tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-63415998713334652412024-02-07T07:19:35.555-05:00Teddy Bear TinsMeghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17479870638158808678noreply@blogger.comBlogger55125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6341599871333465241.post-38055595613163189362014-06-07T21:33:00.001-04:002014-06-07T22:27:27.983-04:00Website is Back Up!After nearly a year of not being able to post here due to an error in my blog's code, which basically hid all my text behind pictures in new posts, it is fixed!!!<br />
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Teddy Bear Tins owes a debt of gratitude to Dewey and Dan for helping me find and fix the problem. What a huge relief to finally be able to actively use this portion of the project's web presence again. Thank you!! :)<br />
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In the meantime, so many amazing things have happened over the past year for Teddy Bear Tins. For one, we are now also on Facebook. You can connect with us there at <a href="http://www.facebook.com/TeddyBearTinsProject">www.facebook.com/TeddyBearTinsProject</a>.<br />
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Also, we've been working hard building connections within the babyloss community and have met incredible new people. Together, we are starting some exciting new efforts. For one, Teddy Bear Tins deliveries to hospitals will no longer consist of just Teddy Bear Tins! Through partnerships with other kindness projects, our resources for families are expanding. How, you might ask? Well, you'll just have to keep following us here to see... :)<br />
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-Auntie MegMeghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17479870638158808678noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6341599871333465241.post-68845740406362226202013-08-02T12:17:00.002-04:002014-06-07T21:13:23.516-04:00TBTs 2.0Recently one of the hospitals that receives Teddy Bear Tins recommended that I add some kind of note to the kits which lets the families know a bit about where they come from. The result, thanks to this request and a bit of inspiration, is now part of every kit that is produced!<br /><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6mBYcsvygin7fE56_l18H0oMELAGMtdMdVuIxdQvs5yvMnHQCIBUvesU_s5pLWbG4NJEIMVmFryRQKR0vNRISr8DWFfw6QccOeLYmEUWt8gniMgrHoswBAh9PQj2A9KqiMoMp8IUOj-Gl/s1600/P1080767.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6mBYcsvygin7fE56_l18H0oMELAGMtdMdVuIxdQvs5yvMnHQCIBUvesU_s5pLWbG4NJEIMVmFryRQKR0vNRISr8DWFfw6QccOeLYmEUWt8gniMgrHoswBAh9PQj2A9KqiMoMp8IUOj-Gl/s320/P1080767.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a><br /><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaqsvG8IdJNRKZ5IoubQcmeiQtNo0o846OOOX4ZS0VzhI7xWM7zR_59n4OVaH_lV-fQtQEYsgeJBJ5Y_gOM-BF87dXKBMDoRgXCjK0C0-phvaBuhkY9lzQTaHPBl84QHUu-qwWg9IIXt49/s1600/P1080768.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaqsvG8IdJNRKZ5IoubQcmeiQtNo0o846OOOX4ZS0VzhI7xWM7zR_59n4OVaH_lV-fQtQEYsgeJBJ5Y_gOM-BF87dXKBMDoRgXCjK0C0-phvaBuhkY9lzQTaHPBl84QHUu-qwWg9IIXt49/s320/P1080768.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a><br /><br />
I don't know about you, but I'm rather a fan of this new addition. :)<br /><br />
So thankful for the ways in which this special effort continues to evolve...<br /><br />
-Auntie Meg<br /><br />
<!--3-->Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17479870638158808678noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6341599871333465241.post-6609380175543944692013-01-18T09:00:00.003-05:002013-01-18T09:00:52.826-05:00Thinking of You...and missing you, always, baby boy.<br />
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Happy 4th birthday my sweet nephew.<br />
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I love you forever.<br />
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-Auntie MegMeghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17479870638158808678noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6341599871333465241.post-14023030436780237492012-09-06T23:08:00.002-04:002012-09-17T22:22:23.932-04:00Life NowLately as I've been thinking about what would be a good topic for a new post here, the idea that most often comes to mind is that folks may be wondering what my life is like now. It's been 3 and a half years since I experienced the death and birth of my sweet nephew, and surely things are different now. Really, what is it like when those first raw months have passed? What is it like living life without Aiden?<br />
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It's that last question that finally set the trigger in my mind. Now there's a question I can speak to!<br />
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...What is life like without Aiden?<br />
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My answer is simple and yet I feel like it is worth explaining - My answer is, "I don't know."<br />
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When Aiden first died, the thought of the future was always scary because it was always a future without him. I think that's a natural tendency for anyone who has experienced a loss. You focus on how your loved one is gone and will not be there any more, physically, in your life. But what I wasn't seeing at the time was that from the moment Aiden arrived he was in my life for good.<br />
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My life is not the same as it would have been if God had never graced me with my nephew's short appearance. Not even close. For one thing I changed my mind about the importance of careers and careful plans and other such silliness and decided to have a child of my own, who is now the love of my life. I also searched for an outlet for my grief and found an amazing community of people, literally touching every corner of the globe, whom I would never have met otherwise. I became closer with my brother. I gained skills to better support friends and family members who experience tragedies of their own. I learned how to paint teddy bears...<br />
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I don't know what life is like without Aiden because from the moment I met him he has been a major part of it - affecting it in concrete, physical, undeniable ways. I wish I had seen that in those first months, so that I would have spent less of my energy fearing that my nephew had somehow been stolen from my life. Aiden may have died, but nothing can erase him.<br />
