Jordan's Birth Story

I wish I could say that when I went to my 18 week appointment and they told me that our baby's heart wasn't beating I was surprised. But I wasn't. I had had an uneasy feeling about that appointment all day. I tried to remember the last time that I had actually truly felt him move, and I was drawing a blank. Sure, there were times that I thought I felt him move, more than likely convinced myself that I was feeling him move. But I obviously wasn't. And at around 3 PM on June 1st, my worst fear came true. 

Dr. Haller tried to listen with the doppler in the exam room, but I could tell she wasn't finding anything. My heart was sinking. As we went into the ultrasound room and I was met with a still baby on the screen, I knew that he was gone. I flashed back to images Ian, who also laid still on that ultrasound screen for me too. I honestly couldn't believe that this was happening to us again. 

I was able to call Eric and he came as soon as he could, which wasn't near fast enough. I had a lot of time to cry and think as I waited in a back exam room for him to show up. So many thoughts crossed my mind, but the biggest one was why? Why was this happening again. Again we would be going to the hospital to have a baby, but wouldn't be bringing it home. Again we would be going to the cemetery a few days later to bury yet another child. It's probably not hard to imagine that after all of this, Eric and I just felt pretty numb to all the pain. 

Yes, we were both incredibly sad, how can you not be? But after hearing such devastating news now for the third time, I guess our hearts had put up a barrier to not pull us down as deep as we had gone with Ian and Madison. This time was a little different having Brayden and Ashley. I honestly welcomed the distraction that caring for them provided. It kills me to know that they will never know yet another sibling, but I am also thankful that they are still too young to really understand what is happening, so Eric and I have time to explain everything to them as they get older.

We made the decision that at 6:30 on June 3rd we would start my induction. Things progressed slowly at first. I didn't really notice anything resembling a contraction for a few hours. I received my first pain medicine probably around 9:30 or 10 as my contractions worsened. I would guess around 11 or 11:30 my contractions really escalated. I'm pretty sure I got another round of the same medicine I had for pain at first, but this time it wasn't really helping. 

At this point Eric had moved his chair over beside the bed so I could squeeze his hand during the contractions. They were getting stronger and longer. This time was so different from Ian. I don't remember having any big contractions at all with him. I gave birth to Ian without any nurse or doctor in the room, he almost popped out of me without me having to do a thing. But oh this time, this time I was in pain, and a lot of it. I remember telling Eric that if the pain lasted much longer I was going to need an epidural. 

The nurse got the go-ahead to give me a different pain medicine- one she warned that would probably make me very sleepy. I'm pretty positive it did absolutely nothing to help my pain. I didn't realize it at the time, but I was about to give birth to our son. 

Before I knew it Dr. Haller was in the room. Not that I really saw her, because my eyes were glued shut from the pain. And at 1:01 PM, I gave birth to our fifth baby, a son, Jordan Kenneth. 

He was so different from Ian. Even though I gave birth to him a week later than I did with Ian, he was actually a younger gestation, measuring only a little over 15 weeks from the ultrasound where we learned he was gone. Where Ian was red, Jordan was almost white, and his skin seemed see-through. He had extra fluid around his head and body, which they told us was common for a baby who had been passed for that long. Oh but he was perfect.

Ten little fingers and toes, and the cutest little knuckle wrinkles I'd ever seen. No picture I took of them did them any justice. 

By this time, that medicine that the nurse said would make me sleepy had taken over. I was beat. I soaked up as much as I could of Jordan. I gave him kisses, told him how much I loved him. But I was struggling to stay awake. We said our final goodbyes to him, but our time together would never be long enough. As I was eating lunch after they took him away, I was basically falling asleep mid-bite. I don't know how long I slept, but I do know that sleep finally overcame me. 

I woke up and everything that had happened had truly seemed like a dream. That's one regret I'll always have, that I don't know that I really appreciated and took in all that I could with Jordan because I was so tired from that medicine. My other regret is that I never got a recording of his heartbeat. At my appointment just days before I had had my phone out and ready to hit record once we heard it. But it never came, and now I'll never have it. If I could go back I would make sure to record it the first time they played it for me. That's a mute point now though. 

To lighten the mood a little, I wanted to let you in on how Jordan got his name. Not long after we found out we were pregnant with him, we started talking names. We weren't going to find out the sex, so we needed to have a girl and boy name ready. We had decided on a girl name pretty quickly- Katie- but we were having trouble with a boy name. 

Eric told me that he had a brilliant idea. We already have a (Tom) Brady, who is the GOAT of football, he said. So now, we need another GOAT, a (Michael) Jordan. I vividly remember just rolling me eyes at him. I told him that I wasn't really fond of the name Jordan, but he really didn't care. From that moment on, our baby went by "Katie Jordan" when Eric talked about it. 

After learning that our baby was gone, we once again talked about what we were going to name it. Selfishly, I wanted to save Katie for if we had another living daughter. We threw around the back up name we had for Ashley, but that didn't really stick either. Then Eric said, "I know it was kind of a joke before, but what do you think about Jordan?" 

And at that moment, I knew that Jordan was perfect. It was, after all, his name from the very start.

We laid Jordan to rest next to Ian and Madison on Sunday, June 6 at 2 PM with our parents and siblings by our side. I can't adequately put into words what it is like burying a child, not to mention three of them, but I will tell you that it sucks. No parent should ever have to go through this, and we've done it three times now.

I have so many questions for God, so many "why's". I doubt I get answers, at least not while I'm here on Earth. A dear friend's sister, who lost her son a little over a year ago, sent me this quote from Mother Angelica and it really hit home. 

