Tuesday, July 31, 2012

A 3 Month-Old Heartache

The 25th marked three months. Three months since the first and last time that we saw our baby boy. Instead of a three month old baby, I have a three month old heartache.

We are supposed to have a living baby boy. He would've rolled over by now. He would be smiling, no doubt. The 3-6 months outfits would be fitting his little body. We would be searching for day cares as I search for a job and Lyla starts school. Our days and nights would be full of both joy and stress.

But none of that is true.

Time is marching on, and I am thankful for that, but I feel stuck. I feel like a fish out of water. I flop around every which way to find happiness and relief. I spend my days enjoying my family and planning for the future--a future without our Wyatt. Sometimes I get close enough to the water to get a big gulp, and I'm okay for a little while, but at the end of the day, I am still on the shore longing to get back into the water.

My heart still constricts with anxiety at the sight of new babies and glowing mothers. I can't breathe. I want MY baby. People share their condolences and offer hugs, but in the back of their minds I know they are truly thinking, "Thank goodness that didn't happen to me." It's hard not to be selfish in this world. I feel selfish for thinking, "Why? Why do some of us get slammed this way in this life and others don't?" I feel selfish for wanting my own baby...how ironic is that?

I had two children.

I have two children.

Hmm.. How do you explain the loss of a baby who died before his first breath? Before his first cry? Before his first kiss? There was no car accident or a childhood illness.

I am asked quite often from strangers just trying to make conversation. I don't have a scripted answer. Usually I just gage my answer on who it is that is asking and where we are. My answer to the cashier at Wal-mart- "Yes, she's my only child." *sting* (I'm so sorry, Wyatt, mommy didn't mean to say it. I just didn't want the nosey people behind me to huff and puff because I was taking too long.) The answer I provided to the lady giving me a facial just yesterday when she simply asked if I had any children..." I do. I have a little girl who will be 5 in September, and a little boy who would be three months old, but he's no longer with us." Silence (oh, how I'm use to the silence). We were in a private room, so I felt the need to acknowledge my sweet boy. We HAVE two children.


Rainbows, butterflies, airplanes, the wind, and the penny jar challenge....why do I try so hard to mention my son's name and existence at every given chance? Because it's all I have. I can't DO anything for my son. I can't give him a bath. I can't feed him a bottle. I can't change his diaper. I cannot kiss him. I cannot hold him. All I can do is love him.

I blog about him. I got a tattoo in his memory. I visit his grave frequently. We have created a memorial garden in our yard for him. He has a chest full of things to honor his memory. I am currently trying to put together a 5K for our Wyatt (more details later). I speak of him often. These are a few things that I have found I CAN do for our son.

Each one of those things is a replacement for something I cannot do for him. A substitute for bath time, story time, playtime, and nap time.

I am terrified that I will eventually run out of things to do for him.



Saturday, July 21, 2012

Faithful Friends

Faithful friends are beyond price; no amount can balance their worth. Faithful friends are life-saving medicine.
-SIRACH 6:15-16

Almost immediately in accordance with my last post about grief and whether it should be considered a friend or a foe, a few of my friends have shone some light on the topic for me, and they did so unselfishly and unknowingly, I am most sure.

The military has led us to a few different places which have inevitably led us to many priceless friendships. Although the constant moving of bases proves to physically force friends apart, there are special friends who will always remain friends.  There is a unique place in my heart for all of these friends whether we are in contact daily, weekly, monthly, or even just once a year. It's a distinctive bond that forms when you are away from "home" and "family." These military friends become your "home" and your "family." It's just that simple.

Waylon and I met a wonderful couple in Germany at our first duty station. Since our time together overseas we have continued to be great friends although almost the entire U.S. stands between us now. We travel once a year (at least) to visit with each other and also share numerous texts, phone calls, and emails almost on a daily basis. When the word of our tragedy made its way to them they were immediately trying to catch a plane to be at the funeral for our baby boy. With reassuring urges, we convinced them not to worry about the trip and that we understood their want to "be there" for us.

 I know that they have been praying for us and thinking about us nonstop since April 25, 2012. We love them for who they are as individuals and who they are as friends to us. You, too, will love them after this post...

Just last week I received this in a text:

If it's difficult for you to read I will decipher it for you in short: Our friends took orders for baked goods and have sent the profits to us...to use for baby Wyatt's funeral costs. Can you say thoughtful and caring? Actually, those adjectives would be understatements.

This just came in the mail:

Our friends raised a total of $805.00 through their bake sale efforts. They expressed their want to help us in anyway that they possibly were able; they succeeded. How absolutely amazing. Now that, my friends, is a true testament of love and friendship. What BIG hearts you have. :)

SIDE NOTE: We want to shout "Thank You!" all the way to California to all of the people who donated to the bake sale with the intentions of helping complete strangers (us) in our time of sorrow and hardship. It takes truly compassionate people to spend their money and time helping people they don't even know and will probably never meet who are hundreds of miles away. It's heartwarming to know that people such as those still exist in today's world...there is hope after all.


I have been fortunate to work with an awesome variety of people since the beginning of our journey in Germany which eventually took us to South Carolina. Working at the Youth Programs facilities has not only enabled me to do what I love most (work with children), but it has also brought me to some pretty amazing people.