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For that, I am forever grateful.Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17479870638158808678noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6341599871333465241.post-34411901467730782102012-04-09T22:45:00.008-04:002012-04-09T23:48:38.219-04:00LessonsI'm not sure I'll be able to do justice to this series of thoughts that have been connecting in my mind the last few weeks, but I think it's important enough that I go ahead and give it a try even if this doesn't end up being entirely eloquent...<br /><br />As part of my normal routine I usually spend a few minutes at least once a day catching up on the news online or on the radio. I've done this for years, probably since grade school when a teacher assigned us a lesson to report on "current events" on a recurring basis, and I found that I actually enjoyed it. So anyway, it's something I do and have done almost absentmindedly for a very long time.<br /><br />While I'm not sure exactly when it started, recently I caught myself with tears in my eyes when I read a tragic news story. The first thought that popped in my mind, as my son slept at the other end of the couch that sits next to our computer, was that one of these days he'll make fun of his mother for crying at the news. I mean how lame is that? A question which, in turn, made me ask myself WHY was I crying at some random news story?<br /><br />And at that moment, when I was ready to laugh at myself and move on, a verse from a song I frequently hear on the radio just rang out, clear as day, in my mind:<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">"Break my heart for what breaks Yours"</span><br /><br /><br />Anyone who is familiar with Christian radio will likely recognize this verse from a popular Hillsong United song. But until that day for me it was a verse that I had certainly heard, but never really paid attention to or internalized. Until this instant, when suddenly it had such powerful meaning for me.<br /><br />I have never felt that God "wanted" Aiden to die, or that He wanted for us to experience that tragedy. I believe that God wants good things for us, and that in our suffering He fulfills His promise to never leave our side. So I do not personally believe that there was some kind of reason why Aiden died, or that it served some kind of calculated purpose. But in the moment that this verse so clearly answered what I thought was an innocuous question in my mind, I realized that through the heartbreaking tragedy that was Aiden's death and birth, that I have learned something of the love and compassion that God feels for us when we suffer. He loves us so much that His heart actually <span style="font-style:italic;">breaks</span> for us.<br /><br />Here I felt genuine compassion and heartbreak for another person whom I did not even know personally, in a way that was fundamentally more empathetic than the reactions I'm sure I had many times before to similar stories. Sure I knew that they were heartbreaking, but my heart did not really, truly break for those people.<br /><br />God's love most be so amazing. And like the lump of clay that was painfully molded into a teacup, I know that the things that hurt me can be part of my journey to becoming something more than I am today. Each part of my journey reveals things about God's love that I literally cannot yet comprehend.<br /><br />From my childhood I remember reading that my name means "Strong at heart." I think that this is what God planned for me: That He would make me a heart strong enough to break for those in need of compassion.<br /><br />"Open up my eyes to the things unseen<br />Show me how to love like You have loved me<br />Break my heart for what breaks Yours..."<br /><br />“A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another." John 13:35Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17479870638158808678noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6341599871333465241.post-64343342730622788522012-01-18T00:36:00.002-05:002012-01-18T00:49:27.789-05:00Missing YouI find it hard to imagine you as a three-year-old. I look back at the handful of pictures we have and I can't seem to make the leap in my mind's eye. Even looking back at the newborn pictures of my son, it's hard to believe how much he has changed in just one year, let alone three. So most often Aiden I think of you as I remember you - a tiny bundle with furrowing eyebrows and a sweet kissable nose. And I think of how it felt to hold you for those short minutes - a distinct and definitely real weight in my arms. I am so thankful for those memories, and for the chance to have known you. I miss you baby boy.<br /><br />Love you for always,<br />Auntie MegMeghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17479870638158808678noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6341599871333465241.post-62806519481123661382011-11-15T19:48:00.004-05:002012-01-06T08:06:17.206-05:00PerspectiveI thought I'd start this post with an explanation of why it's been three months since I last posted, but then I realized that the explanation might as well make up the body of my post, since it's something I've been meaning to touch upon...<br /><br />This blog is where I like to capture those bits and pieces of my babyloss-Auntie experience that I think can help other people who find themselves in similar situations. Whether someone has lost their own child, or has family or friends experiencing such a loss, I feel like we can all benefit from our shared perspective. In "real life" outside the blogosphere, babyloss remains a taboo subject, and the resulting isolation is in my opinion a major barrier to healing when it is needed most.<br /><br />But I do have to admit that I am sensitive to the fact that many visiting this site may be early in their grief journeys, when our perspective is consumed with all of the pain of the loss. So I try to limit my posts to those experiences that are quite specific to my life as a babyloss-Auntie. The result, I think, is that readers here see only a compartmentalized version of what my life has become since my incredible nephew marked it so indelibly. Today, nearly three years since Aiden's death and birth, I find him so inextricably linked to my everyday life that it's hard to find little snippets to bring here that don't tread too far outside the realm of grief.<br /><br />So that's why you haven't heard from me here in a while. I am still here. It's just that I'm having difficulty finding the right words to pass on to this audience.<br /><br />But in the meantime, regardless of the amount of text on the front page of my blog here, the actual Teddy Bear Tins effort continues to grow and amaze me. I am so thankful for the peace it brings. :)Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17479870638158808678noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6341599871333465241.post-42924418433514137272011-08-22T14:50:00.002-04:002011-08-22T15:27:45.335-04:00Fear & TrustEver since I first became pregnant with my son, and especially since he was born, I have carried this fear with me. I know it's only August but at the end of every year I try to think back to what the main themes were and I hate to say it, but I feel like fear is one for me this year. I am just so afraid of something bad happening to my son, more specifically it's like I'm constantly afraid that he's suddenly going to die. Aiden died, babies die. I know, I've seen it myself. So who's to say that it couldn't happen to Jack? Every little stuffy nose, every trip to daycare, is somehow a risk for death.
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<br />My logical mind says this is ridiculous. And I think that to a degree most new parents experience it as well. But I can't help but feel that my experience has played a bit different of a part in how I process daily life with my little one. More "innocent" mothers seem to carry on with their lives ignorant of all the risks and possible bad outcomes, and I find myself wishing I could be more like them. I struggle daily to shake the fear and trust a bit more that good things are wanted for me and for Jack. I don't want this fear to become a wedge in my life. But it's just so hard to trust.
