Week 18: Finding faith in a sea of clouds.

Oh to only be able to go back in time and to know now what was going to happen, I'd beg those doctors to take another look, to put me in the hospital where I could have been constantly monitored.  I don't know if it would have changed anything, but reading this now, knowing what I know, I only wish... he could have stayed inside, still inside me now... if only I could turn back time.

Week 18:5/9/2015

Sadly I’m writing my week 19 summary on the start of my actual 21 week.  Before heading back to Iowa, things were quite crazy and I just didn’t get around to writing my recap.  As I think back to two weeks ago, I’m realizing just how much I’m going to come to cherish the weekly recaps.  Sadly I can hardly remember what happened two weeks ago.  I’m not sure if is pregnancy brain or just too much going on.  Maybe a bit of both. 

Here’s what I do remember from week 19.  This week involved another scare for us.  I’ve had spotting and bleeding before and with my O negative blood type, the RH factor thingy, my doctor has always been very clear about getting into see them asap.  What was different about this scare (from the scares the weeks before) is that this time I had significant cramping.  I called my doctor, who by the way I LOVE, and within less than an hour I had an appointment in the office to see her.   

I’m very thankful for some great friends, who allowed me to cancel out on our scheduled meeting and instead volunteered to watch Isabelle for me so I could go to the doctor.  It was so nice to not to have to worry about how to entertain her in the doctor’s office.  I can’t fully share how grateful I am for them to have dropped everything, changed their plans and agreed to help me out for us most of the day.

When I arrived at the doctor’s office, they immediately took me back to the exam room.  As I sat in the there, obviously very worried, I happened to look up and out the window of the exam room.  I had been praying for several hours that morning as I was up very early worried about the cramps and bleeding.  In the exam room, the window had blinds that were all the way closed except for a small opening in the top.  I tried to tell myself to be calm, and trust that everything was going to be okay, and yet no matter how hard I tried I still worried.  And then I looked out the window and couldn’t believe my eyes.  In what was a cloudy day, the minute I looked out the window in the break of the clouds was the shape of a cross.  I blinked and looked again.  I wasn’t seeing things, it was there.  In an instant I felt a comforting sense come over me.  I texted Jarrett who was at work… “Remind me to tell you what I just saw.”  After hitting send, I realized I should take a picture.  As I maneuvered my phone to the camera setting I looked back up to see the clouds had merged together and the cross opening in the sky was gone.  While gone from my sight, I felt the message still strong as ever in my heart.  I thought of my grandmother in Heaven and quietly whispered, thank you God. 

Two seconds later Dr. B was coming through the door greeting me with care and concern.  The first thing she did was take her Doppler and went to listen for a heartbeat.  She continued to ask me questions about my symptoms and what I had been doing when the bleeding had started.  She placed the Doppler upon my stomach, moved it around slightly and instantly found the heartbeat.  I stayed quiet, praying to God and giving thanks there was a heartbeat.  Then I watched her eyes as she counted the beats per minute (bpm).  At one point during her counting there was some static that interrupted the beats.  She said, “Did you feel that?”  To which I answered yes, I just thought it was gas.  She smiled and said, “that’s the baby moving. Now you know what it feels like.”  As comforting as it was to hear the heartbeat and to know that the bpm was strong, it was just as comforting to finally receive confirmation as to what the movement feels like. 

The next step in finding the source of the bleeding was to do an exam.  She did her thing and said, while she could see there had been bleeding, she didn’t see any place where the bleeding was coming from or that it was still bleeding.  She provided reassurance that all of those things were positive.  She then asked me about the cramping and I explained it has been pretty consistent.  She then said she wanted me to have a very limited activity weekend, spending most of my time sitting of lying.  She also said she wanted me to take 600mg of Ibuprofen every six hours to relax my uterus.  She said she was going to order special blood work to make sure I didn’t have any clotting issues or other concerns that could be causing the bleeding and then she would order an ultrasound to check on the baby and to make sure there was no other bleeding that they could identify.    As it is with every time I have spotting or bleeding, I received my shot of Rogam and went onto the other tests.  But not before Dr. B said, I want you to be very aware of your activity level.  With already having three children, you may not feel very active, but just your normal level of activity may be too much stress for your body. We may have to put you on bed rest if these symptoms don’t stop and we determine that this is coming from the stress of being pregnant.  Every pregnancy is different and some women’s bodies are affected more by the stress of pregnancy than others.   I very clearly heard the word “bed rest” and decided I really don’t want that so I would listen and take heed to her orders.

I left and went immediately to have my blood taken.  By this time I had been I the doctor’s office for almost 2 hours.  I texted my friend who was watching Isabelle giving her an update and telling her I had a 12 ultrasound but would try to come immediately after that to pick Isabelle up. 

I went and had my blood taken and then proceeded to drink the 32 ounces of water they instructed me to have consumed before the ultrasound.  I arrived at the ultrasound place at 11:35 hoping just maybe they would get me in early.  At first glance of walking through the door, I immediately adjusted my expectations and hoped I’d just get in at my set appointment time.  I filled out the paperwork, gave them my insurance card and then went to sit, already having to go to the bathroom VERY badly.  Ten minutes before my scheduled appointment, they called me back and sat me in a waiting room all by myself.  The way the room was situated and the fact it was 11:50 a.m. I quickly realized I was seated right next to the lunchroom.   By this point, the feeling of having to go pee had grown into an urgent NEED to use the facilities.  I crossed my legs and hoped the ultrasound tech would be by to get me within minutes.  I looked at my phone to see the time was noon.  Like the rush of people pouring out of a subway at a busy stop, all at once I believe every staff member from the ultrasound place walked by the waiting room I was sitting in by myself and headed straight to the break room.  Instantly a fear came to my mind… “What if the tech goes to lunch before they do my ultrasound?”    Sadly my fear became reality as the urgent need to pee quickly changed to cramps and pains all over my abdomen to back pain and shaking.  I cursed and complained to myself at the same time trying to be reassuring to myself they would be coming soon.  I continued to look at my phone to check the time.  I stood up a few times to peer out and see if I could find anyone to help me but with no one around, I quickly sat back down hoping I wouldn’t pee my pants.  I told myself I would wait until 12:35 and if no one had come to get me by then I was going to find a bathroom- I couldn’t wait any longer.  Finally at 12:30 the crowd of lunch-goers marched out of the lunchroom and went back to their duties.  At 12:32 one of the ladies, who had just been in the break room appeared in front of me and said, “Angela?”  I looked at her, tried my best to stand up without letting my bladder go while still trying to deal with the cramping pains in my back.  She looked at me smiled and said, “It looks like you have to use the restroom.”  I seriously wanted to punch her in the face.  No more nice Angie, I was so angry.  I said, “Yes I’ve had to go for well over 40 minutes since my appointment was 30 minutes ago.”  I think she got the message.  I also wanted to throw in there I hadn’t had anything to eat since 6:30 that morning and that it would have sure been nice to have lunch… but I decided my impression of her customer service was clear.  She said, “Well, do you think you can just let a little bit of urine out?”  Again, I wanted to roll my eyes at her and say, “That’s about as possible as you thinking of your patients who have a noon appointment and who you ignore so you can go to lunch first….”  But I decided to say, “NO, Let’s get this over with.”