Why, my child- do you ask "why"? Well, I will tell you why. You see, the child lives. Instead of the wind he hears the sound of angels singing before My throne. Instead of the beauty that passes he sees everlasting beauty- he sees My face. He was created and lived a short time so the image of his parents imprinted on his face may stand before Me as their personal intercessor. He knows secrets of Heaven unknown to men on Earth. He laughs with a special joy that only the innocent posses. My ways are not the ways of man. I create for My kingdom and each creature fills a place in that kingdom that could not be filled by another. He was created for My joy and his parents' merits. He has never seen pain or sin. He has never felt hunger or pain. I breathed a soul into seed, made it grow, and called it forth. 

Sweet Jordan, it gives me peace to know that God did create you for a reason, and that now you are rejoicing in Heaven with the angels and your brother and sister. You never knew pain, or sadness, or sin. Only love, so much love. And while I would give anything to still have you growing inside me, I am comforted by the fact that you are growing up with Jesus by your side.  

We were ready. You were not.

We were ready. 

We were ready for the craziness that would have come with three under two. But you were not.

We were ready for the jealousy Brady and Ashley would have felt, that would have eventually turned into a love that a mother and father dream about. But you were not.

We were ready for the newborn stage. For the late nights. The early mornings. The snuggles. The tears. But you were not. 

We were ready for the van full. The rearranging of bedrooms. The reality that we would be outnumbered. But you were not.

We were ready for the fall. The turning leaves. The new baby smell. But you were not.

Jordan Kenneth Schackmann, we were ready to spend a lifetime loving on you here on Earth. But for a reason only God knows why, you were not.

We welcomed you into our arms on Wednesday June 3rd, 2021 at 1:01 PM, all 2.6 ounces and 6 inches of you. Every little toe, every little finger (including every little knuckle wrinkle), our perfect son. Your wings were ready, but our hearts were not.

Mother's Day 2020

"Mommy's first Mother's Day"

That's what Ashley and Brayden's shirts read today. My first Mother's Day. In a way it's true, but it's also a lie.

My first Mother's Day was in 2015, five months after losing Ian. He wasn't supposed to be here until after Mother's Day that year, but God was ready for him long before then. And ever since then, I've been mothering my dead son, and as of 2017, my dead daughter.

For the past four years, my motherhood has consisted of visiting a cemetery on Mother's Days and birthdays. I knew I was technically a mother, but it's hard to feel like a true mom when your baby isn't here with you.

When Brayden and Ashley were born this February, I felt like this huge hole in my heart left by Ian and Madison began filling back up. And I don't mean that Brady and Ashley are in any way replacing Ian and Madison, because there's no way that they could do that. But ever since that day, I have been so overfilled with love that I almost can't stand it.

This week when I was putting Brayden down in his crib for the night, I just stood there rocking him and started crying. Never in my life have I felt so many emotions for two little people. Joy. Frustration (because I'm not trying to sugarcoat it and say I've never been frustrated with them- I'm only human). Hope. Love.

I became overwhelmed with all these different emotions flooding through my body. How can I love these two babies so much? How did we get so lucky that they are ours? Do they know how much we love them? Am I loving them both equally? Do I favor one over the other? Am I giving our marriage enough of my time? Am I giving me enough of my time? Am I good mother or am I just "good enough"?

Motherhood is a crazy journey. It's so incredibly hard. I've cried tears of frustration. I've bounced a baby around the room trying to stop their screams, all while the other one wakes up crying as well. I've cuddled one to my chest and bounced one on my leg. I've stuck a pacifier in the mouth of one crying baby, then a pacifier in the mouth of the other crying baby, and then back to the first baby to do it again because she spit it out. I've slept on the couch with one baby because they just wouldn't go back to sleep at night. I've stared at them and begged them to be able to tell me what was wrong. I've formula fed because I can barely keep up my supply with two babies. I've cried in the shower because I've wondered if I was doing everything right and in the best way that I could.

But motherhood is also so incredibly beautiful. I've soothed a crying baby (many times two crying babies at the same time) by a simple cuddle. I've wiped away tears and brought on smiles. I've witnessed personalities develop. I've seen smiles come to faces by just seeing me. I've cheered on their biggest accomplishments. And I've snuggled the heck out of the two of them.

Never in my life did I expect motherhood to feel the way it does. It's a million times better than I had ever imagined. Knowing that I am now responsible for two little lives is terrifying, but it's the greatest challenge I could have asked for. And knowing that I am responsible for teaching these two about the two babies that made me a mother long before they got here is a challenge that I gladly accept.

Brayden and Ashley might not have made me a mother, but they've forever changed my motherhood journey. I thank God every day for the two of them. There might be hard days, but the good days more than make up for them.

I often wonder how I can love them any more than I do right at this moment. And then the next day comes and I wonder the same thing. I guess that's what motherhood boils down to- always wondering if you could ever love them more, only to find out the next day that you can. And you do. And you are more than enough for them.

So Happy Mother's Day to all the mommas out there wondering if they are enough (because you are), to all the mommas celebrating for the first time (because isn't this the best thing in the world?), and to all the mommas wishing their baby was here with them (because nothing reminds you more that your baby isn't here than a day celebrating mothers). Here's to all of you, because being a mom isn't an easy job, but boy is it worth it.

Madison's Third Angelversary

Madison, yesterday marked three years since you were born still. Three years of longing to hold you, wanting to smother you with kisses, and eager to show you all the wonderful things about the world. Three years seems like so long ago, but yet like it was just yesterday. 

In fact, when your daddy and I took your new brother and sister to visit you yesterday, we commented on how it seems like you were just here. Same goes for your brother Ian. I don't know how time has passed so quickly, but also so slowly. 

I'll never be able to fully put into words how much we miss you. Or how it isn't fair that you didn't get to stay. Or how I will always feel an intense guilt that I get to be happy and experience life with Brayden and Ashley and not you. 

But know that you are always missed. Always loved. Always wanted. And we will always carry you in our hearts until that glorious day we get to carry you in our arms once again. 

Madison's Second Angelversary

Madison, I honestly can't even believe it's been another 365 days since I've seen you, held you, and given you so many kisses. I was just talking with your aunts this week about how it feels like you were just here.

