How is he?

He keeps me up more than the others-
I wonder what's behind his words-
his thoughts-
his eyes-
I wish I could know what he thinks about-
and sometimes he gives me a look into what I long to know...

How is he?

He's been raised a singleton- a twinless twin- with a sister 15 months younger that is often mistaken for his twin.
He's always had company-
a built in playgroup-
and yet he is my quiet one, my thinker,
and I wonder...

How is he?

Today was the first day back to school and while he normally is bubbling with excitement, today he didn't want to go.
He didn't want to play with his 'normal' group-
and that's o.k.
But he seemed so sad...

How is he?

I worried about him all day
Don't worry- they said- it's just kids going back after being home so long-
the new toys- his siblings at home playing- it's just kids...

Is it?

He came home and I asked him.
I asked him about his friends and he said he spent his recess with Andrew.
It didn't cross my mind- not even for a moment as I asked him about this new friend I hadn't heard him mention before.

But I had heard him mention him.

"My brother mom. The one who died."

I felt my eyes begin to well and prayed that they wouldn't give me up- that he wouldn't see me cry. He hasn't seen me cry in so long for his brother- A memory he has probably long since forgotten...

"I went on a walk- just he and I on the mountain of snow. I think I'll play with Tyler tomorrow."

Raising children is hard. I don't want my children to be the smartest, or the most popular, but I want them to be happy. Happy and full- and to know beyond a shadow of a doubt how special they are- how much I treasure every thing about them- how they are so very, very loved- I know they feel it and still I wonder...

How is he?

Most of the time happy. Most of the time bubbling with excitement and laughing at the days-

But sometimes I watch him pause- and I make assumptions- and I get so angry- so angry that he can't go on walks with Andrew where others can see the two of them. Angry that he is a twin without his twin. Angry that I have to guess what he's thinking- when his eyes get quiet-

My thinker-
Am I angry? Or just sad?

I hold onto these things. These pieces. I want so much to read into all of it- to know- to know beyond a shadow of a doubt- that he's o.k. That he is full. That he doesn't want for anything- for anyone-

How is he?

Right now, I just don't know. So I will hug him and kiss him and always tell him how much I love him and how special he is. For right now he is fine- sleeping and dreaming about his new pet fish- the walk with Andrew- perhaps forgotten-

Perhaps forgotten by him-
but not his mother.

Just for tonight...

Is it because it's December?
Is it because his name is all over my tree?
Is it because all the talk of angels? Of joy?

This December has been going so fast.
A new babe at home and my children fighting illness.
Presents to wrap- cards to sign-
Going so fast.
No time to pause-

Until today.
I was at his kindergarten party-
Watching him make crafts and eat treats amongst his friends.
I was there-
snapping pictures of his party-

When I left.

I could see him.
The outline of him-
Near his brother-
Stringing beads on an ornament that would go on our tree.
Stringing beads.

How I wanted to focus though-
to see his face-
but all I saw was a shadow-
a shadow of him-
a dream.

What had made me go there?

As I snapped my picture, I saw my son.
Sandwiched between two boys-
two boys-
wearing the same thing-
the same hair-
the same eyes-
the same last name-
two boys-
brothers.

I took this picture of him- of him between them- and my mind was far away from the reality of the room I was in.

The rawness of when I first learned that Jonasen was in a class with twin boys has worn off. I can look at them- I watched them interact and I wondered what it would have been like... what it should have been like...
I watched their father helping one and I desperately wanted to go to him- to tell him- Jonasen was a twin- he was a twin- I had twins too- I had them- I had him- I did-

Slow motion-
My fog-
My black and white-
Only his outline-
Fuzzy.

I sat there with a heavy heart- hidden by my plastic smile-
No one knew-
No one knew I had gone there-
To where I had him-
in my dreams.

I miss you sweet Andrew. I'm missing you tonight.

