11/10/11

You would have been six months old today. I think about you SO much son. If you were here with me you would be sitting up and eating baby food and amazing us all at your growth. Today you will possess my heart like only you can do. I love you so much my beautiful child.

On my tumblr, I have been doing a 30 day grief survey. So far it seems to be helping a bit. It's making me dive a little more deeply into the things that I try to block from my mind. I figure when I finish it there, I will transfer it onto this site and elaborate quite a bit more.

Friday we leave for Nebraska. I really hope this trial run goes as smoothly as possible. There is nothing I wouldn't give to be able to move away and start over. I know if it is what is meant for our family, God will let us know. And I know you'll have something to do with that as well. I always feel like you are protecting us. Today just seems unbearable.

Missing you son.
-Mom

Wow..

Milwaukee Journal, October 6, 2011, Laura Schubert

Did you know that October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month? I'll bet not. Despite the infant mortality crisis that's been at the forefront of Milwaukee's public health news for months, the only people who have more than a cursory comprehension of what it means to lose a baby are those who've lived it.

Infant loss is nature's cruelest practical joke. It's investing all of the required time and effort into pregnancy, only to be robbed of the result. It's cradling a body that grew within your own and trying to reconcile the cold, lifeless form in your arms with your memory of the baby who turned double flips in your womb.

It's worrying that you'll forget what your child looked like and snapping an album's worth of photos that no one will ever ask to see. It's sobbing so hard you can't breathe and wondering if it's possible to cry yourself to death.

Infant loss is handing off a Moses basket to the nurse who's drawn the unfortunate duty of delivering your pride and joy to the morgue and walking out of a hospital with empty arms.

It's boxing up brand new baby clothes and buying a 24-inch casket. It's sifting through sympathy cards, willing your foolish body to stop lactating, clutching your baby's blanket to your chest in hopes of soothing the piercing ache in your heart.

It's resisting the urge to smack the clueless individuals who compare your situation to the death of their dog or who tell you you'll have another baby, as if children are somehow replaceable.

Infant loss is explaining to your 7-year-old that sometimes babies die and being stumped into silence when she asks you why. It's watching other families live out your happy ending and fighting a fresh round of grief with every milestone you miss.

It's being shut out of play groups for perpetuity. It's skipping social events with expectant and newly minted mothers because, as a walking worst-case scenario, you don't want to put a damper on the party.

It's listening to other women gripe about motherhood and realizing that you no longer relate to their petty parental complaints because, frankly, when you've buried a baby, a sleepless night with a vomiting toddler sounds something like a gift.

Infant loss is pruning from your life the friends and relatives who ignore or minimize your loss. It's recognizing that, while they may not mean to be hurtful, the fact that they don't know any better doesn't make their utter lack of empathy one whit easier to bear.

My baby girl would have been 5 years old this month. I don't know what she'd look like, what her favorite food would be. I've never had the privilege of tucking her into bed, taking her to the zoo or kissing her boo-boos. I will never watch her graduate or walk down the aisle.

Infant loss is more than an empty cradle. It's a life sentence.






I read this today and I was beyond moved. The woman who wrote this has this down to a science. I think these thoughts on a daily basis. I just want you to know that you're most certainly loved and missed and that you are always on my mind. 


All my love
-Mom

Two "letters" today, son.

Today I will be writing two "letters" to you. The second will actually be a story that I need to get out and the first is an actual letter.

Dad heard from Chris on Thursday night. We will be headed up to Nebraska the weekend of November 11th to determine whether or not we move. Dad is going to play worship on Sunday and practice with the band on Saturday and I am just crossing my fingers and praying to God that we like what we see and so do they. It will be wonderful to get away from here. I won't have to drive past the hospital where you were born every time I want to go to the movies, or Walmart, or out to eat sushi. Your sister won't have to put up with her father and all of the drama and frustration that would ensue if she had a life where she was constantly let down. I just really, really want this for our family. I'm praying my knees off, honey. Could you put in a good word for us with the big man?