It was clear she didn’t think I was the nicest and honestly I didn’t think she was too pleasant either.  Unlike all the other ultrasound’s I’ve had, where they techs talk with you and give you reassurance, she said nothing.  I didn’t say much either but I was able to watch the screen.  I saw the heartbeat and I saw the baby moving around… while I couldn’t see if there was any bleeding, I did find reassurance in seeing the baby move and hearing the heartbeat.   Finally she finished her work and I waddled out to the restroom. I think I peed for 3 minutes straight, still not happy with her.

After four hours in several doctor’s offices I went and picked up Isabelle.  While I didn’t know the cause of the bleeding, I had found reassurance not only from my doctor, but also from hearing the heartbeat, seeing the baby move and seeing the opening in the clouds.  I called Jarrett to give him an update and told him I really wanted to take things easy for the weekend.  He agreed.

Later that afternoon my doctor called me and said the ultrasound came back okay and that they didn’t see any bleeding.  She said to make sure I took things easy over the weekend and to keep taking the Advil. 

While it was very scary to have yet another bleeding episode, in some strange way I try to look at them as a reminder to not take this whole gift for granted.  I realize just how much of a miracle this pregnancy is for me and that I need to be grateful for every minute.  I thank God that so far the baby is okay and that the pregnancy is continuing.  I continue to pray that the baby continues to grow and that we are blessed with a healthy baby come October.    I also find myself thanking God every time I go to the bathroom and do not see blood.  Small victories and continuous moments to have gratitude. 

Here are some other highlights from the week.

How far along are you? 19 weeks

How I’m feeling?  Worried, but finding reassurance in the greatest of places.

Total weight gain…  almost back up to pre-pregnancy weight.

How big is baby?  Half a pound in weight and 6 inches long

Maternity clothes…  Starting to wear them more consistently, while I can still get into my normal clothes, why not enjoy the elastic and stretchiness of the maternity clothes

Best moment this week… Hearing the heartbeat after a scare.

Movement… Yep!  Now I know what it feels like.

Food cravings… Steak… been craving Texas Roadhouse.

Food aversions… Garlic, anything tomato based, pizza, spicy foods.

Belly button in or out… In

Until next time,

Angie

A cup full of water... 12 years together

This weekend Jarrett and I celebrated (don't know if what we did was anything close to a celebration) 12 years of being married.  If you count how long we dated before that, we've been together for over 20 years.  That my friends, is crazy to think, given that I don't think we are THAT old.

I guess the other day I was informed Dad and I are from "the olden days" when Michael came home from school and said, "Mom, did you know back in the olden days, at school people use to write on a board that used chalk.. .like real chalk, not markers.  Isn't that crazy?"  To which I quickly informed him, that Dad and I wrote on chalk boards when we went to school.  He paused for a moment and then turned his head to the side and said, "Mom, I didn't know you were from the olden days... I can't wait to tell my teacher your THAT old."

So I guess maybe I should digress, we are old.  And in the 20 plus years we've spent together, these past two months have been the most difficult time in our relationship, hands down.  Never before have we faced such heartache, such loss and such overwhelming sadness.  When Jarrett was diagnosed with Hodgkin's and Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma, I was scared, I worried, but never once did I think he wasn't going to make it through that challenge.  I just believed he was going to be okay, and while I look back now and think, "How naive were you?"  in a way, I'm so glad I didn't know, or let myself even believe it could have ended any other way.

If you would have asked me earlier this year, what we were going to do to celebrate 12 years of being married, I probably would have said, we would have a low key weekend, probably have spent it getting ready for our newest son to be joining our family in less than 8 weeks.  Never, ever did I think I would have given birth to and had to bury my son before my 12th wedding anniversary.  It wasn't supposed to have happened like this.  This year was supposed to have been our greatest year yet.

Instead, we both sit brokenhearted, our lives, our hopes and dreams for our future shattered.  I almost feel like I live in a world where all the pieces of my life are shattered into tiny pieces all around me, and no matter how hard I try to pick up the pieces and carefully place them back together, they just fall back down, too broken to adhere together anymore.

So that is why, as we looked at the calendar and saw it was our wedding anniversary (a day I think back upon now and have a hard time even remembering the feelings I had that day.  I think it's yet another hardship of going through this journey... all my past memories from what were happy times in my life, are now numb memories.  I don't feel happiness, or excitement or even love from those moments---- instead I look back on them and feel only numb.  The only emotion I truly feel these days are utter sadness.  I'm learning to be more use to this feeling, the sadness is the new normal.)  Where was I... Oh, so as Jarrett and I looked at the calendar we thought we had to do something different and we both had the same idea...

This year, we'd celebrate our anniversary as a family, not just a couple.  In past years, Jarrett and I would go away, our once a year overnight get away to enjoy time being a couple.  Having just recently gone to San Diego and fully aware we had really done nothing, I repeat, NOTHING fun as a family, Dad and I knew, we wanted to treat the kids to something fun... they deserved it after the hell we've been living through.  And to make the weekend even more special, my brother Jonas and his beautiful wife, Kacee came out to spend it with us.

On Saturday morning we all went to the zoo and walked around taking in the sights and sounds (never mind that tortoise groaning--- yes, just believe he is burping kids, never mind the other tortoise underneath him- at least it gave us adults a laugh).  After spending as much time as we physically could outside in the 88 (but it felt like 110) degree weather, we came home and surprised the kids to tell them we were going to take them to a hotel here in the valley to have an overnight stay-cation.  They were ecstatic!

When we got to the hotel we went straight to the water park and played all afternoon.  We then returned to the hotel room where everyone was excited about the cable.  We don't have cable, so between our 4 TV's in the 2 rooms, we all took turns watching our different shows and enjoyed just tuning out of reality into some good old Discovery Channel.

Because we are all so young, wild and into the night life, we retired to bed, all of us, before 10 p.m.  I've learned my lesson, the kids get up at the same time everyday, no matter what time they go to bed, and the fact I had gotten up before 4:30 on Saturday morning, I was ready for bed anyway.

On Sunday morning the kids got up a few minutes before 6, like I suspected they would and we were back at the pool by 7.  We spent the entire day at the pool, playing and having fun until we decided our skin had seen enough of the sun and it was time to return inside.

We got home and grilled and relaxed, all of us tired from the fun. To my surprise, my mom flew in to spend some time with us.  It was nice and I realized, just having her here, makes me feel less anxiety.  Jarrett and I had celebrated our anniversary in a way I never ever expected us to.  It wasn't about us yesterday, it was about our family.  It was about the family, giving the kids a fun get-a-way, they needed and deserved.  It was nice to see them enjoying the Disney channel, racing down the slides and riding the waves in the wave pool, with out a stress or care displayed across their faces.

