to just breathe him in.

I know what I did do when I had him was important. I did hold him, and I did kiss him and tell him I loved him, but that will never be enough. And I will forever wish that things were different.

All I can do now is try to make up for it. To honor Cale and do him justice the best I can. Maybe it's by sharing his story or by helping others. And hopefully in the process other baby loss families will have a little less guilt, because no one needs guilt on top of grief - their grief is already so much.

Please keep baby Emma and her family in your thoughts and prayers. This is a tough road they're walking on.

................................................................................................

Two Years Ago Today

I was working on my West Point scrapbook, something that's been in the works since I graduated, and I had just finished up the Spring Break page from my junior year. I was really happy with how the page came out - a nice collection of pictures from my time in the Dominican Republic with Miles and his family. I wrote 'Spring Break' across the page in cute lettering that took me awhile to cut out. I laughed and shook my head at the picture of Daren pouring two beers into a margarita glass.

I was five months pregnant with Finley and home with just Roscoe as Miles was on his fourth deployment to Afghanistan. It was night and I was up in our office on the phone with my sister, Kate. Later in the conversation she said our mom was calling her on the other line and told me to hold on a second while she answered it. She came back and said "can I call you back?" There was something in her voice that made me think she was upset - so I asked if she was ok and she quickly said "yeah, I just gotta go" and promptly hung up. It wasn't much longer until my phone rang. But this time it was Miles. He just said "hun" and I, happy to hear his voice, said "hi babe, how are you?" there was a brief pause before he said "I'm umm, I'm coming home." I knew something was wrong. I stood as my chest tightened up and I held my breath while spitting out the words "are you ok?" He sounded choked up. My mind immediately flashed a picture of him hooked up to a ventilator, calling from a hospital bed. I don't know why I pictured that when I knew he could talk, but that's what I saw. I thought that's why his speaking was fragmented. But he said he was ok. He said, "I'm fine. But, umm, Daren was killed today."

The next thing I know I was on the floor. It wasn't like I fell over, though I guess I kind of did. I just couldn't stand anymore. I was on my knees sobbing, not wanting to hear what he was saying. All I could say over and over was "I'm so sorry." Miles then said he needed his parents phone number. He didn't have it memorized and didn't know if they knew yet. He thought he would have to tell them. My hands were shaking as I pulled my phone away to look up their numbers. I said it would be the hardest call he had to make and told him how much I loved him. He asked if I would be ok and I told him I would call a friend to come over. Then we hung up and I sat upstairs and sobbed. Roscoe came over and sat down by me. He wouldn't leave my side the rest of the night.

Miles did call his parents, but they had already been notified by a Casualty Assistance Officer. I'm thankful he didn't have to be the one to tell them. But when the CAO arrived at their door and told them their son had been killed in Afghanistan, they had to ask "which one?" The thought of that breaks my heart. To wonder what it was like for them to open the door and see the CAO and the Chaplain. Unexpected knocks on the door make my heart sink every time Miles is deployed. His father was in the military himself, he knows what those two individuals knock on your door for. As it turned out, Miles' dad wanted to ensure that didn't happen to me. They offered to send someone to my house to let me know about Daren and he immediately said "don't you dare - she will think it was Miles." I'm forever thankful he prevented that from happening.  Miles' parents had to call their youngest, Carmen, and their eldest, Jared and tell them their brother had been killed by an IED. They called my parents and told them what had happened and asked if my parents had any numbers for my friends in Georgia so they could have someone come to the house when I found out. They didn't know if Miles knew and had to assume he didn't and they would need to get word to me (without me thinking it was Miles who had been killed). My mom had called Kate not knowing I was on the other line with her. She told her to get off the phone with me, but to not say anything yet, as they didn't want me to be alone.

My friend Rhiannon came over and just sat with me. I am not even sure how long - I think a few hours. She wanted to see pictures of Daren and hear stories about him. She was with me when I got through to Miles' parents and talked to them. Just as before, the only thing I could think to say was "I'm so sorry."

I flew out two days later to meet Miles at Dover Air Force Base where he would escort his little brother home.

February 20, 2011 is so vivid to me. Even writing this out takes me back and makes me cry. We weren't sure what we wanted to do today to mark the occasion of his passing. Daren's birthday is coming up on March 4th. We want that day to be more of a celebration, especially as Finley gets older. So today we somberly remember Daren. We will laugh at his goofiness and cry at all we've lost, and on Saturday we will be participate in the Hero WOD CrossFit created for him through the efforts of his brother Jared. It will probably make me puke or pass out (maybe both), but I'm looking forward to it. I'm looking forward to being able to do something small, for someone who did so much.

