Tag Archives: Still Mothers

The Day Everything Changed.

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It was a Monday.

The weather was surprisingly nice being in April, but I felt off. Being thirty-eight weeks pregnant takes a toll on a person, yet this was a different feeling. I couldn’t quite tell what was wrong, but my body was telling me I needed to lay down. So Poe and I laid on the couch while Anthony left. I remember Poe laying super close to my belly and me talking to Jensen. A little part of me was wondering why he wasn’t moving as much as he normally did in the mornings. I kept pushing it out of my mind since I’d be going to the doctor at one.

On the ride to our appointment, I remember saying I thought something was wrong.

‘What would we do if he was still?’

Honestly, I thought it was just me worrying. Now when I look back, I think I knew. Anthony told me not to worry, Jensen is just fine.

He still hadn’t moved when we were in the waiting room. I was talking to him and remember walking into the bathroom three times while waiting. Finally we were taken back to the room, it felt like another appointment. She had me lay down on the table and put the jelly on my belly. I distinctly remember making a joke that there wasn’t much room left in there. She nervously chuckled and told me she’d be back.

I was worried at that moment, but everything was going to be alright. He was moving and passed his ultrasound less than five days ago. My comforting thoughts calmed the worrisome ones until my doctor came in.

It didn’t take him anytime at all to see that Jensen’s heart had stopped beating.

‘I’m sorry there’s no heartbeat. Do you understand what I’m saying?’ 

The world has come crashing down around me. I understood exactly what he was saying, but I didn’t know what happened next. He was talking, but I couldn’t hear any sound coming out. Just that we needed to go to the hospital to double-check and they would let me know what to do there.

When we walked out of that room, I felt Jensen’s weight just hanging there. I felt numb and in shock. As soon as I sat in the car, I cried and just kept saying the doctor was wrong. That they would tell me this was all a joke when we got there. After gaining somewhat of a composure, I called my mom. I needed her there with me. I don’t know what ran through her mind when I told her Jensen was gone. He doesn’t have a heartbeat. But she was there at the hospital way sooner than she typically drives.

At the hospital, they ushered me into a room I never been in before. They had the portable ultrasound in my room, three times, just to make sure. Each time I had my hopes up that his heart would start back up again. That I would see my boy’s heart flickering as it normally did.

It didn’t feel real.

When my mom got in there and they explained everything to her, I knew by her face that this wasn’t some sort of elaborate prank. The heaviness of the day crashed down on me. My blood pressure, which had been perfect before finding out, skyrocketed. I could only see huge black dots and my arms were numb. Everyone was quiet and giving me options at the same time. This isn’t what I had read in the baby books and it’s definitely not a situation they warned me about in baby class.

I don’t remember breathing, seeing, or feeling anything until they told me I needed to go back to the delivery room. Before I blacked out, the decision was made that I would be induced that night to deliver him when he came. I begged for a c-section. I was adamant on not seeing Jensen. I couldn’t believe that death had stolen the one person who meant more than anything to me. My mind couldn’t wrap itself around seeing him born lifeless. Yet, I still had to walk to my room.

At that time I needed to be alone, so I walked ahead with my nurse. I can remember taking a deep breath then. The next time I walked those halls, I wouldn’t be taking Jensen home with me. He’d be left there and it hurt.

She told me she was going to ask uncomfortable questions, but they had to be answered. I just kept nodding my head. It had to be done. I can remember her asking me about where his funeral was going to be, who could pick up his body, what his name on the death certificate would be, who I wanted in the room, if and when I wanted an epidural, and the most important at that time, if she could write his name on the white board. It was information overload all at once. I literally was going through the motions and my parents had to answer most of her questions.

I’ll never forget the room I gave birth to my son in. The bed was on the left side and the couch in the back left corner pulled out to a full bed. A bathroom was located in the back right and along that wall had the TV and whiteboard where she wrote Jensen’s name. To the right of the bed the hospital brought in snacks for the family. I thought it was ridiculous at that time. They ate and read the pamphlets about losing a grandchild. When I got my bag, I remember telling them to get it away from me.

Deep down inside me, I still thought there was hope. I thought somehow through labor and birth he would jolt back. That death didn’t creep inside me and take my son.