The reality is, losing Noah has changed all of us.  It has changed our family dynamic.  It has left us all with a piece of our heart permanently missing.  While we celebrated being a family and enjoying Jonas and Kacee's company, I couldn't help but look at some of the other children in the pool and wonder what it would have been like for us to visit the same hotel in a few year when Noah had grown more.  I sat in the splash pad, baby pool area with Isabelle for a while yesterday and there was  a little boy, so cute, in a wheelchair sitting in the middle of the fountain.  Water would spray up over his chair and near his body and he worked dedicated and determined to fill up his cup and then only to dump it on him.  With my little-to-no medical knowledge, I'm not sure what medical condition he has that made his legs and arms stiff and unable to move in the ways you and I take for granted.  And while it made me wonder if he felt sad that he couldn't run, jump and play like his brother that looked to be about the same age, what I saw in that boys eyes when he filled his cup and dumped it on him, was joy, happiness and pure delight in accomplishing his goal.

And that made me think of Noah. There were several times in the hospital that we had conversations with the doctors about possible medical challenges including physical and mental limitations he could have had, had he made it out of that NICU, and at the time they were scary.  I didn't want to imagine Noah having anything other than the childhood, I had... where I got to run, jump and play, where I could learn if I wanted to... that is what I wanted for him.

But then I looked at that boy and thought, even though he has limitations his body has placed on him, he still finds joy, happiness and reasons to celebrate.  I would have taken my son anyway- I just want him in my arms.  And then  I looked at myself and thought, how can you not find anything joyous now?  While he looks at a cup filled with water as a huge celebration, you can't see what you have in front of you.  Talk about celebrating the simple things in life.  And I again talked to God... "God, why didn't you let me keep our son?  I would have loved him, cared for and given him a life of joy, no matter why challenge he faced.  I miss Noah so badly God, you crushed me when you took him. I just don't understand."

As that little boy's mom wheeled him away, out of the sun into the shade to go and have lunch, I pushed those images of "what if" out of my mind too.  Jarrett had reminded me several times throughout the weekend, to try and be present and just enjoy where we were at.  So back to Isabelle my wandering, lost and empty eyes returned.  She was having the time of her life.  See, she had found a water cup herself, and she was filling it up with water and dumping it in different places all around her.  In watching that boy who made me think of Noah find joy in looking at his cup full of water, my daughter was doing the same thing.  My daughter without any physical or mental limitations.  It was my reminder to be thankful.  I lost my son, but I still have three healthy, happy and very able children here that need me.

And it hit me, I have to start looking at this cup of life half full of water, rather than half empty.  I feel empty inside, I long to have my son in my arms and I would give up my own life to have given him a life to enjoy, but the reality is, I can't change any of this.  Trust me, I've begged God, and I'm not getting any response.  The truth is, that if I'm left here on this Earth, I've got to find a way to fill my cup up with "water" so that I too can find joy, happiness and reasons to celebrate.

Am I there? No, not yet.  Am I trying? Yes, I'm trying, one moment at a time.

Twelve years together in marriage was suppose to be an anniversary we were going to record as one of the best times in our lives (we had three beautiful children and a fourth one- one from our own blood on the way).  Instead I will always remember our twelfth anniversary as the one we spent as a family with broken hearts.  A time when I can't find the glass half full, but instead, seem to view it as empty.

I can't stop thinking about the fact that we celebrated our 12th anniversary in the same year our son lived only 12 days. I'm sure its just a coincidence, and I hope that someday I look back, maybe in 12 months from now, and am able to see the joy in life, the happiness in what our lives look like and that I can see our glass half full.

Until then I keep trying.  We celebrated as a family, not our complete family, but the family we have here.  We smiled, we laughed and we rejoiced in being together for a happy time, and for getting the chance to spend time with Jonas and Kacee.

I long for times in the future when my cup is full and it runneth over.

Times like this day from our past, when it sure felt like we were the luckiest two people in the whole world.

My cup runneth over on this day and I hope our future will give us more reasons to feel that way again.

Until next time,
Angie

Rainbows and Smiles

Today has been a really tough day, it followed another very tough night.  Probably the worst night and morning so far..  I don't mean to sound like a broken record, but I have a feeling I'm going to.  Today was so tough that Jarrett decided it was best if he didn't go into work, but stayed home to be with me.  I am a wreck and I just realized it was two months ago today my water broke, sending me into this hard reality we live in.

I sat home most of the day just thinking.  Searching for a way to move forward, to pick up myself.  I struggled.

Throughout the day I wondered, will I ever feel happiness again.

And then I got this...

It was from Melanie and I recognized the view immediately.  I had stared out that window many days and even in the middle of the night.  The view from Pod D at my favorite hospital.  Melanie said, "Saw this on my way to work this morning, thought of you and knew you'd appreciate it.  It was raining on my drive in.  Thinking of you.  Love you.  

Then this afternoon, I felt the storm moving in and wanted to feel it turn into a good powerful desert monsoon.  It meant the hope for possible rainbows.  I sat outside and waited.  I've been sitting outside for the past hour plus and so far I haven't seen a single rainbow with my own eyes.  

And then, all of a sudden my phone started beeping over and over and over.  Text message after message flowed in from friends across this valley...

From Lauren, my friend and Noah's nurse... No caption needed.

And then from my friend Kourtney...

She said, "If Arizona breaks rainfall records, I will attribute it to Noah.  Rainbows and blessings!"

I smiled.  And another message came through...

 It turned into a fun one shortly after I sent it.  I've never seen a full one out here before.  So special.

I smiled.

And then, Trudi... "Driving to the baseball game and look what is joining us on our ride.  Thinking of Noah"

 and then this... after I sent her a note to say thank you.  She replied, "I will forever think of precious Noah when I see a rainbow."

I smiled, again.

My friend Amy, who is having a baby in a few weeks.  She said, "On my way home from the doctor and I got to see Noah!  A beautiful perfect rainbow!"

followed by this...

Pulling into my driveway and he showed up again.  Another rainbow completely different part of the valley.  So crazy... that sneaky little Noah is everywhere today!

And I smiled.  He's making sure she got home safely I thought.

And my friend Margaret, seconds later, "I just saw this driving in Phoenix and it made me think of you and Noah"

The smile remained.

And then from my friend Jane who lives just down the street...

 "Look outside, Noah's saying hello!"

Isn't this beautiful?  

I ran from my backyard through the house as my phone beeped again.,.

My aunt Anita..."Love from little Noah."

I ran out the front door, screaming to everyone in the house as I ran by.

I raced outside and searched the sky... I reached my front driveway and there it was....

Finally, the rainbow seen with my own eyes.  And the tears flowed...and a smile returned.

I couldn't take my eyes off of it.  The kids and Jarrett followed behind me and all five of us stood outside and watched it until the rainbow faded away.  For the first time in a long time, I felt Noah.  I felt it was him telling me it was okay.  

I had been sitting outside for more than an hour and the signs from my son came from so many others before I saw it with my own eyes.  As my phone beeped over and over again, I smiled because I read into it a deeper meaning.  

