heaven on earth

Matt and I have felt strongly lately that we needed to go to the temple.  Tonight we finally were able to get a babysitter, so we went to the Draper temple.  While inside, I reflected on the day that I received my own endowment.  I remember that all of my family was there, including Matt's parents and sisters, as well as their husbands.  I was asked to wait while the rest of them went on into the Celestial Room.  When my turn finally came, I clearly remember walking into the Celestial Room at the San Diego, CA temple and looking up to see all of my loved ones there, dressed in white, with arms outstretched to hug and greet me.  I remember thinking 'this must be what heaven is like.'  As I sat in the Celestial Room tonight I thought of my loved ones waiting, dressed in white, with arms outstretched to greet me in heaven when my turn comes, only now when I picture that day, I picture Miles there too.  I could feel the spirit so strongly tonight, and I know that Miles was close by.

we have a graduate!

Mason graduated from preschool today!  I can't believe he is that old already, he is going to be 6 this summer, and he starts kindergarten in the fall!  It's kind-of sad, for the first time in 4 years I won't have a preschooler in my house.  How do I slow down time, these kids are growing up too quickly!  Sure love this guy, he is such a sweet, kind-hearted boy.  He is in karate right now, and he is LOVING it!  The other day he came upstairs and said 'mom, I am SO glad that I am taking karate, now I can defend myself from Maylee!  I just used my head-block move when she tried to punch me in the face.'  Sadly, that's true.  He is so sweet and loving to Maylee, he just lets her beat up on him and doesn't do anything back to her, and she takes full advantage of it.  She is going to miss him next year when he has school every day!

Time is passing

and I don't know how to feel about it.  It's been 7 weeks today, and yet it still seems so unreal.  The grass is starting to grow over Miles' grave.  His headstone is almost done, it should be in next week.  Time is passing.  Life is moving on, at least for everyone else.

(above) Kinley and Mason helping to put flowers in the vases at today's cemetery visit (Maylee refused to hold still for a photo)

(above) not 5 minutes after we had walked in the door from our cemetery visit, sweet Connie Bell came by with these amazing flowers.  They were from her son's wedding the night before, and they were stunning.  For some reason this week was a particularly hard week, and today I was missing Miles more than usual.  Her visit and beautiful flowers brightened my day, we have been so blessed by the wonderful friends and neighbors who have shown their continued support during these last several months.  There are not words to express my love for every single one of you.

all too real

"You never know how strong you are until being strong is the only choice you have." - Unknown

I used to hear or read stories of people tragically losing loved ones, and my heart would ache for them.  I would think 'I can't imagine going through that, I couldn't do it.'  I still hear those stories, and I still think the same thing.  But I have lost that innocence, that naive conviction that that couldn't happen to me.  That the Lord knows I couldn't handle it.  They aren't just things that happen to someone else anymore, or someone else's child.  They are real, they are possible.  And I know somewhat of what it feels like, going through something you said you couldn't do.  I don't want to do that again.  I want to hold my kids all day long and protect them from anything bad that could possibly happen to them.  I wish I could.  But I can't.  I have to let them go out into the world, I have to love them and be vulnerable, knowing that something could happen to them at anytime, that my world could fall apart again.  That my heart could break into a million pieces.  There are days that that fear consumes me, but I have to be strong.  A friend recently sent me a link to a story about a lady whose sweet healthy 2-year-old passed away in his sleep.  I know she wanted me to read about the mother's healing process, but every night as I put my 2-year-old to bed I think of that story, and I kiss her goodnight and silently but fervently pray that she will wake up in the morning.  Because I couldn't lose her.  I couldn't lose another one of my children, I would not survive it.  That fear is all too real.  I cling to the comfort and peace that the gospel brings.  I have faith that the Lord will not give me more than I can handle.  That He will guide me through the next trial, just as he has this one.  That I don't have to do it alone.  That my Heavenly Father, and Jesus Christ, my Savior and Redeemer, know my pain, and that through the atonement and with the strength of my Heavenly Father I can do things that I never imagined, and I am stronger that I thought I could be.  I can let go of that fear, love my family, enjoy my life, and put my trust in my Father in Heaven.

when I think about heaven, I think about angels...

 when I think about angels, I think about you. 

