Remembering and Loving you on your Angel Day

My last couple of post have been pretty down. Today isn't a whole lot different. We have passed the time (1:34pm) last year, on Friday, November 7, when Nicholas was born and I am now remembering those invaluable few hours we held him in our arms, smelled his sweet skin, wept and smiled, kissed and cuddled our baby boy.

I feel you, Nicholas. I feel you close, in my heart. I feel you every day, but today more than ever as if you are trying to offer mommy some comfort... peace. We are heading up North tonight, to our 'Heaven on Earth'. I feel like it's the closest we can be to you. A place that has always been a source of warmth and solace. A place where you, no doubt, would be making a million beautiful memories with your brothers.

I am searching for it, desperately. I am searching for peace in my heart, calm in my soul. Thank you, baby boy, for guiding mommy through the sadness, through the grief. Telling me, 'I love you, Mommy. I am with you. I am close. I too, long to be in your arms, but please know that I am even closer, in your heart, where my journey started in the very beginning'.

You have taught us so much, my love.

You have taught us how to love like we have never loved before.

You have taught us the gift of true, unguarded compassion.

You have taught us that we have strength that we never thought we would ever need.

You have taught us to hope. To cherish the simple things. To treasure the moments that may seem unforgettable to others.

I am grateful to feel your magic. The magic of connecting with you. Through sweet, pure signs. The rainbows in the sky, the hearts in our pictures that seem to always find a discreet place, the Angel Wings I make in honour of you...

Thank you, Nicholas.

Thank you for the gift of you.

Thank you for blessing us with your beautiful life.

Thank you for trusting us, your family, to hold you safe in our hearts.

Thank you for joining us on this important journey and thank you for imprinting your life on ours forever.

You are forever our third baby boy. Forever mighty in our hearts and souls.

Love you so much,
Mommy

Dreaming of you...

Dear Angel,

Mommy is not doing very well. But you know that right? I know that you don't want me to be sad, but it's like this overbearing force is creating massive lumps in my throat, weight on my chest and pain in my heart.

Buddy, I'm trying. I'm trying to be strong and "get through" the next couple of days with some sense of grace, but, truthfully, I'm a mess. I can't begin to tell you how much I miss you, how much I miss what you might have been. I was shopping today and stopped in front of the birthday candles. It took everything in me not to reach out and grab the #1 for the top of your cake....

I keep telling myself that we have been through the worst. That saying goodbye to you this time last year was the single most heartbreaking moment of our lives. But I feel that pressure again, only now, I feel it in full force. There is no shock protecting my soul. No numbness to hide behind. I feel it and I feel it hard.

I think of you and find it hard to catch my breath. I dream of you and my eyes become glassy and distant. I ache to have you in our lives - here - in our home.

Dreaming of you eternally, Nicholas and as your Nana says "Kissing you goodnight, always."

Love you,
Mommy

Thanking you...

I just want to take a minute and thank you all from the bottom of my heart for the love and support you are showing us. From simple emails, to supportive comments on blog posts, to seeing our Nicholas' name spelled out in bright, colourful crayons..... I thank you. Each small gesture truly makes a lasting impression on my heart.

My new friends.

My ally's.

My safe place.

As Nicholas' Angel Day approaches much too quickly, I feel as though I am suffocating again. I am trying to stay busy. Trying to stay 'positive'... I'm exhausted and drained and emotionally worn out. The reality of losing him feels so incredibly raw again. So intense... like I am back in those horribly soul searing moments when we learned of our baby's fate.

I remember, in the early days after losing Nicholas, hearing that, as a grieving mother, you will physically ache for your baby. I did. Feverishly. My arms ached to feel the weight of my son again. My body literally throbbed and pleaded to have him back, safe in my womb. As I slept (or tried to) I clung, for weeks, to the blanket he was wrapped with once he was born and if I woke up in the night and couldn't find it I searched like a crazy woman until it was tucked under my chin again.... soaked with tears.

I have relived our precious moments with Nicholas a million and one times.. and still it's not enough. It will never be enough.

I am terrified that a year will come and go and he won't be thought of again... That the ever looming first anniversary of our baby boy's birth and death is somehow supposed to mean that everything is supposed to be better. That the 'protocol' is that we move on, forget about the torture we have been through...

I'm not ready for that. I don't think I will ever be ready for that. All I can do as his mommy now is protect Nicholas' memory. To help people remember him and what he has brought to our lives. To love him from afar... when I so desperately want him in my arms.

Love you, baby boy.

Nicholas' Name

Don't you just LOVE seeing your Angel's name. Furthermore, doesn't it warm your heart to know that your Angel is being thought of and loved?

Thank you to Alicia at Yaya Stuff for creating such a beautiful piece of art using our precious boy's name.

A Year Is A Relative Thing

With Nicholas' first Angel Day only a week away, a friend sent me the following.....

Thought you all may get something out of it.

Thank you, friend. You know who you are.


A Year is a Relative Thing
by Ellen Zinner, PsyD

A year is the period of a planet's revolution around the sun; three hundred and sixty five days for the earth, longer for some planets, shorter for others. In the life of a bereaved individual, the time period of a year is a relative thing.
On the one hand, survivors often are amazed that so much time has passed since the death. Four seasons weathered; the holiday periods endured. It seems impossible that they have borne the pain for a full twelve months. On the other hand, it may seem that time has not moved at all. Emotions and memories seem fresh.