I've felt so alone lately in this journey.  I feel it is just Jarrett and I traveling alone and some days, the grief feels just too much. With message after message rolling in, I read it as a sign from above telling me, we are not alone.  Almost as if Noah was saying, "Mom, I'm okay.  I know you feel alone but you are not.  I'm okay.  Mom, look at how many people care about you.  Look at how many people are thinking of us."  I smiled and thought, You're right Noah.

And the messages with the beautiful pictures continue.  I feel like I'm being embraced with hug after hug.  I feel love.  I haven't felt love in this way, for weeks,  I thought I forgot what it feels like.  

The moments of deep deep sadness are so abundant in this journey, that I sometimes fear I'll never find the strength, courage or hope to try and save myself from the crater I reside.  But today, in these moments, I feel like you've helped me to start the climb up the side.

Thank you for sending me rainbows of hope from my son.  Thank you for sharing with me that you care, that you think of him when you see a rainbow.  Today you've made me smile.  It was the first time all day, and I'm so thankful.  So so thankful.

I miss you Noah and I'll love you forever.

Until next time,

Angie

The kids...

A few weeks ago, I wrote about the kids and how they seemed to be living through our new unpleasant reality.

I stated then that kids are kids and for the most part our kids seem to be functioning pretty well.  It wasn't until this week that I started to notice, that they are struggling too... in their own way.

I admit, I thought Isabelle would be the least affected by the loss of her little brother.  She's only three and I thought, she won't even remember him.  Just give her a few weeks and she might not even remember this whole heart breaking experience.  But I learned I was far from right.  I was terribly wrong.  Of all the kids, Isabelle mentions Noah the most.  He continues to be the first name she asks for in the morning and talks about him many times a day.  This morning she woke up and asked, "Where's my baby Noah?"  I simply say, "Honey, he's in Heaven."  To which she usually replies, "I want my baby Noah?"  It breaks my heart over and over hearing her say it.  I find myself responding, "Honey, I want him too."

Recently Isabelle returned to school for the first time in about 6 weeks.  She was excited for school, I think she longed for a routine even though she didn't know it, and I think she wanted some sense of normalcy.  When I picked her up from school each day she has asked me the same question, "Mommy, where's Noah?"  He must be on her mind as often as he's on mine.  I repeat the same answers I say in the morning. The last two days when we get home, Isabelle starts crying.  Usually it is Michael that has caused her to cry... they are like oil and water.  But when I go to the room that she has been in, I find her by herself.  What's wrong I ask.  "I want Baby Noah." Today I picked her up, held her in my arms, she put her head on my shoulder and repeated over and over, "I want my Baby Noah."  It took everything I had in me not to cry along side her.  I rubbed her back and said, "Honey, I'm sorry, I do too."  After a few minutes she asks me to play Baby Noah's song.

Silly enough, the song Isabelle has renamed baby Noah's song is that current popular song by Walk the Moon.  We've renamed it "Stand up and Dance" because we don't like the other words.  Isabelle loves that song and when it plays she said, "Mommy, come dance with Noah."  She shakes her booty and sings along shouting, "STAND UP AND DANCE WITH ME"   While not the typical song I'd pick to think of her brother, as I watch her dance and sing along, its hard not to smile.  And smiling makes me think of Noah... I think he'd be happy if we smile more.

And then there's Michael.  He's our 1000 questions kid.  He thinks of the most random question and asks it out of the blue.  Mom, did Noah die because he was born too early?  Mom, did Noah look like Grandpa Chip?   Mom, do you think Noah had one blue eye and one brown eye, like he had one of your ears and one of dad's?  Yes, the most random questions, but I can tell he's been processing everything that has happened.

The other aspect I see more in Michael than I've seen in a long time is how affectionate he is.  He comes up to me the first thing in the morning, hugs me and says, "I love you mom"  It's followed by several more times during the day.. "I love you."  Yesterday after we had ran some errands and were walking into the house from the garage he said, "Mom, thanks for choosing me."  I looked at him, not quite sure what he said, and he continued, "Mom, I'm thankful to be in our family.  Thanks for picking me."  I'm not sure if its him putting together this whole difference now between adoption and pregnancy, or what it was.  I told him we are thankful he is in our family.  Its true he's hurting too and seeking out more hugs or sharing more "I love you's" hopefully helps him to feel comfort during this horrible time.

And then there's Gabriel.  My always active, constant athlete and the responsible one of the kids.  He's taken on a new quality as well... quiet.  Gabriel, while never has asked questions like Michael or felt the need to talk non-stop, has basically stopped talking.  He spends so much of his time just quiet.  I notice it in the car a lot.  I look back at him in the rear view mirror and seem to always find his head tilted against the window, looking out into the sky and in deep thought.  I'm not sure what he's thinking, but I try to ask.  "Gabriel, what are you doing?"  "I don't know." he responds.  I pry a bit more, "Gabriel what are you thinking about?" "Nothing Mom"  I know he's lying but I try to go about it a different way.  ""Boys, what do you think we should do in October to honor Noah?"  "Michael immediately starts asking 100 questions about October, what I mean, and all the ways he thinks we can honor him.   Gabriel continues to stare out the window not deterred from his deep thoughts.  So, after Michael stops, I ask Gabriel what he thinks.  "I don't know mom."  So I throw out a few ideas of my own, what do you guys think?  Michael responds and says, "I think its a good idea and Gabriel says, "Sure mom."

Its those three, or four, sometimes two word answers with no follow up that make me worry about him.  In Gabriel's life he has been the protector, the care provider... its what he was forced to do when he was a little boy in having to take care of his brother.  In seeing his mother and father fall apart, I've seen Gabriel step back into that role.  My friend Stacey said she could see it just by looking at the picture of us when I was first in the hospital.  The way he stood, the caring arm over me, the holding of my hand... to protect me from any harm.

And so I worry about them.  I want them to be able to live a happy childhood without the burden that grief bears.  I know they see me devastated,  they see Dad hurting and beyond words when his eyes well up and they see just how hard this is for everyone of us.

The kids struggle in their own way and while they are able to go off and play, to have fun and to still find the joy in life (one of the joys of being a kid right), they too are hurting.  We all are.

Its a hard hard road we are on.  The kids trying to understand what it means when I say their brother is in Heaven (Isabelle), trying to find an answer to why he had to be born so early and if he would be alive if he were to be born today (Michael), or not asking a single question, not talking at all (Gabriel).  In the midst of the horrible anguish Jarrett and I feel, we try to be mindful of how they are and how we need to be there to support them.

On Monday, the kids started school and while I felt the least prepared in all the years of taking them, I think we all welcomed a fresh start and a new year.  It brought with it hard questions from friends we hadn't seen since the end of school when we were still expecting.  Michael addressed the question from the bus driver when he got off the bus and was asked when his baby brother or sister was going to arrive.  I stood right inside the house and listened (again a prisoner in my own home).  Michael said, "My brother was born this summer, but he died and my mom doesn't want to come outside to talk about it.  She's really sad."  I could tell Mrs. Matt felt sad and didn't know what else to say.  I tried to race out of the house to address what Michael had shared but only got out the door in time to force a smile and wave as he drove away.