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<br />There is a song by Newsboys on Christian Radio lately that repeats the verse "You give and take away" as a bit of an anthem. I can't stand it, and just for that verse. I know there is biblical precedent, and I know I'm interpreting this in a rather narrow-minded manner, but for me it smacks of God being an Indian-giver. I don't want Him to take Jack away, just like I didn't want Him to take Aiden away. I've experienced enough of the "take away" thank you very much!
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<br />I think you get the idea of the circular path my thoughts have been taking lately. I want to shake the fear, I don't like the burden it brings, but to get rid of it I know I have to trust, and in my perspective my trust has already been seriously betrayed.
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<br />I seem to turn a blind eye to the "giving" side of the equation, and the fact that I have been given this incredible gift. Every morning when I cuddle my son, pretending to hide from my husband who takes Jack off to daycare, I'm amazed at just how much I have. Every moment is precious. That is one lesson I'm not likely to forget. I wonder how much more fraught this path must be for parents who have lost their own children, and who later welcome rainbow babies.
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<br />Maybe some of this is about building a stronger trust than I had before, one day, after the struggle has had more time to do its work. For now it is a constant challenge.
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<br />In two weeks my brother is flying east and will be meeting Jack for the very first time. How precious that time will be, I can't wait. While he's here I'm hoping to talk to him about an idea I've had about holding a Memorial Service for Aiden. I've read about other families who have a service on anniversaries or even just on a special occasion. We had a small ceremony for Aiden the week that he passed, but it was such a blur. Carrying Aiden's memory is something that brings me a lot of peace. I know that many people not directly in our circle don't understand that, and still see babyloss as a taboo subject, but some of these Memorial Services seem so beautiful and they're really a thing of support and remembrance. How wonderful that would be to add to our memory books. Definitely better than dwelling in fear.Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17479870638158808678noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6341599871333465241.post-90032194663281597372011-07-08T21:50:00.004-04:002011-07-08T22:06:41.658-04:00Numbers :)76 Teddy Bear Tins have been delivered to 2 hospitals<br /><br />43 more completed tins are being picked up by the hospital in the next few days<br /><br />9 volunteers currently have kits and are painting an additional 64 tins<br /><br />2 more volunteers have offered their time once I have more kits available<br /><br />I'm planning to add 1 more hospital in the near future, which will mean that Teddy Bear Tins are provided to hospitals in 3 different states<br /><br />We're going through tins so quickly I only have 5 more blanks left before I need to place another order<br /><br />...All of this adds up to an immeasurable benefit that has been provided by the many kind people who have made Teddy Bear Tins a success<br /><br />Lately when I think of Aiden I often quickly think of Teddy Bear Tins as well, and it makes me smile because this little idea has become a reality. I guess in a way to me it helps because as the time passes and I feel further away from the reality of holding him in that hospital room, I have something else very tangible that is a part of his memory as well.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe9FrUfNBU8BpcWmP-B0FfIROQax-cMsb3ES0a-bAm_XlqdfQdSUdIbc1UliQdow5TqeP0cIyB794ENFQ8MTCOZcmegN-FABmfCEb4tm5Y5J6djxILtOPsytqoXltY3q5QIlkckRjqlV_c/s1600/P1030335.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe9FrUfNBU8BpcWmP-B0FfIROQax-cMsb3ES0a-bAm_XlqdfQdSUdIbc1UliQdow5TqeP0cIyB794ENFQ8MTCOZcmegN-FABmfCEb4tm5Y5J6djxILtOPsytqoXltY3q5QIlkckRjqlV_c/s320/P1030335.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5627167827909786914" /></a><br />1 dining room that has been taken over for another purpose.... :-PMeghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17479870638158808678noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6341599871333465241.post-59212145999799674442011-06-05T08:00:00.001-04:002011-06-05T08:00:05.670-04:00Teddy Bear Tins turns 2!On June 5, 2009 I painted my first Teddy Bear Tin. It had been 4 and a half months since the day Aiden died and was born.<br /><br />Today it is two years since that first tin. As of the end of this month more than 100 tins will have been provided to hospitals in two states, and dozens of volunteers literally all across the globe have shown their generosity by sharing of their time and talents.<br /><br />I think having my own son now only makes me more aware of the physical ache that bereaved parents feel for their little ones. When I was visiting my brother halfway across the country a few weeks ago I had the chance to once again “visit” Aiden. I got to touch the box that holds his ashes. It struck me that even more than two years since he passed away, I still have the urge to want to just hold him and touch him. At my home I have a piece of cardstock that the hospital gave us with Aiden’s footprints stamped on them. Occasionally when I’m opening the safe to look for a passport or other important document, I’ll see the card and just hold it for a few minutes. Aiden’s feet touched that piece of paper, and today that’s the closest I can get to once again feeling him. I wonder if my son will ever question why his mom so fiercely insists on kissing his little hands, feet, ears, cheeks, nose AND forehead before he heads off to daycare in the morning?<br /><br />Teddy Bear Tins provide not only a visual memory, but they are also something that parents and families can touch when they ache so much for their precious little ones. A foot or hand imprint to bring them some measure of peace, to give them something physical to hold on to.<br /><br />This effort is extremely important, and the benefit that it provides to bereaved families is very profound. Thank you, thank you, thank you for continuing to support Teddy Bear Tins. What an incredible thing you have all made possible!Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17479870638158808678noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6341599871333465241.post-12400998670027030592011-05-08T09:12:00.003-04:002011-05-08T09:14:05.734-04:00Mother's DayStill loving the way my mom phrased it several years ago...<br /><br />"Happy Mother's Day to every woman who knows the joy of their children,<br />and the hope of their future children,<br />and who have in their hearts and memories their little angel babies."