I received a package in the MAIL just the other day--don't get me wrong, I love technology and e-mail just like the next kid, but snail mail hits a special place in my heart. ;) A very dear friend whom I met while working at the YC in SC and her family were kind enough to put together a very special box of all the right things...

The box included:
and
and
and


and

and even something for Lyla:




This special friend has also put together an intriguing proposition to help us in our journey to create a lasting legacy for our little guy. It has to do with a traveling penny and journal--so be on the lookout and be prepared for your chance to add to the journal. More about this to come; It's going to be such an extraordinary event. I can't wait til the day when that journal makes it back to us. :)


These are the kind of people everyone needs in their lives. They are the type of friends that last a life time and are there for you at the drop of a dime.


SIDE NOTE: We truly appreciate every single text, message, card, letter, phone call, and visit that we have received from friends (you know who you are) since the day our world was turned upside down. Life has changed completely, but somehow it goes on.  You all have made each day a little brighter and each tear a little more meaningful. You have given us pockets of hope in an otherwise hopeless time; and for that we are forever grateful. 


Friday, July 13, 2012

Grief- Friend or Foe?

Grief--it's such a tricky devil.

It sneaks up from the  dark corners of an open room full of people who are laughing and enjoying each other's company. It creeps along the strong walls of a home full of love. It buries itself in the subconscious of a young mother and makes itself present whenever it damn well pleases.

I have tried to make friends with this character. I have allowed it to break down my walls and let the tears flood my face. I have welcomed its "needed" advancement in hopes that when it decides to fade into the background I will be left a stronger person for knowing this grief guy. After all, it's important to accept Grief, right?

There have been days where grief only makes a small supporting role, and then quickly disappears into the shadows from which it first appeared. It likes to show its ugly face at the most random, but appropriate of times.

The day the hospital bills came in the mail grief reared its ferocious snarl on my otherwise good day. I mean, I know that you don't actually pay for the baby itself, but come on, shouldn't there be some sort of price reduction when you leave the hospital without the baby?

A happy and fun trip to the zoo with my little girl and sister was a day to surely stuff the grief in a closet and enjoy the beauty of life..that is until I kept hearing the name "Wyatt" be called by the leader of a school group. Great. Welcome back, Grief. Every which way we turned that day there was a stroller to dodge or a baby to avoid. Sounds like fun, right? It was fun, for the simple fact that I have figured out how to put a leash on this Grief thing, sometimes, at least. We had a good day, despite the little boy at the bird exhibit that was wearing an airplane shirt and smiling ever so sweetly at his momma, and the hundreds of pairs of brothers and sisters present that day. *sigh*

Grief  seeks me out when I'm online trying to "keep up" with my friends via Facebook and Blogs. Oh how he loves to visit me when I'm browsing through the tons and tons of "new baby" and "pregnant lady" pictures on my news feed. He taps me on the shoulder and says, "Remember that? Yea, that should be you. ha!" He plays dirty. Grief allows jealousy to creep in and join the pity party as well. I hate feeling jealous. I hate cringing at the sight of beautiful babies and scoffing at the overjoyed expecting  or new momma. They didn't take my baby, now did they? However, I have no say on who is invited to my emotional parties anymore; it's a free for all.  It's not quite fair... I find myself saying that phrase a lot.

My new acquaintance seeks me out through my email, even. He comes in the form of Similac for Moms: Your Baby is 11 weeks old today! and Don't forget to update your BabiesRUs registry! He just doesn't know when to stop.

He has a very intriguing personality and loves to be present so that he can taunt me through my emotional restraints when strangers ask, "Is she your only child?" or " How many children do you have?" or " It's about time to have another one, eh?" Tried that. Thanks.

When I'm enjoying time with Lyla outside and I see that empty space beside her or her little hand waving freely in the open air, the little scoundrel (Grief) likes to hark back at me that her little brother will never fill that space and will never hold her hand. Thanks for that, Mr. Obvious.

When I see my husband spending time with his nephews or his dad I am once again visited by my new best friend (enemy). He continuously switches from ear to ear as he whispers the facts that Waylon will not ever be able to do any of those such things with Wyatt. Grief doesn't hear my heart as it cracks into a thousand pieces...again.

He thoroughly enjoys visiting me during my resting periods. As I float in the pool Grief likes to swirl around in the wind and slap my face...He's reminding me once again that I have too much time to do absolutely nothing. As I lay on the couch he mimics the sound of a newborn baby's cry and fills my head with thoughts such as "I shouldn't have time to be lazy, I have a newborn baby to take care of." or  the worst, yet most profound question, "Why Me?"

Mr. Grief makes his most common of appearances at night time, in our bedroom. He likes to make a loud commotion when everything else in the house is quite. He reminds us that there is no crying baby and no bottles to wash. He laughs as we look through the only pictures we will ever have of our little boy.

He rarely offers a tissue.

Thursday, July 12, 2012

Tattoos, Tributes, & Thank You(s)

Upon reading another blog, the thought for this post popped in my head. I think it's time that all of my faithful readers read a post that didn't bring immediate tears and torment to their hearts. My true intentions were never to make you buy stock in Puffs, but to merely tell the world about our Wyatt. It is not true that every time we think of him we cry; in fact, its getting easier day by day to smile at the mention of his name (as I cry typing this ;) ). With all of that said, I would like to take this opportunity to share with you all some of the most precious gifts that were given to us in the wake of our loss. The gifts were not only heart felt and thoughtful, but are more than treasured...they were all tributes to Wyatt and to the great characters of the people who became not only the givers of gifts, but of hope and love in a time where it was much needed.