I think the kids see Noah's loss in black and white, especially Michael and Isabelle.  Gabriel more aware of the harshness life can bring and the depth of the loss we've experienced. But they see it as a thing that happened and we can't change it so accept it and move on to the next thing in front of them.

The loss of their brother is going to be a part of our lives forever.  I know their grief will probably change over time, just as I hope Jarrett's and mine does too. Until then we try to do the best we can each day.  To tell each other how much we love and are thankful for them.

Its a hard road.  Its a very difficult journey.  Not only for dad and I but also for the kids.

First day of school 2015.  I seriously took 12 pictures and every time I told Isabelle to smile pretty and NOT stick out her tongue, she'd do exactly what I told her not to.   So this is what we went with.

Angie

Don't give up: a bracelet from Noah James

After pouring my heart out on here last night, I was nervous what people would think, if I'd come off sounding ungrateful, and if those who read this would be upset with me at how I'm feeling.  And just as so many of you have been from day 1, the text messages, the emails, the comments on here, came in and supported me.  You helped to pick me back up, when I felt too sad to do it for myself.  I am deeply grateful and appreciative for your support and for being understanding that I feel so destroyed.
Last night before bed, Jarrett and I talked about Noah.  I watched all the videos we had taken in his short life, and shared them with Jarrett.  In the midst of all the chaos, stress, loving on Noah every minute and second we could, Jarrett and I had not had the time to share the pictures and videos we had taken during those 12 days.  Seeing Noah move, seeing him wave his arms, reach up with his hands, breath over the machines that were helping to sustain him... they all reminded us just what a fighter and how strong he was.  We could tell in those movies he wanted to be with us as much as we wanted him to stay.  It was the first time I had watched a movie from his time in probably three weeks, and after watching them, I once again felt a bit closer to him.  It reminded me that while he feels so far away, he was real, as perfect as a newborn baby could be, just so tiny.  But as tiny as he was, the love he shared, the power of kindness he added into this world, massive.

Before I turned off the light for the night, I checked my email one last time.  Yesterday morning, well I guess it was in the middle of the night, I sat in our driveway and wrote an email to our pastor. My email laid out how I was feeling...
  
> On Aug 4, 2015, at 4:23 AM, Angela Haskovec wrote:
> 
> Good morning Pastor Troy,
> I hope you are well. 
> 
> I wanted to reach out to ask you a few questions if you don't mind please. I've struggled the last few weeks to come up with an understanding as to why we've had to endure such a loss and unable to come up with anything, I turn to you for help please. 
> 
> In the days and weeks following Noah's death, I had hope and faith that God was there for us, that he was going to show us the way through. But now, I sadly share that all that hope is gone. I don't know how, nor do I really want to move forward in a world that has moved on without my son. How does one find hope and faith in Him again when it seems all hope is lost?
> 
> Also I'm trying to find understanding for why God took our son and yet he lets babies born into homes exposed to drugs and violence and even worse go home. I myself witnessed babies coming into the Nicu and going home from the Nicu that were drug exposed  We preciously took care of Noah everyday we had him and he was the answer to our greatest and longest prayer. I am 100% confident we would have given Noah a wonderful life and taught him to follow Gods teachings. I struggle with understanding how this makes sense when everyday I think about that baby that lived near Noah for so many days coming off those terrible drugs his mother took. Why would God do this?  What sense does it make?  Can you please help me understand. 
> 
> Finally, I struggle with wondering if God taking Noah is because of something I did in my life to deserve such pain and torture. Have I committed some great level of sin that means I deserve to life like this day after day for the rest of my life?  I feel guilty for what has happened, that it is my fault.  I am far far from perfect, but I feel I have lived a Christian life and tried to always follow Gods will.  Why does God do stuff like this to his followers.?  
> 
> Pastor I understand these are some very difficult questions and I hope you have some answers. I feel very abandoned by God. I am sorry to ask for help when I know you are very busy, but I seek understanding to help me see again that our God is good. 
> 
> Thank you,
> Angie 
> 
> Sent from my iPhone

All day long I wondered how my email came across.  I had basically took the deepest emotions I have felt but kept hidden inside and threw them out into an email and sent them to our pastor, God's leader of our church. It felt risky, but after running alone in the dark at 3 in the morning, I guess I was in a risky mood.  Before bed, I saw his reply email pop into my inbox.  I opened it right away...

Angie,

Sorry to take so long in getting back to you, but I did not want to just fire something quick off during the day.  I can not imagine the pain and hurt that you must be feeling, but I can also say that the emotions you are feeling and the questions that seem to be plaguing you are common for people that have had to endure similar tragedies in their lives.  I know that I don’t have the answers to everything you are struggling with, but I hope that I can be part of a healing and restoring process for you from God.  

First off, please know that God is not punishing you for something.  This is a normal feeling as we try to understand why something bad has happened.  We live in a world of consequences, so when there is tragedy, our natural feeling is that there has to be a cause - sometimes there just isn’t.  The fact is, we live in a fallen and sinful world.  Going all the way back to Genesis, we see God’s perfect creation corrupted by sin.  Because of sin, there is death, sickness, tragedy, etc.  We live under the consequence of sin until Jesus comes again.  The hope we have as Christians helps us to see beyond our temporary suffering to the eternity we have by faith.

A common struggle we have is why do bad things happen to good people and why do good things happen to bad people.  For us, this doesn’t seem to add up.  Your example of the baby who was able to go home, while your Noah never had the opportunity is a perfect example of this common struggle.  I would encourage you to change your way of thinking about it.  It’s not that bad things happen to good or bad people, the reality is simply that bad things happen.  It is a hard reality, but it is the reality that we struggle through in this world.  Our relationship with God does not ensure that bad things won’t happen to us - it changes our perspective on how we can deal with them when they do - and even then it can be extremely trying as I am sure you can attest to.

Please know that I truly hurt for you and for Jarrett.  You have had to endure something that no parent should ever have to and I wish that there was some way that I could take the pain away.  My prayer for you is that you will be able to move forward from this.  You mentioned that you are having a hard time moving forward in a world that has moved on without your son.  I would challenge you to consider moving forward in a world that is moving on with your son.  While he is no longer here in person, even in his short days on earth he left his mark on those blessed to have known him.  I know that my life was impacted by your son and I know that he had an impact on many others.  His time was cut far too short, but he will live on in the lives of those who were impacted by him and by his story.

I hope this email can help in some way.  I am available to talk more if you think it would help and I also know of a great christian counselor who has helped others work through similar hardship.  I will continue to keep you and Jarrett in my prayers and that God would restore and strengthen your hope and faith in the days, weeks and months ahead.

Pastor Troy 
I read Pastor Troy's email and felt my throat growing tight and the tears welling up.  I knew what he had said was right and it was what I guess I needed to hear.  Jarrett was standing at the end of the bed and I read Pastor Troy's message to him.  We both cried.  While Jarrett's faith has never faltered, mine has.  Reading his note made me feel better.  While I'll never be okay with the fact that God gets to hold my son in his arms instead of mine, they were answers I haven't been able to find on my own.  For the time being, they provided me some comfort.  It was another act of kindness shared with me. 