About a week ago Finley was playing with Miles' old cell phone while I was in the bathroom getting ready for the day. "Halo, halo" "bye-bye" and on and on he goes, while "talking" on the phone.

Then he pushed some buttons and I realized that not only has he turned it on, he's making a call. The phone isn't connected to a network, but when I pick it up, this is what I see. Finley had called his Uncle Daren.

It made me laugh. It made me cry. I held the phone to my ear before hanging up, wishing I could hear Daren's voice on the other end.

................................................................................................

Daren's Tribute Video

Two in One - Long Post(s)

Last week I went to Georgia. I had planned on going before the miscarriage as Miles was in the field all last week (and is gone again this week). When my doctor said it would still be ok for me to go, I knew that I still wanted to. Ironically, I was going to visit some close friends who ALL had babies in the last two months. But I had a great time and am so glad I got to meet all the new arrivals and visit with some really great friends. It was nice to go back "home" even though it felt weird. I will share more of that trip later though - especially the short videos I took of Finn dressed up as a fish for Halloween (surprise, surprise).

Going back to Georgia was a good distraction. But yesterday I was a hot mess. Honestly, I don't think it even has so much to do with the pregnancy loss itself (although that obviously factors in), but rather the quick dump of hormones from my body. Poor Miles. He had gotten little sleep all week in the field, and only got to come home for nine hours. Yet when he called to say he was on his way home, he made some comment about dinner that I took the wrong way and I got mad and hung up on him. Then when he walked in the door I just started crying and apologized for my short temper. . . and the crying mess that he got to come home to. Welcome Home, Miles!

I think another reason I got so worked up yesterday was because I read through all the sweet comments people left on the blog from my last post. People would say things like "it's unfair" or "why do bad things keep happening to good people" and I just got to the point where all I could think was "yeah, why DO these things keep happening? Why is life so cruel?" And it kind of did me in. Not to mention I had gone for a short, short run and I was just feeling so slow and out of shape. I'm not trying to fish for compliments and it's not a body image or weight thing. I hadn't yet gained any pregnancy weight and I'm not trying to lose any, but over the last couple months I haven't been working out much and just kinda let myself go. So when you feel out of shape it's frustrating just adds to the already "blagh" ness that I was feeling.

Anyway, I do feel that I'm entitled to feel the way I feel and that sadly I do have good reason to throw a little pity party, but at the same time I needed to (and did for a short bit) sit back and remember that life's not over. We didn't just lose our house in a hurricane, the three of us are in good health, Finn was adorable yesterday (as always) and so excited to see Dadda. When he woke up yesterday morning, it was like he knew he was back home and Dadda should be there too. I said "good morning baby, how did you sleep?" and he responded with "Dadda!" So yes - life can knock you down at times, but there's still a lot of good in the world. It just sometimes takes longer to see through the haze of grief and sadness.

Anyway, I wanted to share another entry I had written, but instead of just going backwards in them, I thought I'd share the first one I wrote. I had just found out I was pregnant and put Finn down for a nap and came to the computer to write how I was feeling:

---------------------------------------------------------

It’s September 12, 2012. And I’m pregnant again for the third time. I’m pretty much in shock. A million thoughts running through my head. Mostly, “how do I tell Miles?” I know he will be happy. He was ready to jump on board the baby-making wagon long before I was, but I just want to tell him in a special and unique way like I did with our other two children.

I thought I might be pregnant. But then I thought that I was probably being silly to think that. We had JUST decided to. . .to not even try to get pregnant, but to not prevent it. I thought it might take some time. It, in fact, took no time at all. I know that is a blessing. Some people struggle for so long, some forever, to get pregnant. And I have been able to easily get pregnant three times. I’m lucky. But I don’t feel lucky. I still feel behind. I feel sad that our math equation will never add up. 