When I try to imagine what Miles' first day in heaven was like, this is what I picture. These were taken just minutes after Maylee was born. Grandma and Grandpa Brown were there, anxiously waiting to hold and love our sweet newborn baby girl. I am sure Miles' arrival into heaven was no different, with Grandma and Grandpa Brown anxiously waiting with open arms to hold and love him.

when you say nothing at all

I have learned through our recent experiences that often people say the wrong things with the right intentions.  I can remember after Matt's parents both passed away so close together that people would often say 'at least they went close together and they didn't have to be apart long.'  It would make me so mad sometimes, I wanted to ask them if they would like to lose 2 people they love very much at the same time, if that would be better than losing one.  But I didn't.  I knew that they meant well, they just didn't know what to say, and I couldn't hold that against them.  Since Miles' passing it seems that nobody knows what to say.  There isn't any right thing to say, really.  I have done it too, I know I have.  I have said the wrong thing when I didn't know what to say.  But even worse than saying the wrong thing is saying nothing, pretending nothing happened,.  I can remember last year I ran across an acquaintance who had recently given birth to twins, one of whom had been stillborn.  I had heard from a mutual friend about her son's passing just a few weeks before.  I didn't know her very well, and when I saw her, I didn't know what to say.  I remember commenting on her cute baby boy as she held him and asking the dumb questions about surviving on little sleep and the challenges of having three kids, but I didn't ask about her fourth baby.  I didn't know how, I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing.  I know now that saying nothing was worse than anything I could have tried to say.  I completely ignored his existence.  All I had to say was I'm so sorry, or ask how she was doing since his passing, but I said nothing.  Now I know how that feels.  Saying nothing feels like he is forgotten.  Like the world has moved on without him.  I can't bear that.  I haven't moved on, I haven't forgotten, and I want to talk about him.  I want people to acknowledge him, to ask questions about him, to talk to me about being a mom of four kids.  It's not that I can't talk about other things, or that I want to talk about him all of the time, but sometimes I just want to be able to say Miles' name, or tell his story one more time.  I don't want people to be afraid of saying the wrong thing to me, just talk to me.  I would rather you say the wrong thing with the right intentions than to say nothing at all.

I am grateful

Today is Mother's Day, and although there is an empty place in my heart, I am grateful. I am grateful for my mother. I am grateful for Matt's mother and for the time we had with her. I am grateful to be a mother to four beautiful children. I love each one of them more than they will ever know. I am grateful for every minute that I get to spend with my older three, and long for the day when I will hold my angel baby again. I am grateful to know that I will someday, and that no matter how old my children get, no matter what happens, they will always be mine, I will always be their mother. Yes, I am grateful.

Exactly.

I saw this on pinterest recently and could totally relate.  People tell me I am handling this well and that I seem to be doing great.  I am doing okay, but it's not because it is easy.  It is a fight every single day, and every morning I make a choice.  Some days I don't do as well putting on that smile, but I get out of bed every morning and choose to keep going.  I mean it when I say I am not angry.  I am not, but I am a mother trying to figure out how to move on and how to enjoy my life while carrying a broken, aching heart.  One day it will be easier, but for now I fight and I make a choice to pull it together because there are people who need me to.

Miles' Funeral

Miles' funeral was held on April 9, 2012.  It was a beautiful, perfect spring day, fitting for our perfect beautiful baby boy.  I can remember waking up that morning and going through the motions, but it all felt like a dream.  I picked out what I would wear (there are not many options a week after having a baby), and thought how cruel it was that I had to wear a maternity dress that I had planned to wear Easter Sunday to my son's funeral.  It felt all wrong.  We all were dressed and out the door early (which if you know us was a miracle), and headed up to the mortuary to dress our little guy.  I will admit that I was anxious to see him, to hold him one more time.  It felt like ages since that whirlwind day when I had last held him, and I longed for just one more day.  When we walked into the dressing room I fell apart.  It wasn't him, it didn't look like him, or smell like him, or feel like him.  I should have known, this was not my first funeral, but I wanted so badly to have more time with him, I had convinced myself this would be it, but reality struck that moment that we walked in, he was gone.   