And that's what I felt going to sleep last night, woke up to this morning and continued to feel throughout the day.  The feeling grew with a package that came in the mail.  Jarrett got the mail and brought it to me.  It was addressed to me and came from Ontario, Canada.  I wondered who it was from.  I opened up the package, found a small drawstring bag, a certificate of authenticity and nothing else.  No note, no card of who it was from just the bag and the paper.  I pulled open the drawstring bag and poured out into my hand a beautiful charm bracelet with two pearl beads and a silver charm. I flipped the charm over and read, "Love always, Noah James"  It is beautiful.  Immediately I felt in my heart, it was a message from Noah, but I couldn't help but wonder who was the messenger who helped Noah get it to me.

I looked through the package again, at the return address label, at the certificate of authenticity... nothing.  Not a single clue, I thought, how will I ever get to thank the person who sent this to me for my son.  I do not know any other way, than to say thank you here.  The gift you have shared with me, makes me feel closer to Noah.  I never got to hear Noah tell me he loved me, until this beautiful bracelet arrived in the mail.  Now, when I feel sad, I can simply look down and see the words... Love always, Noah James.  I am so grateful and have felt comfort because of your gift.  Thank you.

I woke up this morning and went through our normal schedule of a run (this time not at 3:20 a.m.), got the kids ready to school, dropped them off and instead of going to work, I got to go to breakfast with my new, dearest friend Melanie.  I hadn't seen her in several weeks but she has reached out to me a couple of times coincidentally on some of my toughest days, and we made a date to get together.  Still feeling pretty weak in spirit, I wondered if she would be able to sense it, or be able to tell in my eyes, I haven't slept well in quite some time.  Within seconds of seeing her, it was like we hadn't been apart at all.  There's just an instant connection, our hearts grew together in that NICU, pod 50 and its only gotten stronger.  We talked and talked and just like friends who have known each other for a lifetime and can't get any secrets passed, Melanie called me out on every one of my attempts to appear like I'm "okay".  Of course she did it in total Melanie fashion, with kindness, sincerity and love.  She opened up her heart to me, shared her advice and told me that I can get through this.  She gave me a beautiful coffee mug to fill with caffeine for those mornings when I don't sleep, and she shared her honest advice about how she is concerned.  During breakfast she turned to her purse, pulled out a small wallet card and said, "Angie, at one point in my life,when I was going through a really hard time, I bought myself this card and kept it in my room so I could see and read it every morning.  It gave me the strength to keep going until I found joy in my life again."  She said, "Angie, I want to give this card to you, and I want you to keep it until you've found joy in life again."  She grabbed my hand and together we read the card...

We read it and I fought back tears, but flow they did.  I wiped them into my napkin.  She held my hand and said, " You will make it through this time."  and it was the first time in weeks, I found hope to believe what I was hearing.

I told Melanie I was going to go home and put it on my bathroom mirror, the mirror I stand in front of each morning.  I told her I will read it, I will listen to it and think of her.  And I'll do that until the day I wake up and feel again the feeling I've lost currently... the feeling of joy.

Three hours after meeting, even though it seemed like it could have only been 15 minutes, I walked out of that restaurant feeling like my heart healed a tiny bit.  The trauma wound had been cleaned out and medicine applied.  I hugged Melanie, told her I would be in touch soon, and with her embrace, I felt that protective bandage applied until the next time.  She has played such an important part in this journey.  Some people come into your lives for a reason... having Melanie come into ours, the impact she's made on me, on my heart, in my life... more than significant.  I texted her before driving away.  I said, "I lost my son, but God gave me the very best angel on this earth, and that my friend is you.  Thank you for making me feel joy and inspiring me to keep trying.  I love you.  Thanks again." 

And I truly felt those words.  Noah brought together Melanie and my lives and he will forever be the bond that connected our two souls.  In those 12 days he never said a word, he didn't purposely do it, but over that bed, two strangers grew to become family.  God did take my son and while I'll never be okay with that, he did give me the gift in a wonderfully beautiful lady named Melanie.

On my drive home, it was the first time since San Diego that I could think of what I wanted to do on October 3 for Noah's Day and I felt energized to start planning again.  In the days prior I couldn't bring myself to think about it. I have many ideas running through my mind and I hope to share early next week so those who have saved the date and would like to join in, can start to figure out how you can be a part to.  I hope many will join us, I hope his memory will leave a lasting impact across this country.  More information coming soon.

I got home just in time for the boys to get off the bus and I told myself I was going to spend quality time with them.  Lately when they see me crying or upset, they seem to find a quiet activity to keep them busy or I disappear into a different room.  We sat and talked in the living room and after they did some of their homework, we went to run errands.  Some of the best conversations the boys and I have are in the car, so I like to take advantage of those moments now.  We talked about what happened at school, they shared what current song or dance action is really cool (personally I don't understand it at all) and they asked if they could get a few of the needed school supplies we hadn't picked up before.  So we did.   Then we got Isabelle and came home so the four of us could go swimming.  I watched the boys swim laps, served as a judge for their cannon ball competition and was in awe of  how great of a swimmer Isabelle has become this summer.  The summer I've been, well, absent.  While I've been so focused on Noah, our time together, our now loss, my other children are growing up in front of me.  I've been here at home the last few weeks, but I really haven't been present.  I told myself to spend more afternoons like this.

Throughout the afternoon several friends checked in on me, told me they were here to listen, some shared feelings they've had when heartache has made its way into their lives, and many reassured me its okay to feel the way I do.  The messages help me so much, like tiny amounts of medication to apply to my grotesque wound. Thank you all for your support.

And tonight, as I sit here typing, my friend Sandy stopped by with a gift bag and inside a book I hope will give me some answers to my constant question of "Why."  The book, "When Bad Things Happen To Good People"  I've never read it, but heard the title many times.  On the back it says, "Provocative and comforting answers to the universal question: Why me?"  I look forward to reading and hopefully finding answers.  As Sandy left and I sat down to keep writing, I realized just how blessed I am.  She had read my blog, thought of her book and took the steps to come and bring it to me.  Sandy, I'm so  thankful. 

 In thinking about all the kind acts so many of you have done, I sit here tonight and relive the thousands of gifts you've shared with me.  From encouraging words, to cards, pictures of rainbows, meals, gift in his honor... I could go on and on.  Actually just sitting here writing, my sister's friend just sent me this beautiful poem...

A poem she sent which arrived a minute after I returned to the house after being called outside to look at the beautiful clouds during tonight's sunset.   

And it in those moments, when you reach out, you share love and comfort with me, that I am reminded, I have to go on.  I have to keep trying, and that I am truly blessed to be cared about by so many.  So thank you.  Thank you for having faith in me, for showing me hope when I feel so hopeless.  

So tonight I feel I can sleep well, that my wound care for the day has taken place and that I can keep walking down this terribly difficult road.  Thank you to my family and friends for giving me the support I asked for last night.  Thank you for picking me up and telling me I can do this.  Thank you for reminding me, I can't give up.  I have to keep trying.

Until next time,

Angie

Family and friends, what I need from you...

