Looking Back-2012

To 2012-

Oh, 2012...I would like to simply say farewell and "Don't let the door hit you on the way out!" but you not only brought me sorrow and pain, you somehow also managed to bring me great joys and priceless memories.

I will admit, that it is more than difficult to pick out the good in the sea of bad (and just plain awful) that you have provided me with this past year, but I will do my best to point those out.

In January I was able to celebrate my 26th birthday on this earth with my sweet husband, darling little girl, and precious little boy kicking away in my belly. I also began, what I thought would be a short stint, as a SAHM in order to spend quality time with our Lyla before she was no longer an only child and before we would send her off to school in the fall.

February brought Valentine's day...my 10th Valentine's day with my love. I remember trying to find something "cute" to wear to dinner. Hah...I was approximately 7 months pregnant...there was nothing that would look cute at that point. It was an enjoyable night, never mind the severe heartburn that accompanied the delicious dinner we shared. Waylon was promoted to Tech Sergeant in the Guard and was hopefully soon to be transferred to a base a little closer to TN.

A baby sprinkle was thrown in honor of our newest addition in March and it was nothing short of wonderful. My sister, sis-in-law, and aunts did an amazing job of helping us to prepare for what we thought was soon coming...a little boy to cuddle and take care of. I was overwhelmed with love and gifts...and so was big sister Lyla!

April, oh April, not only filled my heart with so much love that I thought it could burst, but  actually made it feel as if it did burst, and crumble into a million and one pieces. We celebrated our Easter weekend the first weekend of April in SC with friends and participated in a beautiful wedding along the way. I was far from the most elegant bridesmaid you had ever seen, seeing as to though I was 9 months pregnant, but Lyla was a perfect little flower girl. I was able to announce to the world that my little brother was going to be a daddy and was excited that our Wyatt would have someone so close to his age to play with as they grew up. Our weekly doctor's visits had commenced and our anxiety levels were rising....we would soon meet our prince; and we did. On April 24th our lives changed forever, as silence enclosed around us. We met the most perfect little boy on April 25th, and after hours of snuggling and sharing him with others, we were forced to say our goodbyes. It's like someone gave a child a bright yellow balloon and then popped it before he had time to enjoy it. April 28th marked the day that we layed our son to rest in his eternal crib. April will always be a tricky month for me....full of an array of emotions, but it will always be Wyatt's month.

In May, I celebrated (if you can call it that) my first Mother's Day as a mother of 2, only problem being there was only one in my arms that day. I quickly realized I was becoming a different person than I was just one month before. I was forced to smile as others around me brought living babies into this world and into their lives as I was left with empty arms. I searched for ways to remember and help others to remember that Wyatt's life was significant.  Lyla's smile began to be my light through the dark tunnels and Waylon celebrated his 27th birthday. Wyatt had been in Heaven for one month.

Eight years of marriage to my high school sweetheart was celebrated in June; I am so thankful for him and his beautiful heart. He carries me when I cannot seem to walk. We also came upon another difficult holiday in June: Father's Day. Oh how I wished there had been a baby boy in my husband's arms that day. In June we began to find a little sunshine in each day, as a family. We attended weddings, family gatherings, and took spontaneous family outings. All of those things may seem simple, but to someone who was just learning to live again, they were large feats. I was becoming proud of our fighting family. We were fighting off grief while still honoring our son's short life. Our angel had grown his wings 2 months prior.

July brought about more holiday celebrations, visits with family, and days full of tears. It was storming on the 4th, so our little family of three went to dinner and a movie...what a wonderful night, although the pain of the missing piece was very adamant. Lyla and I spent a lot of time in Ky with family and friends during our summer vacation. We swam, shopped, played, visited little brother, and basically relaxed, all while surrounded by an abundance of love and support. Our sweet boy celebrated his third month with Jesus.

We took a short trip to SC in August in which we visited good friends and places. We indulged in a mini vacation in the mountains on our way home to TN. I sent my baby girl off to kindergarten with a heavy heart. Waylon and I became the proud GOD parents to a sweet little girl, a little girl, who has played a big part in many of my true smiles...you know, the smiles that can be seen in the eyes? I didn't know there was a difference in types of smiles until I looked back at photos of myself taken over the previous months. Wyatt had been an angel for 4 months.

September was a busy month, to say the least. Waylon was finally transferred to a guard base (a little) closer to home. Our lovely little princess celebrated her 5th birthday  and it was a wonderful day spent with family and friends.  Sweet friends drove from SC in order to be here for Lyla's big day and she was more than happy to have them here. Wyatt made his appearance in the form of a butterfly in one of big sister's gift bags; he must've known that I needed him at that moment...you see, for over a year I had pictured a baby in all of Lyla's next birthday pictures...our baby. Lyla's little cousin Lucian now also shares her special day, as my sister-in-law and brother welcomed their first child on that September day. Lyla decided to release a balloon after her party in hopes that it would reach her brother in Heaven. A sliver of happy news also made its way into our lives in this month.
 We were 5 months closer to seeing our son again.

Our annual vacation occurred at the beginning of October, in which we flew to California to spend time with great friends. It was a much enjoyed, much needed vacation. We traveled to Lake Tahoe and Calaveras State Park among other adventures. We enjoyed everything down to the plane rides.
Lyla had her first fall break from school, and was more than ready to return before it was even over. I somehow managed to pass two of my four needed tests that are needed in order to gain a teaching certification for the state of TN and even put myself on the substitute list for Lyla's school...oh my, I was stepping out.  Lyla decided to be a blue butterfly ballerina for Halloween and I reluctantly thought back to the cute puppy dog costume that had been waiting for our boy. Wyatt should have been celebrating his half birthday.

November brought about a big lump in my throat. How was I suppose to handle the holidays without my boy? He was suppose to have been here...maybe even trying a little bite of that delicious turkey! We spent Thanksgiving in Ky with family eating meal, after meal, after meal. I often pictured Wyatt at the family gatherings, and forced myself to hold back the rushing waters. All in all, November was an okay month. I began to sub more and met some very kind people along the way. I took Lyla to her first birthday party for a friend from school; she was ecstatic. Waylon plucked two angel tree tags from a lowly tree and we purchased Christmas presents for a boy and girl who otherwise wouldn't have had a gift to open. Our boy had been gone for 7 months.