<br /><br /><3 Wishing you peace and happiness todayMeghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17479870638158808678noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6341599871333465241.post-86027607796103440002011-04-17T19:50:00.013-04:002011-04-17T20:39:11.251-04:00So much moreBefore my son was born, I worried about how I would find the time to continue with Teddy Bear Tins with a little one in the house. This is just not something that I'm willing to give up, it's too important. But I knew that it'd be hard to find the time to take care of the coordinating and contacting volunteers, the shipping and organizing and tracking. And then Jack came, and shortly thereafter our house that had just been prepared for sale was destroyed when that pipe burst.<br /><br />So yea, the last six months have been pretty overwhelming for me. Not nearly as emotionally overwhelming as when Aiden died, but definitely physically overwhelming. It has been hard to find any extra time. Last week I actually took an hour leave from work in order to shower. Seriously! I'm exhausted.<br /><br />At the same time, it seems as if many of the people I love are also pretty overwhelmed right now. My sister-in-law has had an orthopedic surgery that puts her on crutches for the next 10 weeks. And rather unexpectedly, a very close friend recently welcomed her second son into the world - and promptly found herself in the middle of his fight for life as his lungs inexplicably did not function correctly. She was told he had a 20% chance of surviving before he was given emergency surgery to put him on a special life support machine. During the first two weeks of his life she never even got to hold him. Now she and her husband have moved into temporary housing more than an hour from home in order to be near to him.<br /><br />Why do I mention all this?<br /><br />Because in the midst of it, during a time when I have been very much consumed with other things, there has been a quiet process at work in the background...<br /><br />My sister-in-law sent me a message this week to let me know that because she finds herself temporarily incapacitated she has been painting Teddy Bear Tins, already a dozen of them. I haven't had the chance to contact any volunteers myself, and here was one finding me instead! Then, I get the awesome message that my friend's little son has turned a corner for the better, and is doing so well that he will soon be transferred to a NICU closer to home. Since I will no doubt be visiting them there in the next few weeks I thought I'd send an email to the hospital... And within an hour I got the response that they have used Teddy Bear Tins and actually had been wanting to find me because they want more!<br /><br />I really strongly feel that this effort is just something that I have been blessed to be a part of, but that it really is not about anything I can do on my own. Even in those weeks before my son came when I was stressing about finding the time, I knew that all I could do was let it be and be open to what I'd need to do, and it would somehow work out. I was worried, but I knew that Teddy Bear Tins was about so much more than what I could do myself. And it is.<br /><br />I am just so happy to be a part of it. :)Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17479870638158808678noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6341599871333465241.post-76865057772149769972011-02-16T15:13:00.007-05:002011-02-16T20:27:45.563-05:00Oh it's you griefTwo weeks ago when I was stopping by at our old house on my way home from work, I discovered that a pipe had burst during an extended power outage in the recent snow storm.<br /><br />Some quick background - we bought our first home shortly after we got married in 2006. It was a cute 1950s farmhouse that needed some work, and we have been remodeling it ourselves since that time. About a year ago we unexpectedly found ourselves in the position of buying a new house (an abandoned foreclosure that was such a good deal we couldn't pass it up). So we've been working even harder since then to finish the remodel, and had 7 days prior finished touching up the little dots where we had filled wood filler over the nails after we installed the last of the trim. We were D.O.N.E! Four years of effort had resulted in a beautiful home that held lots of memories. The final inspection was literally set for the next Friday. And what perfect timing, as we were ready to move on to a life with just one home to worry about, and more time to focus on our little guy.<br /><br />So the feeling in my gut when I forced my way into the kitchen - couldn't open the door because the ceiling was now in the way - was upsetting, to say the least. Today the drying process has finally been completed, and we're left with a shell of a structure. Big fat START OVER.<br /><br />But the intent of this post is not to talk about this particular event. I bring it up instead because it puts some context to something I've been experiencing but couldn't quite find a way to describe.<br /><br />After that night walking into the house and discovering it destroyed, I now find that I pretty commonly get a bit nervous even when I'm walking into rooms in my new house. Or opening the garage door when I get home at night. We recently finished and painted the nursery (3 months late...), and I keep feeling like it's about to be ruined somehow. I think, based on what has happened, that people can probably relate to this or at least understand where I'm coming from.<br /><br />So it's with that in mind that I'd like to try to explain that I think it's sort of similar to what I often feel with Jack.<br /><br />Whenever someone talks about the future with Jack, I get uncomfortable. I feel nervous, like we shouldn't be talking about it. My husband says he can't wait until Jack is toddling around the house and causing mayhem, and how fun it will be to go on vacations to his family's farm. And when he says that I just want to change the subject because I'm irrationally afraid about thinking about the future. As if it's going to somehow be ruined, and therefore it's a lie for me to think like it will work out OK.<br /><br />I know that every parent worries about their child. But I can't help but think that some of this is because I have experienced very closely what it would be like to lose a child. In a very profound way, I know what a gift I hold in my arms every day.<br /><br />So, to summarize, I have been getting nervous, and feeling afraid, about everything from my house to my son. And I couldn't think of how to explain all this in a way that didn't make me sound like a loonie.<br /><br />Until I read a post written by a beautiful mama whom I found through the babylost network, in which she discusses lessons learned from C.S. Lewis' book <span style="font-style:italic;">A Grief Observed</span>. In it, he writes about a restless nervousness that makes grief feel like fear.<br /><br />And that's it! That is exactly what I feel! Only I hadn't put two and two together for myself that the root of this was my grief. I am grieving the loss of my house, and of course I am still grieving the loss of my nephew. Grief is what I have been feeling recently.<br /><br />Funny that sometimes when we are in the thick of things, we don't even realize we are...Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17479870638158808678noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6341599871333465241.post-84875105494981647922011-01-18T00:00:00.000-05:002011-01-17T22:14:48.994-05:002 Years...And we still miss you so much it hurts, but we love you even more Aiden. Happy Birthday little guy!<br /><br />Hugs, kisses, and so much love,<br />Auntie Meg, Uncle Jim, and new cousin Jack<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy48LgK5FymV903fqRAb-43e7G4wpXlkYMlba6y1YsfjANH_KZPAnnno5lbHYD0nexQgMbyL-4FrwTOwgjq8nYg7RwVyoCPvFnw9ofvFZ89mNq0A9TqeFSHB60gbOXppUfFIIJTmeeQd3R/s1600/100_8038.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy48LgK5FymV903fqRAb-43e7G4wpXlkYMlba6y1YsfjANH_KZPAnnno5lbHYD0nexQgMbyL-4FrwTOwgjq8nYg7RwVyoCPvFnw9ofvFZ89mNq0A9TqeFSHB60gbOXppUfFIIJTmeeQd3R/s320/100_8038.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563357071441730450" /></a>Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17479870638158808678noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6341599871333465241.post-56430457449680934992010-12-09T08:02:00.009-05:002011-01-17T22:21:30.354-05:00BittersweetWow.<br /><br />How life has changed in the last 6 weeks.<br /><br />Our little man is growing and changing, and each day I find myself trying to memorize every bit of him. I wonder if I would appreciate these moments any differently if it hadn't been for Aiden? Before Jack even arrived I think I understood in a special way how precious he is... how precious life is. I love this little man so much it's like my heart is breaking apart just so it can make itself bigger.<br /><br />And while I could go on for hours about how wonderfully sweet my life has become since Jack arrived, that's not my purpose here today. Today I want to try to capture in writing what I've been experiencing as a baby-loss Auntie following the birth of my son, and that story has both sweet and bitter parts.<br /><br />For what feels like a long time I had come to really enjoy the place that Aiden had settled into in our lives. There has been so much positive! Teddy Bear Tins has touched almost 100 families, and that's just the families that they have been donated to. I feel like the families who have volunteered have also found benefit. And beyond that there have been simple moments that have meant so much, like when friends learn of newly bereaved families and because of what I have experienced, they feel the need to learn and reach out themselves. Families are receiving support they might not have. Lives are being honored. My incredible nephew - he is the reason these things have happened. What a miracle and a blessing he has been.<br /><br />And that's where I have been able to find my peace.<br /><br />I had been afraid that there would be a moment when my son was born that I would suddenly be overcome with grief at finally understanding the connection that would be broken if your own daughter or son passed away. But much like the rest of my pregnancy, what I had envisioned was not what ended up happening.<br /><br />No, I don't truly understand what a parent goes through when they lose a child, what Aiden's parents experienced. Even though I am now a parent myself, and even though I experienced the loss of a child as an Auntie, it's different.<br /><br />So in a way I thought that I had made it safely past that emotional danger. But again I was wrong. And instead of a single moment of understanding and grief, what I've experienced instead is a slow sense of the bittersweet as the weeks have gone past. For the first time in so many months, not only does my heart ache for Aiden but my arms physically do again. And I find myself feeling angry, and cheated. I'm angry that Aiden's parents were robbed of the opportunities to memorize their son's little features as he sleeps all bundled up and safe at home. That they will never get to know what Aiden's face feels like against their neck when baby cries and scrunches up his cheeks and forehead, chin quivering in protest.<br /><br />I find myself unsatisfied with Aiden's place in our lives. It's just not enough to have to settle for a memory. And it's so frustrating, so unfair that my brother lost so much.<br /><br />The tears have started coming again in the nights as I listen to my son squeak and coo in his bassinet. I am so happy and appreciative of this new miracle in our lives. But as a babyloss Auntie, that happiness is not innocent of what has been lost. And as much as I wish it were different, I know this is the way it will always be. We'll never know what life would have been like if Jack and Aiden could have been here together. I'll never know the color of my nephew's eyes, or the sound of his cry. I'll never be able to erase the pain my brother and his fiancee have felt.<br /><br />So for right now, my equilibrium has been shaken again. Which I guess is to be expected when you experience a life-changing event. I'm not sure what things will look like when the pieces find their place again. But for now I can hope that they do find their place soon, and that I find the lessons to learn in the process.Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17479870638158808678noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6341599871333465241.post-51775190186725065202010-12-07T07:42:00.004-05:002010-12-07T08:00:53.980-05:00Miracle<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6S9pyoCbjaPKa85m94CH6ABoJ1RmOBE40hnEX2IoaX2JVKIb8-XviFpGCC-YQITqA0mUGaVnjS6i3SFMC-Im741Ey5G3KppNcMogdJcLSlGtesl3TVV3sSaUMCnAlQeyJFlGRFF2eSCh5/s1600/P1000199.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6S9pyoCbjaPKa85m94CH6ABoJ1RmOBE40hnEX2IoaX2JVKIb8-XviFpGCC-YQITqA0mUGaVnjS6i3SFMC-Im741Ey5G3KppNcMogdJcLSlGtesl3TVV3sSaUMCnAlQeyJFlGRFF2eSCh5/s320/P1000199.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5547920879034662130" /></a><br /><br />And in that breath, this little man stole my heart.<br /><br /><br />Jack Adam<br />My Son<br />Born 12:08 am, November 2nd<br />...1 year, 9 months, 2 weeks and 1 day after his guardian angel before him<br /><br />I have much to write, but need some more time to organize it all in my mind first. For now, our son is here, he is healthy, and our hearts are overwhelmed.Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17479870638158808678noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6341599871333465241.post-71397593745287079642010-10-16T10:24:00.006-04:002010-10-16T11:04:22.970-04:00Alternate EndingsI may be dating myself here, but does anyone remember those Goosebumps series books by RL Stine that were popular back in the 90s?<br /><br />I very clearly remember a summer vacation spent chilling out reading books to count toward my summer reading list, and there was this Goosebumps book that had pick-your-own endings. You'd start reading the story, then it'd come to a point where you had to choose a detail about the story, and that directed you to the next pages to read, until ultimately you had made your own ending. I was intrigued, and I'm pretty sure I tried every combination of choices until I had read every ending (I may be OCD...)