This bracelet was given to me by my sister. It matches Lyla's necklace and is a constant reminder of the nursery that we had prepared for our little boy as well as his "flight" into heaven. I have a picture of my angel baby and my Lyla girl inside the locket.

Approximately 7 ladies that I am honored to call my friends got together on this one and it was a very pleasant surprise. Being a military family, we have done a bit of moving in the past 8 years. This bracelet was given to me as a combined effort from friends I had met in Germany & South Carolina...some of whom I haven't seen in over 6 years, and some of whom I have rarely kept in touch with (I'm not the best at that). The girls are currently spread out across the world--most of the ladies didn't even know one another aside from being mutual friends of myself. Now that is the wonderful thing about technology and the power of love.

This necklace has become a permanent feature around my neck since the day it came in the mail. It's dainty and perfect. A lovely friend of mine put a lot of thought into this piece. The "W" of course for my Wyatt, the angel wing for his heavenly journey, and the tiny crystal stone to symbolize the birthstone (diamond) of the month in which he made his earthly appearance. With this necklace, he is close to my heart, and I love it.

The key chain above came as a nice surprise, just this week. A family that we are very fond of (met in SC) who are currently in England took the care and time to send Waylon and I each a key chain to keep close to us as a reminder of our little boy. Awesome.

Waylon has also received two other key chains which state "Father of an Angel" on them. He truly treasures them, so much so that he is scared to actually put them to their rightful use! ;)

A family that I simply knew from being a caregiver to one of their children were thoughtful enough to send us a box FULL of fresh breakfast foods with the intentions of providing us with a "warm" meal. How absolutely sweet.

Our boy is a star. No, really. A star was purchased for our Wyatt boy by a very sweet friend from "back home". We have framed the certificate and plan to hang it above his memory chest as soon as we get it all together. If ever we are brave enough to try to find it, we were also provided the coordinates of his exact star. So cool.

A canvas was painted in memory of our little guy. Waylon's Uncle and family were gracious enough to provide us with this beautiful piece that now hangs in our hallway. A little reminder of our angel baby is present in each room of our home and this one beautifully adds to the collection.


Now, with those posted, I don't want anyone who gave a gift that is not pictured to feel as though yours was in vain. We honestly appreciate EACH and every flower, stepping stone, picture, decorative item, piece of jewelry, and card that we received.

Onto the "Tattoo" portion of this post...

Those of you who know me, know that I have already had a few ink sessions. :) Each one of my tattoos holds special meaning and a special place in my heart. However, this one may hold the most meaning and be the most precious to me as of yet.
The airplane on the piece is an exact replica of the airplane that was present on Wyatt's gown--the only gown that he ever wore. I cannot explain my need for the tattoo, other than, to say that he will ALWAYS be with me.

And finally the Thank Yous:

Its simple. I want to thank each of you for reading my blog and sharing it with others. I am humbled when I see the stats on my Blogger account: 8,426 views-- and from so many different countries! I may never know all of the people who view this blog and who have read my baby's story, but to mention a sincere thank you to those of you who have taken the opportunity to "get to know" our Wyatt seems appropriate. So thank you to all who have read from the US, Russia, UK, Germany, Italy, and even Malaysia! My hope is that Wyatt's story will touch others and that this blog could also help anyone else who may find themselves in such a situation. I pray that by sharing Wyatt's story, I can provide an opening for faith, love, compassion, and the ability to never, ever, take anything for granted to all those who read. Much love.




Wednesday, July 11, 2012

A Collection of Poems

The following words were written by family members shortly after our sweet boy became an angel.

Written By: Aunt Nessa


I cannot touch your face, but I can see it when I close my eyes.
I cannot hear your voice but I can imagine your giggles and your cries.
Every time the wind blows I feel you all around.
Amazing how the presence of an Angel can be felt here on the ground.
Don't worry little one, there will come a day.
 I will see you again and in the Garden of Heaven we will play.
Until that day comes keep watching over us when we cry.
 And remember, we will always love you as high as airplanes fly.
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Written By: Cousin Jason
To Wyatt:
 Without a word to say
 Without a chance to play
 You taught us to live and love each day
 And not to wish our life away
 For now this is as close as we can be
 But you will always be Little Buddy to me

Until we meet again little guy
 Don't be afraid to spread your wings and fly.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------




Written By: Cousin Justin
I just wanted to say thank you.
 Thank you for showing me how to love stronger.
 Thank you for showing me compassion.
 Thank you for showing me an unwavering faith.
 Thank you for showing me the ture love of a family.
 These most cherished of life's emotions were shown to me this week by my sweet baby cousin Wyatt. Even though he has gone from this world he will never be forgotten, for when I see that special twinkle in his mom's eye, the smile on his dad's face, or when I see the wind blow through his sister's hair I will forever see the face of an angel.
You will never be forgotten, you will always be loved.
 Love you Baby
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Written By: Uncle Darren