In December, I passed my remaining two certification tests, and gained my license to teach in TN (finally).  I created a Christmas card to send out to the masses with the fear of leaving out our boy, so I included a picture of big sister and the pinwheel. That'll have to do. I reluctantly put up Christmas decorations and began to buy gifts in preparation for the soon approaching holiday. My hand wanted ever so badly to write "To: Wyatt" on a gift, just one gift. I forced myself to get into the holiday spirit, and Lyla helped me with that; she requested an Elf on the Shelf. To see her pure excitement each morning in December was enough to keep my smile plastered on my face for hours. We traveled to Ky for the holiday and spent it with family and friends. I was amazed by how much Wyatt was remembered throughout the festivities. My heart hurt, but felt pride all at the same time...I'm getting quite use to this feeling. We were greeted with a little snow the day after Christmas and had a fun time sledding on the farm. Our five year old princess lost her first tooth and seems all to eager to grow up. Wyatt should have woken up on Christmas day as a vivacious 8 month old.

As at least one tear has leaked from my eye everyday for the passed 251 days.

With that said, I can't count the number of smiles that have spread across my face this year.

It would feel wrong to say that 2012 was the worst year ever...I had a beautiful baby boy, spent another year married to my love, watched my baby girl grow into a little lady, and made lots of GOOD memories along with the bad.

I have been wounded and pushed down, but I have also gained strength and knowledge.

I have been shown love and compassion throughout this year in many expected and unexpected forms. So, it seems only right that my new year's resolution should be a simple one: pay it forward. I will strive to be kind to all and to spread hope, even when my hope is dimmed. I have learned that you simply never know what another person is going through and a kind gesture may change their entire day...if not life.

So I will leave my last blog post of this year with this: 2012, you were definitely not MY year,but you were another year in which my story has continued to be written, and for that, I am thankful.  I am excited (and nervous) to see what 2013 will have to add to that story.

P.S. please tell 2013 to be kind

7 Months and Christmas Lists

It's so easy to do..I close my eyes and he's there...sitting up on a blanket smiling and manipulating his colorful and noisy toys in the middle of the living room floor. His hair is a rich brown, and unruly! His eyes are shaped like mine, and are oh so blue. His feet are almost the size of his big sister's already and his belly is plump and perfect. He looks at me as I call his name and he grins, baring four vibrant teeth in a mouth full of pink gums. I smile back, as my heart fills with the overwhelming sensation of the kind of love that only a mother can know.

And then I open my eyes. He's gone. The floor is bare. The house is quiet. And I'm alone with wet cheeks and an aching chest. All in the blink of an eye.

The past seven months have crept by and it feels like an eternity since I held my boy. But I can still remember every second of the painfully short time we had with him. Most days I only think of him as that newborn, because that's what he will forever be...my newborn baby. However, some days, I catch myself wondering what life would be like with my seven month old son. I long for the chaos and the extra duties. The tears flow when I realize that I should have the fireplace blocked off and the sockets all filled with plastic plugs to keep curious bodies from harm. But, there's no baby in this house.

And of course, it's Christmas time. I wasn't feeling too overly thrilled about decorating this year. I simply didn't have the motivation or want. After expressing my thoughts about minimal decorations to Waylon and picking a very excited Lyla up from school one day I looked to my left and this is what I saw...

 

Okay, baby boy, the Christmas tree WILL go up. :)

 

 

 

Now, what to do about the overwhelming need to buy baby boy gifts this year? I decided that I would go to one of the many department store trees and pluck off a tag to buy presents for a little boy who would be approximately seven months old. It would make me feel better, and would be helping out someone in need as well.

 

Well, Wyatt had another idea...a slightly better one. As Waylon was walking out of the county office building from paying his car taxes yesterday he saw a Christmas tree. The tree had two remaining tags hanging from it's meager branches. Neither were for an infant boy; however, the children represented on this particular tree are those that have been taken from their homes by the state due to abuse or neglect. Waylon signed up to provide Christmas presents to the 11 year old girl and 9 year old boy and walked out of the office building. Upon leaving the building guess what caught his eye? Why that's right...a shiny new penny lay sparkling on the cold, gray ground. Our boy approved of his Daddy's choice.

 

 So in honor of our Wyatt, and with the spirit of Christmas giving, we have bought presents for a special little girl and boy this year. The lists were very humble for young children and called for such things such as pajamas and books. Of course, we bought more than was asked for in hopes to surprise innocent eyes and allow them to know that there IS still some good in this scanty world.  So, although I will not be watching as my infant son opens his first Christmas presents in the glow of the lights on Christmas morning, I know that somewhere a young boy and girl will be smiling from ear to ear as they open theirs. 

The Box

When my brother, sister, and I were younger we had an old wooden toy box in which we kept our most treasured items. Of course, with three rambunctious kids, the box took quite a beating over the years, and was eventually moved to my grandparents' house, where it was then used to store extra quilts. The box has required many extra coats of paint and a few "face lifts" since its beginnings, but it has held sturdy and useful throughout the years.

Upon preparing Wyatt's nursery, we decided to take my grandmother up on her offer to bring the toy box home and put it to work once again being a shelter for a child's most precious belongings. My plan was to re-finish the toy box with a distressed look in order to coordinate with Wyatt's vintage themed nursery. The box that held so many of my special things, would now be his to do the same.

Well, when a baby didn't come home to claim the box as his own, it was placed in the garage...out of sight.

We soon after decided to use the toy box as Wyatt's chest; a place where we would keep everything of our baby's...in one. tiny. chest. Wyatt's Nanny took the toy box home with her and began the long and tedious task of stripping the paint and re-staining the toy box to get it to looking its best once again. Years of wear to the special box had caused the inside and back to need extra work as well. Nanny and Dave took great care to line the inside with cedar pieces, replace the parts that needed it, and to basically beautify the old box. It looks amazing and we are so grateful to them for the time, work, money, and love that was put into making the box like new, because now the most important duty of its time is upon it.

