Dearest Daughter

I wrote this in my journal a while ago but wanted to share because...
because I think this is the easiest way to summarize the basic thoughts that are ALWAYS going through my head.
"Dear Carter,
I spend every day hoping you know how much mommy and daddy love you. Because one of the emptiest feelings is thinking that without you here to hold, kiss, snuggle, and show off... there is just no way to express how much we love you.

I hope you get to play with Jay and Liam and all those other babies whose time on earth was too short.

I hope that children in heaven are not mean to each other like children on earth: that you are not teased about anything because you are perfect.

I hope there are parties in heaven: extra special, extra perfect days full of cake and presents and people telling you how wonderful you are. But maybe every day in heaven in like that. And that's okay too.

I hope you've met the wonderful man we named you after. I hope he introduced himself as Uncle Josh... because if you were both here on earth, that is the title we would have given him.

I hope the great grandmothers we thought you wouldn't get to meet are there to love you every day. I hope they hug and kiss you and tell great stories like they did for daddy and I.

Maybe you have met some of daddy's other friends too. I hope they tell you only of the good times: terrorism and war deserve no place in heaven.

I hope that our sadness doesn't contaminate your heaven. We are trying so hard to get along here without you, but some days it is much harder than others. I hope, if you feel our sadness, you know that it is just because we miss you even when we know you are fine. I hope, that if you must feel our sadness, then you get to feel our happiness and love too.

I hope that you know you will never be out of our hearts, our thoughts, or memories. I hope you know we will cherish ever moment we had with you... even the scary ones, the sad ones, the vomit-y ones. We will constantly wish that every moment with you had totaled many many more, but accept that cannot happen.

But mostly, I just hope you know how much we love you.
Love,
Mommy

Tales from a bike ride through the dark

"Peter!!! Pete!" I yell, a mouth full of ice cream, (probably some dripping down my white shirt), one hand holding a waffle cone, one hand on the bike handlebars, as I dodge strollers and pedestrians and people dancing in the street in front of a huge stage.
"I think..."
"What?" Pete asks, sounding a bit impatient... though really he is just 100 feet ahead of me, trying to pull off the same prowess.
"I think we are downtownies... living in the 'burbs... I think that is our only problem."


Sunday evening was the festival downtown to welcome the US Pro Cycling challenge into town. There were vendor booths, live music, awesome people watching, and the usual liveliness of downtown. 
To thoroughly enjoy this festival, we opted out of trying to find a parking place in the area and instead rode our bikes down the greenway that goes right into our humble downtown.


We ended up being able to have a nice dinner with Pete's parents and grandparents. And then we toured the fest, and stopped by the ice cream shop just around the corner from work. 
But... all this fun meant that we headed home in growing darkness. And its a good hour ride from downtown to where we parked our car.


I'm afraid of what can't be seen. We all are in some extent. Especially on those pessimistic days. The fear of the unknown in front of us can be overwhelming in both a physical and mental sense. But it has always been a huge thing for me. I remember trying to explain this in a writing assignment in middle school. My teacher responded with, "So you are afraid of the dark?" Well, no... because my vision is bad enough that take my glasses away and I cannot see in the most perfect of light. But yes, because most often when things really sneak up on you unforeseen: is in the dark. 
And to be completely honest, I still leave the light on if I go to sleep before Pete comes home. He thinks that its just because I fall asleep so fast that I do not get a chance to turn off the light. And sometimes it is. But most of the time, it is just because I do not want to wake up and wonder if the person walking into my bedroom whom I cannot see AT ALL (no glasses and dark? not a chance) is really Peter. 
So, I wasn't completely psyched to be riding home in the darkness. Especially since I couldn't find my bike headlight OR headlamp. And Pete has a flashing taillight in front of me which, with my night vision (or lack thereof), just further obscures everything else.
But I embraced it. And I found it to be rather peaceful. Especially in the darkest parts of the green way. There is so little distraction. Its kind of like in one of those athlete based movies, where the pivotal moment comes and the sound goes completely silent except for the persons breathing and heart rate...
I haven't left myself alone with my thoughts much in the most recent months. Because, well, frankly... they aren't pretty. But, on the bike... it was serene. It really did seem like the worst thing in our lives was that we live too far out "in the burbs." Everything felt momentarily okay.


But there was still this tightness in my chest. This wondering if we would have to find out that the zombie apocolalypse had started between the time we had ridden south on the trail in the light to when we were riding north on the trail in the dark. And as Peter's tail light fell off his bike and we momentarily stopped to fix it, it did seem like the opening moments of a horror movie. 