And Maddie, that thought bring me such joy. Two years later and I can still see how much you've touched the lives of everyone around you. You remain close to our hearts and ever-present in our minds. I couldn't ask for anything more for your birthday.

Well that's a total lie, because I could ask for so much more. But I'm quickly reminded by my aching heart and quiet house that no matter how much I pray and wish and pray some more, you can never be here with us again.

It's an interesting thing mothering a child in Heaven. I know you existed. I know I'm a mother. I feel like a mother every single day. I mean after all, I felt your kicks, your rib jabs, your hiccups. I gave birth to the most beautiful little girl I've ever seen.

But when people see me out in public, do they know I'm your mother? I don't have the messy van, a car seat and diaper bag in tow, a cart full of baby food. But I've been trying hard to make sure they do know.  Anytime someone asks about the ring I wear for Ian or the necklace that has your final resting place here on Earth, I beam with joy as I tell them about you and your brother. I try to have more patience, more understanding, more love.

I try every day to let the world know you existed. That you mattered. That you had a purpose. I know I fail most days, but I hope you can look down on us and beam with the same pride I felt holding you for the first and last time two years ago.

I love you more than I can ever put in to words, and miss you with every ounce of my being. I'm joyful in the fact that I will get to see you again one day. And with how fast these first two years went, I know that time will be here before I know it. Until then, I'll be here missing and loving you forever.

Love you always, baby girl.

Dear Madison

Dear Madison,

One year. That's how long it's been since your heart was still beating. That's how long it's been since I felt your last kicks. That's how long it's been since I finally saw that sweet face of yours on my chest.

One year. That's how long I've wondered what our family would be like with you (and your brother) here. That's how long I've went to bed and not been woken up by your hungry/mad/teething/just hold me cries. That's how long I've had this pit in my stomach of knowing that Heaven has yet another one of my babies and we are left here alone.

One year. I still find it hard to believe that it's here already. That 365 days ago I gave birth to you, our daughter, our second child, our second angel.

I remember how I felt as we approached your brother Ian's first birthday in Heaven. I was still mad, still angry that he was taken from us. I was dreading seeing December 16th come closer and closer on that calendar. His birth was a secret, and his death an even bigger one until I could muster up the strength to tell everyone what had happened.

But you, you were different. I'm pretty sure more people than I even know knew that I was about to give birth to you. You were celebrated from the moment everyone knew about you. Not that Ian wasn't, because he most definitely was. But like I said, you were different.

You had so many of our family and friends praying that we would finally get pregnant with you. And when we did, all those people prayed even harder that you would get to stay. When we found out that wasn't God's plan, all those people and more prayed for you, for me, for your dad. They followed along our journey with you. They were changed because of you.

There is absolutely nothing I would change about meeting you. Would I have rather you not have anencephaly? Of course. Would I have rather you got to stay? Absolutely. But meeting you, finally getting to see the child we created, the child God wanted in Heaven more than he wanted here on Earth, the child that served a bigger purpose than I probably will in my entire life- it was the best moment of my life.

This day last year, I couldn't have been more proud of you and you couldn't have been more perfect. When I think back to that day, all I can remember is the love I felt in that room- my love for you, for your dad, for God, for our family and friends who stayed up so long to meet you. Your birth, despite the circumstances, will always be one of the happiest memories I have.

I hope that we've made you proud Maddie. I hope that you smile as you look down on us, and I hope that we are honoring you in every way possible. I promised to carry you for all of my life, and to praise God for choosing me to be your momma. And I pray that you give me the strength to keep doing just that for all the rest of your birthdays.

Happy first birthday sweet girl, we love you so <3

Ian's Third Angel-versary

Ian,

How in the world has it been three years? Not a second goes by that you aren't on my mind. I could probably say the same thing about a lot of other people's minds too, because I constantly bring you up on this blog, and from what I hear it's pretty well read. In fact, I know that you are constantly on the minds of our friends- I've been getting texts and cards for a few days now, and it warms my heart so much to know that you haven't been forgotten.

I think of you every time I see that glimmer in Auggie's eye. Oh what I would give to see the two of you play. I just know that you would have been the best of friends. And I would have pitied Ashley and I having to deal with two ornery little boys. I think of you every time I see Auggie and Dez playing together when I get together with my friends. And I imagine how you would fit in with the two of them (perfectly is what I'm guessing).

I think of you every time I hold your cousin Grant. Every kiss, every snuggle, every "I love you", has a little extra that I send to Heaven just for you. As I held Grant last night and breathed in that fresh baby smell, I couldn't help but for a second imagine it was you. That you were the one fighting sleep, but finally giving in as you laid your head on my chest. That you were the one with your fingers curled around mine, or giving me that gummy grin with the most precious face I've ever seen. I'm sure that will never stop. Because even though everyone else is always getting a little older, you will always be my baby. And a part of me will always be longing to hold you just one more time in my arms, and to feel your stomach rise and fall with each breath.

Sometimes I wonder how I've made it this long here without you. It kills me every day. I might not cry as much as I used to (and don't get me wrong, I cry all the time), but the pain of losing you will always be fresh on my mind. I hope that you are enjoying today with your sister, your aunt, and your uncle. And maybe a few of your friends. And like Emery said in her card, "I hope that Jesus is taking good care of you."

Love you always baby boy.

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year (Except When it Isn't)

Driving home from work the other day, my mind drifted, much like it always does, to Ian and Madison. I was brought back to three years ago when I couldn't find Ian's heartbeat on our doppler. On Saturday, it will have been three years since we said hello and goodbye to our first child.

Like a big old slap in the face, the radio began to play that song. You know, the one that proclaims "it's the most wonderful time of year". Except for me. There's not too much that's wonderful about being reminded that your child is no longer here.