 

Waylon and I carefully placed all of Wyatt's "things" inside the newly made-over box, crying and shaking our heads in pure disbelief as we touched each and every item: the hat with his initials, the guestbook from the funeral, the metal airplane that once hung from the ceiling in his room, the blanket that was layed beneath him as his pictures were taken at the hospital, the hundreds of sympathy cards that were so thoughtfully sent our way, the pacifier that I had carefully packed in his diaper bag, the tiny diapers that never got to do their job, the album full of my pregnancy pictures showing a glowing and excited mommy, and the baby book that was started, but will never be completed, were among the many items.  We plan on hanging his Star certificate above the chest and placing the American flag, that was flown in his honor, in a shadow box to sit on the back of the old toy box.

Although the box will never hold my Wyatt's toys and treasures, it still holds mine...after all these years, the box still contains my most precious items...

Holiday-Phobia

It's fast and approaching. It's full of joy, family, love, lights, food, and laughter. It's busy and hectic, but always worth the stress. It's stocked full of dinners and parties and many family traditions. The music is uplifting and the waist lines are prepared to be stretched. What is it, you ask? Why, it's the most wonderful time of the year...

The few months out of the year that most look forward to (and some even prepare for) since the ending of the last holiday season. Thanksgiving and Christmas, and all of their glory, are in full view and coming in strong. Most people are welcoming their advance by Christmas shopping, preparing a menu for Thanksgiving dinner, making travel arrangements, and decorating.

Not this girl. I'm searching for all necessary and available protective gear in order to make it through the holidays without my baby boy. I'll need goggles to shield my eyes from the constant reminders that my Wyatt was suppose to be here with us this year: the posts and emails referring to things to be thankful for this year (granted, I'm aware that I have plenty to be thankful for, but my soul is still too wounded to pick out the roses and not be scratched by the thorns), the children unwrapping presents at family gatherings, the baby toys in the aisles screaming, "You should be buying me for your son!" as I hang my head and walk past, the sibling portraits with Santa that are likely to be displayed all over FaceBook and the mall and anywhere else I dare to venture, the references to "baby's first Christmas" on everything from ornaments to clothing to Christmas cards, the hurt and pain in my daughter's eyes as she visits brother's grave to give him her presents. They'd better be some damn good goggles.

  I'll be in search of earplugs to shelter my ears from the over played Christmas music in public as well as the overjoyed, annoying, yet well- meaning words of holiday well-wishers that will be hiding in every nook and cranny of the world (both real and cyber) until January 1st. I understand that people are ecstatic and feel the need to spread the joy throughout the holidays, however, I feel a tinge of guilt for not being as eager about the impending celebrations as in previous years when I hear and see other people's statements about this "most wonderful time of the year." I wonder how many are entering this delightful season with a broken heart and wounded character such as myself?

Lastly, I'll be looking for some really sticky, really good, really powerful tape. I'll need it for my heart. I want to wrap it up, and cover all the visible cracks and holes, so that it doesn't simply fall into a million pieces when I wake up on Christmas morning and realize that my baby boy should be 8 months old that very day. Instead of picking him up out of his crib and watching him and Sissy open presents from Santa with smiles and laughter abounding, I'll plant a smile on my face and continue on everyday, like I had for the past 8 months, for my precious baby girl and my savior of a husband. I'll even muster up the courage to visit Wyatt's grave and sing to him...maybe I'll even sing a Christmas song or two.

Many of you reading this want to say, "But, he will be celebrating our Lord's birthday in Heaven, with the one and only!" and I have thought about that and have tried to let it calm my anxiety, but here is what I have to say, "Would that statement make you feel okay if it were your son or daughter missing from your earthly life this holiday season?" Rest assured, these are not the angry words of falling christian, but the true feelings of a grieving mother.

This year there will be four stockings hanging from our mantle. One that will never be filled with goodies and never be touched by the soft and eager hands of it's person, but it will be there, bold and beautiful against the polished wood grain of the mantle, reminding us that our family will one day be whole again.

Lost?

One in four women lose a child to miscarriage, pregnancy, or infant LOSS.

But what many don't realize is that we have lost so much more than just our babies; I didn't just lose a newborn six months ago...

I lost an infant. I lost a toddler. I lost a child. I lost a teenager. I lost a young man.

I lost dreams.

I lost his holidays and his birthdays.

I lost chances to watch him grow and to parent him.

I lost the opportunities for late night feedings and early morning smiles.

I lost my naiveness and much of my hope for good things.

I lost my optimistic and "life is great" outlook on things.

I lost confidence.

I lost tears...many, many tears.

Wait a minute. I'm not sure "lost" is ever the right word to use here. I didn't "lose" anything.  It was taken from me.

Death TOOK my baby.

My joys of being his mother were all stolen as well and I will never, in this life, get any of that back.

My rose colored glasses were stripped off my face and I have been forced to view this terrifying place in all its realness. Be thankful if you are someone who gets to skip through this life wearing those tinted shades while so many others suffer with the reality of pain and loss. I don't mean that in a "I wish everyone had to suffer" sort of way, but really, be thankful.


My baby should be a giggling, sitting up, cooing 6th month old getting ready for his first Halloween with his big sister. However, he's not...but he was NOT lost. As long as I live, he will never be just another lost baby. He is my son, and I will spend all of my days making sure that his memory is kept alive.


*This was written on October 31st, 2012, but somehow did not post on that day*

Day 15

I woke up in the middle of last night after an extremely weird dream. Bare with me now, because I'm going to try to explain it.

Picture a heart..a real heart, with the chambers, arteries, valves, and blood pumping through it. It was HUGE, and of course, bright red. It was all alone in total darkness.  It was MY heart. There were interesting things that I noticed about the heart in my dream. There were tiny scratches all over it, huge gaping wounds on the top, and parts that had appeared to be "patched up."