But it was fine. Well, I mean, we arrived home completely unscathed. There was another moment when we briefly stopped that we heard something LARGE tromping through the woods just ahead of us. And then, a huge dog appeared at the side of the trail. It had to be a dog. To huge for a coyote, too small for a bear, and too completely uninterested in us to be a mountain lion.
But there was this moment of tension as I was leaning over my bag when this happened and Peter whispered, "Whatever happens, don't move." and I heard the snap on his holster... (the dog is fine, it wandered away and we moved right along... and with a little more pep than we had before)


People talk about how those missing a sense (sight, hearing...) just end up with better abilities with the other four senses. But. This was different than that. It was too dark for sight. So quiet for sound. So still (except for the air rushing past you as you pedaled) for touch. 
So you are left with smell and thoughts. And somehow, this made the world seem so much brighter, more peaceful, loving. 


I can only declare that this perception is because for the briefest point in time (a whole hour out of a whole lifetime), we OPTED to not be able to see in front of us. And it did not slow us down. It did not hurt. It was not frightful. It was not unfortunate.
IT WAS NOT BAD.


I don't know what is in front of the Hall family at this point. And I've finally accepted that, my wildest guess, dream, hope, fear... will not ever be exactly what we end up with. I would say that I cannot see very far in front of me at all. 
But that doesn't have to slow me down, hurt me, scare me, or be bad.


It just has to be accepted. 

Prologue

I'm not exactly sitting to write now... but I will in the next few days. I have an interesting topic (er, stream of consciousness) to put into the world.
But here is a teaser:

"Peter!!! Pete!" I yell, a mouth full of ice cream, (probably some dripping down my white shirt), one hand holding a waffle cone, one hand on the bike handlebars, as I dodge strollers and pedestrians and people dancing in the street in front of a huge stage.
"I think..."
"What?" Pete asks, sounding a bit impatient... though really he is just 100 feet ahead of me, trying to pull of the same prowess.
"I think we are downtownies... living in the 'burbs... I think that is our only problem."

Holy cow, two posts in one day!!!

It has been a while since I posted a food obsessed blog. 

And since I named this blog "foodie-talk" back in the day, I figured it was time. 

Tonight, I had a wonderful dinner planned. But I spaced out and started way late. So I was suddenly rushing to finish it up in time for Pete to eat before heading off to his half night shift.

It still turned out great. I was so worried the pork would turn out too tough since i rushed it (I think I set a world record for fastest fully cooked pork that was edible) but it was all great. 

The best part was the sweet potatoes. 

We made a hashbrowns type of dish with sweet potatoes instead. So awesome. Here is a... recipe ish...

2 sweet potatoes

1 apple

1/2 large onion

1 clove garlic

salt and pepper to taste

2 tbsp canola oil

4 tbsp butter

We used a cheese grater to grate up the sweet potatoes. Then we julienned (cut into small strips) the apple and onion and minced the garlic. We put all that in hot saute pan coated with the oil / butter mix.

Cook over medium heat for 3-5 minutes at a time, before flipping.

It was so delicious!!! What a great way to change up the sweet potato side dish. 

Cheers, LiA

Well, I have been doing some stuff.

Okay, its been weeks since I have written a blog, so this will be long but pictured filled.

When you last left the crazy world of Lia and Pete, we were about to embark on a 40 mile bike ride "for a good cause..."

It was a beautiful sweltering day even in the mountains. And Pete had just finished a graveyard shift. We made it 15 miles... and then it wasn't fun anymore. So we turned around... rode 15 more miles DOWNHILL at speeds near 30 miles an hour, had a nice lunch with the parents, and went to bed at 5pm. CASA raised over $13000 with this ride so thank you all for your support. We may take it on next year, but only if we are more prepared...

I finished remaking my sewing table into something a little more beautiful, instead of just practical.

You probably remember the before photos:

But after posting these, I found this label on the bottom:

"Carefully packed and inspected by Kent 5 11 '76"

HA!!! I knew it was dated, but yeesh!

So here is what I turned it into:

I love it!!! However, I have not really gotten around to using it since finishing. I'm way overdue for a sewing project...

In other news, we bottled our beer.

I love this picture of Pete. He looks dead asleep. I promise he is not. but its just funny how it turned out because his eyes are closed. He says I always take unflattering photos of him. I guess this is proof.