They decided to induce me at eleven at night. The doctor and nurse told me I would probably have him the next evening or longer. I was scared and I thought I had time. Not that you can ever prepare for a silent birth. Everyone kept telling me to try to sleep. That I would need my energy for the next day. They dimmed the lights and played Game of Thrones for me.

I’m not sure exactly what time it was, but my parents had gone home to take care of their dogs. Anthony had been sleeping and I was awaken by strong contractions. My whole stomach felt like it was violently vibrating and clenching all at one. So I went to the bathroom to scream, cry, and try to keep breathing. I called my mom to tell her she needed to get back to the hospital. For some reason, I felt like he was going to come a lot sooner than twenty-four hours. The nurses must have heard me or Anthony went and got them. They frantically knocked on the bathroom door and I told them I was in pain.

When I was checked in to my room I was only one centimeter dilated. Only a few hours after I was induced, I was fully dilated and contracting every one to two minutes.

Somehow my mom and dad got to the hospital just in time. It felt like as soon as they came in, Jensen was right there. The nurses kept telling me and my mom that it couldn’t be time yet. It hasn’t been that long at all for her first birth. But I felt him, he was right there and I kept telling my mom. After she yelled at them to check, I was right.

‘He has a head full of blond hair.’

Within a few hard pushes, he was born. My hopes that he would somehow come back to life were gone. I can remember them calling out his time of birth, 4:25. Then nervously I asked if he had ten fingers and toes.

I wanted nothing more to wake up from that nightmare. The nurses kept telling me how good I did. That I should be proud of myself for the ‘easy’ birth I had. But my son… he was gone and was never coming back.

Nothing in the world could ever make that right again.

Tomorrow, at 4:25am, Jensen turns one.

I’m planning on sharing something extremely personal with you all. Although I’m still questioning myself with it, I know you all will be here to support Jensen and I’s journey. Thank you all for reading my story once again. It is so healing to be able to share.

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The Love Letter I Never Read Out Loud to My Son.

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April 1, 2016

Jensen,

After months of waiting, I’m finally going to meet you in sixteen days (supposedly). I wish I could explain to you all my emotions, but I think you will have to feel them for yourself one day. Even though I haven’t met you, just yet, I already know I’ll love you more than anything.

At this moment, I’m sitting at your grandparent’s house, feeling you move in my belly, and watching Finnick be a bad boy. I wanted to write to you just to say how much I love you already. I’m scared I won’t be a good enough mom to you , but I know you’ll help me learn to be the best I can be.

Right now, in my life, I’m twenty-two years old. Last May I graduated college and want to go back to be a teacher. Mostly because it would give\allow me the most time with you. Our house is still under construction, I’m hoping it will be done before your arrival. Your dad and I love each other very much and are always talking about you. Your nursery is almost done and I wish\hope you grow up and love your room as much as I do.

I wish I had more exciting stories to tell you that has happened in the past few months. But I’m trying to stay nice and healthy just for you! I make sure to read the Bible or a children’s book to you everyday. I hope you love to read and write as much as your dad and I do.

Jensen, if I could let you know anything or want you to remember one thing it is: no matter what you do or want to do in your life, I will support you. Growing up is so hard and you will make mistakes. Just know I have made mistakes too and understand. There is nothing you can do for me to stop loving and supporting you. I know your dad feels the same.

I am so excited to finally be able to hold you and kiss your face. I want to see you grow and become the best, little boy you can. I can’t wait to hear you laugh and see you smile. I know you’ll break my heart a few times, but you’ve already made up for it by just being in my life. I can’t wait for you to come home from school and tell me all about your day. I want to know all your likes and dislikes. I can’t wait to travel with you and show you what the world holds. I want you to realize how much everyone cares about you and how much you care right back. I know you have been made with love and care. I am so excited you are my son.

No matter what, I will always be on your side, encouraging, comforting, and loving you. In sixteen days I’ll meet my favorite person and start the best part of my life. And I cannot wait.

I love you very much!

Your Mommy

Remembering the Last Time I Saw My Son Alive.

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It was an early morning, like all my other Thursday scans. My mom and Jensen’s dad had to work, so I had to get Jensen and I to the hospital before ten. Which might not seem like a huge feat, but, remember, he wouldn’t let me eat before ten; even at thirty-seven weeks pregnant. The doctors wanted me to eat before the scans though. Thankfully I quickly found out Jensen had a thing for McDonald’s breakfast. He’d allow orange juice, an egg and cheese bagel, and a hash brown on our early mornings. This morning wasn’t any different.