I’m mostly just in shock. I bought the tests yesterday. I thought that I could maybe even take one yesterday as they say they can detect up to 5 days from when your period is due. But yesterday was September 11^th, and that day deserves to be somber and special for so many other reasons. If I was pregnant, I wanted to save finding out for another day. Yesterday I realized that I wasn't crampy like I usually am before getting my period. I thought “hmm, what if I’m pregnant?” and water tasted bad yesterday which made me think of Jenny because I think she hated the taste of water when pregnant. And then I just felt really tired. But I also have been sick, so wasn't sure if I was tired because I wasn't sleeping well of if it was maybe another sign that I’m pregnant. With those few hints, I really started thinking I might be. I woke up in the middle of the night. My throat hurt so much from my cold and I was coughing and it woke me up. I couldn't fall back asleep because I was thinking how I would test in the morning. And then I woke up and fed Roscoe and got Finn his milk and sat with him for a bit and then decided to go take the test. I took it and put it down on the counter. I told myself it probably wasn't positive and that was fine. Maybe that was a good thing even. We have lots on the agenda and Miles will be out in the field for three weeks so there’s no way I could get pregnant this month so it would put it off for a couple months. But that was fine. We were prepared for that. For the possibility of having to wait. I could sign up for that triathlon and get in better shape and it was cooling off outside finally so we could enjoy the outdoors more. 

And then I walked back into the bathroom and looked. And there were two clear pink lines. And I just said out loud, “oh, holy crap” – like the way you say it when you realize you are late for a meeting you forgot about or something.  Finn was chasing Roscoe around the room and I just stared at him and thought of how he is still my little baby. Is this really happening again? Are we ready for this? Am I ready for this? If all goes well, am I ready to parent two children!? Yikes, what happens when I lose my mind with just Finn? Will I just completely lose it with two? Will it be easier in any way? HOW DO I TELL MILES?

Lots of emotions.

There’s fear. I’m pregnant but how long will it last? I just peed on the stick, haven’t seen an actual baby on an ultrasound yet. What if it’s just a blighted ovum? What if I miscarry? What if we lose this one further along? What if, what if, what if. . . .

There’s excitement. Wow – we could have two living children come next summer. I can decorate another nursery and name another baby and breastfeed again (ha – I am surprised how much I miss breastfeeding). Finn could be a big brother. Wow.

There’s sadness. Is this the last time I will be pregnant? Would it be if Cale were alive? Oh, Cale. I miss you so much. I’m due in May. It would have been nice to have another June baby. Silly to get spun up on dates, but June is a big month for this family. But hopefully May will be too.

Will I tell my sister? She’d love that. Maybe I should text her right now. No, I should tell Miles first. He was the first to know with Cale and Finn. And maybe we should wait for a bit anyway. Can Miles keep it from his brother? Probably not. When will I tell my parents? My cousin’s wedding is in a month. I will see Anna and Deborah then too. Can I keep it from all of them? Probably.

If all goes well we could put this in our Christmas card and announce the pregnancy the same way we did with Cale in Finn. Three Christmas announcements. In four years. Damn. So this means that I’ve been pregnant in 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, and hopefully 2013. Oma would be proud. (Oma is Miles' grandmother who had thirteen children)

I don’t like prefacing things with “if all goes well” but I can’t help it either. I wish I could say that I’m immune to miscarriages. That I already suffered a terrible lose and I’m guaranteed smooth sailing from here on out, but I’m not.  And if miscarriages are so common (1 in 4), then am I almost due for one? That sounds horrible. I hope it’s not the case.

I guess I should call the doctor.

Wow. Three pregnancies. Here we go . . . .

................................................................................................

The Novelty Of It All

Sometimes I miss being the girl who just lost her baby. That sounds crazy and wrong, and hopefully I will be able to explain myself. I don't miss the suffocating feeling or the endless, heavy sobbing. I don't miss the anxiety and fear of facing the outside world and I don't miss the torture I put myself through with all the "what if's." But I miss that the gravity of the situation was so very real. So heartbreaking. So unfathomable. Unfathomable. Even the word brings me right back to when we lost him. We had received a care package from a good friend's parents (Ashley - it was from your folks). In the card she wrote "the depth of your grief is unfathomable" and I appreciated it. I appreciated that she understood that it was something so heartbreaking it couldn't be understood. I guess I miss the outpouring of support and love right after you lose a baby. Ironically you can't appreciate it at the time, at least not fully. And I don't mean to say that I don't have support now, over two years later - because I do and I know that I always will. And I don't want this to come off as a pity party where I fish for words of love and well wishes. It's just that in the summer of 2010 Cale Harrison Hidalgo was born. And he was talked about. And he was prayed for. And he was loved. So very loved.

He always will be - I know this. But it's just different now. Cale was news then. And now. . .well now, there's no new news to share. He's still dead. He still is a heartbreaking story, only most hearts (my own included) have grown bigger and "healed" in some way.

