I walk past Will's bedroom door and notice that it's open. My heart skips a beat and I quickly shut the door. I'm not ready. I just can't bring myself to go into his room. Not yet. I'm not ready to see his clothes, touch his blankets, see all of his supplies and diapers stacked, ready to use.
I just can't.
Monday, September 21, 2015
Tuesday, September 8, 2015
January 2015
Have you ever been swimming in the ocean? Sometimes when you're out in the fierce pounding of the waves, it's hard to catch your breath. Sometimes, when you are underneath the briny sea, you can see the bright light shining above you. You know which way to swim to allow your hungry lungs fill with air. But the instant before your head surfaces, another wave comes crashing down, pushing you underneath the black water.
Down, down, down, till you feel your body hit the bottom.
Three weeks after we bury our baby Will, I go into the doctor to get an ultrasound. I am 21 weeks along with our baby girl. The thought of this sweet angel coming to the world has kept me hanging on. So when the ultrasound tech leaves the room after only a few moments, I feel like my head has been forced under water. Our little one has gone back to her Heavenly Father, before she could even take a breath.
Another delivery, another casket.
How can I go on?
I hold my white flag high. I beg my Savior to take this from me. Take this pain. Take these tears. Take this heartache that I cannot bear.
And He does.
I make it another day.
Down, down, down, till you feel your body hit the bottom.
Three weeks after we bury our baby Will, I go into the doctor to get an ultrasound. I am 21 weeks along with our baby girl. The thought of this sweet angel coming to the world has kept me hanging on. So when the ultrasound tech leaves the room after only a few moments, I feel like my head has been forced under water. Our little one has gone back to her Heavenly Father, before she could even take a breath.
Another delivery, another casket.
How can I go on?
I hold my white flag high. I beg my Savior to take this from me. Take this pain. Take these tears. Take this heartache that I cannot bear.
And He does.
I make it another day.
Sunday, May 31, 2015
That night
I stand by the front door holding my baby Will close. The medical examiner standing on the porch extending his arms toward me. I know what I need to do but don't know if I can do it. It's time to place my precious boy into the arms of a stranger, watch as he carries him away, then places him in his truck. My arms instinctively tighten around Will's body and my heart feels like it's being ripped out. The medical examiner patiently waits as a battle continues in my mind. My head tells me it's time to let him go, but my heart won't accept it. Tyler puts a hand on my back as I secure Will's blanket around him and finally place him in the man's waiting arms. He promises to be gentle. He promises to keep him warm in his blanky. But I can hardly hear what he's saying. I turn around as the door closes and Tyler envelops me in a tight embrace. We stand there together clinging to each other. The enormity of what has happened crashes down on us.
Our sweet boy is gone.
Our sweet boy is gone.
Sunday, May 10, 2015
December 27th 2014
Every time I sit down to write this post, my fingers stay frozen on the keyboard and my mind is blank. I long to convey the smallest portion of my heart, but my words are inadequate. My heart is overflowing with unspoken emotions.
I fear it will burst.
December 27 2014
I press his warm body next to mine and hold him tight. The end is close. So close.
Tyler calls Brigham and Lucie into the room to say goodbye. They slowly come in and my heart feels so heavy. I don't want to say what we have to say. I don't want to be here in this moment. But sometimes we have to do hard things we don't want to do. So we tell them that it's time for Will to go home. We tell them he gets to go be with Molly and Sam. I say the words. I hear them coming out of my mouth, but it doesn't seem real.
The five of us sit together on the bed and take turns telling Will how much we love him, how much we'll miss him. We all sing lullabies and cradle him and stroke his hair. We cry and kiss and speak words of love. We talk about our favorite memories with him and laugh, then cry again. Then it's time for me and Tyler to be alone with our sweet one. We don't want Lucie and Brigham in the room when he passes.
The door closes behind the kids as they leave. The sound of Will's labored breathing fills the bedroom and I suddenly feel as if my lungs can't get enough air. I hold him closer and nuzzle my nose in his neck. I breathe in his sweet smell and wish I could freeze this moment forever. I suddenly can't take it anymore and ask Tyler to turn on some music. We turn on The Lamb of God by Rob Gardner and I instantly feel better. There is a sweet peace in the room and I imagine all of the angels surrounding our warrior to welcome him home.
He fights to the end. Every last breath.
And that's who Will is. He's a fighter. He's our warrior. But, as one of Will's nurses said, "sometimes little soldiers get tired, and that's OK."
So we tell him it's OK. We tell him that Mommy and Daddy will be OK. We hold him so tight and whisper to him, "It's Ok to go. We'll see you soon. It's OK to rest."
As he takes his last breath, he lets out an adorable classic "Will yawn".
And then he's gone.
I look at our baby who has just been welcomed by so many loved ones, and I think he's the most beautiful baby I've ever seen. My chest hurts with the love I have for him. Coupled with that love, is the love I feel for the One who has made it possible for us to be with Will again.
I try to hold onto this peace, this light surrounding us as we hold our baby Will. I know we'll be with him again.
I know it.
I fear it will burst.
December 27 2014
I press his warm body next to mine and hold him tight. The end is close. So close.
Tyler calls Brigham and Lucie into the room to say goodbye. They slowly come in and my heart feels so heavy. I don't want to say what we have to say. I don't want to be here in this moment. But sometimes we have to do hard things we don't want to do. So we tell them that it's time for Will to go home. We tell them he gets to go be with Molly and Sam. I say the words. I hear them coming out of my mouth, but it doesn't seem real.
The five of us sit together on the bed and take turns telling Will how much we love him, how much we'll miss him. We all sing lullabies and cradle him and stroke his hair. We cry and kiss and speak words of love. We talk about our favorite memories with him and laugh, then cry again. Then it's time for me and Tyler to be alone with our sweet one. We don't want Lucie and Brigham in the room when he passes.
The door closes behind the kids as they leave. The sound of Will's labored breathing fills the bedroom and I suddenly feel as if my lungs can't get enough air. I hold him closer and nuzzle my nose in his neck. I breathe in his sweet smell and wish I could freeze this moment forever. I suddenly can't take it anymore and ask Tyler to turn on some music. We turn on The Lamb of God by Rob Gardner and I instantly feel better. There is a sweet peace in the room and I imagine all of the angels surrounding our warrior to welcome him home.
He fights to the end. Every last breath.
And that's who Will is. He's a fighter. He's our warrior. But, as one of Will's nurses said, "sometimes little soldiers get tired, and that's OK."
So we tell him it's OK. We tell him that Mommy and Daddy will be OK. We hold him so tight and whisper to him, "It's Ok to go. We'll see you soon. It's OK to rest."
As he takes his last breath, he lets out an adorable classic "Will yawn".
And then he's gone.
I look at our baby who has just been welcomed by so many loved ones, and I think he's the most beautiful baby I've ever seen. My chest hurts with the love I have for him. Coupled with that love, is the love I feel for the One who has made it possible for us to be with Will again.
I try to hold onto this peace, this light surrounding us as we hold our baby Will. I know we'll be with him again.
I know it.
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