While eating breakfast and driving to the hospital, he kicked and danced around to Usher. He absolutely loved listening to his songs. Of course I sung to him and was engrossed in our mommy and Jensen time. Smiles and laughs came so freely then. Those were my favorite moments in my life.

The appointment seemed really ordinary. I was noticeably the most pregnant person waiting to go back for the scan. Walking at that point to the wind right out of me, so sitting there waiting was a relief. All the moms in the waiting area talked and shared about their pregnancies. I swear Jensen kicked every time he heard his name. I felt so normal. I took it for granted. My whole life felt like it was falling into place and I was perfectly happy. It just only crossed my mind that it was the last time I talked to people, outside my family and friends about Jensen and motherhood before he was gone.

Our conversation ended when the technician called out my name. I had never had him before, but I saw my bulky folder. Twice a week appointments call for a lot of papers. It took me a minute or two to finally stand, but I made my way towards him. He sprinted walked a whole lot faster to the room than I could waddle, but eventually I got there.

Everything was already set up and he didn’t even warm the ultrasound goo before it went on my belly. I can remember trying to joke with him, but he was trying to get the scan done quickly. All the images were really choppy because of how fast he was moving the wand. The screen showed Jensen moving his hands to his mouth and moving his legs all around. His heart was beating strongly at 132 bpm. He was practicing his breathing and I remember seeing his nose. In all, it last about ten minutes; which was quick considering the past few weeks college students had been observing scans. But he said Jensen looked perfect and didn’t seem at all concerned.

‘You have no worries.’

I’ll never forget him looking right at me and saying that. All my worries went away when I exhaled. My baby was perfectly fine and obviously I had ‘no worries.’

Then I began my trek back to the car. My hands literally had to cradle my belly to carry his weight. Jensen seemed to have gained a pound a day. Well that’s what it felt like in those last weeks. I remember just holding him and humming. When I got out to the parking garage, I felt like he had dropped even lower. I rubbed where I knew he was laying and I whispered as I walked an assuring statement to him.

‘The next time we’re in this hospital, you’ll be born.’

For some reason, I was SO sure he was coming in that next week. I wasn’t being induced or anything like that, but I felt it in my bones. He seemed to be okay with this statement because he nudged me in a way I hadn’t felt before.

I knew my life was going to be forever changed… just not in the way it did.

This day last year was the last time I ever saw my son alive. It’s the beginning of the five days that constantly replay in my head. I’ve talked about flashbacks and reliving the moments before, but on the big, grief days they play out so much more vividly. I can attest, they hurt. Those moments of seeing him move and watching him do everything that he was supposed to do made me so proud.

Being told he was going to be just fine pushed out any bad thoughts I may have had. I was in a blissful state anyways, but it just made me float higher. When I look back and realize how quick the scan actually was, I wish he would have taken more time out for me. Would he have caught something that was wrong? Was there something there that he missed

How does a baby who passed all the tests die in four short days?

The other haunting part of this day was me knowing he’d be born soon. Why couldn’t I have just been induced right then and there? If I had a feeling he’d be coming soon, why didn’t I just go to the hospital? No one knows the answer to what would have happened if one thing had been different. There’s a huge possibility that even if he was taken out early, he still would have died.

It hurts and my brain is still trying to figure out what went wrong.

Until Wednesday, I’ll be writing a lot. There are raw emotions coming to the surface that I need to sort through. All of your support through this year has been amazing. Thank you for bearing with me and allowing me to talk about Jensen and facing (again) the worst moments of my life.

The Do’s and Don’ts of Supporting Loss Parents During Important Grief Dates.

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Jensen is turning one in eight days.

This is how I always pictured Jensen and I near his birthday…

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Encouraging him to keep putting one foot in front of the other. I never imagined he’d be teaching me how to do the same.

How time passed so quickly completely eludes me. It feels like just yesterday I saw him dancing across the ultrasound screen just five days before. In another sense, it feels like forever since I’ve been able to catch my breath. From the moment I found out his heart had stopped beating to this one right now, and all the moments for the rest of my life, I will never fully grasp that this is my reality. That I will forever be physically without Jensen. The fact that I have to face his big day is overwhelming.

but…

With almost a full year of grief under my belt, I have an understanding of what I need during these huge grief and trigger days. This list is compiled from what has helped me and my support group during the last year. It hasn’t been an easy process to find out what worked and what didn’t, but I am so thankful for my support circle that have been so willing to learn and swim through the waves with me. Although I can’t speak for every loss parent, these do’s and don’ts are with the bereaved hearts and their support in mind.