I held an angel that today
He was perfect in every way
 Although he didn't move, I could see him smile
 Although he is yours God, he was mine for a little while
Although he didn't cry, I could hear him talk
 Although he was still, I could see him walk
 Although he's in my heart, it comforts me to say
He is with you God, now and always
Although I still cry I smile now because I held an angel that day






Our Story (9): Aunt Nessa's View

The following posts were written by my sister, Wyatt's Aunt Nessa:


When the wind blows my hair into my face I don't immediately move it and place it back behind my ears anymore; I wait and I savor the moment. I let it sweep repeatedly across my cheeks and slap my nose. I take a deep breath and I smile. "Hey Wyatt," I think to myself. Sometimes I even say it out loud. Then I reluctantly place the strands back into place and go on with what I was doing. I love instants like that when my nephew talks to me through the wind, because it's the only way he will ever be able to talk to his "Aunt Nessa", that is until we meet again in heaven.


This is the story about how I got an angel as a nephew.

It was Tuesday, April 24th, 2012 and I was finishing up with my last customer of the day at work. In only one hour I would be on the road to Tennessee to, at the very least, visit my sister and niece. You see, at that exact moment she was at her weekly doctor's appointment to find out the progress of little Wyatt. That previous week she had already begun to dilate, so the chances that he could make his arrival this week were high, and I was ready! I had my bags packed and an air mattress in the trunk. I had even managed to sneak in one more shopping trip before I left. I had already spoiled him beyond belief and he wasn't even here! I placed the two new outfits on top of my bag that morning in readiness for his impending arrival! I had anticipated little man's birth from day one. I remember being at work that previous fall when I found out Krys was going to have a boy. She Facetimed me from the gender reveal party. I squealed and tears streamed down my face when I saw the blue icing inside the cake; a BOY! I was going to have a nephew and my sister was getting her perfect family. I couldn't have been happier.


That Tuesday, I remember that everyone told me how distracted I was that day and how I couldn't stop smiling. They kept asking me why I was so happy. I just responded with, "Because my nephew will be here soon!" By now, it was a little after 5:00 when my phone rang and "sissy" popped up on the screen. I excused myself from my customer and answered. I was too excited for the formality of "hello?" "Is he coming?" , I asked all excited. It was then I knew something was wrong. All I could here was my sister's muffled voice say, "he's gone." "What do you mean he's gone? You already had him?" The confused questions to her continued through the tears until she said "Wyatt died. There is no heartbeat." I understood now, and for a moment I thought I had lost my heartbeat too.

I sunk to the ground and wailed in pain. I don't remember the exact sequence of events after that, except for my manager helping me to the back office and getting me tissues. Once I had composed myself, or thought I had composed myself, I called my sister back. She didn't go into any detail, instead she asked me to call my dad, mom and brother and deliver the news. Once those horrific conversations were behind me, I quickly grabbed my things and headed for the door; headed for Tennessee. My sister needed me and I needed to get there as fast as I could.

That three hour drive was excruciating. I turned on my flashers and drove with a recklessness that I cannot explain. I got stuck in traffic and had to call what seemed like 100 people to spread the horrible news of Wyatt's death. My face hurt from the constant tension, my eyes were burning with relentless tears, but it was my heart that hurt the worst. It hurt for my sister, my brother-in-law and my sweet and beautiful niece. Lyla couldn't wait to be a big sister and it killed me to think of what questions she would ask when baby brother never came home.

I brushed that thought out of my head and continued weaving in and out of slow moving cars and sometimes speeding down the emergency lane. I had to get there. I found myself calling my closest friends as I sped down the highway. I needed to cry to someone and they were always there for me. I needed to try and get my grief out of the way before I arrived at the hospital. I needed to take some of my sister's pain away, so I had no room for my own. My friends listened to me cry and cried with me. Many offered to come be with us at the hospital, but I knew my entire, amazing family would be there, and they were.

A few hours later I arrived at the hospital in Clarksville. I took a deep breath and wiped my face. It did no good. I got out of the car and opened the back door to retrieve my bag. On top laid the two unused and adorable little baby boy outfits. I cringed and began to cry uncontrollably. I moved them to the side and hurried inside to be with my sister and my family. 

No reason to bring them along.

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Nothing could have prepared me for the scene that I walked into when I reached the maternity ward of the hospital.

There waiting in the stark white hallways was almost my entire extended family.  Some standing, some sitting on the floor, some embracing, but all with the most somber of expressions and the puffiest red eyes imaginable. Everyone was hurting. I don't remember who I hugged first, but one after one, my family came to embrace me. It felt so good to be there finally.

I was told that Krystal was in the room with the nurse and that she was getting checked for progress.  That's right, progress; my sister was going to have to deliver my nephew.  She had been induced an hour earlier and labor appeared to be slow. I didn't understand why they just couldn't do a c-section, but then I realized nothing could lessen the pain my sister was feeling.  She was lying in a room with her unborn and lifeless son still inside her and I was about to be faced with that exact reality.