 We dressed him in his little white blessing outfit and put his tiny white booties on his little feet.  This was the first and only time in this life that I would dress my baby, and everything had to be perfect.

 My kids each took turns holding sweet Miles and saying their goodbyes.  Those tender moments alone with my little family in the dressing room are ones that I will hold dear forever.

 Maylee was so proud as she held her baby brother.  She couldn't stop touching and loving him, and kept asking to hold her bebe again.

 Sweet kids loving on their brother.  I wanted to make sure they were allowed to be as much a part of this process as possible to help them cope with his passing.  They helped to pick his casket and his flowers, they helped to dress him, and they held and loved him and we were able to talk about him, and what he is doing now, and share sweet moments that I hope my kids will remember all of their lives.

 such a loving big sister.  She often says that she wishes so badly that he were here so that she could hold him and take care of him.  I tell her I do too.  We know he is in a better place, and that we will have him someday, but we sure miss him every day.

Mason asked a lot of questions about Miles' 'owie,' and then said "Well, the next time I see my little brother he won't have an 'owie' any more.  He will be healthy and perfect."  I am so glad they know that, and I know he will.

 This was the last time I held my little Miles (and Maylee wanted to give him just one more hug and kiss).

 I gently placed him in his little casket, nestled in the beautiful blanket from sweet Kathy.

 As a way of letting the kids be part of his burial, we had them each write him a note (or color a picture in Maylee's case) and rolled them up and tied them with blue ribbons to be buried with him, that way there would always be a part of them with him.  We all signed a baseball to place with him as well, Matt had always referred to him as his little ball player from the minute I found out I was pregnant (he was sure it was a boy :). 

Maylee immediately began to rearrange things :)

 These next several photos are just for documentation, these are some of our amazing family and friends who came to show their love and support, and we are so grateful for them.

 (above) sweet Kathy Johnson, we just love her

 Matt and I gave Miles one last kiss, then I gently folded in his blankets so that just his tiny face peeked out.  He looked so peaceful and sweet.  Matt then closed the casket, and we knew we would never again see our baby in this life.  I truly felt lifted by angels during that time, there is no other way that I was able to stand.

We had a sweet graveside service where love and beautiful testimonies were shared.  It was the perfect celebration of such a precious little life.

 The kids each took roses from Miles' flowers to remember him

We returned to the cemetary later that day after he had been buried.  We have gone almost every Sunday since.  We sure love our tiny angel.

I Love You As Much

April 9, 2012

As I laid my sweet baby in his casket today, perfectly nestled in his blankets, the words to one of my favorite bedtime stories that I read to my kids came to my mind. "Now sleep, child of mine, while the stars shine above.  I love you as much as a mother can love." I love my little Miles more than I can express, and as I tucked his blankets around him and kissed his cheeks, it felt for a moment just like tucking in my other babies as they drifted off to sleep.  I would walk slowly away from their cribs, knowing I would miss them during the night, but that I would see them and hold them in the morning.  I suppose it really isn't much different, I just have to wait much longer for the morning when I will again see and hold Miles.

(I wrote this on the day of Miles' funeral, but I never published the post.  I thought it fitting to post it today, since today marks one month since the day that we buried our little angel).