The news of the death and the ensuing days of confusion and painful decision making seem like only yesterday. And with this perspective, comes a fear that little recovery has taken place at all.

Are you caught in a similar time warp? Has the passage of time been too quick and too slow? And what is to be done with this first anniversary of the death? If you are approaching this marker in your bereavement, it is time to take stock of where you have been and where you are heading.

The first death anniversary is a special day for recognizing the loss. I have no doubt that you have been thinking daily about the loss and the change in your life. But this day looms larger than most. It brings back the sadness of the death itself with renewed force sustained by a year of experiencing the full import of the loss.

But the day can also be used a special day for celebrating the life of the deceased. Grieving stems not from the death itself but from the loss of the person. It is the loss of the laughter, the love, and connections past, present, and future which we mourn. How can you celebrate the life of your loved one? This is the challenge of the death anniversary. One family I know takes gold balloons to the high school track where their son had competed and lets float the personal message that each had written to him on the balloons. One widow picnics by the lake where she sprinkled her husband's ashes. Another family "celebrates" annually by having dinner together in a new restaurant that the daughter would have enjoyed. Creating a positive ritual that can be either fulfilled alone or shared adds powerful and supportive meaning to the death anniversary.

The death anniversary is also a day for acknowledging the living. This certainly includes you! The last twelve months have been demanding. You have handled your loss in the way you have needed to survive. You deserve to recognize yourself as one who has endured great hardship and to take care of yourself in a way that will ensure your ability to make a new life for yourself.

Love to you all. xo

Some Pictures

We took some pictures last weekend. Some pregnancy pictures and some family pictures. A girlfriend from highschool does some awesome photography. She actually took the pregnancy shots of Nicholas too. Funny thing is, she reminded me when we met up last weekend that it was actually a year, to the day, of shooting Nicholas in Mommy's belly. Too strange.

Little Miss Sunshine's Debut


Loving Hands


Brothers


The Whole Family






My Rock, My Love


Loving Nicholas


Butterfly Kisses




Canadian Fall Colours

Wishes...

This time last year we were preparing for an MRI at Sick Children's Hospital in Toronto to confirm the worst possible news about our unborn baby. We already knew. We already knew in our hearts that he was in a lot of trouble. We already knew that this 'confirmation' was hardly needed.

Although he felt blissfully happy and healthy inside my belly, he was not. He would not survive life without being snuggled inside his mama. He would not take a single breath of our air.

One of the very worst and distressing feelings about that time was the knowledge that there was no possible way for me to protect my child anymore. He couldn't stay inside of me forever... where I could feel him, touch him, love him. He would have to be born and he wouldn't survive the trauma that he faced. It's every parents torture. Every parents darkest, most horrendous nightmare - to know that you are helpless when it comes to your children.

I wish.

I wish so, so many things.

The most obvious is that I wish we were planning a huge first birthday bash for Nicholas. I wish I was struggling with what style of cake to make for him to mash his hands into. I wish he was taking his first steps, trying to keep up with his crazy brothers.

I wish.

I wish we could turn back the hands of time and hold our baby boy again. I wish I could feel the despair and anguish again - just to have one more moment with him.

I wish I had studied his body more closely. I wish I had unwrapped him from his beautiful blue blanket and studied his toes. I am positive he had his daddy's toes (both his brothers do). I wish I had studied his body. I wish I had taken in every little, precious detail. Every freckle. Every beauty mark. I wish I had held him skin to skin...

I wish I remembered more. I wish that the fog that plagued my brain and body that day didn't inhibit me from remembering more about our time together. Although, I must say that I am grateful for shock. Shock got us through more than we ever thought we could handle those last few days.

I wish.

I wish my parents met their grandson. I am at peace with my husband and my decision to be on our own with Nicholas, but sometimes I wish my mom got to hold him in her arms. To meet him, kiss him. I hope that he knows the love of his Nana.

My dad spent some sweet time with Nicholas at the funeral home. I am grateful for that, but it was different. I wish they were there (they would have been in a heartbeat - we asked them to stay with our other boys and keep things as 'normal' as possible for them)... the day that Nicholas was born into Heaven.

I wish I had the courage to keep him with us longer. I just remember thinking - this is it. We really have to say good bye to our son. We really have to hand him over to a nurse and then God knows what is going to happen to him, to his perfect little body. I was exhausted - I wish I had fallen asleep with him in my arms.

Of course, there are so many things that I am grateful for also. I am thankful that we took as many pictures of our boy as we did. Precious memories. The only ones we have. I am grateful for my wonderful, brave, strong husband. The very best daddy to our boys. I am forever touched by the time they were able to spend together. I am grateful for Nicholas' footprints. For nurses and doctors who displayed compassion and care like you wouldn't believe. Mostly, I am grateful for him. For Nicholas. Our youngest son who just so happened to get caught up in some horribly rare and deeply unfortunate event.

I am grateful for what this special little being has brought to our lives. I am grateful for the lessons he has taught us and so many others. I am grateful that he was brought into our lives, if only for a short time.

He is our Angel... our sweet, sweet Angel and I am proud to be his mommy.