Oh, PS: beer should be done Sunday. Our first recipe, a honey brown ale. We haven't started another yet, but should soon...

Also, I cut off all my hair. I like it a ton. I was momentarily regretful when the buzzer touched my neck. But it feels nice and is super low maintenance (and we all know that is my priority beauty wise). I would have a picture, but I'm still in my pajamas with major bedhead (that is the thing with short hair).

Pete has taken on more of a managerial role at work, and is working DAYS for the first time in a year and a half!!! 

I will be starting my promotion officially the first part of September... until then, it is a huge learning curve to master. Not huge. But, there is a list of stuff to figure out. I have a bunch of different shifts than I have ever had before and am gradually taking on more and more responsibility. 

As my dad said so poetically last night, It is nice to see good things start to happen after going through hell.

And it is. Some days still feel like everyone has moved on but us. But for the most part, we seem to be succeeding at continuing on.

"And also in first place..."

    It was late in my generation that the concept of "every kid is a winner" really gained strength. I think I can best describe this... campaign by telling you about my life growing up in the ATA.
    I first joined the American Taekwondo Association as a second grader. I was about seven. My mom herded all three of us kids into the studio at first: my younger brother, Ben about 4 at the time, and my older brother, Josh... 14ish. We all got started, excitedly joining the ranks of the many other students at this particular taekwondo studio in our small southern California town.
   Ben only lasted a couple of weeks before the instructors and my mom decided he wasn't quite ready: lacking in coordination, and / or attention span in order to fully participate. So he was out.
   Josh and I started our Taekwondo careers together. It wasn't super eventful right away.
  So, enter Ben, about a year later. He eagerly joins classes. But, during his year of waiting to "mature" enough to participate, the ATA created a program called "tiny tigers" specially formulated for 3-6 year olds. So, he particpates, but is definitely not the youngest.
  We entered tournaments. And... we always got trophies. There was always a 1st, 2nd and 3rd place for each category of competition. But beyond that, everyone else received a 4th place trophy. (Over the years, I collected MANY of these.)
   By the time I received the rank necessary to judge in tournaments, the "tiny tigers" program had grown into quite a beast. As a young black belt of about 12... I judged in these rings most often. And... they all got "FIRST" place trophies. While it was sweet to really drive home that, "every kid is a winner" crap, it definitely felt like selling out to announce, "And in first place for best sportsmanship.... and in first place for strongest technique.... and in first place for loudest kiyapp...." And then we would set loose 14 "first place" four year olds running about whatever gym the tournament had rented.

All this nonsensical reminiscence is just to explain that... I know what it means to get an award just for the sake of getting an award. While I participated in a ton of various activities over my school years, I mostly have a ton of "participant" ribbons, "runner up" awards... and "fourth place" trophies (one I was awarded at the Las Vegas nationals for sparring... I was competing well. But locked feet with my opponent and sprained my ankle. Later on, I dropped the trophy and... its foot broke off. To this day, this trophy [one of the smallest] is my favorite.)

Sometimes, with an experience of intense grief and pain, everything good that happens to you... just feels like a fourth place trophy. I am having one of those days today. I just got amazing news of an excellent opportunity that I absolutely deserve....

But there is still a little voice in my head that says, "You know this never would have happened if Carter hadn't died."

In the most recent case, this unfortunately is completely true. I don't say that to be crass or cruel. But we are talking about a great career opportunity. And, if I had left work in early March to be hospitalized for as long as possible before having a baby who was in the NICU for months and a high needs child due to prematurity for quite some time... yeah, what is on the table today, would not be on the table.

I can't give a lot of details as to this most recent "thing" yet, so I will go back to the last time I was really feeling this way.

In early April, I took a vacation. You may remember. I went to a fancy resort outside of phoenix, AZ and laid by the pool... The pool bartender flirted with me despite my constant reminders that I was married. I took lots of pictures of random things. I geocached in a cemetary.

What I never spoke of, is the breakdown I had the night before leaving. It was my first vacation I had taken by myself (mostly by myself, Heidi and I shared a hotel room, but she was working 95% of the time), leaving Peter behind to work. I remember crying to him... as if I was being given a death sentence. He assured me it would be okay. I SHOULD have fun. And I remember telling him, "But this is just a consolation prize. I am not supposed to be going on a vacation to lay by a pool. I am supposed to be pregnant. And if not that, then I am supposed to be camping outside the NICU for every bit of news to receive about our daughter."
"I am NOT supposed to be getting vacation right now."