I've had my moments

those times when the unfairness of it all consumes me.  When I just want to say why me, and be angry.  But I don't stay there long.  Why not me?  I have always said that losing a child is the one things in this life I could not handle, but really who imagines themselves here?  And yet here I am, and I am still standing, and I am not angry.  Although I don't consider myself worthy of such a blessing, I have the privelege of being the mother of a perfect child.  I have felt so many emotions over the last several weeks, but the moments of anger and bitterness have been fleeting.  I am not perfect, I will admit that I have had them, but they have been just moments.  I can't be angry when I know that the things I have experienced in the last several months, and especially in the weeks since Miles' passing are things I wouldn't have experienced were it not for this trial.  I have so many friends who are pregnant or have just had babies who have expressed their fear that I would be angry with them for being excited about their new arrivals.  I am not.  I have been blessed with incredible friends who truly understand what it means to 'mourn with those who mourn,' and I would be remiss if I couldn't find it within myself to rejoice with them during their times of joy as well. It hurts, I won't say it doesn't, but I am not angry with them.  I hurt for the things I should be doing with Miles, and seeing others do them with their babies just further reminds me that I should, but during those moments of deepest pain I have found comfort, and I need those moments.  I remember after Matt's parents' passings that I would dread milestones.  Holidays, birthdays, etc., but once they have been experienced and survived, the next time the same one came around it hurt a little less.  I feel the same with Miles.  Yesterday was fast Sunday, and with that comes baby blessings.  I expected to feel unbearable pain as I sat there watching those sweet babies, dressed in white, being held in their fathers' arms and blessed, but I knew if I made it through it this time it would hurt less the next time.  As I watched the little boys being blessed that day I did feel that pain, but not in the way I expected.  I didn't envy or resent them for their joy during such a special time.  I missed my baby as I reflected on the day Miles was born, during his last moments alive as I held him in my arms and his daddy gave him his blessing.  It wasn't the traditional blessing in the traditional setting, but it was an incredibly humbling and sacred experience as we spent those few moments alone, without doctors or nurses or any distractions, just the two of us holding and blessing our sweet tiny boy.  No, I don't resent them, they didn't experience the things I did that day.  They can't know of the surreal mix of joy, sorrow, pain, love, fear, and peace that I felt in those moments.  I would not in a million years have wished for this trial, but I wouldn't trade a moment of it.  Yes, I've had my moments, but I can tell you in all honesty that I am not angry.

I feel peace

Although it doesn't take away the pain of my broken heart, I do feel peace.  I know that Miles is a part of our family, now and forever.  I know that I will hold him again someday, and that day will be one of unimaginable joy.  I know that I have literally felt the strength of my savior lift me up when I hadn't the strength or will to do it on my own.  He held me up while I watched my son's casket close, when all I wanted was to crumple onto the floor.  He gave me my sweet children to get me out of bed every morning when all I want to do is bury my head and cry.  He has given a grieving mother peace, knowing that this was the plan.  I know that he was spared the pain and suffering he would surely have endured in this life, that he had suffered enough.  I know that all of my 'what-ifs' don't matter, I couldn't have changed it, this was Miles' purpose on this earth.  I don't know why or what he is doing now, but I do know that we need him in our lives.  I know that although he physically came into our lives for such a short time, he fulfilled his earthly mission and returned to his Heavenly Father, as did his grandma and grandpa before him.  I do know that he is mine, he will always be mine, and I will love him forever.  I do know that I want him to be proud of me, to watch his family while we are here and be glad that he is part of us.  He has changed me, he has made me want to be better.  I won't be perfect, but I am determined to do better, to make him proud.  Through the tears, heartache, and hurt, these things truly give me peace.

One Month

One month ago today I experienced a parent's biggest fear, greatest joy, and deepest sorrow in a matter of hours. One month ago today I feared that my unborn baby was in danger. One month ago today I rejoiced at his birth, he was finally here, he had made it, and he was perfectly beautiful in every way. One month ago today I felt my world fall apart as I held my precious child and watched as his life slipped away. One month ago feels like a lifetime away.

I am afraid

that as life moves on I will forget.  People tell me I won't, but they don't understand.  I know I won't forget him, forget he exists, forget he was here.  Miles has changed me forever, I will never be the same.  While I was in the hospital just after Miles' birth, all I wanted was to heal physically and go back to the way things were.  I wanted to be busy with kids and projects and life.  Now that I am feeling physically capable, I am afraid to.  The better I feel physically the more afraid I become.  Afraid that people will forget.  That they will stop asking about him, stop saying his name.  That I won't have anyone to tell his story to.  Afraid that I will forget.  Forget his sweet baby smell, the feel of his soft skin, how it felt to hold him in my arms, the rise and fall of his tiny chest.  I would give anything on this earth to have those moments back, to hold him one more time and touch his warm little cheeks.  That day was so surreal, so blurry, I feel like I have to reach through the fog to grasp at any physical memories of him.  I would give anything to have heard him cry, just once, to hear his voice and have one more piece of him to hold onto.  My arms have already forgotten the shape they made when they held him; the weight of him, the feel of him, his beautiful hair touching them. They just feel empty.  They don't remember.  I can't remember.  And already it feels like his very existence is fading to only a memory and photographs to remind me that he really was here.  Those, and the aching hole in my heart are all I have, and I am afraid to move on.