Because the holidays, especially Christmas, are filled with picture perfect Christmas cards, Instagram photos of children opening their presents or leaving cookies for Santa, and all around joy and cheer. But when you've lost a child, this time of the year can be down right impossible. There's the constant reminder that your child is no longer here. You don't have to look far to see the empty stockings or a few less presents under the tree. And all that joy and cheer that everyone else seems to be beaming with is the last thing on your mind.

It's no secret that Eric and I desperately want to be parents to a child (many, many children) here on Earth. In September, I was able to switch insurances to get my infertility treatments covered, and since then we've been having more monitoring of my cycles done. I started very optimistic that we would quickly be able to get pregnant again now that Dr. Haller could better see what was going on. But that optimism soon turned to despair as the trigger shot only made me ovulate one time, and the last two cycles I haven't had any mature follicles to release by day 14, so I haven't even been able to receive the trigger shot. [If all this sounds confusing, it's because it is ha! I hope you never have to know what all these things mean. But if you're curious, just ask and I'll fill you in.]

Yesterday, I had my last ultrasound and meeting with Dr. Haller. After telling me that the one follicle I had wasn't big enough to trigger, I just broke down. I wanted so badly to be pregnant already, and I was so hopeful that I would be able to achieve this feat with Dr. Haller. Lo and behold, God had other plans.

On my drive home, Psalm 46:10 drifted into my mind. "Be still, and know that I am God." How powerful are those words! It is so hard to be patient and trusting when what you want right this second isn't what God has in store for you. And I've fallen victim to this more times than I want to admit.

As I was leaving, Dr. Haller assured me that next Christmas would look a lot different from this one. January 5th, Eric and I go to St. Louis to see a Reproductive Endocrinologist (Dr. Dayal-the same one who is giving the Finley's their rainbow baby!) to figure out the next steps in our journey to grow our family. This isn't the plan I had in mind for us, but I can only hope and pray that what God has in store is better than we could have ever imagined. And that next Christmas truly will look a lot different for our Schackmann family.

Finding Your People (Pregnancy and Infant Loss Support Group)

Picture this. A group of late 20-something friends get together one night for a fire. The boys are all gathered outside sitting by the fire, sharing stories about hunting and catching up on what's new in their lives. The girls are all inside with their babies, I'm sure chatting about how long their baby is sleeping through the night or about how life has changed since their little one arrived. I wouldn't know, though, since I was outside with the guys.

I've grin and bared through the talks about how much baby looks like dad or how breastfeeding is going plenty of times before. But that night I just couldn't. No one questioned me or asked me why I was still outside when every other girl (except for one who came a little later) was inside. And for that I'm thankful. It still didn't matter much, as the drive home with Eric was filled with tears and the ever present feeling of feeling "left out" or that I just don't fit in. Not that it's ever intentional. I know a lot of people do try their hardest to include me/us. That doesn't change the face that the elephant in the room is that I've had two of my children die and theirs are still here. Sometimes, like that night, it's just a little too much to bear.

The worst part is that I'm not alone in that feeling. I've heard stories from my mom along the same line as mine after she lost my older brother Ryan. I had a friend tell me that her mom has felt the same way after she lost her twins. And up until now, people have had to grieve and go through all of this relatively alone.

Last week, the Jasper County Pregnancy and Infant Loss Support Group had our first official meeting. And it was everything I had hoped it would be and more. There's no bond like the one you have with other women (and men) who have also lost a baby. You just get each other. You understand why you can't go to a baby shower, or why you can't be excited for a pregnancy announcement. This tribe of women that I'm learning and growing with has already helped me so much in just one meeting. And I'm sure the rest of those that were there would agree. We cried together, we laughed together, we lifted each other up in ways that only someone who truly understands what you are going through can do. I feel so blessed that we get to do this once a month!

If you've been through a pregnancy or infant loss and you're looking for a group that gets you, please come check us out. Or pass this along to someone who needs it. I've included our meeting dates for a year in the picture below, as well as when and where we meet. You don't have to be from Jasper County to attend, anyone is welcome! And if you're not ready for this kind of group or are wondering if this is a good fit for you, please come to our December meeting. I promise it will be less "meeting" and more "fun" because we are making Christmas ornaments for our babies! You can RSVP here if you decide this sounds like something you'd like to do. I know that we would love to have you.

Day of Hope

Not a day goes by that my heart doesn't miss Ian and Madison. I'll always be left wondering what their laugh would sound like, and longing to hear the pitter-patter of their feet running through our house. Would Ian be a momma's boy and would Madison have her daddy wrapped around her finger? (In case you were wondering, the answer to that last question would be a big ol' YES.) For some reason, they weren't meant to live on this side of Heaven. I'm trying to accept that fact, but it can be so hard sometimes.

I'm in a few different pregnancy and infant loss groups, and as I was scrolling through Facebook this morning, I noticed many people posting things about the "Day of Hope". I hadn't heard of this day before, so I decided to do a little research.

It turns out that since 2008, August 19th has been internationally known as the Day of Hope. It was created to help break the silence surrounding the death of babies and children who were taken from Earth way too soon. What an amazing day!

You know I'm not shy in sharing my story of our losses, and I encourage you on this Day of Hope to break the silence and share your story. I am a firm believer that I haven't traveled down this unimaginable road for nothing, and I hope that I can be that extra push for someone to finally tell the world about their baby. Because whether you lost your baby when you were six weeks pregnant or when they were 6 days old, that baby is still yours and was still your baby. And until we are finally all reunited again, I'll be holding on to this Day of Hope that things will get better for all of us.

Love Notes from God

So I've mentioned before that I often find something from our church service that speaks directly to me and gives me exactly what I'm needing in that situation. It had been a few weeks since we have been to church, and as I walked in this morning and knelt down, I prayed that God would give me some direction. I want so badly to be a mom, and I asked God to let me in on His plan for us.