I'm looking at the mantle and wishing you had a stocking to fill.
I'm looking at the tree and wishing you had ornaments with your face sewn between pieces of felt.
I'm looking to the heavens and although I feel peace and I know you are safe...
I look to your heaven and I dream
and wonder
and wish
Wish you were here with me... just for tonight-
here-
in my arms.
I love you my sweet boy.

My Curveball

My prayer.
Andrew's Story.
My curveball.

This blog began when I was asked to talk about my curveball.
About my baby.
About the day my baby died.
About the journey this curveball has set me on.

I was asked to share my story with my church congregation and after I did, I felt the memories come rushing back. I paused and so was born this blog.

To hear where it began, my voice, my story, you can hear the sermon here.

Praying for you this season.
Praying for families all over the world that are missing someone this season.
Knowing how cold it can feel.
You are not alone.

One more stocking-

As a teacher I chose to go back to work one week before the holidays. To ease myself back into reality- Answer the questions of curious second graders- I was ready.
It was good.
I needed to be back.

They asked me about him- His name- What he looked like- Was I sad-
And I answered their questions and answering them felt so pure and real. They were not afraid to mention his name or ask what was on their minds. They didn't tip-toe around my fragile heart in fear that I may shatter right there in front of them- or wonder what they should or shouldn't say- they just said it.

And I was thankful. It was December and life had gone on. It had been three months... But it was the first Christmas and my return just before this major holiday drew attention to that.
That first Christmas-

But the children asked. And I could answer with a pure heart. A heart growing with each question they asked- each time they spoke his name- I could feel myself becoming lighter- I was going to make it.

And then a coworker came into my classroom while my students were having a snack and enjoying talking to one another about what they wanted for Christmas. She welcomed me back put her hand on my shoulder and said, "I just keep thinking that when you look up at your mantle you must wish there were just one more stocking up there..."

Though I felt a sort of shock and horror at the honesty of her statement-
-students not far from where I stood-
I swallowed, looked her in the eye and said, "Yes. Yes I do."

I am still amazed that she said it.
I am still amazed I found a voice to answer her.

I kept seeing my mantle-
Three stockings
And one giant hole where one should have been-
She was right.

One more stocking.
One more stocking should have been up there.

Sure I could have hung one more stocking- but why? All I had to put in it were dreams and hopes and to see an empty stocking- empty dreams- empty hopes... with his name...
Well- that broke my heart too.

I look at my mantle now and it is full- I am full-

And yet I wonder
What it would have looked like-
What Christmas could have looked like-
With just one more stocking-

My Therapy

It became my therapy.
There came a time I think that others were tired of hearing me.
I know it.
But I still needed to talk, and monthly meetings were not enough.

It was my therapy.
My pen.
In those days I took his journal with me to his garden. I wrote him there.
In those days I would write in the nights, curled in a chair in my home. I wrote him there.
I wrote, and I wrote.
And those letters- composed in journals- became my therapy.
My release-

I knew he would never read them, the letters, but the moment they left my pen it was as if I spoke them, as if he heard and that made me feel better. I could write and write and write and he was never tired of hearing about how I loved him, how I missed him, how I wished he were here.

Oh how I wish he were here.

On his last birthday- his sixth birthday- I took his journals with me.
And I read.
I read through tears as I remembered the words. I remembered where I was.
My anger.
My guilt.
My pain.
So many, many pages and I could see myself.
Remember myself.
On all the hills and valleys of this journey I find myself on.

Now my pen has changed. I write him here. I write of him here.
And sometimes I find myself going back and reading what I had said, where I was on that night...
And I read your stories.
Your Therapy-
Where you were that night.
And I wonder where you are now.
And I hope you are well.



And to my fellow bloggers, I turned my blog into a book so I can go back and read it. If you are interested in doing the same to your blog follow this link. Thanks for writing!
Hugs-
Laura

Our Story

It is amazing sometimes.
The friends that I have made simply because he's not here.
Friends that stretch cities, states, and even countries.
All because of his story- our story.


Holly, an amazing mom I 'met' from Caring for Carleigh, emailed me these pictures. Such a simple gesture, but one that took time, took thought, took effort.