It’s getting worse.  I took a break last week and I told myself I wasn’t going to post anything on here for at least a week- I hoped it could even be longer.  I lasted almost 5 days. 

I feel so many things… and realizing I’ve opened myself up to let everyone else know was I feel, is hard.  I feel self-conscious, embarrassed, like the science experiment everyone stares at to try and figure out what to do and that’s on top of the overwhelming amount of grief, anger and hurt.   So I stopped, I tried to let myself figure it out. To not write anything, and for 4 days I did.  And I think, I almost lost it.  Actually, I believe I may have.  Saying I feel terrible is a gross understatement.

I went to the library to find a book about how to get through the feeling like you have no hope, no faith left, no will, no joy.  I looked for various titles with the key words. “living a joyless life”,  “How to live a happy life after the loss of a child,”  “Finding a way out of the depths of infant loss.”  I wanted a book that didn't tell me I have to trust God, to turn to God, to believe that God's plan is the best.  Right now I'm not too happy with God, I've begged him for answers, I've sought out advice from others, and at this moment, it isn't make me feel any better.  So I was searched for another book and guess what?  With each and every word search I did, I got the same message, “No results.”  Perhaps its my library that doesn’t have the need for such books.  Perhaps they are out there.  But now I can’t find them, so I decided, if my life of complete unhappiness can help another family, then I’m going to keep writing. I risk the judgement, the hurt I may cause someone else reading this.  I'm sorry for the way I feel, but it is honestly where I'm at.   So I write, in case some other mother who had to bury her child today is feeling the same way, or for the dad who held his daughter this afternoon as she took her last breath.  I write for them.

But I  also write for myself.  I haven’t slept more than 3 hours each night for the past 4 days.  This morning I went running at 3:20 a.m., just because I couldn’t stand it any longer.  I lay in my bed and it drives me crazy.  I lay on my right side and the memories of that night my water broke play over and over in my mind.  I turn to my left side and well, I've been over the whole laying on my left side story.  In the end, I wonder if it even made a difference.   So what do I do, I get up, get dressed and leave the house to go running, when the moon is high in the sky.

Before this, I would have never ran that early by myself without taking some safety items along.  I have a whole new perspective now.  I welcome the uncertainties of who and what might be out at that time of the morning.  Almost like a challenge, I honestly feel there is nothing out there that could hurt me more than I hurt now.  So what's the risk... might as well go. 

In my last post I shared that things were not good and I was going to take a break to see if I could find a way to personally deal with my thoughts, feelings and sadness alone, among my family.  If last week I had fallen into a dark pit, today I’m in a crater the size of the grand canyon with no exit signs in sight.  Today it’s worse.

The truth is I have lost all sense of hope.  I can’t’ find anything to make me feel even the tiniest bit better.  Literally it is hard to breath, it hurts to breath. At work today I tried my best to hold back the tears, to tell myself I could make it through another day.  But I couldn't.  I closed my door, sat at my desk and sobbed as I tried to focus on the work ahead of me.  

I don't think there are enough words in our language to convey just how horrible this experience is.  Prior to this, I could have had no idea that I could ever feel this hurt, destroyed or broken, and so I don't expect anyone who hasn't gone through it to understand where I come from.  Instead I hope that I will still be accepted, not judged for who I am now, and how broken I will be.  

Last night we attended a support group at the hospital for other parents who have lost infants.  I didn't want to go. As we got closer to the hospital, my anger raged inside of me, my sadness welled up in my throat and I told myself I wasn't going to cry. I wasn't going to let the other parents' terribly  stories affect me.  I can't handle anymore  heartbreaking stories.   But Jarrett believes it is going to help, so again I try, not happy about it, but I try.

To start we had to write on a slip of paper what we are grateful for out of this experience.  I probably could have grabbed every slip of paper in the entire room and filled it with things I should be grateful for, what we have been given as we've been walking this horrible path.  And as sad and ungrateful as this sounds, sadly I couldn't stop thinking about the grief I feel and honestly it has overshadows the blessings.  I still remember them, I'm still very grateful, but I feel overcome with the sadness of what has happened to Noah, to our family.  And so I simply grabbed one piece of paper, and wrote that I was thankful for, "The kindness from others."  

Jarrett and I sat next to one another in a circle with about 25 other parents (way too many people grieving the same thing we are) and we went around the room telling what our story was, about our lost child and what we were thankful for.  The tears for the other parents started right away, and I looked away from them with the tears rolling down their face, as I wanted to give them understanding but I also looked away out of frustration.  Lately, I've been questioning why God would allow such horrible things to happen to people who wanted these babies more than life for them self.  I can't understand it.  I was told by people who make it a profession to work as a faith leader that it is okay to be mad at God.  So I share here openly today, I am mad at God.  I am so hurt and betrayed by what he has done, my faith has been shaken.  

Sitting there in that room full of crying mothers and fathers, all having as horrific loss stories as our own, I couldn't help but feel even more anger toward him.  Why?  Why God?  Why did you have to do this to us?  Why did you do this to so many?  Why do you let the babies born drug exposed go home into a life of almost certain terror, and take my son.  A son we prayed for and desired to have for my entire life.  A son I would have given the world to, taught him about you and given him a good life.  I just don't understand and no one has been able to give me an answer so I question your decision. I question your way.  

As the parents took their turns sharing their story, the hurt was so apparent in the room, it was like we all just had to say goodbye to our child moments ago.  While our loss was the most recent of anyone in the group, many mothers were there talking about the losses of their child 3, 5, even 14 years ago.  The mother who lost her baby 14 years ago said, "The pain is just as present today as it was 14 years ago."    Well if that doesn't crush your hope that life can get better... it just reminded me this terrible, horrible journey is the road that never ends.  

But I sat there, quietly waiting my turn and the mother right next to me shared the story of her son.  As she spoke I replayed over and over in my mind what I was going to say and how I wasn't going to let myself cry.  I have little to no control over anything in my life, but dammit, I was not going to let myself cry.  Silly I know, but seriously it was the one thing I could control.  I said, 

"Well, my name is Angie and this is my husband Jarrett.  This is our first meeting and we have four children.  We suffered with infertility for 10 years, never once getting pregnant, before we adopted our three children through the state's foster care system.  Our son Gabriel is 9, Michael is 8 and our daughter, Isabelle is 3.  We were told we could never have biological children, and to our surprise we learned we were pregnant after all that time earlier this year.  At 23 weeks my water broke and at 24 weeks, our son Noah James was born.  He lived an amazing 12 days here before we had to say goodbye. "

I paused, looked around the room, still not crying, I grabbed the stapler from the mom next to me, took my sip of paper and folded it around the chain loop of other blessings the parents put on the loop.  I stapled my paper to the chain and said, "Through this terrible experience it is very hard to think of blessings when I feel so much grief, but the thing I wrote down that I'm thankful for is the kindness we've been given from so many."   That was the truth and I handed everything over to Jarrett.