Shortly after the nurse left the room, I was guided in by my aunt and dad.  I didn't want Krys to see me so upset and weak, but i needed to let her know that I was there. I remember walking around the divider curtain that was hanging just inside the room to one of the saddest scenes I have ever seen, well, it was the saddest up until that point. The next few days were full of moments that were even more heartbreaking.  My sister was sitting up in the hospital bed with her loving husband to her right.  She was holding his hand and they were both expressionless and empty. She raised her head and walked over to her, hugged her and kissed her and just cried. We both cried. Waylon cried. Everyone cried. I don't recall the words I said to her and I'm sure she doesn't either. Much of that night was a blur. I do remember the monitor to the left side of the bed that was recording her contractions, and even more so I remember the lack of a fetal heart monitor. I had been in a delivery room with a few of my friends and I knew something was missing; it was the vibrant heartbeat of a baby that was absent.

I spent several hours in the room with her and Waylon but we really didn't talk about much. My sister would sit there and stare at the walls, at Waylon, at the chair across the room. She was doing everything in her power not to look down at her protruding belly. I couldn't look either.  I remember a few weeks earlier when she had sent me a video of Wyatt moving in her belly so much that she easily recorded it on her cell phone and sent it to me.  He was always so active!  Once he even kicked so hard that the remote she had placed on her stomach for reference flew up and almost fell off her!  Now that same belly was still. There was no movement at all. This was not how it was supposed to be dammit!  I was so mad that this was happening to my family, to my best friend. She did everything right, she was full term and yet, here we were awaiting the arrival of a baby that would never take a breath. It was so unfair! Krystal would go for long periods of time without weeping, but I knew she was still hurting. She would randomly say things like, "I wanna take my baby home" or "All that stuff!  What are we gonna do with all his stuff?"  That killed me. The lack of tears, i knew, was worse than crying. She was dying inside.

We all took turns sitting with her and then about 2:00 am a few of us decided to get a room at the hotel next door. We didn't want to leave, but were told that it would be morning before she was ready to deliver her angel baby. I wanted to be rested because I knew the next day would prove to be even more emotionally draining.


We woke up the next morning to the news that it would still be hours before Wyatt would be born, so I decided to go to my sister's house and see my niece. I needed to see her smile and feel her tiny arms around my neck. She has a way of bringing the sun to the darkest days. I rode out to the house with Waylon. That was another excruciating drive. For thirty minutes we took turns being silent and took turns crying, and then we came to the agreement that we would not allow ourselves to cry in front of Lyla. We arrived and Little Miss Thing was in the yard playing with Waylon's mom. She ran up and gave us both hugs as soon as we stepped out of the car. God created Lyla for many reasons that I am sure. She is one amazing little girl who has a way of making you laugh when that's the last thing you wanna do. She was our little ray of sunshine.


At about that time, Waylon got a call and all of a sudden he was in a panic. Krys was ready to push. Labor had progressed much quicker than anticipated and he and his mom jumped back into the car and took off. It was just me and the princess left behind. I was lost for a second. I wanted to be there when he finally came, but I wanted to be there with my niece too. She kept begging me to play with her. I tried my best, but my mind was racing and my heart was heavy. She knew to an extent what was going on and you could tell she was noticing the sadness on everyone's face. How was she gonna react when Wyatt never came home? She was so excited about being a big sister and I don't blame her; being a big sister has been one of the most rewarding roles of my life. Everyone needs a sibling or two, in my opinion. I stayed at the house with her for about 30 minutes until my uncle arrived to take me back to the hospital so I could be there with my family. He took Lyla to a hotel to eat waffles and watch cartoons. We wanted to protect her from reality as long as we could. There I was back at those double glass sliding doors. I was about to meet my nephew. About to say hello to him and then say goodbye all in the same breath.

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Once I arrived back in the maternity ward, there sat my entire family again. Some of them were sitting on the floor, some in chairs, other leaning on walls and on each other.It was quiet except for the sniffles and random sobs. I was told that Krystal was still in delivery, but that they thought she had already had Wyatt because the screams and cries had calmed down. I could still faintly hear her crying and tried to imagine what was going on behind that door. About thirty minutes passed and nurse Sherry came out and informed us of what we already knew and them some other details about the birth.

My first nephew, Wyatt Michael Forgey was born at 9:00 a.m, and although I knew it wouldn’t be what I had imagined for the last nine months, I couldn’t wait to hold him. After a little while, Sherry came out to say that grandparents and great grandparents were now wanted in the room to meet sweet Wyatt. A few moments after that, the siblings of Krystal and Waylon were summoned.

 It was time. I made my way to my feet and walked somewhat reluctantly but excitedly into the room. I can’t tell you from this point on what transpired but a few moments stand out in my mind in great detail. I remember him being passed from the loving arms of each of Waylon’s sisters, to my brother,and then finally to me.

His cheeks were full and rosy. His lips a crimson red,and his hair that peaked out from the newborn hat he was wearing, was a rich brown. I took my fingers and grazed his cheeks and I kissed his forehead and nose repeatedly. I wanted to take in every single detail of this precious angel. I even stuck my index finger underneath his tiny fingers, and for some reason expected a squeeze from the tiny hand.Nothing. He appeared to be sleeping, but even for a newborn, his body was more limp than it should have been.

We took extra caution when passing him, making sure to cradle his head and keep him close to us. This went on for hours. My Aunts, Uncles and Cousins eventually came in to meet the little man too. We kept telling Waylon and Krystal how beautiful he was and how perfect, but they already knew. One of my uncles even fell to his knees in anguish when he saw the little angel for the first time. A man of strength who I have never seen show any emotion or cry was brought to his knees. Although filled with sadness beyond belief,this tiny room was bringing us all together. It was hard to be in there, but I wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else.