But that's the sad thing about Infant loss no one can adequately describe. You grieve the loss of your child. But just as much (and on some days, more so), you grieve the loss of the future you had planned with them. You feel awkward not following the restrictive pregnancy rules; you remember that at Christmas, you won't have a _________ old baby, you will have an extra stocking. You realize you will never shop for the things you thought you would, talk amongst other parents about milestones, research safety ratings, shop for houses based on school districts, and so on and so forth.

I didn't mean to react to this fabulous moment in our lives today as if it was a fourth place trophy. I was trying to be thankful. But being thankful for the opportunity, led me to the same thinking... "This never would have happened if I had a new baby. I would just be getting back from maternity leave in order to hear this announcement"

And remembering that... just led me to realize that, since what I really want is to be a mom.... to a live child, that a new title or salary or whatever... it is great. But it is not what I had in the plans for this year. It wasn't even in the BACKUP plan!

So, there is this little dark voice, in the back of my head that renames one of the most wonderful things that has happened to me as "just a consolation prize." Do I deserve it? yes. Did I work hard for it? yes. But did I think, a few months ago that it was even a possibility? no. And if, the future I expected as of six months ago had come to pass, would this have ever occurred? no.

But.... that is another funny thing. Life continues.In the words of a song I have always loved, "I thought of you,  and where you'd gone, let the world spin madly on. And everything that I said I'd do, make the world brand new, take the time for you... and the world spins madly on." (the weepies)
I CANNOT STOP the world from happening. And... for the most part: I don't want to. The thought crosses my mind on occasion. I still have those, "Hey wait, my baby just died!" moments. But, for the most part, the world has to continue spinning. I find myself not wanting to wish this pain on anybody. But not really wanting to be witness to all the happy endings either. Today, I found out that one of my bussers and Pete's partner's girlfriend are both pregnant.
Part of me is so bitter and angry. "Of course THEY are pregnant!" my subconscious exclaims... as if "they" are less deserving. But... here is what I have learned being an unfortunate case of baby loss mama: 1 in 4 pregnancies doesn't lead to a healthy child: defects, born to soon, miscarriage... And I would say that statistic holds true as I have been watching dozens of friends pregnancies progress this year. So... while I am so hopelessly jealous of every moment of these women's pregnancies... I find myself just holding my breath for when bad news strikes. Its not being pessimistic, its being realistic. As a fellow BLM said when discussing our shared pregnant friend now hospitalized, "it doesn't surprise me. I saw this coming. And I continue to hope for the best. but I know the odds."
Grief is a funny thing. You never know when it is going to strike... or what it will get you for. But it is always there. Waiting for the moments you are weakest.

And sometimes being a baby loss mama feels like being back in a tiny tigers ring. Because, somehow, you are provided (in the moments of deepest despair) with women who aspire to be as "amazing" as you. "And in first place for most creative use of grief filled hyperactive energy: _______... and in first place for most likely to succeed beyond this: __________... and in first place for best fake smile when someone asks if you have kids: ________... and in first place for most likely to refrain from punching inadequate parents: ________..." And that is what makes the life of a baby loss mama so lonely. All those first place trophies. Some days... it is like competing to win an Oscar. But because there isn't a high budget film about this subject, one just has to quietly go about their business, trying not to make the rest of the world feel awkward about dead babies and other such horrific acts of... life.

Maybe not the best idea...

We will start with a picture from a lifetime ago.

Maybe not a LIFETIME... but man does it sure feel that way sometimes.

For a few years after college, I didn't even ride my bike. I cried when I sold it before we moved to California, but I hadn't put any miles on it in years.
So, when my birthday present last year turned out to be that Pete and I found a DEAL on barely used mountain bikes at a local shop, I was PSYCHED!!! We had been talking about me getting back to riding for our entire marriage but I had always copped out... because if I wanted to spend my day doing something, I wanted it to be with Pete and Ursa, so we hiked, and climbed and camped, and geocached... but no biking. UNTIL! Last August when we got our new old bikes.
Every moment off the rest of the summer and into winter we were on them. We rode downtown. We rode in a nearby traily park. We rode to work.

Skip forward a bit and cue... dramatic complicated pregnancy, near death experience, death of a child.