I've been thinking about it. How if it weren't for Andrew's story, for Baby E's story, for Carleigh's story and countless others- I would have no idea. No idea of the community that is out there- waiting in the shadows- one that no one knows about- has ever heard of- until you need them- until you become one of them.

So many stories-
Like the leaves in these piles- all with names- details- stories.

I've spoken of the 'secret society' on here, of the many (mostly) women that I've met. Stories that I've heard. And I've wept for them. Thinking about how horrible it must have been to have lost their child- their children.

And though I've lost a child.
I've lost children.
Their story isn't mine.
I can only imagine.

I've had people tell me that they can't imagine. It must have been so hard to go 39 weeks and had to say goodbye. To have carried so long...

And I would tell them- I can't imagine. It must have been so hard to lose a baby you could fit in the palm of your hand. A perfectly formed, but tiny babe. To not have had more time...
I can't imagine.

Because it isn't my story.

We would unpack our stories at meetings. Those hard details- the pain- the tears-
We'd unpack them all.

But in the end if we could choose- we'd take our story back. Each of us. We've talked about it- because in the end it is our story- our children- who have led us to this point- made us who we are.

I choose him.
A 6 pound 11 oz boy.
I choose him.
His eyes closed- I never did get to see them.
I choose him.
And those little fingers that seemed to wrap around mine.
I choose him.
And the little spark- full of hopes and dreams- that just left one day- for reasons unknown.
I choose them.

It's my story.
One of millions-
Like a single leaf in the forest
A grain of sand on the beach
A lone star in a brilliant night's sky

And yet I'd find him again
and again
and choose him.
Choose them.

Our story.

The Secret Garden Meeting

The Secret Garden Meeting is a wonderful blog for women who have lost children. It asks them about their experiences and then allows them to post and read about one another's experience. This is my experience- October.

So this meeting we would like to talk about where you are. Where are you at in
your grief. Has it been years or just weeks since you lost your baby. How are
you feeling. How do you hope you will feel in the future. Have you found any
peace at all?

It has been such a long journey, but I can say it now-
It has been the greatest gift-

Full.
For the first time ever, I am full.

It has been six years since I began my journey.
Six years ago I became a mother.
Six years ago I became so much more.

I never dreamed that I would lose a child.
I never dreamed that one could have such a healthy, happy, uneventful pregnancy-
one could get so close-
so very very close-
and yet miss.

Hours-
Mere hours-
but we missed him-
and he left.

I never dreamed I'd feel full. I had one baby but it wasn't enough. When I was pregnant I was expecting babies not a (one) baby. And so I needed to have that feeling again- to be pregnant- to have 'babies'.
And I did.

And I thought it would make me full.
But I wasn't full.
And we added to our family.
And we added to our family.
And I remember talking about it... Were we trying to fill a void that could never be filled. Would we just keep adding to our family in hopes that one day we wouldn't miss him anymore? Would we keep going and never feel 'full'.

But it wasn't my living children who made me full.

I began to see-
By a little boy that I talk to all the time.
By a little boy who has journals all filled with letters that he'll never read- but I think he hears.
By a little boy who gets the kisses I blow each night.
By a little boy who has watched and smiled as his mom grew- and forgave- and healed-
and loved
again.

And my heart has grown, and grown, and grown and grown-
And though there are two pieces gone-
I am full-
I am done-
I am at peace-

Peace is something I thought would never really be part of my story and yet I had glimpses of it- little tastes-
Peace came when I first laughed again
(and didn't feel bad about it-)
Peace came when I chose to live
(and not feel bad about it-)
Peace came when I could take in a deep breath of the crisp fall air
(and be thankful)
Thankful that he was sent to me- even though he flew away too soon.

He was my son.
He is remembered
And I will meet him again.

Full and at peace.
It took a long time.
The greatest gift I've ever received-
And the greatest gifts are not to be kept, but to be shared.
I wish you peace- that one day you would feel it too.
When you're ready-
Full.