At one point it was just me, Krystal, Waylon and Wyatt in the room. Krys asked me to take Wyatt from her so she could go to the bathroom. The nurse came in, and her and Waylon helped my sister from the bed to the bathroom. I sat in the chair with Wyatt in my arms and I just stared at him. I couldn’t stop smiling. For some strange reason a sense of peace and comfort came over me even though my heart was broken in a million pieces. I rocked him back and forth as I would to comfort any new baby, and I carefully brushed the hair off his forehead. Oh how I loved my sweet nephew. I spent about 15 minutes holding him and whispering to him how much I loved him and how I couldn’t wait to see him again in Heaven. I kissed his sweet cheeks and eventually handed him back to my sister.

She sat in the bed and began to sing to him. I watched as she gathered the blanket around his neck, rocked him back and sang the words to the most familiar and fitting of songs.

“Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
that saved a wretch like me… I once was lost,
but now am found, was blind, but now I see.”

Tuesday, July 10, 2012

Am I Still a Big Sister?

September 15, 2007.  The day that our little princess entered our world. Lyla Marie weighed in at 7 lbs. 7 ounces, and was 19 &3/4 inches long. She turned our world into a whirlwind of love, joy, and sleepless nights, but we wouldn't have changed a thing about it.


For over four years we weren't sure if we wanted to add to our perfect family. We loved giving Lyla all of our attention, and I wasn't sure how I could love another as much as I did her. Was it even possible for my heart to be even more full of pure bliss? We found out the answer to that question in September of 2011, upon reading the lines on the pregnancy test. It was happening. God was blessing us with another precious child.

Lyla was thrilled to become a big sister. She understood that it meant sharing her things (even Mommy and Daddy) and teaching her little sibling everything she knew. She was ready.

For the short (long to her) 9 months that I carried her sweet brother our daughter matured and prepared for her new role as a big sister. With every thought that she had, Wyatt was a part of it. She had decided that she would help give him his bottle and play with him, but that she would NOT change his diaper. :) She would say things like, "When baby brother gets here I will push his stroller." or " Baby brother can have my old sippy cups, because I don't need them anymore." We, as parents, were not the only ones planning for our little man's arrival. Lyla was very much involved.

Lyla was at the doctor's office on that dreaded day in April, when we realized that "Baby Brother" no longer had a heart beat. She was not in the room, and I asked that she be taken home with a vague explanation of what was going on. I wanted to protect our little girl from the harsh reality that was staring us in the face-- she would never get to see her little brother. All of her time preparing for him was in vain. God wanted him more. Try telling that to a sweet-hearted little girl.

I am still not certain if not letting Lyla come to the hospital to see Wyatt was the "right" choice, but we did the best we could at the time. I would have loved to have a picture of my two children together; however, I couldn't fathom making my daughter hold the limp body of her little brother while trying to explain to her that he his body will never move like hers.

The look in Lyla's eyes when she first entered the hospital room to see me after the delivery is stuck in my memory forever. She was staring at my belly (which of course was smaller, but still appeared to be carrying a baby). She was trying so hard to make sense of everything in her own little mind. She kept her distance from me, and it hurt my heart. I realize now that everything was just as forgien to her as it was to us at the time. She had wanted that little baby just as much as we did, and he was gone in the blink of her eye.

From the beginning of our nightmare, we have told Lyla that when she feels the wind blowing, that Wyatt is saying hello to her. Now, our daughter is quite the realist, but somehow she believes us on this point. She has giggled out of the blue and proclaimed that, "Wyatt is tickling me!" when it's windy outside. She gets overly excited when she sees the pinwheels moving...little brother is having a conversation with her.

The day after the funeral Waylon and I took Lyla to the grave site with a silver star balloon in tow. We explained to her that it was Wyatt's special visiting place, but that she could talk to him anytime and any place that she wanted. Lyla eyed all of the headstones and gently asked if they were all babies. My heart tightened. She was worried that he needed diapers and toys in Heaven and that we should sent him some. I convinced her that Jesus has a giant toy box and will take care of all of Wyatt's needs. She reluctantly let her balloon "go to Heaven" and blew her baby brother numerous kisses while standing over his fresh grave adorned with wilting flowers.





Its simply not right that a small, sweet child should no anything of death, but our little girl is becoming very well versed on the subject. She has cried on numerous occasions when fear of going to Heaven by herself arises. She wonders if we will all go at the same time. I have no accurate answers for her. I can't lie to her and tell her that it will be a long time from now, because she has seen the journey of a newborn baby be cut short. She is scared. She wants to know if Jesus is going to give Wyatt back to us. She still refers to the guest bedroom as Wyatt's room. I try to correct her, but my throat is often working double time to hold back the wails.

To keep with the theme of Wyatt's nursery, my sister bought Lyla an airplane necklace. She wears it every day in honor of her sweet little brother that never got to come home, but is still alive in her heart.



The first picture of Wyatt that we shared with Lyla was the one of his feet. We rallied up enough courage to show her a full body shot of him the day of the funeral. Introducing the picture to her I said cheerily, "Isn't he cute?!" She replied with, " Yes, but he's a little red." An honest and sincere answer from a confused little girl.