3 weeks, 4 days, 2 hours, and 6 minutes

That's how long it's been since I last held my litle Miles in my arms and felt his tiny chest rise and fall. Some days I can't help but feel the unfairness of it all. I should be excitedly counting the days until my baby's arrival. But here I am, each day one day further from those precious few moments with him. 3 weeks, 4 days, 2 hours, and 6 minutes. And counting.

There is strength in hope

The day after Miles' birth and passing, Dr. F (the perinatologist I had been seeing) came up to the hospital to visit me.  She sat at the foot of my hospital bed and cried.  She told me how sorry she was, that she was wrong, that she had given us false hope.  MRI's are 'never' wrong, she didn't know how they were so off on Miles' diagnosis.  Miles was diagnosed with several different possible tumors during my pregnancy, but after the MRI and several detailed ultrasounds it was determined that he for sure had a neoblastoma.  We met with the surgeon weeks before his arrival to lay out our plan of action.  When Miles was born, they were not able to just decompress the tumor as they had planned, but had to remove the entire thing to have any chance of stabilizing him.  Once it had been removed they realized that their diagnosis had been wrong.  It was not a neoblastoma, but an extremely rare condition called 'fetus in fetu' (there are less than 100 recorded cases of this condition, it is estimated that is happens in 1 in 500,00 pregnancies.  Essentially, in the very very early stages of the pregnancy the fertilized egg begins to divide to form indentical twins, but instead of separating, one of the twins gets trapped inside the other one and doesn't develop properly, but still grows and uses the outer twin's blood supply and nutrients acting like a parasite and causing problems for the twin who is it's 'host' ).  Dr. F apologized over and over for not knowing what it was until it was too late.  I asked her what she would have done different, if she would have changed his treatment.  She told us that she would not, she just would have prepared us, she would have told us that his chance of survival was almost none.  We would probably have delivered him earlier and planned for his passing.  In hindsight I am glad that they were wrong.  They couldn't have saved him, and not having hope would have made those weeks leading up to his arrival so hard to bear.  Yes, it is hard to think of him and the hopes that we had for him, enjoying his siblings, playing ball with his daddy, all of the things you imagine for you little boy.  But during those weeks, having hope gave me strength.  I fought for him and I wasn't giving up.  Because I had hope I have no regrets, we did everything we could hoping for the best.  It didn't change the outcome, but it gave me strength.  I am grateful that we at least had hope.

April Fool's

It's hard to ignore the cruel irony of little Miles' birthday.  April 1, 2012.  The whole day felt like a bad dream as events beyond my control began to unfold.  We will never forget his birthday, but in some ways the way we started that day, baby blankets cut and ready to sew for him that afternoon, still full of hope for him, still sure that our little fighter would make it through until the moment they came to tell me there was nothing they could do.  Yes, that day, it felt like a cruel joke.  Again, I know time will heal, and we will plan fun activities to celebrate his birthday every year, but I will never see April Fool's day the same.

hard things

Sometimes I just have to tell myself that I can do hard things.  I made it through my son's funeral.  I wrote his story.  Now I have stared at the little bags of clothes that I had bought for Miles for the last 2 weeks.  I moved them to different locations, hid them, put them on the counter, and debated what to do with them.  I didn't need them, and they didn't really hold any sentimental value, there wasn't anything in those bags that I bought for Miles that I really loved.  I had friends who had offered to do my returns for me, but I felt like I needed to do it myself.  I know, it sounds weird, but for me it felt like part of the process, it was something I just needed to do.  Today I decided it was time to face it and do something hard.  I cried all the way to the children's clothing stores.  I cried when they asked the reason for my returns.  I cried all the way home.  But I did it.  I can do hard things.  I just have to keep telling myself that.