As I was listening to the readings, the second reading grabbed my attention at the first line- "I consider that the sufferings of this present time are as nothing compared with the glory to be revealed to us" (Romans 8:18). Seriously, could God be speaking to me any clearer? He knows the suffering and pain that Eric and I have been through. I picture us standing around a truck bed talking to God, telling Him about all that we have been through (like He doesn't already know). God looks at us with this little smirk on his face, slaps us on the shoulder, and says "Just wait." Just wait for the glory that will be revealed to us. For He knows our sufferings, and as much as they hurt now, they will be nothing when we compare the glory that God has in store for us. It's amazing what we hear when we just listen.

Speaking of just listening, I was struck again by God's word when the Gospel was read. This weeks reading was from Matthew chapter 13- The Parable of the Sower. The sermon talked more about this parable and how we are all sowers of the seed and it is our responsibility to sow God's word in our children and those around us, so that they may sow God's word in their children and so on. Not all seeds are sown in rich soil, but those that are will produce fruit "a hundred or sixty or thirtyfold". While we don't have any children here on Earth, we are still responsible for sowing God's word. God has placed in my heart the desire to better help others going through similar situations as us. I've really been thinking more and more about it lately, especially after receiving so many messages from women who have gone through multiple miscarriages or who have been struggling to conceive. Just a few days ago I spoke with Eric's cousin Ashley to design a few things for me to use. I still wasn't sure when I would find the time to dedicate to it or if I would even have anything to say that others would want to read, but after hearing the message today, I have an even greater desire to set my plan in motion. If I can just sow the glory of God's word into one person's rich soil, the reward will be more than worth it. So be on the lookout for that announcement coming soon!

Saying Goodbye to Madison

Yesterday was my best friend Kendra's son Desmond's second birthday. (Happy Birthday Dez!) I was talking to Eric about how I can't believe that he is two years old already. As I read about all the amazing things this little boy can already do, my mind couldn't help but wander to Ian. Ian was due just a month after Dez. In a month, I should be planning my baby boy's second birthday party. I teared up as I said, "Can you imagine what life with a two year old would be like if Ian were still here?"

I think back to three Decembers ago when we buried Ian. It was just Eric and I, our parents, and our siblings. We had a small graveside service as our baby boy was laid to rest. I never would have imagined that a little over two years later we would be burying our daughter in the same place.

With Ian, I didn't want anyone but our family there. Kaci, Kendra, and Ashley wanted to come, but understood that I didn't want them there at that time. Burying Ian was just supposed to be a fluke thing that we wouldn't have to do again. But when we found out that Madison was going to die too, I knew that I wanted things to be different this time.

You see, I know that Ian's death touched others and affected their lives. When we announced we were finally pregnant again, we were swarming in congratulations and people telling us that they have been praying for us. When we posted that Madison had anencephaly and that she was going to die, we were once again swarming with messages, texts, and phone calls. While these messages had a different tone than they did just 8 weeks earlier, the message was still the same- we are praying for you. From that point on, we received more cards, messages, and gifts than I can count. I couldn't tell you how many people (many of whom I don't even know) have told me that our story has changed their life, the way they raise their children, and the way their own faith has been strengthened. I knew that when we said goodbye to Madison, I wanted to give everyone the chance to be there to celebrate the short time Madison spent on this Earth, but the enormous impact that she has had on everyone around us.

Eric and I were completely overwhelmed with how many people came to Madison's visitation and funeral. We will never forget the kind words spoken to us, the gifts given to us, and donations made to the Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep bereavement photography program. Over a thousand dollars was donated to NILMDTS- how amazing is that!

Madison's funeral was the most beautiful service I've ever been to. The love radiating in that church and all around us was astounding. I couldn't have asked for a better way to say goodbye to our baby girl. While it was so different than Ian's funeral, both were perfect in their own ways. Thank you all for celebrating the life our our daughter with us.

I want to leave you all with the lyrics to the song that Kaci, Kendra, and Ashley sang at Madison's funeral- "I Will Carry You" by Selah. I think it speaks the way I felt since finding out that Madison was going to die. Though this wasn't the way I was planning on things to go, I will praise the One who's chosen me to carry you <3

There were photographs I wanted to take

Things I wanted to show you

Sing sweet lullabies, wipe your teary eyes

Who could love you like this?

People say that I am brave but I'm not

Truth is I'm barely hanging on

But there's a greater story

Written long before me

Because He loves you like this

So I will carry you

While your heart beats here

Long beyond the empty cradle

Through the coming years

I will carry you

All my life

And I will praise the One who's chosen me

To carry you

Such a short time

Such a long road

All this madness

But I know 

That the silence has brought me to His voice

And He says:

I've shown her photographs of time beginning

Walked her through the parted seas

Angel lullabies, no more teary eyes

Who could love her like this?

I will carry you

While your heart beats here

Long beyond the empty cradle

Through the coming years

I will carry you

All your life

And I will praise the One who's chosen me

To carry you

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FlDUkp1Ts8A

Confirmation

This Sunday was an important one for me- I was confirmed Catholic! Now I know if you're Catholic and you know anything about when new members join the church, it's usually at Easter. But, since all four of us had already been baptized, Father Al let us take an "accelerated" option. We all decided that we wanted to be confirmed as quickly as possible, and the date of January 10th was set.

The four candidates, Carol, Beth, Calvin, and myself, with Father Al after mass on Sunday. Say a big hello to the newest Catholics in Newton!

We got to choose a confirmation name, which is the name of a saint that means something special to us. Father Al told us it could be someone who is the patron saint of our profession, a name that is in our family, or one we just like the meaning behind. I chose Saint Catherine of Sweden, who is the patron saint of those who have suffered a miscarriage. She spent time counseling and helping those who had lost babies to miscarriage, which resonates with what I have been trying to do through this blog. 