Just the other day at the supermarket I noticed Lyla staring at a baby and his sibling in the buggy in front of us. She eventually turned to me and asked with a choppy and sad tone, "Am I still a big sister?" Yes, baby, yes you sure are.

She periodically says that she misses her baby brother and is sure to tell anyone with a new baby that,

 "We had a baby too, but he went to Heaven."

Fact.



Thursday, July 5, 2012

(Un) Happy Holidays

Yesterday marked 10 weeks since our sweet baby's arrival into this world. 10 weeks since the first time that we got to see, hold, kiss, and caress our little boy. 10 weeks since we were able to share our precious son with our family. Yesterday also marked 10 weeks since we were forced to say our farewells to our Wyatt.

In the past 10 weeks we have not only been required to continue on with our day to day lives without the piece that we had longed for and planned for since last fall, but we have also had to face a few holidays on the way. Now some may think that the holidays should follow on just like all of the other ordinary days since the passing of our son; however, the overwhelming feeling that our baby should have been there and the ordinarily special happenings of the such occasions should most definitely trump those thoughts.

May 13, 2012. Mother's Day-- A day where mothers are celebrated by others for their awe-inspiring ability to love and care for their child(ren)--A day to honor mothers for all of their everyday sacrifices to keep their child(ren) happy and safe. How ironic.

It had been approximately 2 weeks since the silent birth of our dearest baby. I woke up knowing that it would be a "rough day", for lack of better words. It was a day that I knew I should be happy and celebrating with my Lyla, but how was that possible when I was mourning my Wyatt?

We had traveled to Ky to spend the day with family. Waylon surprised me with a very nice camera as a gift, and I was truly excited. He was trying his best to make the day about me, even though all either of us could think about was the missing piece to our famliy- our son.

At the end of mass that morning all of the mothers were asked to go forward and receive a carnation as a small token of love and appreciation from the church. I kept telling myself that I was still a mother and that I deserve the flower, but upon walking up the aisle all I could think about was our baby boy and how I should have been celebrating Mother's Day with my TWO children. It was all still too fresh. My tears were unrelenting.

Isn't a trip to the cemetery to visit your child on the top of every mother's list for such holidays? NO? Well, it was for me. I left my corsage on his grave and left with tear-filled eyes, left with empty arms, and left with a still broken heart.

We spent the afternoon at Waylon's mom's with his sisters and nieces and nephews. I felt so sad, but tried to put on a happy face, as to not ruin anyone else's day. After all, they are all great mothers and deserved to have a day full of happiness and love. I tried with my everything to not let sadness take over my day, but it pulled on my heart to see Waylon playing football with his nephews--I wanted so badly for him to have his own little boy to do those sort of things with.

As we drove back to TN that afternoon we drove right into a rainstorm. It seemed rather appropriate--the tears that had fallen from our eyes certainly matched the drops pouring down from the dark clouds. In the middle of the rain, and in the middle of our sorrows a rainbow appeared in the sky. A full, bright rainbow stretched across the interstate in front of us bringing with it a small calm for me. My Wyatt was coaxing me to smile on Mother's Day.



June 17, 2012. Father's Day-- A day where daddies are shown appreciation for their devotion of time, support, love, and knowledge in all things involving their child(ren). A day that will now be added to the long list of days that I will have to picture my son being there--only to know in my heart that he never will be.

Once again, we trekked to Ky to spend the day with family. And once again, the church asked the special parents to stand and be recognized. It is a nice gesture, don't get me wrong. But do you know how difficult it is for a newly bereaved father to stand with empty, shaking arms that should have been cradling his infant son and accept a gift for being the very person he longed to be each and every day to his son? Not easy. And its also not easy to be the wife watching it all through glassy eyes. 

We took another trip to Wyatt's resting place after church that day. We cried. and cried. and cried. and cried.

The remainder of the afternoon was spent at my grandparent's house. Waylon played with Lyla until the sun began to set and I sat in on everyone else's conversations...silently thinking, "Our son should be here."




Tuesday, July 3, 2012

Penny Jar

I have a challenge for you.

As most of you reading this have probably already read my other posts, including the one in which I referred to the penny that we placed in our angel's casket, you are likely to understand my challenge. I also attached a poem about angels and pennies to the bottom of that post...go back and read it if you need to...
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Since that post, and even before, I have been approached in person and through messages by a number of people who have found pennies and believe that Wyatt or their own angel was sending them a sweet gesture. It makes my heart happy that my baby boy is touching so many lives and putting belief in the hearts of others.

Pennies have shown up to me in the most random of places, and amazingly, at the most perfect times.

 Just yesterday I was feeling anxious and in excessive need of relief. As I exited a public building with members of my family I immediately let my eyes fall to the ground. I was searching for that penny. I needed to feel strength from my angel. My aunt noticed what I was doing and said, "What are you doing? Oh, looking for a penny?" She knows. I just smiled and quickly made my way to a bench, reached down, and scooped up a shiny one cent coin from the concrete. I placed the penny in my pocket, took a deep breath, and continued on with my day. Faith.