I was SOOOO excited at my two week appointment when the doc said I could start SLOWLY doing LIGHT workouts. I really felt like I had to be moving to start feeling like a normal person again... especially after months of restricted activity, doctors, ER visits, etc. Then she clarified by asking my workout of choice. "I like to ride bikes..." I said casually.
She cringed. "Yeah, you could ride... a stationary bike in the gym... slowly. But you can't do hills yet and its going to be a while before bumps are comfortable."

AND THEN!! I got permission to return to normal activity at 61/2 weeks post deathbed. (I don't know that the doctor would have granted it had he any idea what MY definition of normal activity is) But he did. And I ran with it. Literally.... I think I was on the treadmill that very night.
I went back to work, we did light rides on the greenways. I would enjoy them but realize that... unfortunately, I still feel like I just had major surgery at times.

But, a month ago... I saw a sign near the elevators in the parking garage. It was a poster advertising the "ride for hope" benefiting CASA. Already intrigued as I am familiar with CASA and the amazing work they do, I read more thoroughly. And then I saw the route: Gold camp road.

Gold camp is Pete and I's go to for anything recreational. We've camped, climbed, geocached, photographed, dogwalked, biked, searched for water, grilled, had campfires, and dreamed of further adventures along many different parts of this historic road leading from Colorado Springs to the old gold mining area in Victor, CO.

So, I do what many wives do when they want to get an idea in their husband's head without truly... proposing it. I hinted... coyly... "So, last night in the elevators I saw a sign for a charity ride to benefit CASA. And guess what the route was: super cool idea... Gold camp. From bear creek park to victor."

I didn't expect such immediate, definitive response. "Let's do it. That will be awesome."

So, in a few short hours, we will be embarking on a 38.8 mile uphill journey via bicycle. I'm pretty sure its longer than I've ever gone before. And while not technical at all, I know its the least amount of downhill relaxing time I've every had.

And to think, just 5 months ago, I was nearly dead.
I don't think I'll be back at that point tomorrow.... but I do assure you... I am riding for completion, not speed. I have figured out just how many miles I HAVE to go per hour in order to finish before they clear the course (and its not fast, so I'm confident I can at least finish).

I was never the most impressive or competitive on the cycling team... but I was there. And I did finish every race I started (including Albuquerque, where I cracked three ribs on the course practicing the night before). But this... this will be a feat to brag about. Maybe not in the accomplished cyclists list, but most definitely in mine.

Wish us luck, and I'll let you know how it goes tomorrow!!!

...and for you... a footspa!

This line has been a long standing joke towards rewarding anyone who has done anything slightly awesome.

You see, the story goes, that while living in England, Pete and his mom used to listen to a radio programme (it was England afterall) on the way to school each morning. Each day, the hosts would ask a trivia question or hold some various contest.
Upon having a caller correctly answer the trivia, they would win a fabulous prize! A footspa!!!!

So... as I said, anytime someone has done anything awesome, we say to each other, and for you... a footspa!!

Skip forward to tonight. I was having an immature moment complaining about how we have to do everything the hard way... whine whine whine, etc.
So Peter tries his hardest to calm me down, aka shut me up. He first suggests that I sit down in my jammies and do Rosetta Stone. Great idea... except I just had an epic day at work. And I am not up for learning Spanish right this moment.
But then!!! He comes up with a most excellent idea.
He suggests I take a hot shower, paint my toenails and have a little pampering evening. Now there is a fabulous idea.
So I ran some hot water in the laundry sink with some bath salts, soaked my feet... used the manicure supplies Heidi bought me while I was in the hospital... put a mask on my face....
Ahhhhh.... it was delightful.

It is easy to get all wound up into a horrible place about all that has happened. As Peter admitted mid "cheer up Lia" session... we have been "kicked in the balls a few times."
So now, as the hospital bills loom and the car approaches 200k miles... AND needs new tires. And I spend time with my husband one night every two weeks because of how our work schedules coincide... and....
oh it doesn't matter.
Maybe we really do live some life where we have to do everything the hard way. Maybe. BUT!!!! That is probably an exageration.
And even if its not, lying down in defeat will not help anything.
So we will get up again tomorrow and do some more. Easy, hard, medium... however it comes at us.

And when it starts to feel a little too hard, there is always the footspa.

Why I have nothing to say

"if you don't have anything nice to say... don't say anything at all."

What a nice little lesson from Bambi.

So while I feel compelled to write this evening, I'm shutting down blogger and turning to my good old fashioned journal. Because that is a safe place for the vile, bitter things I am thinking right now. Spew it all out without thinking about how it will make the web world feel.