Do…

Offer support/ask how you can help.

Honestly, this one is a little tricky. Most of the time I don’t know what I want or need in terms of support. It’s frustrating because I know there has to be something. Whether that be someone to listen to me or to sit with, to actually helping with events or plans concerning that day. Big grief days are exhausting. On top of not knowing, (for me) reaching out seems difficult because I’m exhausted and deep down, I know this is the only way I can mother Jensen.

A big thing I’m going through with his birthday party is telling people I have everything planned. In my mind, that’s true. As of today, there is a lot I need help with and my family and friends have asked and I said no. Deep down though, I know those people want to help me and will if I ask. Like I said, this is in my experience, planning his birthday is how I’m able to parent Jensen and heal my heart.

Even if there isn’t any way you can help, just by asking if a person needs support or help, they know you’re there for them. You’ve opened up a doorway that will positively impact that next moment and interaction.

Listen to their stories, feelings, and emotions.

Even if it’s the same story you’ve heard a thousand times, this is all we have. It could be about the first kick or their birth story. Of course there’s sadness, confusion, and anger towards loss. On the other hand, there is so much beauty in their son or daughter’s life. Their lives, although short, were full of love and happiness. For most of us, having them grow and finding out we were parents was the best time of our lives.

This is another form of support. To me, it’s so important to be able to share Jensen’s story. and not just his death. In fact, his birthday will be a celebration of his life. There will be cake, laughter, and his lifetime of memories. Now, I’m not going to lie to you all, the day before will be a day of mourning. On each day, I hope and know that my support circle will be there to listen to it all.

Say their child’s name.

Always. Even if you’re miles away, write their child’s name down and send them a picture of it. This seems way simpler than the others, but it means the entire world to a loss parent. It lets us know that our child is not being forgotten. For me, it is one of the greatest gifts anyone can give.

Embrace their child(ren)’s life and memory.

Sort of like some of the previous ones, but it goes a little deeper. When you’re listening to their stories about being pregnant or other memories they have, tell them something you remember. Maybe it was the day they told you they were going to be parents or a memory you have of feeling the baby move. Don’t be shy to bring these moments up. We haven’t forgotten.

Also, if there’s something they want you to do, try your best to do it. Usually it won’t be anything too huge, but something like lighting a candle on their hard days. Do a random act of kindness in their child’s name. This embraces and keeps their memory alive.

Don’t…

Be afraid to ask questions.

This can be different for everyone depending on where they are in their journeys. It is hard to talk about certain parts, for both parties. But, if you want to see pictures of their child or know what time they were born, just ask. Don’t be afraid to ask about those memories. I know for a lot of moms (sorry dads) facts and moments are constantly playing through their minds. It helps get the information out and, again, it helps to know you want to be there to support us even through the messy part.

Personally, I’ve always been one to tell people to ask me questions. I would rather them know from me and the truth about it all. Like I said though, this is completely different for other loss parents.

Get angry if the plans for the day change.

If you get a text a few hours before you’re supposed to meet up for a lunch or self-care day on one of these grief days, don’t be mad. No one really knows how they’re going to be until the day comes. It could be they woke up that morning and the waves are crashing down. This isn’t anything personal against you, this is a way they’re helping their heart.

Downplay their pain, even when it makes you feel uncomfortable.

Grief and loss hurt like hell. There hasn’t been a moment of comfort I’ve had since April 4, 2016. Believe me, I know it’s hard to hear your loved one is hurting, but that’s why they’re talking about their grief. Please, please, please don’t downplay or cut someone off. They’re talking to you about the hardest and most tragic event that they will ever go through in their life. Opening up to another person about these raw feelings is extremely brave for a person to do. It is terrifying to start talking about emotional times to only be told that what their feeling isn’t really that intense.

We live in a society who do not really know how to grieve. I’m thankful that not every person in the world knows what it’s like to lose a child. But I am telling you, that releasing these emotions to the outside world is so healing. Yes, it’s uncomfortable. Imagine how that would be like every day.

Tell them that it’s time to stop grieving OR any hurtful comments.