Throughout the evening parents shared their stories and heartaches and I kept silent for the most part, just taking it all in.  The room grew really stuffy as most people sobbed into Kleenex and partners held hands, rubbed the backs of their spouse and comforted one another.  Three of the moms in the group shared their experiences of being pregnant with their rainbow babies and how the loss of their previous child has taken away so much joy from their subsequent pregnancy.  Another reason I question God's decision in taking away people's babies.

As the group ended the support leader asked us how our family and friends were supporting us and if we had told them what we needed.  At first I wasn't sure what she meant.  Those parents who are more experienced with the "let time heal" bullshit (excuse my french) jumped right in.  They shared how some of the most painful experiences they had endured, came from family and friends that struggled to find the right words to say.  That many of them didn't say anything at all.  At that moment, I got it.

The support group leader said, "Grief and loss is such a terrible thing, people don't like to talk about it.  It isn't like we take a class or have our parents sit down and tell us what to say when a person suffers a loss.  We learn by watching what other people say and sadly it often isn't until you personally suffer a loss that you understand what is the right thing and wrong thing to say.  Suzanne said, now it is your responsibility to help educate others what to say and do.  And it varies of what to do by each person, so that is why you must tell them.  I thought for a moment and realized she was right.  

I've felt worse than I've ever felt in my entire life and I feel like I have to carry on, be that smiling face, everyone expects to see.  Deep inside, there is only a shell left of me, where I hide my tears, hide the heartache and fear mentioning Noah's name for I know it may make someone feel uncomfortable. 

So I decided I'll share with you what I need, how I'd like our first encounter, or our next visit to be.  Here is what I would like, if you feel like you'd like to support me, support us as we journey through this hell.

• I'd like for you to ask about him.  Please don't be afraid to bring him up.  Please don't be afraid to mention his name.  To say Noah James.  To me, I long to hear it.  Isabelle has come to say Noah's name about 10 times a day, and without her, I fear I'd go days, even weeks without hearing it.  Imagine your most loved possession and never getting to talk about it or even mention it.  That is Noah to me.  Please ask me about my son.  Please ask me about his birth, about those wonderful days in the hospital.  What I loved most about him.  About his strong, determined spirit.  Please ask me about my son.

• Don't be afraid to make me sad.  There is nothing you can say or do that will make me feel worse.  Trust me, (I hope), I'm as low as a person can go and still be alive.  Not acknowledging that Noah was real, he was here, he is my son, is the only thing you can do make me feel worse.  

• Please don't ask me how I am.  I will only have to lie and say, "I'm okay."  The reality is that I'm horrible.  I'm terrible.  Instead, say things like, "I hope you feel stronger today than you did yesterday."  or, "I am thinking of you."  Please don't ask me how I am... unless you want to hear a lie.

• Please don't take my lack of interest in getting together or talking on the phone personal.  The truth is, being out in public or talking, is very very difficult for me.  I can hardly stand making it through three days of work.  I hide in my house because it is too hard for me to venture outside the walls of my home.  I hope someday I'll get back to feeling like I want to get together, to do the fun things I did before.  But now, its just too hard.  I don't feel like making small talk or discussing what issues are causing stress or pain.  The reality is, I just don't see them as important as I did before.  Please don't stop asking or inviting me to participate.  Some days I might feel strong enough to come, other times I may not.  Please don't take it personally,  it is all me... not you.  I still need you more than you'll ever know.

• Please never forget him.  Please remember him for months and years to come.  I worry the impact he has made in this world will slowly fade away just as each day passes.  Please don't forget what he means to us, the hope he brought into this world and the kindness he brought us and so many others.  Please don't ever forget our angel Noah James.  

So that is what I ask.  That is what I need.  If it is too hard for you to do these things, it's okay.  I understand.  It isn't easy, it will probably make you feel uncomfortable and if it is too hard for you, than please know its okay.  I don't expect everyone will be able to help us through that.  It is a lot to ask, I know.  

As we wrapped up the group, Suzanne said, "The loss of a child is like a massive trauma wound.  We treat it by cleaning out the wound, we add medicine and we cover it to protect it so it can heal from the inside out.  Grieving the loss of a child happens in the same way.  We have to clean out all those hard, yucky, painful emotions, we have to apply medicine (support, talking, moving through the stages of grief) and we have to apply a bandage (protecting ourselves from future harm) to allow it to heal.  Just like an open wound doesn't heal overnight, you are not going to heal overnight either, but you have to take steps to get toward healing.  And just like a massive wound, when you are healed, you will probably have scar tissue that will never be the way your body was before.  You will never be the way you were before.  But scar tissue is the strongest tissue our body creates, and at the end of this, you will be stronger than you ever thought you could be."  

Walking to the car,  Jarrett said he was glad we came.  I told him that I understood Suzanne's analogy of the open wound but as she described the scene of repairing it, I had a different vision in my mind.  I told Jarrett... some trauma wounds are too big, too damaging to heal... those people are victims... and I worry, this experience has left me as a victim... the wound too big, too much damage done to heal.  

Angie 

Support groups...

How many support groups does one person have to belong in their life?

Let's see, so far I've participated in or showed up to the following support groups within the last 10 years of my life...

* Cancer Support Group

* Infertility Support Group

* Foster Care Support Group (even before we had children)

* Adoption Support Group

and now, tonight we add to the list...

*Infant Loss Support Group.

Another name-tag to add to a group, I never wanted to join.  A group no one should have to join.

I don't mean to complain as I know many people have had a more difficult life, and faced more struggles than me but, I'm starting to feel a bit fed up at the number of groups I've been referred to join.

Maybe this is the part of the process where I just feel pissed, angry, upset that it had to happen.  I just don't understand why we have to experience another heartache in our lives. Haven't we gone through enough, with Jarrett's health scare (cancer support group), the inability to get pregnant and being told we'd never have kids of our own (infertility group), the process of wanting to be parents so desperately that we joined a foster care support group even before having kids, just so we could learn and be a part of a parenting group.  And then came the adoption support group (to better support our children in the transition and beyond), and now, the recommendation to join a group of other parents who have lost a child, a baby, an infant.  

In some ways it feels like a label being a part of these groups.  You "fit in" because of an event in your life that makes you "different" than everyone else.  

And I think that's what adds to my anger.  Why do I have to be a part of these groups that remind me over and over, that I'm different?  That our experience is not the norm.  You see, there are no support groups for people whose life is going amazingly well.  Those gatherings are called celebrations, parties... not support group meetings.  

I just feel fed up.  I don't want to be a part of a group that reminds me I'm just like everyone else in the room missing their child.  As sad and upset as I feel for them, I don't know if I can handle hearing what everyone else went through, that in the end their story the same ending as ours...  sad.

But as angry as I am about joining yet another darn support group, I guess that's what I'll do.  "They" say it will be good for us.  "They" say we'll meet new friends,  "They" say it will help you to move through the grief.  What I really want to say is "NO Thank you!"

I wish I could feel excited about being a part of a group that is supposed to help, but instead I feel upset and I wonder, just how many more support groups will I have to add to long list I've already been a part of.

I don't think I can handle anymore "experiences" that require a support group referral.  Yes, it is me waiving the white flag.

Until next time,

Angie