So good night web world. I hope you are all safe and warm and cuddly on this beautiful evening.

And in the words of Garrison Keillor, "Be well, do good work, and keep in touch."

For my friend...

So I had this friend in college. She was my RA freshman year, we remained friends... since she was older she went off and got married, and while still in town, we grew apart. And then I ran off and got married... and moved away. And apparently she moved too. Our friendship was such a... fleeting moment in time that I can't find a picture of the two of us... I know they exist, but on a disc somewhere in a box somewhere... I found this one that I stole from Lindsey's facebook. Thanks Lindsey!!!

And then she had a baby. At 27 weeks... due to pre-eclampsia. And I saw the... mayhem via facebook. The NICU, the prayers, the struggles, the day that the little one went home from the hospital. 

So when my post... that fateful early march day to the facebook world included that I was in the in the hospital with pre-eclampsia, she was all over it. She called, she emailed, she facebooked... trying to get in touch with me. She did a darn good job... I just had constant visitors so I declined the call from an unknown number. Now I know better.

She blogged about how she needed everyone she knew to pray for me. She emailed me every day.

And when I sent that sad news email to the world... she kept praying. She kept in touch. She told me how much she admired my strength and assured me I was doing well... that she couldn't imagine my pain.

So... skip ahead a few weeks and she announces... they are expecting their second child!!! Very exciting!!!

And then, one month ago today, she nearly died due to severe complications... and her son, was born still. 

I've been thinking of her all today. Remembering what that first month marker was like. I looked back and noticed I didn't post much. I held back, kept it... short.

It was a hard one. It was the first afterall. And it was just near the point where I came out of the fog of "what just happened?"... that shock phase of grief. And in shaking off shock, the anger and fear and bitterness came rushing in. I remember throwing a tantrum about nothing. No seriously.... NOTHING. It started because I wanted a bagel sandwich, but could not properly direct Pete on where to go in order to get a bagel sandwich. And suddenly, I'm sobbing uncontrollably in the car.

He started to get frustrated with me. But... in a moment of the most pure form of grace, he pulled the car over and he just looked at me quietly for a moment. And then, as soon as he could fit it in between my tears, he asked ever so gently, "Is this really about the bagel sandwich?" And I pretty much yelled, "NO!" sob sob sob... "This is because its the sixth of the month, and what could possibly go right today????" 

He took me home, fixed me breakfast... and I went back to bed. At some point, I felt nice enough to post the blog you can look up from April 6th. I assure you. It says nothing. It was a pleasant mask to cover the most unpleasant of feelings.

I post this because.... well because I feel compelled to truly share that month marker. My friend's own trauma is what brings on the desire. I cannot be sure what her own experiences are... but this is what I know. It doesn't get better by the end of that first month. I will not even speak very highly of month two. In fact, (and I hate to bring this up, knowing my friend is probably reading).... month two... is probably the worst. Because there is no more shock. You can sorta get by on your own physically. And people... its perfectly human and acceptable... people who aren't experiencing what you have: they start to move on. And in the moment that happens, you want to scream at the world, "HEY!!! WAIT!!! My baby just died!!!" But you don't. Mostly out of fear that the world will scream back, "No she didn't... that was a whole month ago. Move on..." 

YEESH! I started this blog to bring truth to that month marker. And here I am blabbing on about how the month marker isn't even the worst. (So let me back track to remind you that the markers are never as bad as the day it all actually happened)

But here is where it goes... in not that long...

In some ways, not a lot has changed. I still have moments where the anger and bitterness rushes in. There are still times where sadness and tears threaten to suffocate me. I still have the occasional, "Tantrum"

BUT!!!! These moments are farther between. For the most part, I can save these moments for quiet time rather than breaking down unexpectedly in public. I can see people with babies. I can walk past baby stuff in the store. The callous is building up. Things still get to me but not as often or as sharply as before.

Hang in there friend. Don't focus on the fact that people seem to be getting back to life as before... remember that they still love you immensely, they think about you often and cannot imagine your pain... but continue praying for you all the same. 

It does get better. Its gets better in spurts and then there is a bad moment or day... but every day you get up is a day you are moving forward whether it feels like it or not.

This is not an experience where you can eventually go back to the way things were. But you can... embrace where you are in grief and let it mold you. You are strong... and faithful... and life will go on. And you will function at continually higher ability all the while knowing of the hole in your heart from your loved little boy. 

And I'm here when you are ready. But until then... I will just continue blogging about the few things I know to be true.