After mass, Theresa cooked up some breakfast casseroles. Eric's grandma Flood and some aunts and cousins were planning on coming to eat with us, but Nichole wasn't feeling the best, so they congratulated me at the church and went home. Grandma Flood gave me a few gifts that I will cherish forever. One of them being the rosary below, which she brought back from when she had visited Rome. The other gift was a brooch with a flower made from the flowers from Julie's funeral. It is absolutely beautiful and I already have it pinned to my coat to wear every day. Such thoughtful gifts! Dan and Theresa also got me a rosary, but after getting the one from Grandma Flood, they decided to take it back and pick something else out for me.

I'm so excited to begin this new journey as a Catholic. I think I'm most excited that I don't have to awkwardly sit in my seat while everyone else goes up to get communion haha! Continue to pray that the four of us are strengthened in our faith and relationships with God as we continue to grow in the Catholic religion. 

One Year Angel-versary

December 16th. Last year, I never wanted that day to come. I remember Eric holding me in bed on the night of the 15th as I cried until I had no more tears. For I knew what the 16th would hold. I would get to meet our baby, get to find out if he was a he or a she. But I wasn't ready. Wasn't ready to hold Ian for the first and last time. Wasn't ready to leave the hospital with my arms empty. Wasn't ready to plan a funeral. I wasn't ready.

Not much has changed this year. As I sit here writing this on the night of the 15th, I'm again not ready for the 16th to come. I'm not ready to remember what happened just one year ago. Not ready for the "I'm sorry's" and hugs. Not ready to feel the emptiness inside me knowing that Ian's not here.

But life doesn't care if I'm ready or not. Because just like last year, the 16th will come without a passing glance. It won't go without Ian being remembered, though.

About 6 months ago, I realized that I wanted to do something to ensure that Ian's name and memory will continue to live on throughout the years to come. I decided that I wanted to make a quilt in Ian's honor and deliver it to the hospital for them to give to someone who has a baby on December 16th. I stitched the quilt together and my mom quilted it for me. I think it turned out perfect.

I put together this little gift basket to go with the quilt. When I dropped it off at the hospital, they told me that there was a scheduled c-section on the 16th. I had a huge sigh of relief knowing that this would go to someone born on Ian's birthday. I hope the baby born on the 16th will feel the love I have for Ian being passed onto him or her through that quilt. And they will know that they always have a guardian angel looking out for them. 

...

I originally had my blog post ending there, but something happened on my drive into work this morning that I had to share with you. A rainbow. And not just any rainbow, a double rainbow! I don't know what compelled me to look over my shoulder as I was driving into work this morning, but I'm sure glad I did. 

There is nothing greater than God's promise of a rainbow. A promise when I needed it most. A morning that had started out with me feeling down and defeated quickly turned into an attitude that I can make it through the day with my head held high. That I could make Ian proud to call me his mommy. Happy heavenly birthday, Ian. We love you so much and miss you like crazy. I hope you have the best day celebrating with Jesus and the angels!

My Best Friend's Baby {Part 3}

Well, yesterday was the day. The day when I met my best friend Kaci's baby, Orie. The day when everyone came to Kaci and Jason's house with their babies. Everyone, that is, but me. Now that Kaci has had her baby, it will be even more evident that I'm the odd one out. Not by any doing on my friends' part, though. In fact, they've never made me feel more included.

As we were handing out Christmas presents to everyone, Ashley handed Kendra, Kaci, and I a small jewelry box. When we opened it up, there was this beautiful necklace inside. 

I'm a sucker for things with meaning behind them, and it turns out Ashley is too. While admiring our necklaces, Ashley began to explain that on these two circles, there are a total of 13 small diamonds. 13 happens to be our lucky number. If you count us all up- Ashley, Doug, Emery, August, Kaci, Jason, Orie, Kendra, Travis, Desmond, Eric, myself, and Ian- there's 13 of us. I couldn't think of a more perfect number <3

It really was a wonderful day. Nothing beats getting all of your best friends together for a day filled with love, laughter, and friendship. Orie was, of course, just perfect! (And a spitting image of her daddy.) I'm very much looking forward to when we can all get together again, my best friends' babies and all. And hopefully one day, Eric and I will have a baby to join in on the fun. Until then, I'll be giving August, Desmond, Orie (and Emery) lots and lots of extra love. 

The Other Side of the Statistic {Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness}

This post is a little different than what I've been posting all month. You've heard stories from my side of the statistic- the "1's" in the 1 in 4. But for every 1 in 4, there are also the 3 in 4's- the ones who haven't suffered a miscarriage, stillbirth, or infant loss. We all have them in our lives. I'm constantly reminded of the 3 in 4's every time I get on Facebook. If you've suffered a loss, you know what I mean. It seems like everyone is pregnant and having babies. Everyone but you. And to be frank, it sucks. 

But earlier this month, one of my 3 in 4's sent me this letter. By the first line, I was already crying. Her words touched me and reminded me that even though I am the 1 in 4 in our group of friends, I am not just 1. I am surrounded by the love, support, and prayer of my 3 in 4's. 

I decided to include the email she sent as well, because I think it is an excellent preface to the letter. I hope that all my fellow 1 in 4's have 3 in 4's as great as mine. I know I couldn't have made it through without them. 

. . .

So I have been thinking about you lots this month. Not just because of your blog and what this month represents, but I can't help but think back to a year ago. When we shared our news with each other. We celebrated. We were so happy and excited. And I still so badly want that for you.

So I wrote you this letter just to get some of my thoughts down on paper. At first I addressed it to you but then I thought-hey, Shar is reaching out to so many through her blog. So many women are grieving or struggling. So I took out our names--now this letter to you represents--oh I don't know what to call it---maybe an outside perspective? Encouraging words? Thoughts from a friend to all of those women struggling.

To my Friend,

1 in 4. I have to admit, I had no idea. I was oblivious.