Okay, onto the weird (er) part...there were at least twenty people on scaffolding working on the giant heart. They were taping, gluing, hammering, sewing, and painting my heart. I could not see or recognize any of the workers faces, but I could FEEL various emotions as each injury was being worked on. I remember noticing that other defects were forming just as one would become "healed."

That was it. I woke up. I was unsure of how to feel about the dream, so I lay awake trying to contemplate the meaning behind it.

I'm sure some of you all have already formed your own opinions about my bizarre reverie. But here's mine:

The tiny scratches represent small events in my life that have left a mark on my heart, like moving and leaving friends and family behind, being set back involving self goals, or having my feelings hurt by someone I care about. The gaping wounds, to me, represent the damage that has been done to my heart since loosing my precious Wyatt. The patched up areas made me believe that those are the things in which I have forgicen others for causing. And, of course, the constantly occuring marks are everyday battles in which I face in this confusing world.

As you can guess, I believe that the "workers" in my dream were friends and family members who love me and are constantly trying to help me to heal. I noticed that no one was working on the big gaping wounds, however, and I'm not sure why. Maybe they will always be there? Maybe no one knows exactly where to start? Maybe the workers are afraid to "make matters worse" by touching the big sores?

I don't have all of the answers, but I do know this: those who have shown genuine compassion and love to me over the course of the past 6 months (and before) are definitely helping my heart to continue to pump adequately, allowing me to continue to live. I have been shown that many times, and I was shown it in its full glory last night. Last night was day 15 of a photography/grief project that I am taking part in. Across the globe, friends and family lit candles in remembrance of Wyatt and other angel babies that have left us all too soon. I was expecting a few family members to join me and possibly close friends. The response was overwhelming, and most didn't even have a prompt. Now, I am sure that some just "jumped on the bandwagon," but I'll give all the benefit of the doubt on this one.  Selfless and caring acts such as those are what bring smiles to my face and place a bandage on my ever-bleeding heart.

So, I say, thank you. Thank you for Day 15.

The Club

There is this exclusive club. Not just anyone is a member. The membership fees are extremely high and it's a lifetime commitment. Most people will never even know about this club... and members wish they were never considered a part of it.

 

The club consists of people of every race, gender, religious group, and culture. This club doesn't believe in discrimination. This club welcomes new members daily with open arms.

 

I am a member of this club. Some of you reading this are also members. Others may be thinking, " Why wasn't I invited? I want to be a part of the secret society!" I promise that you don't.

 

In order to gain admittance into the club you must pay a hefty price...the life of your child.

 

Once you become a member you are given a very distinct pair of shoes to wear. You can never take them off...it's not a choice. They are ugly shoes. Everyone either stares at the shoes or makes an effort never to look at the shoes. I found a poem that describes the shoes you get upon entering the elite group...I couldn't have said it better myself.


THESE SHOES

I wear a pair of shoes
They are ugly shoes
Uncomfortable shoes
I hate my shoes
Each day I wear them and each day I wish I had another pair.
Some days my shoes hurt so bad that I do not think I can take another step
Yet, I continue to wear them
I get funny looks wearing these shoes
They are looks of sympathy.
I can tell in others eyes that they are glad they are my shoes and not theirs
They never talk about my shoes
To learn how awful my shoes are might make them uncomfortable.
To truly understand these shoes you must walk in them.
But, once you put them on, you can never take them off.
I now realize I am not the only one who wears these shoes.
There are many pairs in this world.
Some women are like me and ache daily as they try and walk in them.
Some have learned how to walk in them so they don't hurt quite as much.
Some have worn the shoes so long that days will go by before they think about how much they hurt
No woman deserves to wear these shoes
They have made me who I am.
I will forever walk in the shoes of a woman who has lost a child.        

        

Capture Your Grief- 2012

October is pregnancy/infant loss awareness month.

I have chosen to take part in a photography project throughout the month of October. My goal will be to follow a list of subjects provided on the following link and to capture my grief through photographs using the guidleines on the website.  http://carlymarieprojectheal.com/2012/09/capture-your-grief-this-october-2012-for-pregnancy-infant-loss-awareness-month.html

I hope to be able to update for each day of October and fill in this post as I go, however, if I fall a few days behind, no worries, I will catch up. :)

I am praying that this project will be another healing outlet for me as it provides another glimpse for all of my readers into my heartbreak. This is for you, my sweet Wyatt.

Day 1: Sunrise

This beautiful photo was captured outside of my brother and sister-in-law's house in Jackson, TN.

I will forever treasure every single sunrise that I am able to witness because my baby boy never had the chance to see the sun come up with it's brilliant shades of color or to feel the warmth on his precious skin.

 

Day 2: Before Loss Self Portrait

This photo represents innocence to me. I was 36 weeks pregnant with our baby boy. We were fully expecting to have our perfect little family in less than 1 month from when this was taken. When I look at this picture I see a naive woman whose biggest concern at the time were her swollen feet and face. This photo projects happiness...happiness before there was any knowledge of the severe grief that would soon enter our lives. If I could go back in time....

 

Day 3: After Loss Self Portrait

 

Taken just over two weeks after our son grew his angel wings, and only five months ago from today, this picture was just the beginning of my life after loss. It was Mother's Day, and as you can see I was celebrating with my little girl. But a few things were missing: my genuine smile, true joy in my eyes, happiness in my heart, and a baby boy in my arms.



 

 

Day 4: Most Treasured Item

This particular day was a difficult one for me...I found it hard to choose 1 most treasured item, and the one thing I treasure the most is not tangible. The nine months that I spent as a happy expectant mother with her growing and active baby boy inside her womb is my biggest treasure. He was alive. He was well. Now, onto the reality of it all...the nurses at the hospital were kind enough to make me a very sweet memory book which contained numerous pictures, his foot prints, and my favorite, a lock of his sweet hair. THAT is my most treasured touchable thing.

 

Day 5: Memorial

After our loss many things were done in memory of our sweet boy. A friend bought and named a star for our little man, my aunt requested that a US flag be flown over the capital in honor of Wyatt, pinwheels were proudly displayed at the homes of friends and family members to symbolize their thoughts of our son, a tattoo with his name and the plane that was on his one and only piece of clothing was placed on my ankle, trees and plants were planted, shadow boxes were made, and then, of course, we had a stone set at the place of his forever bed. Wyatt receives many visitors at his memorial place and I'm so glad that he is where he is, although I would love so much to be closer to him.

 

 Day 6: What NOT to say

This response irks me to the bone. I can't fully explain it, and no, I have never been a believer in this statement. I feel as though it places some sort of blame on the people involved..like "oh, sorry, but you must've done something wrong, because there's a reason for everything." Um, no. Even if there is indeed a reason for the way that everything happens, the statement itself is not in the least bit comforting, neither are the following statements: "God needed another angel," "He was too perfect for this earth," " You are young, you can have more children," or " I can't even imagine if that happened to MY baby." Let's flip this around and pretend those things were said to you after you had just given birth to a lifeless baby and buried him before his first breathe. Would they help you to heal? Or simply make you mad? I think that that is a rhetorical question.

Day 7: What TO say

I realize that the above picture may a bit difficult to read, so I shall decipher it for you. Be real. Don't try to sugar coat or come up with the "right" words for the situation...there are none. Raw emotions mean more than cliche and forced responses. Tell me that you are sorry. Tell me that you miss him too. Tell me that I should be proud of BOTH of my children. Say his name...we didn't give him a name never to hear it spoken again. Lastly, don't be afraid to talk about him. You will not make me uncomfortable or any more sad than I already am. My responses might make you uncomfortable, but that is not my intention. I want to be honest and honor my baby in all of my words and actions...so if you aren't ready for the truth just offer a hug.

 

Day 8: Jewelry

Those who bought the above jewelry (and some that are not pictured) know me all to well. It was the perfect gesture to help me in my efforts to keep my son close and honor his life. I LOVE when people ask me about my jewelry, because it gives me a chance to talk about my boy.

Day 9: Special Place

I chose to list my "special place" as not an actual place, put a thing. My journal. When I write in my journal (and this is my Wyatt journal...Lyla has her own journal that I write in frequently) I am indeed in my very own special place...a place where no one can judge me for the thoughts and feelings that I may be having on that particular day....a place where I can imagine and dream of what life would be like if Wyatt were still here...and a place where I can look back on pasts entries to see how far I have come in six months. My journal is my own private, special place where I often find refuge in my own pen strokes.

 

Day 10: Symbol

 

Video of Wyatt singing along with Mommy through the pinwheel

 

Airplanes, butterflies, rainbows, pennies, and the wind (often felt and seen through pinwheels) are all symbols that remind me of our son. Singing or talking to the pinwheels allow me to feel as though I am communicating with my baby. It makes my heart feel like one giant ball of happiness and heartache when I see the pinwheel moving in response to my presence or voice.

 

Day 11: Supportive Family/Friends

To say we've been overwhelmed with supportive friends, family, and even strangers since our loss would be an understatement. Above is a picture of SOME of the cards we've received, along with a list of people who brought food to the funeral dinner, and the "guest book" from Wyatt's service. So much support. So much love.

 

Day 12: Scents

The blankie that is visible in all of Wyatt's pictures stays on my nightstand. I held it and rubbed it during his funeral because it reminded me of his soft hair. It also smelled like him. The scent is slowly fading, but I must make myself remember because I can still smell that sweet smell when I bury my face into the blankie.

 

Day 13: Signs

Rainbows have been painted in the sky on days that I've most needed to feel relief from grief( like Mother's Day). Butterflies have landed, and stayed for quite a while, on me which have often left me with a feeling of calmness and happiness. But the sign I'll use for this day is blunt and can't be ignored. My cousin captured this picture on the day of my daughter's birthday a we were driving around relentlessly trying to find helium for her balloons. Wyatt always knows when momma needs him the most.

 

Day 14: Community

I have received nothing but caring responses from those in the child loss community. I am in the process of creating an event to honor our Wyatt, but he was honored recently at an event for a sweet little angel baby girl named Ava. Ava's mommy was kind enough to include Wyatt in her event. What a sweet gesture.

 

Day 15: Wave of Light

 

The candle that we chose to light was given to us at Wyatt's funeral. On my husband's night stand sits a picture of our angel baby and one of his baby sister, Jennifer, whom he never got to meet. Our daughter actually lit our candle and we had quite the emotional night as people from all around lit candles in remembrance of our little guy. Our hearts were filled with sadness at all of the little ones taken all too soon from this world. We were also filled with pride when we think of the amount of lives that our little guy is affecting...and he's doing it all from Heaven.

Day 16: Release

The day of our son's funeral our daughter sent him a balloon to heaven. She also decided he need one on the day of her birthday. My sweet girl loves her brother.

Day 17: Anniversary/birthday/due date

Wyatt was born on April 25, 2012. His due date was May 9, 2012. We have yet to reach a yearly anniversary, but plan on a cemetery celebration on the spring for our boy.

Day 18: Family Portrait

Sadly, I will never have a picture of our whole family together. The top picture is at our daughters' fifth birthday party, and the bottom is the day we said hello and goodbye to our son.

Day 19: Project

My project is more of a challenge. I started a penny jar challenge on my blog that many family, friends, and even strangers have taken on. Read more about it here...http://kdforgey.blogspot.com/2012/07/penny-jar.html?m=0

Day 20: Charity/Organization

While, I was not fortunate enough to take advantage of this organization myself, I give realized that the pictures the hospital took are most most prized possessions. I support this organization and hope to donate to its wonderful, though saddening cause.

Day 21: Altar/Shrine/Sacred Place

Our memorial garden houses stones, plants, etc that were given to us after the loss of our son. We made the garden in the shape of a butterfly and it is visible from any of the front rooms of our house. A place all his own.

Day 22: Place of Care/Birth

Gateway in Clarksville, tn was the one and only place that I held my son. I had two of the best nurses imaginable, and the entire hospital was pretty accommodating to our family.

Day 23: Their Name/Their Photo

Wyatt Michael
Born sleeping at 38 weeks
7 lbs 6ounces, 21&3/4 inches
Love you to heaven and back

Day 24: Siblings

 

 

 

Fly High, Baby Boy

As some of you may know, my aunt requested that a U.S. flag would be flown over the U.S. capitol in D.C. in honor of our Wyatt. The date was chosen at random, and the flag was in the air flapping away in the breeze on August 15, 2012.

Now, those of you that KNOW our family, know that we are a proud, patriotic family. We love each other and we love our country. Our baby boy will never get to do a lot of things, but there are things being done in his honor that some of us can only imagine being a part of. With that said, this amazing gesture was such a meaningful gift.

The flag arrived a few weeks ago, and I trembled as I took it and its accompanying papers out of the box and held it tightly against my chest. I inhaled deeply, and smiled as the thoughts of the flag flapping wonderfully in the air as millions of people glanced up at the ol' red. white, and blue poured into my mind. I cried as I realized that those people hadn't the slightest clue behind the importance of the flag on that particular day to a grieving family from a small town in Western Kentucky. But, oh, how special. My boy flew high and proud that day, I'm sure of it.

 

"This is to certify that the accompanying flag was flown over the United States Capitol on August 15, 2012. At the request of the Honorable Mitch McConnell, United States Senator, this flag was flown in memory of Wyatt Michael Forgey."

"This is to certify that the accompanying flag was flown over the United States Capitol on August, 15, 2012 for Wyatt Michael Forgey, son of Waylon and Krystal Forgey, brother to Lyla Forgey, silently born on April 25, 2012, at the request of Senate Republican Leader Mitch McConnell."

152 Days

It has been almost 5 months, 152 days to be exact, since our son grew his angel wings.

Update on life after loss:

I have lost all (plus a few extra pounds) of my baby weight. I've been trying to fit back into more than just my clothes, though. I've been trying to fit back into life; but it's as if my shape has changed, and I can no longer fit into the shape I once filled. Trying to form a whole new shape can be exhausting and confusing to say the least.

The phantom kicks have subsided. That only means that Wyatt's kicks and squirms are becoming distant memories. I watch videos of him making my belly move to bring back those joyful memories when I feel as though they are starting to fade. Unfortunately, I still have not been able to watch his ultrasound video yet. I'm working up the courage.

I smile more. However, the smiles don't replace the tears...sometimes they simply cover them. Please just smile back...or cry. Your tears mean more to me than you will ever know. Tears show compassion and understanding of the depth of our feelings.

I haven't taken medication for pain or to ease my anxiety since May. Some days I can tell that my body and mind wish I would give in and allow them to feel the calmness that the medications provided. But I'm no wimp. If I can handle burying my son, then I can handle a little "odd" feeling in my chest.

I have successfully surpassed a few personal hurdles that only someone who has suffered a loss such as ours would understand: watching friends and loved ones welcome their newborns safely and happily into this world, plastering a smile on my face as someone announces their pregnancy, holding precious babies with my trembling arms and a racing mind, buying baby shower gifts and cards for expecting parents, speaking of our son with a smile instead of tears (not always), applying for and receiving a "birth certificate" for a child we never got to bring home, hearing/reading of milestones reached and seeing pictures of babies with their mommies and daddies wearing great big smiles as I long for mine (both the smile and the baby), gently touching the baby boy clothes with airplanes on them as tears roll down my cheeks (in public), and making plans--that's right--any plans, because anxiety is well known for trying to come on in and wanting to trample my hopes for a good day. These are feelings and scenes I'll have to battle forever, so please don't feel awkward around me if you fit into one of the above categories. Help me. Help me by not acting as though my loss is a disease and by not condemning my actions... even if you do not understand them entirely--you are lucky that you don't.



Some days it's like a dream--or a nightmare, I guess.  I wake up thinking, "Did this really happen? Did I have months of heartburn and back pain as my little man was busy growing and getting stronger? Did I attend numerous doctor's appointments and hear his healthy heartbeat?  Did I lay on an examination table as my world collapsed around me all becasue of a silent doppler? Did I have to tell my daughter that the little brother she had been waiting on would never be ours to keep?  Did I carry a real being for 9 months only to deliver his body after his soul had already left? Did I hold and kiss the very real body of my lifeless baby? Did I watch my husband carry a miniature casket to our son's resting place? Did I kiss that cold, hard box and walk off to let someone bury my baby? Did I come home to an overly prepared baby nursery with empty arms?

yes. yes. yes. and yes.

And here I am, 152 days later.  Still standing. Still thinking of him. Still missing him. Still wanting him. Still mourning him. Still loving him.

Knowledge is Power

In the last four months I have researched more about stillbirth than all other subjects for any paper I have ever written combined. I want answers. I want proof. I want to be educated. But mostly, I want to help others to become educated, no matter how taboo the subject may be. Fetal demise is real, its sad, and it CAN happen to YOU. Some of you will probably stop reading after that last line. You don't want to even think about the possibility of MY reality becoming YOUR reality. That's not okay. You may have a friend, relative, or acquaintance that is pregnant or hoping to conceive...they need to gain knowledge
(not just about stillbirth, but any and all information pertaining to unborn and newborn babies)...knowledge that hopefully will never have to be put to personal use, but would be more beneficial to have than to not have. "Better safe than sorry" ring any bells?

In those whirlwind two days in which I went so quickly from being an expectant and joyful mother to a woman grieving the death of her son I was forced to realize how oblivious and naive I had been.  As I promptly found out, it wasn’t just me who was unprepared to handle what was happening. My doctor seemed flabbergasted. The majority of the medical staff didn't know what to say or how to say it. Family and friends were broken and confused and seemed unsure of how to approach the subject. Silence became the default coping mechanism that day, and currently is still the most prominent.