Just please don’t do it.

Owning This Past Year of Motherhood.

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“What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done?”

With trying to meet new people I hear this question a lot. Most of the time I answer with studying abroad and traveling all by myself. Or buying a house and completely redoing it. Both have been pretty crazy for me to do. Traveling alone has taught me so much about myself and how I handle being lost in a completely different culture. My house, on the other hand, has taught me patience. With ripping from the ceiling to the floor down, then building it all back together taught me patience. Just these two experiences are life changing. They bring about crazy emotions and you do unexpected things you hadn’t planned on before.

This is a sufficient answer. Most people can relate and agree that they’re ‘crazy’ experiences a person can go through. But it wasn’t until the last time someone asked me that I realized I was completely lying each time I answered them. Every time those answers cross my lips, I know I’ve been through something ‘crazier.’ They’re just answers that make me feel like pre-loss, ‘normal’ Danielle.

I should probably clear this up here. Whenever I meet someone new, I’ll let them know about Jensen. But I’m very protective over him. I don’t just throw this whole grief journey at someone, that wouldn’t be fair at all. For the simplicity of conversation though, my go to answers are those two…

Until the last time I answered the question.

As soon as I said my normal response, I blurted out, ‘I just lied to you.’ Which I did. Those aren’t the craziest things I had ever done in my life. The whole last year of having Jensen safe with me for the month of March, the earth-shattering loss of him in April, and then this grief that will stay with me for the rest of my life just flooded my body. I felt like I was going to turn into a puddle and be soaked up by the earth.

Of course while all of that was happening inside of my head, they stood their, quizzically looking at me. I don’t know if they knew what was coming out of them, but I know they could feel my anxiety.

Then I just said it, the truth. The craziest thing I have ever done in my life was knowing I had to give birth to my son that had already passed, then leave him at the hospital while I was realized home. It was the next day when I had to go to the funeral home and plan what I wanted done with his little boy that I had grown and protected for thirty-eight weeks and two days. It was seeing his tiny, blue urn and its flickering flame on the table as the pastor prayed over his soul. Then it’s been every single day of living without him. I wake up each morning and wonder when this is madness is going to finally end.

This past year has been the craziest journey of my life.

From now on, I’m not going to lie when asked this question. I’m going to own this year, Jensen’s first year. My first year of motherhood.

I recognize the good and the bad in every aspect of this grief journey. Each month I go back through and see what challenges I’ve faced and even write down what made me smile. This month isn’t even over yet and I’m telling you it has been the hardest one I’ve faced. The lead up to Christmas and the New Year for me was rough, but nothing compared to this. His upcoming birthday is on my mind every second of the day. It’s the last time I felt him. It’ll be the last time I can say my son was alive last year. I don’t want to forget his weight in my stomach or how it felt when he would get comfortable.

I just wish I could go back.


Today marks fifty whole weeks since Jensen has been gone, but it also marks a special day: World Down Syndrome Day. In honor of today, Jensen bear and I have our crazy socks on and have been thinking of all what Down syndrome meant to me during Jensen’s diagnosis. I met so many amazing mothers and their children that didn’t make me afraid of what I thought my future was going to hold.

 

The Eclectic Pineapple.

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Fun fact, when I was pregnant I thought Jensen would grow up to be someone who builds and plans houses. Mostly because the majority of my pregnancy I was working getting my house completely done before he arrived. Each time I would use the hammer or paint, I could feel his kicks going in motion with the hammer and him stretching when I painted the wall.

Another fun fact, I bought my house only three months before I found out I was pregnant with Jensen. What I thought was going to be a home just for me, turned out to be a home for a small family. Originally Jensen’s room was going to be a guest bedroom that I had all planned out. Instead it became a blue and orange boys room that I absolutely love. His room is the only room in my entire house that has bright colors in it. The rest is very neutral with black, grey, and wood. No matter the room, I loved to decorate and make it feel comfy.

Even with everything that happened, his room is still my favorite to get decorations and furniture for. Besides that pesky futon…BUT I’m constantly on the search for buying things that make my home even more cozy for Jensen and I.