I didn’t know that 1 in 4 women suffer from infertility or miscarriage or loss. Just hearing that number still doesn’t bring to reality the emotions it should. A statistic, as startling as it is, is kind of cold. And I know that if it hasn’t happened to you, those numbers are probably just numbers. Now, I am not claiming in any way to know how it feels to by “the one.” So far in my life, I have been one of the other three. But you know that, Friend. Because you are our one.

You might be wondering why I, a mother of two, never having lost a child, am writing to you about infertility and miscarriage. As I sit here typing, I am kind of wondering what I have to say too. But that 1 in 4 statistic has been on my mind since last December. It is on my mind when I look at the picture of the four of us hanging up in my house-young and naive. It is on my mind when I see you smile at my son. It is on my mind when I am rocking my children to sleep at night. So I am just going to write and share because maybe you need to read my words. Or someone out there needs to hear this.

I said before that I was oblivious to the statistic but that doesn’t mean I had not ever thought about infertility or losing a child. My parents battled infertility for many years before finally getting pregnant with twins. Sadly, my brother and sister passed away at birth. As much as it hurt knowing that I never got to meet my siblings, that hurt is nowhere near the pain I know my parents felt and still feel. My grandparents still decorate their stone for holidays. We always talk about how old they would have been on their birthday. They have never been forgotten. My parents had me one year later. I am an in-vitro baby. My parents wanted me so badly. I am so thankful for their strength to keep fighting. I am so thankful that they didn’t give up after all of their heartache.

Fast-forward through my teen years and into my twenties and I would be lying if I said I never worried about not be able to have kids. It happened to my Mom. It could happen to me. But it didn’t. After the easiest pregnancy, I had my daughter. Doubt or worry never crossed my mind once I reached that “magical” twelve week mark and saw a little heart flicker on the screen. I was in the clear. Nothing bad could ever happen to me. Because that is what we all think. Not me. I won’t be the one.

Two years later I found myself pregnant again. Just as easy as the first. Doubly blessed. With no worries. Until that day in December. When your world came crashing down. You had lost your little flicker. You had lost your sweet baby. And there was nothing I could do.

I have to admit something to you Friend. Although you were the one grieving, I, being a selfish human being, turned your hurt into my own. I thought about the fact that my baby had lost a friend. And in darker moments, I feared that I would lose a friend. I had no idea how to provide emotional support for you at this time. I was too scared to hear your voice, so I texted. I was too scared to see you, so I sent a gift instead. I dreamed up all of these scenarios where you didn’t want to talk to me or how this hurt our friendship. I put words in your mouth that you never said—“Why have you been blessed with two and my little blessing was taken from me.” But Friend, you never ever said that. YOU were the brave one that reached out to me first. You talked to me first. You bought my little one gifts. You visited me at the hospital. You held my baby. You amazed me. And you made me a better person and parent.

You have brought to light this “secret” that many women and families are struggling with. You have been open and honest and so strong-even if you think you have struggled. You are allowed to struggle. And please know that I am always, always here. You have taught me to live life and to take nothing for granted. My life is a gift. My children’s lives are gifts. Every morning I should wake happy and every night I should go to bed thankful. You have reminded me of this way of life and I thank you.

But guess what, that is not always that easy. I catch myself frustrated when my baby wakes at night. I complain about my two year old’s tears. Or the laundry or the dishes or my day at work. And then I see the little cross hanging in my son’s room or I see the cutest little white butterfly at the perfect moment and I am quickly reminded of you. You would give anything to have a baby crying at 3am. You would love nothing more than to wipe away tears or fold little laundry all night. So instead of feeling sorry for myself I have been praying for you and your chance. And I have been praising God for our friendship and your strength. You and your husband and your son have touched my family’s life. We are forever thankful for that.

Not too long ago I heard someone say that God gives us children to raise to be his angels. And sometime he needs those angels a little bit earlier than we would like. I do not know if this comforts you…..but it comforts me in knowing that God chose your son to watch over my littles. He visits us often. He is thought about just as much. We will celebrate him always. He will not be forgotten by us.

And you. You will not be forgotten. Every week I think maybe this is it….maybe she will call with some great news. And when I do not hear any, I pray. You deserve happiness and joy and love and excitement—you deserve a miracle.

My dear Friend, I hate that you are 1 in 4. I do not know why—a question I know you have asked. But I do hope that you know that you have helped so many and touched lives. Your beautiful butterfly has changed lives. I just wanted to let you know.

Love ya.

Baby Peterson {Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness}

Meet Jeannette and her family. We went to grade school together for a little while before she moved out West. We reconnected after high school on Facebook. I watched as her little family grew from just her and her husband to two handsome boys. Jeannette was due with her third son while I was pregnant with Ian. I remember the kind words she spoke to me after learning about Ian, and how she had had a miscarriage as well. As I was sitting in the waiting room at my OB's office for my 6 week follow up appointment from delivering Ian, I couldn't believe what I saw on my Facebook newsfeed. Jeannette's full term baby was born without a heartbeat. Read her story below:

Hello readers! My journey through conception and motherhood has not been easy but so worth it. I love each one of the sweet spirits the Lord sent to our family. My first pregnancy ended early in miscarriage. We were devastated but hopeful for the future. A season after that pregnancy we conceived our first handsome boy Berick. As he grew into a toddler, we knew he needed a sibling so we started trying again. We believe I had another miscarriage but it was very early on and not confirmed. The next month we were pregnant with our second sweet boy Flynn. He wasn't even a year old before we felt it was time to have another baby. And that leads me to Greyson.

I was due to have Greyson any day. I had anticipated him coming early since Berick and Flynn were early. So with each week that passed I was becoming more and more uncomfortable and ready to meet my 3rd little boy.

I reached 39 weeks and still no baby, but all of my appointments said he was healthy, just comfortable. In the early morning hours of January 27th I got up to use the restroom. I noticed that my baby didn't move at all. This was strange but I tried to brush it off. I ended up going into our living room to see if I could get him to move. I was up for about an hour and still nothing. I tried not to panic and went back to sleep.