My first hand experience combined with the hours and hours of research I have read through have lead me to the saddening confirmation that stillbirth is still an unmentionable topic in our society. Let's talk about cancer and alcoholism and rare childhood diseases that will inevitably all lead to death, but don't  you DARE think about discussing the looming possibility of carrying a child full term only to deliver a lifeless baby. No one seems to want to educate themselves on the topic. Even worse, medical professionals and others are afraid to mention the issue as a proactive measure. Why didn't my doctor ever causally ask me if I was knowledgeable on the subject? It would have prompted me to look into  the issue...to gain knowledge...to gain power.

No, I am not saying that stillbirth can be prevented. However, I am not certain that specific causes can't be determined and possibly prevented. I am not 100% convinced that I had no power in saving my baby. Had I been better informed about kick counts, fetal movements in the 3rd trimester, fetal hiccups, and any other warning signs of fetal distress my little man just MIGHT still be here. (I am aware of those of you out there reading this and thinking "Silly girl, it was all God's plan and there was nothing you could do" or " Everything happens for a reason, so stop trying to explain the unexplainable." but that's okay, because as a mother, I will always feel total responsibility for keeping my children safe.)
But guess what? Those things never even crossed my mind as being crucial in the well being of my unborn child. Everything "seemed" to be normal.

Research on stillbirth has so many gaps due partially to funding, but largely to the societal cheek turn to the subject. Did you know that the term stillbirth is defined differently in various states? I mean how can research even be conducted if we can't even get a universal definition? Accurate data has no way of being collected with such conflicting ideas.

Did you know that stillbirth occurs in about 1 in 160 pregnancies? Not as rare as you thought, huh?

Did you know that placental problems, birth defects, growth restriction, and infections are the most common KNOWN causes of stillbirth?

One study has stated that UCA (umbilical cord accidents) account for the majority of stillbirths. While on the other hand, another study concludes that cord accidents only account for 2-4% of all stillbirth cases. Who would have ever thought that they'd be in that teeny tiny percentage? Not this girl. But somebody has to be.

The UCA research is the most intriguing to me, for obvious reasons, and I can't even get any straight answers that anyone is even TRYING to make strides in research or raise money for studies. I mean, I have run across a few prominent names in the professional realm of stillbirth, but its just not satisfying.  I , as a mother of one healthy baby carrying her second child, was unaware that UCA usually occur when the mother is sleeping or that more tests could be ran (that insurance probably doesn't pay for) to insure all health of the baby is good. Hello, people, why are we in the dark on this issue?

See what I mean about the research? It's conflicting. Its sad. and Its not enough.



The simple topic of stillbirth is almost forbidden in our society; we have a tendency to pretend it doesn’t happen, so we don’t talk about it. This has to change. Tens of thousands of families endure the pain and trauma of stillbirth every year, and until we, as a society, acknowledge this and talk openly about it, medical professionals, family, friends and patients will remain ill-equipped when it comes to helping their loved ones.

Okay, so say there was no way for me to know that something was wrong and no way to stop the unthinkable from happening. There was still so much more that could have been done to prepare me for the unexpected. Reading materials. Discussions in the doctor's office. Posters. Articles. None of this was pushed on me. I'm sure I could have found the information if I had searched for it,  but why would I? The thought that I would not leave the hospital with my son at 38 weeks never crossed my overjoyed mommy mind. I might have scoffed or rolled my eyes at the mention of stillbirth before it happened to me, but I highly doubt it. I would have been intrigued, thirsty for knowledge; because that's what pregnant women do. They strive to prepare in every way for their newborns. We plan for the future in more ways than simply decorating a nursery or buying tiny clothes. We wonder what we would do if our baby was born with Down's Syndrome or any other conditions. We strive to think positively, while still entertaining the negative thoughts. You would be crazy to live in a world where you thought nothing bad could ever happen- to you. It's important to hope for the best, but plan for the worst.

In my opinion, medical professionals need more training in not only the health care aspects of stillbirth cases,  but the emotional support as well. More comprehensive protocols would be beneficial in easing the trauma and help to prepare those involved to make the short and long term decisions that face them during stillbirth events. Everyone seemed afraid to tell me what I needed to do. No one wanted to address the big elephant in the room. It shouldn't be that way. Nurses, therapists, and other health care professionals need more grief training and should be prepared to handle any such situation with grace and tact. With that said, my care was far from horrible, but I believe more could have been said and done to help us with our circumstances.

Phew.

Yes, I'm becoming THAT advocate. The one who only does something about a matter AFTER it has affected her life in some way. I only wish someone had done the same for me, and opened my eyes to the scary nightmare that became my reality. I guess I'm simply just hoping that by talking and writing about stillbirth that the ugly stigma will be erased and that someday, someone will benefit in some small way by acquiring knowledge on the topic. Knowledge that was freely and sincerely provided to them by a doctor, a friend, a family member, or a complete stranger.

  I challenge you to go to YouTube or Google and type that daunting word into the search box. Read a little. Cry a little. Learn a little. Help a little.

To get you started:
UCA

This is My Family.

Our little girl has started Kindergarten.

Most days I sit at home (while searching for a job) and think. I think about how I should be hearing a baby's coos instead of the ticking of the clock or the pecking of the keys on the keyboard. I think about upcoming events and how I will try to handle them or let them affect me. I think about ways to continue to honor my little boy's life. I think about all the normal everyday things too like cleaning, cooking, doctors appointments, and schedules (sometimes I actually do more than just think about cleaning, :) ).

I also worry. I worry that the quietness will overcome me. I worry that upcoming events and holidays will prove to be depressing...Wyatt was suppose to be a cute little puppy dog for Halloween. I worry about how my Lyla is fairing at school. I worry that she needs her momma to help her tie her shoes or carry her lunch tray. I worry about how other kids are treating her. I worry that I worry too much.

Sometimes I beat my anxiety to the punch and do something about it. For example, I was nervous that Lyla would be made fun of or scare off friends if she mentioned that she had a little brother...in Heaven. That thought was put into my mind on the day of the "Meet the Teacher" night after I saw the name "Wyatt" placed on one of the name tags in the room. Oh boy. So, I became the mother bear and proactively emailed her teacher. I explained our situation and that we encourage Lyla to talk about Wyatt and that he is indeed a part of our family. Her teacher was very sweet and understanding in the response and to this day has shown to be very attentive with Lyla's emotional needs. She also has a son whose name is Wyatt.  Maybe, she too, is a God send.