I enjoy getting to share pictures and updates of Finley. I enjoy that there is always something "new" to share. I pray there always will be. Last night Miles was commenting on how crazy it is that Finley just walks everywhere. That it's almost old news. It was big news at the time, but now - well now that's just what he does. He eats lots of the food we eat and he climbs on our furniture and gets haircuts and cuts teeth and does all these things that at one point were new. It was exciting - the novelty of the new things he was doing. But it wears off in a way. Like, I'm not super excited that he's crawling because well, he isn't anymore. Or I'm not crazy impressed that he's sitting up because that's something he's done for a long time now. But . . .he is alive! And the novelty of that will never wear off. Here he is approaching 15 months and I'm still shocked that he is here. That he is doing all these old "news things." But he is. He's here and he's ours and we are just so.very.lucky.

And maybe that's why I miss having just lost Cale. Because the shock of his death hasn't worn off to me. I can run errands and see little boys around his should be age and not have a panic attack. I can laugh and have fun and do normal things. But I am still forever shocked that he didn't make it. That his story is what it is. I guess just as the novelty of Finn's 'aliveness' hasn't worn off, neither has the 'deadness' of Cale.

Sometimes I replay all that happened with Cale. I relive my pregnancy with him and his delivery. I search the past for stories or memories that I've forgotten or haven't yet shared. Because I want there to be something new for him - even two years after his passing. I guess this his how I parent him. This is how I try for him to have a future even though that's impossible.

Before I started typing all this I got a little chilly. (long ago Miles and I made a deal that he can control the temperature settings and I would control the decor of the house. Good deal I think - I just bundle up a lot.) Anyway, I went to go get a sweatshirt and this is the one I grabbed. And it made me smile because of the memories and because it's a part of Cale's story that I haven't shared. At least not with many . . . .

Miles' Uncle is a NYC Cop, hence NYPD

After we learned that Cale's heart had stopped beating, Miles never left the hospital. His brother Daren was still stationed at Fort Benning at the time and he came to the hospital a few times that day/night. I'll never forget the first time he walked in the room. Miles had met him out in the waiting room first. He opened the door for Daren and in he walked. Shaking his head and crying. It was if he was trying to say "I'm so sorry" but he was too shaken up to get any words out. He just walked over and I held out my arms for a hug. And we hugged and cried and I told him it was ok. I didn't mean that what had happened was ok, I meant that it's ok that he was reacting the way he did. I meant that I would somehow come out of this and that somehow we would be ok.

When Daren was killed Miles gave his eulogy. In it he mentioned how heartfelt Daren's reaction to our loss was:

"When my wife Caroline and I lost our son, Daren was the first person to show up at the hospital.  He was still covered in sweat and absolutely nasty from playing racquetball, but he held me and we cried together until we couldn't cry anymore.  I remember talking to my wife about it - it was like Daren had lost a son, the depths of his empathy and heartfelt emotions were so real and so tangible.  If you knew Daren, he always wore his emotions on his sleeve and poured his heart into everything he did." (full eulogy here)

. . . . . . .

I tried to get some sleep while we waited for Cale to be born, but would wake up either crying or because of a painful contraction. I remember waking up once and hearing Miles and Daren talking. I don't know how long he had been there - it was at least his second time back at the hospital and he had brought Miles some clothes. Miles asked for a jacket or something because it was cold in the room. Daren had brought him the navy sweatshirt.

And on the night of June 28, 2010 and the wee hours of the morning the next day, Miles held his first born son wearing that navy NYPD sweatshirt. He walked around the room with Cale coddled in his arms, his tiny little head full of dark brown hair, resting on his Daddy's arm.

At some point Miles' returned the clothes he borrowed to Daren. And we didn't think much about it. But then Daren was killed and all his belongings were sent back to his parents, I wondered about that sweatshirt. I wondered if Daren still had it and if it had made it back with the rest of his things. Miles told his Mom to be on the lookout for it, and sure enough she found it. She mailed it to us and it showed up almost two years to the day after Miles' last wore it, holding his son.

. . . . . . .

As I was getting ready to wrap this post up (because I think it's plenty long enough - congrats if you've read this far!) Finn woke up. He doesn't usually wake up after he's gone to sleep, but woke up crying and stood up in his crib. So I walked in and picked him up. We sat in the chair and rocked. I was wearing the navy sweatshirt - that his brother once touched. And I just started crying. Tears of sadness and tears of joy - all one in the same. Loving a sweet moment with my second son, and still desperately missing my first. The novelty of their lives still unfathomable.

................................................................................................