No, I don't believe that my angel baby flew down here from heaven and placed those pennies knowing that I would stumble upon them. That's where faith comes in. You see, faith is believing in something even if you cannot see it or touch it. I believe that my little boy is an angel in the kingdom of Heaven. I believe that the Lord is helping me to find peace at certain times by encouraging the overwhelming sensation of happiness every time I FIND a penny, even if the feeling is short lived.

Now, I don't get all giggly when a cashier hands me change and there are pennies in the bunch, but when I'm walking in a parking lot, or on a sidewalk, or cleaning, and I come across a penny, my heart skips a beat. Truly.


Back to the challenge.

I have written Wyatt's name on a tiny glass jar and have placed it on our coutner top in the kitchen. All of the pennies that we have "found" will go into that jar. When the jar is full of found pennies I plan to do a good deed in the name of our precious little boy. For example, maybe I will buy a meal for a needy family, or send a little something special to a friend who is hurting. In other words, all of the pennies that have provided Waylon, Lyla, or myself with a teeny bit of joy, will go towards doing the same for someone else. The circle of love will continue.

I challenge all of you reading this to create your own penny jar. Write Wyatt's name on it. Or the name of your very own angel. Not only will you receive joy from finding the pennies, but seeing the name each and every day will help to keep your angel in your thoughts. When the jar is full, find a way to honor the angel who "sent" you all of those beautiful copper coins.

Sunday, July 1, 2012

Our Story (8): No Need for a Nursery

A wooden name sign made with love from a piece of old barn wood from the family farm hung perfectly above the crib. An armoire fully stocked with freshly washed baby boy clothes stood tall and dark against the wall by the window. Three metal airplanes that hung at various lengths and positions by fishing line dominated one corner of the room. A changing table adorned with a diaper caddy fully stocked with newborn diapers sat on an adjacent wall underneath two vintage airplane pictures. The swing that had been placed in front of the window contained Waylon's stuffed monkey from childhood.  Wooden lettered hooks spelling the word "FLY" decked the grayish- blue wall to the right of the door; a tiny dark blue jacket hung carelessly from one of the hooks. A solid wood rocker that had been my parents' when I was younger loomed in the corner under the airplanes and a shelf with coordinating frames. It was the perfect nursery for our son.




I have read other people's stories about losing their child in the same manner that we did. Many of them couldn't bare to go into the nursery, let alone touch anything for months, even years after their child's death. With that said, my actions regarding Wyatt's nursery might seem a bit hasty and empty; however, it killed me to see the room all dolled up amd appearing to welcome a child at any moment. The reality was quite the opposite, and I didn't want to live with false hope, even if it was all just material things.

Waylon's mom came back home to TN with us after the funeral. She helped tremendously by keeping Lyla occupied while Waylon and I tried to find the best way to do even the basic of duties. Almost immediately upon arriving to our home Waylon and I made our way to the room across the hall from ours- the baby room. Nanny and Lyla began to play outside.

I placed my hand on the long, brass door knob and took a deep breath. I pushed down on the handle and let the door swing open. I couldn't walk in. Waylon stood behind me with his hands on my shoulders reminding me that we could "do this later." I felt the need to do it immeditaely. Wyatt was never coming home to be in this room, so there was no use in pretending. The sobs started. I remember feeling physically sick and having to rush to the bathroom. Waylon was once again by my side  trying to calm my cries and reassure me that the task at hand could indeed wait. I perisstantly wiped my cheeks, and walked into the nursery immediately placing myself in the rocking chair.

I don't remember the particulars, but I do remember us both weeping and moaning with pain as we looked around our son's room. We talked for a few minutes about where to start and what to do with all of the "stuff" that we had accumulated for our precious newborn. And the process began. We cleared out the armoire first. We thumbed through all of those little pieces of clothes and outfits, separating them into piles: a pile to keep for possible future children and a pile to keep to remind us of Wyatt. The changing table was next. We placed all of the diapers and wipes in a plastic tub with my maternity clothes and later gave it to my brother and sister-in-law (they are expecting a baby boy in September). The decor in the room was immeditaely stripped from the walls and shelves and placed in a box; we later distributed pieces to various family members for keepsakes.

The wooden sign with our sweet baby's name now sits in the garage, by his daddy's work bench.

After all was said and done, we had filled a laundry basket full of items that we were going to put in a chest to always remind us of the sweet boy that never got to come home. It included anything with his name on it, blankets, and anything that was made especially for him. The furniture was taken apart and donated to Good Will, along with other baby items that I couldn't bare to see in our house.

The very next week, my sister and cousin came to stay with me and Lyla when Waylon went back to work. Our first stop- Home Depot to buy paint for the nursery. The room is now a gray color and only contains a ladder and painting supplies- still.



Although I was in a rush to erase the new baby items from the house, I NEVER intended to erase Wyatt from our home. In almost every single room of our house there is a picture of our boy. I placed one on the fridge so that I can see him while I am cooking. There is one in a frame on the wall in the Living Room so that I can stare at his beautiful face when I am relaxing on the couch. Lyla asked for the picture of his feet to be placed in her "Big Sister" frame in her room. The canvas that was present at his funeral now hangs dominatingly on our bedroom wall. One of the airplane frames that was meant for his nursery now sits on Waylon's nightstand with a picture of the most precious baby boy I have ever laid eyes on.



It no longer appears that we EVER expected to bring home our baby, although our hearts tell a different story.