A poster was sent home with Lyla last week with instructions to complete it with the help of parents and send it back to school to display. The poster was entitled "All about Me." It requested her favorite color, food, games, and books. It inquired about her favorite activities, pets, and her family. She dictated, and I wrote. My chest tightened and tears stung my eyelids as she named the members of her family...leaving out our Wyatt. I didn't remind her, or try to correct her. This was HER project and I was simply the pencil. We finished the poster and sent it back to school. I was saddened. Saddened at the thought that she had already forgotten about her little brother...or maybe she was embarrassed.

I'm not sure what her thought process had been on that particular day, but just yesterday Lyla came home with an activity sheet. She had drawn four people and at the bottom of the paper was the sentence: "This is My Family."

A smile quickly spread across my face while the liquid escaped my eyes. She pointed to each character and explained who they were. Baby Wyatt was there...and that's who he'll always be, our baby Wyatt.

 

So, as I continue to wrestle with when to act on my insecurities and when to let them be, just know that this little girl will calm my fears and light my way. There is no denying that she is the best big sister any little angel baby could want.

A New Perspective

Sitting on the couch this morning drinking a cup of coffee, I received a text from one of my sisters-in-law. She encouraged me to check out a video on You Tube. I began crying before I even searched the video; that's just how broken my emotional flood gates are currently.

It was a video by a young woman who not only had a stillborn daughter, but was also diagnosed with Stage 4 colon cancer shortly after losing her daughter. It was a video about how although she had been tested time and time again by the devil, she still stood strong in her faith. She told her story from two perspectives: hers and God's. In the video, she proclaimed through her writing how God worked through her to touch his other children...and she was more than okay with that.

You wouldn't believe the amount of messages and emails that I have received from people claiming that Wyatt's story has changed their lives or hearts. I haven't given those claims enough credit because I have been too busy sulking in my own sorrows. I'm simply not there yet, but this woman in this video might just be my new role model.

Her words were perfect and heart warming. Her theories seemed on point and touched a place in my heart that has seemed to have gone dormant. As I sobbed listening to her words, I felt a tiny tinge of peace. Have I been angry at the wrong entity for taking my Wyatt? Have I been asking the wrong questions to the wrong being?

Now, I have NOT been miraculously healed by this lady's video, but she has opened my eyes just a little wider. I am not the picture perfect Christian, and I still have many insecurities about our circumstances, but I've said it once (or twice), and I'll say it again...I still believe. I am confident that if I continue to seek, I shall eventually find what I am looking for.  Stranger things have happened. I believe that I will be reunited with my angel baby one day, and oh boy, I can't wait! With that said, I will still be sad. I will constantly miss our son. I will always long for and want him. My chest will continue to feel pain in uncomfortable and familiar situations. There will always be something missing during my life here on earth, but I can't let it cripple me. I have too much love to share. I have too much passion to tame. And I have too many people who love me regardless of my insecurities, failures, setbacks, and grief-stricken soul.

Please take a few minutes out of your busy day to watch this video. You may disagree with her words and her beliefs, but you have to give her credit for her courage and her strength.

http://youtu.be/I8AshaJQTIk

This girl right here (me) is in awe of Sara's writing and outlook. So, maybe she was right about God using her writing to help his other children... even if I am just another pawn in this game of life--------I have been moved.

Born still is STILL born

Four long months have passed since our baby passed.

Here's a short glimpse into my scattered mind currently:

I no longer appear to have just had a baby. His room is painted and packed away. All baby items are gone or at least covered up in the closets. There is no talk or preparation for "when the baby comes home."

The baby item coupons and emails are now discarded without a second glance, and are often joined with a few tears. I no longer spend hours trying to plan out the future..it's one day at a time around here.

Our thoughts of our son are often clouded with sadness instead of excitement and happiness...Lyla still questions the reason behind watching Wyatt grow so big and strong in Mommy's tummy only to never see him, and to now be forced to visit her brother in a cemetery.

Jealousy still reigns when I see women expecting or new mommies, especially if it happens to be their second, third, or fourth child. How can so many people be lucky enough to have that many live babies?! I've never been the lucky type. And I meant to say "lucky" instead of "blessed." You see, I'm having an issue with the word "blessed" lately. What is it exactly that sets me apart from all you blessed people? What did I do differently than you? Why was I not "blessed" with another "blessing"?  I know that some of you are going to disagree, and say that I am blessed. Blessed with a wonderful husband, precious little girl, nice house, and good health. Right? Then I will simply ask you to put yourself in my shoes (try really hard, although I promise you there's no way you'll get there unless you have BEEN in my shoes) and then try to proclaim that you are blessed. You will quickly look around and realize that the word is often used superficially and frequently used with arrogant pride.

Others often try to include him in conversation (myself included), however, I'm most often left with even more sadness at my backfiring thoughts. Yes, I think it's pretty awesome that he has touched so many people and that others can feel his presence and try to include him in their daily lives...but wouldn't it be so much better if he were here? with me? with his family? Better for who? See, there I go being selfish again.

I try so hard to picture Heaven. I try to picture Wyatt there. I try to imagine him with relatives and loved ones who have gone before us. I want to see him being cared for and loved on and playing on the fluffy clouds. It's just not that easy. I hate thinking that he is alone and so little. I want to hold and take care of my boy. I gasp for air when I think of him crying for me and I can't help him...I can't save him...I couldn't save him.

He was a baby. Our baby.

He was not a horrible tragedy that happened to us or a pregnancy that was lost.

He was not an awful situation or a frightening statistic.

 He was a fully developed little boy with soft skin and silky hair.

He has a name...a beautiful name.

He has a mother and father and big sister and family that already loved him; loved him before they ever saw him.

The love I have in my heart for him and the pain I feel from missing him is enough evidence for me that he existed.

He was born.