<br /><br />Anyway, lately I can't get that memory out of my head... of me choosing and reading all these different possible endings to the story.<br /><br />Our baby is due to arrive in two weeks or less, and I'm definitely in that stage where I'm trying to picture how this is all going to end (or start, depending on how you look at it). I'm friends with a number of other ladies due around the same time, and I watch as they discuss everything that they are anticipating once their babies arrive. They've bought outfits, have arranged to have friends stop by and get pictures taken. They worry about whether their husband will remember to include the right strap covers with the new car seat, or if he'll forget and leave the boring tan stock covers on.<br /><br />And I feel like I'm stuck at the end of a page in that book, and I know there are two possible ways to continue, but for some reason I only see one of them no matter how hard I look. I can't find what page I'm supposed to go to in order to read what these ladies are talking about. That ending is just... missing for me.<br /><br />But the OTHER ending, that one I can almost recite without having to turn the page. I know every detail, if that is our ending, if our baby doesn't make it. The details of what leads to that being the ending aren't clear, but I know that I'd want pictures, and hand and foot prints, and I'd call friends to ask them to grab a blank Teddy Bear Tin from home for me to use, and that later I'd find a special person to paint it for us. And I'd want a funeral so family could see this child and remember him. I know what music I'd want at the service. I can picture the years after.<br /><br />This baby will be our first. So realistically I know that even if this alternate ending wasn't so easy for me to picture clearly, I'd really still not be able to predict what it will be like if baby does make it here safely. I guess it just feels disproportionate - I have trouble imagining the happy ending because there is an obvious reality to me on the other side which keeps my head out of the clouds.<br /><br />So what do I do with this? What do I do when my mind starts looping through this book with the alternate ending that I don't seem to be able to find?<br /><br />That answer is simple for me now...<br /><br />I just let go.<br /><br />Because there is absolutely no way for me to control what is going to happen. And there is absolutely no point in becoming frustrated with not being able to see the ending we really want. Because at the end of the day, there's a bigger picture that already exists that I'd be completely missing if I focused on the what-ifs.<br /><br />My son is already here with me. Literally with me. I feel him rolling around and hiccuping and kicking me. He is alive and here RIGHT NOW. And every moment with him, whether it's in my belly or outside, is just as precious. So my way of handling these last few weeks, when the tendency is to picture the scarier ending, is to take the lesson that I shouldn't let anticipation replace appreciation for what I already have.<br /><br />And just let everything else go.<br /><br /><3Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17479870638158808678noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6341599871333465241.post-77296719114771773902010-10-07T10:45:00.003-04:002010-10-07T11:02:53.038-04:00Two YearsMore often even than I've been asked by others how long we will grieve for Aiden, I've wondered for myself what each year will look like.<br /><br />So it is with that in mind that I relate especially to other families approaching certain milestones. In a few short months it will be two years for us, as it is currently for this <a href="http://onceamother.blogspot.com/2010/10/two-years-ago-today-in-flashbacks.html">special family</a>. I am keeping them close in my prayers this week, and ask if you would that you might think of them too. Kristin I hope that the happy memories with Peyton overshadow your sadness, as she was such a special girl!<br /><br /><3<br /><br /><br />Oh, and if you were wondering... my current view is that this grief changes, but it will never end and there is nothing "wrong" with that. In many ways it has made me who I am today, and to deny that would be to deny so much of the good that Aiden brought with him. So it's a part of me now, and will always be an important part of my story.Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17479870638158808678noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6341599871333465241.post-17726910177739599412010-09-10T14:39:00.008-04:002010-09-10T15:34:46.917-04:00Reflections of a Babyloss AuntieI've been debating about whether to post this post for so long that maybe the title would more appropriately be "Confessions" of a Babyloss Auntie...<br /><br />In the babyloss community, there is a special sensitivity to the fact that it can sometimes <em>hurt</em> when others have the chance to get what we or our families have lost. When someone gets the chance to have a little one of their own, alive and breathing. Even though we are so happy for them, truly happy, that happiness can make our hearts break just a little bit more as we watch what we never had. We tread lightly, hoping to let others get the joy and congratulations they deserve without falling to pieces.<br /><br />So what, then, do we feel when WE are the ones waiting on our own little baby?<br /><br />Yes, I'm pregnant. Very pregnant. 8 months. And until now I've been too afraid to say that here. I just felt like this is Aiden's place, this is a babyloss haven, and that this news would somehow harm that.<br /><br />But after a lot of thought (and possibly some tears), I've come to realize that it is not only appropriate but even important for me to let everyone know this news, because no corner of my pregnancy experience this last many months has not been touched by Aiden. He is so much a part of this.<br /><br />And I think the things that I have felt and the struggles I have carried are probably not just mine. Someone else, somewhere, is expecting a baby after a loved one has lost their own. Someone else struggles to respond when strangers ask, "Oh is this the first grandchild?" They too keep spreadsheets of home-doppler readings and kick counts and freak out anytime anything feels in any way different, and think that people who think that there is "only" a 2% risk of something bad happening are much too optimistic. Someone else covets ultrasound pictures like a psychotic hoarder, and is more than happy to pay out of pocket for 3d and 4d pictures and video of an unborn child because you just <em>never </em>know. Someone else spends 15 minutes preparing non-pregnancy topics of conversation before calling the father or mother of an angel, so that you don't feel like you are "rubbing it in their face." To that someone else - officially, you are not alone.<br /><br />So finally, this is why I have been unusually quiet here. I was never gone. And Aiden has never left my mind. In fact, he's been present more than ever, in ways I'd never predicted. If it weren't for Aiden I have no doubt that my husband and I would still be busy working on our carefully laid out plans, step by step, for how our lives were to progress. Instead, thanks to my incredible nephew, we've had the courage to recognize what is more important and to let go of those things that will never mean much of anything in the end anyway.<br /><br />I love you little guy, and miss you and pray for your parents every day. We can't wait to meet your new cousin, and hope that you'd pull whatever strings you can with the Big Cheese up there so that we might get to meet our son, even for a little while, before he is called back home.<br /><br /><3Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17479870638158808678noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6341599871333465241.post-23463386562293658832010-08-19T19:41:00.000-04:002010-08-18T20:08:09.941-04:00August 19th<a href="http://i776.photobucket.com/albums/yy44/smallbirdstudio/August%202010/dayofhopebutton.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 180px; height: 135px;" src="http://i776.photobucket.com/albums/yy44/smallbirdstudio/August%202010/dayofhopebutton.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />Won't you <a href="http://august19thdayofhope.blogspot.com/">join us</a> in remembering today?<br /><br />This effort really struck a chord with me, especially in the last few days. From the project website, the idea is that...<br /><br />"By having this special day once a year we get people speaking about pregnancy, infant and child loss. And by doing this we break those walls down so that people are <strong><em>not afraid to speak about these children anymore</em></strong>."<br /><br />Earlier this week I got the chance to spend over an hour chatting with my brother on the phone. He's halfway across the country in Denver, and I'm in a hotel room two time zones away on a business trip. It was nearly midnight for me, but I just didn't want the call to end. It was nothing especially unusual, no major topics of conversation, just general "hey how's it going? what have you been up to lately?"<br /><br />Except that at one point, Aiden became part of what we were talking about. I don't even remember what the topic was at the moment, but hearing my brother say Aiden's name literally made me catch my breath, and I realized just how much I <em>miss</em> hearing it. How much I wish I could talk about my nephew all the time, like I'd be "allowed" to if he were any 19-month old tugging on his dad's pant leg while he was on the phone, not a box of ashes sitting next to a candle and a picture.<br /><br />Me, the pushy this-is-the-way-I-want-things-to-be advocate for babyloss parents, had unknowingly allowed myself to be silenced for weeks. To have my nephew's place in my life quieted by the pressures of comfortable manners. And I hadn't even realized it.<br /><br />This is such a shame. The effect of the babyloss "taboo" on these families is so profound that I find it hard to explain to anyone who doesn't personally experience it. What makes it even harder is that no one purposely means to do this. It's not a matter of changing hearts, it's a matter of opening them, which I feel like is in many ways harder.<br /><br />Please support the Day of Hope effort. Please understand what it means. Because the simple gift of hearing my nephew's name was enough to put a few of the broken pieces back together for me that day, and I could wish nothing less for all of my babyloss friends and family.<br /><br /><3, MegMeghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17479870638158808678noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6341599871333465241.post-13248630742711751312010-07-13T09:25:00.003-04:002010-07-13T09:38:50.725-04:00Day of HopeA lady who leads an <a href="http://namesinthesand.blogspot.com/">effort</a> that I have followed since nearly the beginning of my grief journey is currently coordinating a memory box drive:<br /><br /><a href="http://august19thdayofhope.blogspot.com/">Day of Hope</a><br /><br />I've offered to provide Teddy Bear Tins to include in some of the boxes, and frankly I'm looking forward to the excuse to get my hands dirty and make up some more tins!<br /><br />Won't you join me? I'm looking for anyone willing to volunteer to paint tins, or if you'd like to provide any of the other <a href="http://august19thdayofhope.blogspot.com/2010/07/ideas-for-memory-boxes.html">suggested items</a> for the boxes that would be wonderful to!<br /><br />You can contact me <a href="http://teddybeartins.blogspot.com/2009/01/contact-info.html">here</a>. :)Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17479870638158808678noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6341599871333465241.post-49054858365064775702010-05-23T08:00:00.002-04:002010-05-23T08:19:07.076-04:00Loving this site<a href="http://grieveoutloud.org/resource-page/">Grieve Out Loud</a> is a resource site for bereaved parents and families that was just started in January of this year. I stumbled upon it by happenstance this morning, linked from another blog post that I was reading.<br /><br />Side note: For the sadness that binds it together, the babyloss online world is so wonderfully connected and supportive. Here I am 16 months since the start, still finding new resources through this community. What a lifeline.<br /><br />Anyway, there are two things in particular about this site that I'm loving at the moment:<br /><br />One is that it includes a Pen-Pal program for babyloss parents. What an awesome idea! Its description starts with, "This is no time to be alone." Sound familiar? ;-)<br /><br />And the other is that the site includes a rather comprehensive Resource List, including numerous remembrance sites! I'll have to update my link list below as I go through these. As a babyloss Auntie, there's really no time that I'm not trying to think of new and fun ideas to memorialize Aiden. Obviously Teddy Bear Tins is one way, and I also take pictures of landmarks with Aiden's name hidden in them during my many travels throughout the year. Names in the Sand, Say it with Flowers, and Angel Pics have also brought peace to us. Now I have at least a dozen more ways to celebrate Aiden's life.<br /><br />Just thought I would share. :)<br /><br /><3 to you today.Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17479870638158808678noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6341599871333465241.post-33909642711298613052010-05-09T08:23:00.001-04:002010-05-10T08:26:05.110-04:00Mother's DayAs Aiden's grandma so beautifully put it...<br /><br />"Happy Mother's Day to every woman who knows the joy of their children,<br />and the hope of their future children,<br />and who have in their hearts and memories their little angel babies."<br /><br /><3Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17479870638158808678noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6341599871333465241.post-77484464647734043902010-05-01T09:45:00.011-04:002010-05-03T18:22:24.272-04:00THIS is what I am aboutIt was by chance that my reading took me to <a href="http://curlsofred.blogspot.com/">this blog</a>, where the babyloss-mama author had published this watercolor:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaRFY5JePDiRN2s3QL6oEtV-WNNEDfWJBU-bL5mw6h8koO51dT-zGxeohGIh-509nr7Zp06tpu2hyphenhyphen_c_YYWJj-enKtk_FY9ezXRbPLgGv-avpIMMJpKd-t8f89ACL3KQXExlv6_lP_J-ss/s1600/2.27.10.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 153px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaRFY5JePDiRN2s3QL6oEtV-WNNEDfWJBU-bL5mw6h8koO51dT-zGxeohGIh-509nr7Zp06tpu2hyphenhyphen_c_YYWJj-enKtk_FY9ezXRbPLgGv-avpIMMJpKd-t8f89ACL3KQXExlv6_lP_J-ss/s400/2.27.10.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5467169613601200818" /></a><br /><br />Rachel, the artist, recently suffered the loss of her daughter Lyra at 30 weeks due to placental abruption. Through her blog she is expressing her grief through not only words but also through beautiful drawings, paintings and other artwork. Her message is profound.<br /><br />I've long struggled with how to explain to those outside the babyloss world just what exactly it is I'm trying to do here on my journey. And here, in a simple watercolor painting, I find the message so clearly.<br /><br />THIS is our world, the world of babyloss. You see the grief and the pain obviously, but there's that other theme: isolation. It's a theme that I've seen time and time again as I've met other babyloss families, always there, always haunting them. Truly it's as common a thread between us as the grief itself.<br /><br />Why is there isolation here?<br /><br />Yes, some of it is self-created. I remember several months after we lost Aiden that I found myself just not wanting to talk to anyone about it. I was too tired and I didn't want to bring it up because I felt I couldn't handle going any deeper than I had already fallen. But that to me seems normal in any grief, and it didn't account for the entirety of the isolation.<br /><br />There is more to it.<br /><br />As a society in general, we treat babyloss as taboo. It's too terrible, too traumatic for us to process. So we repress it. Think about it - someone posts on facebook that it is the 5-year anniversary of their father's death, and what do the responses look like? They're supportive, understanding, hugging arms and loving notes, memories voiced to bring a smile. Now change it up and let's say the post is instead about the 5-year anniversary of their baby's death. Wholllleee different can of worms here. What do you think you'd see? Maybe no responses, no one is comfortable enough to "go there." Maybe just a vague indication of support. Or worse, words of "advice" pointing to all the good things in life now that suggest you "move on."<br /><br />Over time I've come to understand for myself that by and large this double-standard is not the result of any harmful intentions. People just don't know what to say, or think it's most appropriate to stay out of what is "a private situation." Babyloss is simply too hard to handle.<br /><br />What they don't realize is that by reacting in that way, we are inflicting this sense of isolation on hurting families when they need support the most. Support not just at a funeral, or a few days later, but forever. Just like you would for someone who has lost an older family member.<br /><br />It should be just as OK to bring up memories of baby at a family Christmas gathering as it is to bring up memories of dear Aunt Jane. Otherwise, I feel we are contributing more to this isolation. Because parents are left dealing with a complex and lengthy list of rules that describe when it is and isn't OK for them to acknowledge their child.<br /><br />Sometimes in my openness about Aiden's death I make people uncomfortable. I know that. And I also really think I know why it makes them uncomfortable - it's because they think the way we are supposed to handle it is by keeping it quiet and private, because that's what we do as a society.<br /><br />But that's the exact reason why I am NOT closed about it. Because I feel so strongly that it's not only appropriate for that to change but that it NEEDS to change.<br /><br />These families need to know that they are not alone.<br /><br />And breaking this stigma doesn't need to be scary. It just seems scary when you don't know how to respond to someone who says they've lost a child.<br /><br />So I am here, to be open and to demonstrate what I know is possible. What I have learned as a babyloss-Auntie. That this isolation doesn't have to be there. I'm here to show through my actions that there are appropriate ways to respond and support babyloss families. To show that it is perfectly acceptable to live in a household where memories of a baby who died are shared happily and without the uncomfortable silence. Where anniversaries are given their due, and a life is openly respected and honored as the gift that it was. To end the unnecessary isolation that only makes grieving more difficult.<br /><br />THIS is what I am about.Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17479870638158808678noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6341599871333465241.post-22643469179026547802010-04-07T10:50:00.004-04:002010-04-07T11:00:42.193-04:00My WishThis last month has been an illustration of what I wish for all babyloss families.<br /><br />We went to work, went home, bought groceries, cleaned, had some nights out with friends, gave the puppies their baths, I worked on our taxes. All pretty routine things one might think.<br /><br />But what was different for us as we were doing these things, as we were living our lives, was that we found Aiden as a part of them, and it felt NORMAL. I can openly and freely say Aiden's name to my husband, and several close family members and friends. And he can be in a conversation. And there's not a taboo with it. He's just there. He's a part of us. He's a part of our lives. He is WITH us.<br /><br />Last year in the deepest parts of the sadness I often read about people finding their "new normal." While I could understand what they were saying I don't think I really truly related to what that meant until now. I had always envisioned the new normal being terrible, and just sad and painful. I hadn't thought of the good parts.<br /><br />Sure there is still sadness, and that loss and wondering what he would look like today, and how life would be different. But there is ALSO this happiness. This gladness that he WAS there, that he IS a part of our lives, and that nothing can ever take that away.<br /><br />Having Aiden as a part of my life has brought me a lot of peace recently, in ways I didn't even expect.<br /><br />And I truly do wish this on every babyloss mamma, and pappa, and grandma, grandpa, auntie, uncle, sister, brother, cousin, friend... Wishing you peace <3Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17479870638158808678noreply@blogger.com0