I love you.
-Mom

We're waving

Your sister wanted to say hello to you. Love you, honey!

Hold on tight, honey!

So much has happened since my last letter. I'm going to try to stay as organized, and in sequential order as possible.

Roughly two weeks ago, your dad heard from a pastor in Nebraska. His name is Chris and he is Arjay's older brother. Apparently they are looking for a full time worship pastor. They have been talking back and forth to one another and on Sunday, your dad had me proof-read his "religious-views" questionnaire before he sent the email. Last night after your sister went to bed, Chris called and they stayed on the phone with each other for over an hour. Chris asked dad some questions and allowed dad to ask him some questions as well. It seems like your dad got the job. Chris is supposed to call us on Friday and set up a time for us to go up there to see if we like the town/church and after that there is really nothing standing in our way. Moving away from our families is going to be extremely difficult, but starting over would be so good for the two of us. No more fake friendships. No more ex-bf drama. It'll be nice to not be reminded of you in unpleasant ways. I won't have to drive past the hospital where you passed on the way to the movie theater. People who don't understand will stop asking what happened to my baby and telling me "sorry about your loss" or "I thought you were pregnant". As long as I have known your father, all he's talked about is being a full time worship pastor and he is so close to his dream! I am so inexpressibly proud of him. It would be an almost 10k raise per year and your dad said he would send me back to school if we move up there.This is all happening so fast but we are beyond excited! Of course, your trunk will be preserved and handled with supreme care if we do end up moving. I'll keep you filled in as this development progresses.

Your sister turned three on Saturday! We had her party the same day. It was crazy son. I feel like I just recovered from it yesterday. She had a Rapunzel themed party, of course. And she wore her Rapunzel shirt and a purple tutu. So Presley. We rented her a princess bouncy castle and that is what all of the kids wanted to do. They only left for cake and ice cream time and presents. When everyone got there we just had kind of a laid back time for adults while the kids bounced. After bouncing it was present opening time and then we had the cake. It was a pretty good turnout! The kids had a blast! Bobby broke the pinata open and of course he had to hulk hit it. It flew all over David and Presley... good lord. After the party Mark and I took Presley to Chick-fil-a and Meemaw, Pappaw, and Mimi met us up there. All in all, it was one exhausting day.

May 22, 2011

My journal's pages are literally beginning to fall down so I am copying this letter here so it is not lost forever.

My Dearest Eli,

There is not a day that goes by that I don't think of you. Sometimes I cry, sometimes I'm happy, sometimes I'm angry, but I always feel so cheated. I miss you, my son. Holding you for those few brief moments will last forever, and at the same moment, they weren't near long enough. I have never wanted anything as much as I wanted you. I held on to you for as long as I could. When the doctors gave me their diagnosis and asked if I wanted to terminate, I refused. I knew that every second spent with you would be completely worth it. And I was right. I can't help but feel so alone. I want to hold my son. To kiss you. To feel your warm skin in my hands. To watch you grow up. To see your smile and hear your laughter just one time. To see your eyes. To hear your voice. I feel so cheated to be robbed of so many things. You father has been nothing but sweet and supportive and still all I do is continue to feel alone. I cry alone. Crave being by myself. When you left, you left a huge hole inside of me. No mother should have to lose their child. For the rest of my long life, I will have an nonrefillable void. I don't want to try again becaise I don't want you or anyone else to think that I am trying to replace you. Presley doesn't understand pregnancy and she doesn't realize that you are gone, but the day will come when I have to explain that to her and I just have no idea what I will say.

The truth is, your passing has made me question everything in this life: my marriage to your father, my past and future, my faith, my ability to be a mother, my sanity, all of my relationships... every thing. I know it is ridiculous to write a letter that you will never read, but I have to feel like I still have you in some way: other than sitting in a trunk in my bedroom. No mother imagines bringing home her son in a manila envelope.
I've said all I can say for now, Eli. Any more digging and I think I might just lose my mind. I love you, always and forever. 
-Your mother