Fast forward to around 8 AM. I get up and still haven't felt baby move. I begin to get very worried. I told my husband I was scared and called my doctor's office. They told me to try to eat something sugary and come to the hospital. We dropped my boys off at a dear friend's house and headed in. The drive to the hospital was a long one. We said a prayer before we left but I just had a bad feeling the whole way. I kept trying to get him to move but there was just nothing.

We arrive at the hospital, get checked in, and are given a bed. A nurse comes in to hook me up to monitors. The room is silent as she puts the sensor on my belly...nothing...nothing. She says she can't find the heart beat and went to get an ultrasound machine. She comes back and starts looking with the ultrasound. We see our perfect boy on the screen but where the flicker should be for his heart there is nothing. Then our world stopped.

"I'm so sorry but your baby's heart has stopped. We can give you a moment." They leave and my husband and I let the news sink in. I have never cried so hard in my life. The worse was still to come though.

We made the decision to be induced immediately. I received a blessing from my husband and brother in law and we were sent to labor and delivery. The induction process was long but we had the company of my brother and sister in law to pass the time. My mother and step dad arrived at 11 PM to be with us. I got an epidural so I wouldn't have to feel physical pain. The emotional pain was already so overwhelming. The induction started around 2 PM. Around 12:30 AM on the 28th I felt pressure and it was time to push. I was so incredibly scared. I was excited to see the baby I carried for so long but scared because we knew he would never take a breath.

We asked our loved ones to leave and he was born at 12:39. Greyson Reid Petersen, 8 lbs 2 oz, 21 inches long and perfect. He looked like the perfect combination of our other 2 boys. They laid him on my chest and my heart broke into a thousand pieces. My husband and I wept and held each other. They brought Greyson to a bassinet and Kenyon went with him while I was tended to. I had my mom come in. Although they placed him on me after birth I wasn't able to look at him. It hurt too much.

The nurses and my husband cleaned him up and brought him to me where my heart broke all over again. Everything about him was so perfect. My husband and I couldn't believe he had nothing wrong with him yet he had passed.

Our loved ones came in to hold him and we were given 24 hours with him. I went home that same day. We wanted to hold our boys and kiss their faces. It was a whirl wind until Greyson's funeral. He was buried next to his grandfather.

Not a day goes by that I don't think of my angel. My own heart breaks every time I think of how old he would be now. We were told his cause of death was a cord accident. When he was born it was wrapped tightly around his neck.

I'm grateful for the opportunity to have known him even if for such a brief time in the womb. I'm grateful for how close my husband and I have become since his passing. I'm grateful I have two sweet boys here on earth to care for. And I'm grateful for the day when I get to see Baby Grey again in Heaven.

...

Greyson's headstone just came in this week, so Jeannette wanted me to include it here. Isn't it beautiful?

Baby Huffman {Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness}

Meet Beth and her family. I met Beth at work and instantly fell in love with her adopted daughter, Olivia. Her story is one of hope and heartbreak, with the real struggle of trying to heal after everything is over. Read Beth's story below:

Twelve years ago I found out that I was infertile.  After five years of struggling to cope with infertility,  we decided to adopt. We waited for three years for our daughter, Olivia, to come into our life. She is almost 4 years old. After adopting Olivia, we agreed that we were content with one child. 

In January of 2015 my husband was laid off from work and in effort to save money we both stopped using some of our medications.  I've been on birth control, except when we were trying to conceive,  for years for hormonal reasons. I stopped taking them without any worries.  In April my husband went back to work and in May I refilled my prescriptions.  But, before I could start a new pack I decided it was the responsible thing to do to test first. 

Over the years I have peed on more sticks than I can count. I never expected to get a positive that day. But there it was, two lines. Two more tests confirmed it. My doctor and I giggled through my first OB appointment.  Neither of us thought I would ever be pregnant.  An ultrasound showed a baby at six weeks gestation.  We saw the heartbeat.  A real, alive baby in my womb. You have no idea how many times I had looked up at an ultrasound screen praying to see something in there. It was a miracle.  

As the weeks progressed I had to remind myself several times a day that it was really true. I gave up caffeine and did everything a pregnant woman is supposed to do. I had an appointment to hear the heartbeat but it was pushed back due to my doctor going on vacation.  

At 12 weeks I started bleeding.  I waited through the weekend hoping that it would stop, but only got heavier.  My mother took me into the ER on Monday morning.  After running some tests it was finally time for an ultrasound.  As soon as the tech got started it was obvious that there was something wrong. In fact, there was no baby at all. I was shocked and panicked.  

I understood that I went into the ER with the possibility that I was loosing my baby, but I expected to see a baby, alive or not, on that screen just as I did 6 weeks earlier.  I asked the tech if she saw anything and she shook her head. I came unglued right there on the table. An internal ultrasound did show some remains. Back in the exam room the doctor explained to me that it looked like the baby had died between 7-8 weeks gestation and that my body had begun to "break down the fetus". They didnt know why my body had delayed miscarriage so long but she wanted me to go home and miscarry naturally.  

It seemed like an impossible and heartbreaking task to me. Two weeks of bleeding,  contractions, and cramping I finally delivered a ruptured sack. Aside from some unidentifiable tissue, that was all that was left. It took another 4 weeks for my hcg levels to go down. A month after that I experienced the worst period of my life. It was even more painful than the miscarriage.  

The emotional toll has been far beyond anything that I have ever experienced.  I lay awake at night crying out to God for mercy and compassion,  knowing that He cannot give me back what I have lost. Before the pregnancy I knew who I was. I was the infertile adoptive mom. Now I am broken. I have to some how learn to live with this pain. I do have hope that someday I might be okay. 

I delivered what remained of my precious Star on July 26, 2015. I was due on January 23, 2016.