The Perfect Card

The Valentine's Day card that I bought for Justin says:

My Husband

My Forever Love

I wouldn't change a thing-

not one second...

not one syllable...

not one smile or sorrow

of all we've shared

over the years.

The things I love about you

are the same as always-

your eyes still light my world,

your smile still fills my heart,

your arms still make me feel

secure and loved.

You are the love of my life,

and nothing will ever change that.

Happy Valentine's Day

********

This card could've easily gotten lost in the shuffle of reds and pinks, hearts and roses. But when I finally picked it up to read it, there was no hesitation in knowing this was the one that spoke to me most. At the end of the day, I wouldn't change the sorrow that we've had to face together. Ultimately, that has made us a stronger couple, better parents, and more faithful individuals. Because of this unspoken thing that we share, loving Dylan and facing his death together, Justin is a part of my life and my heart that no other man could ever be. (And wow, just like that, I figured out what to write on the inside of his card!) Happy Valentine's Day to you and yours!

Someone Worth Missing

I have some more tv dialogue for you (I promise I don't just sit around and watch tv all day ;). First, it was a conversation between a man and a woman, both widowers (from One Tree Hill; again, it's taken out of context but still totally applies to our losses):

Woman: It's hard, isn't it? Learning to live without them?

Man: Yeah, it's hard making new memories. You know, like it's not fair to them.

Woman: I think, it's not fair to them not to. I mean, they'd want that, wouldn't they? They'd want to know that we face their absence with dignity, grace.

Man: Yeah, well the truth is, I'm not sure I've been that gracious about any of it.

Woman: You're still here, aren't you? Still finding your way? That's about as much grace as anyone can ask.

********

Second, a conversation between a father and son (also from One Tree Hill, also out of context):

Dad: You miss him?

Son: Yeah . . .

Dad: It's hard when you miss people, but you know if you miss 'em, that means you're lucky. It means you had someone special in your life. Someone worth missing.

Son: Yeah, I guess, I just don't like the missing part so much.

Dad: Yeah, me neither.

********

There isn't an abundance of references to childloss in pop culture (because it really doesn't happen, now does it?), and we get swept under the rug. So I have to find inspiration where I can. Things that apply to how I'm feeling, words that hit me to my very core.

At the end of the day, I'm still here and still finding my way. And most importantly, Dylan is definitely someone worth missing. (And so are all of your babes . . . for all you babyloss mommas reading this, in case no one has told you lately, your dignity and grace inspire me.)

Those Empty Eyes

A conversation from last night's Private Practice [in a hospital, man's wife just died -- it's taken out of context, but hopefully you get the gist]:

Man: The thing is, I can't leave without my wife. And I can't leave with her, so I can't leave. . . Did you feel this way, when you lost your child?

Woman: Well, walking out that door was the hardest thing I ever did. But yeah, I did feel this way.

Man: You've got that "dead kid" face. I'm sorry, that didn't come out right.

Woman: It's alright. What do you mean about my face?

Man: Your eyes, you've been some place that most people have never been. You've survived something that no one would've wanted to survive. It's your eyes. They're, I don't know . . . empty.

Woman: It doesn't have to be dead kid. It could just be bad life.

Man: No, it's dead kid.

********

I wonder if I have a dead kid face? Are people looking at me and thinking, "Oh, for sure, dead kid." I wonder if my eyes are empty. I don't think they are . . . at least I hope not.

A Little Frustrating

I am not easily offended. I've come to accept the fact that I will probably never carry a baby to full-term (ie. 40 weeks). Because of my chronic hypertension, I am (and will probably always be) considered a high-risk pregnancy. I know what it feels like to be thankful for every day that I'm pregnant. But there are times that I hear women complain about their pregnancies, and the devil on my shoulder thinks, "Bitch, if you only knew!" And the angel on my shoulder thinks, "What a blessing, thank your lucky stars!"

There is a part of me, though, that thinks that I would never take that innocence away from her. Because the alternative, being on this side of the statistics, outliving a child, writing a blog dedicated to my dead son . . . I would much rather be running around with my menacing and adorable 19-month-old.

Okay, now help me off my soapbox . . . I'm getting old! :)

First 2010 Post

I wanted to write the requisite "New Year" post, but I found myself without anything constructive to say. The past few days have been difficult. 2009 was the first complete year that we were without Dylan, but we were also blessed by the birth of our beautiful daughter. That's the strange dichotomy we must balance from here on out. Celebrating the life and milestones that is our newest family member, while simultaneously honoring and always remembering and missing our sweet son.

So in honor of Dylan with much love, we decided to make a donation to the hospital and let that speak for itself: