On November 26, 2017, at 38 weeks and 3 days, I felt Roman move inside my womb for what would be the last time. Every night around 11:00pm, Roman would get the hiccups and perform a circus routine, and that night was no different. So just like any other night, I fell asleep to the peaceful lull of his hiccups.
Read MoreNovember 27th, 2017 is a day that will forever remain etched on my mind and my heart and physically on my body. That was the day that we had to say goodbye to our third child Roman. In the 365 days since I have grieved, some days more than others. My grief remains even as I write these words. What an interesting emotion to experience. We all have experienced it at some point in our lives and at varying degrees. One of my favorite authors Joan Didion explains her grief after the sudden loss of her husband of four decades. She writes:
Read MoreShortly after we came home from the hospital, I was scrolling through the pictures that Ron had taken on his camera. This photo immediately stuck out to me. First, he captured the pure joy I was feeling in that moment of meeting my son Jackson for the first time. But secondly, it also reminded me of another picture Ron had captured just 10 months before.
Read MoreThis evening, Ron and I (okay, Ron, while I watched) raised the crib mattress up in preparation for Jackson's arrival. It might seem like a small act, but each little "to-do" that we knock off our list, is actually so weighty and feels like a step of faith. Because raising that crib up means that I expect to put a baby in it. What should be so certain in our minds, just isn't. So I feel so vulnerable when we act in ways of certainty. I want to believe that it's true, but in the same breath, my instinct is to "protect" myself, to guard my heart just a little. As if not preparing a crib could somehow lessen the blow of losing a child. I know this to be false, yet my mind still operates in this fashion, even if subconsciously. So we make conscious efforts to be "normal" during this pregnancy.
Read MoreToday I thought I'd blog about what it's like to be pregnant after a stillbirth. Of course, we are overjoyed and thrilled to be expecting again. Those are the parts that people see on social media, so you already know the joy that we are experiencing this pregnancy. But it doesn't mean that it is an easy journey to go through pregnancy again, so I thought I'd shed some light on our struggles these past 6 months.
Read MoreWriting is certainly a cathartic release, personally, I have kept a journal, and every now and then I'll write here and share my thoughts publicly.
Read MoreSweet Roman,
Today you would have been 6 months old. Instead, you have spent the past 6 months in Heaven. Today, Aly asked if you were growing in Heaven. I too wonder and dream about what you are doing and what it's like for you. All I know is that is better than anything we can ever dream of.
Read MoreToday Roman would have been 4 months old. I don't have any profound thoughts to share, but I just feel like writing today as I am so deep in my sadness. Most of the time, I like to blog when I have my thoughts somewhat together, but today I'll let you get a glimpse of a heavily grieving Mama...
Read MoreToday marks two months since we said goodbye to Roman. Here are just some scattered thoughts of mine...
Looking Back
One day, I went back and read my old blog posts about my pregnancy with Roman. I had nearly forgotten that in the very beginning we had a scare that we were going to miscarry with him. After the scare passed, I wrote my first blog post about him, and in it, I said this:
Roman,
Today you would have been one month old. One month without you here has felt like an eternity of unbearable pain and suffering. We think about you nearly every second of the day, constantly thinking about what you would be doing right now if you were here, thinking of the aspirations we had for you, but will never get to see come to fruition, mourning the loss of you. I wish I could see your eyes, I'm sure they were brown like your brother and sister.
Read MoreI never imagined that we would have to bury a child before the age of 30. I would have never imagined that we could be strong enough to make it through something like the loss of a child. Yet somehow we have. Hour by hour, day by day, we are making it. The days have now turned into weeks, as time cruelly goes on, as if nothing happened.
I know these blog posts are hard to read--they're hard to write too.
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