One day, while I was scrolling through social media, I saw these beautiful, bright, watercolor ultrasounds by The Eclectic Pineapple. The babies face profile was perfectly drawn and the pink background was spot on. Something that really stuck out to me was this print was done for one of my loss mom friends. She wrote how comforting and reassuring the shop owners, Abigail and Lana, were to her. In my mind, I knew if she felt comfortable sharing her daughter with them, I would feel comfortable sharing Jensen. I instantly knew I needed one for my home. It would be a fun way I could display one of his ultrasounds in one of his colors.

Of course I contacted them… and admittedly creeped on their Instagram and Facebook page.

I shared Jensen’s story with them and they were exactly how my friend described them. They treated Jensen’s ultrasound with respect and asked about him and me. Although I loved the profile ultrasounds they had done, the ultrasound that was calling out to be drawn is the one on top of this blog, and every blog. To top it off, I asked for the one watercolor they hadn’t done before: orange. Of course it would be me and Jensen to go against the flow right?

They assured me it would come out amazing and then started working hard on his print. When I got the message it was being mailed out to me, I was SO giddy. I had hoped and prayed it would be done before Jensen’s birthday so I could have it for his party.

Each day I went to the post office to check for it and Thursday it arrived. When I got in the car, I ripped it open and marveled with how they captured him in his ultrasound. I wanted to share it the moment I opened it with you all, but I knew I had to wait to frame it. In my mind, I thought of how perfectly it would go with a frame I saw at the store the other day. I went, bought it, and framed it as soon as I got home.

It’s even more perfect than I imagined…

I absolutely love how it’s him. His little, button nose is highlighted and honestly, those cheeks. One day when I share Jensen’s picture with you guys, you will fall in love with his cheeks. The bright orange is breathtaking and the detail in his face is exactly how it is in his ultrasound. Then the silver of his name just puts it over the top and makes it feel so personal. Honestly, I just love how it looks and it is perfect in his room. Jensen would love seeing himself like this.

The Eclectic Pineapple‘s shop has these watercolor prints and ultrasound canvases that are as breathtaking as Jensen’s. At this time, the girls are on vacation and so is their shop. I’m sure they’ll have their shop open soon, but their Instagram and Facebook page has a lot of their work and you can really tell how much care they put into all of their work. Thank you Lana and Abigail for Jensen’s beautiful watercolor, ultrasound print. I will forever cherish it in my heart and home.

How Guilt Can Manifest Over One Year.

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It was like any other typical appointment.

Of course at this time, I was going in twice a week for ultrasounds. During these appointments they monitored his movements and made sure he was practicing his breathing. I remember watching his heart rate, usually 132 beats per minute. Jensen would dance and wiggle around, letting me see his profile and front of his face. Usually he passed within five minutes. Sometimes it took him ten and a little coaxing from his mama. Every time he got a 100% and the doctor would tell me how good was doing. But this time was a little different.

Jensen had made big movements and his heart rate was great, but he didn’t practice his breathing. He had hiccups instead. So they couldn’t technically pass him on. I remember being tired from the baby shower and organizing the presents. He had moved all weekend and I made sure to put my feet up every night to relax. With all my protesting with seeing Jensen like he always had been, they still sent us for a Non-Stress Test or NST for short.

I had never had an NST before and I was angry. Honestly, I didn’t think Jensen was in danger and he had passed everything else. It was nice outside and I wanted to have a picnic and take bump pictures. Instead we went to the hospital into triage for them to hook me up. Not only did they hook my belly up to monitors, they tested my fluids and checked my blood pressure. The whole entire time I was pregnant my blood pressure was perfect except two times. This was one of them.

Like I said above, I was not especially happy about going to the hospital. It spiked my blood pressure and I, not Jensen, had to have extra monitoring.

NST ‘bump’ picture.

His heartbeat was monitored and the beeping calmed me. I saw every time he made a movement and he did end up practicing his breathing. When the resident doctor came in, I asked him questions about the Panorama test and asked about babies with Down syndrome. He ended up getting ultrasounds of Jensen that were taken at the hospital and looked them over with me. I got to show my baby off to another person, which made me smile. He kept telling me not to worry about Jensen. That he looked perfect and he’s passed all his tests but this last one and that I shouldn’t have even got sent to triage anyways. It made me feel better, which lowered my blood pressure.

In all, that day, we were there for around four hours. It was a long one, but I felt reassured because I knew the both of us were great.

I was so exhausted that night. When we went back, I remember thinking about the next few weeks. Jensen was due on April 17. My doctor wanted me to be induced at thirty-seven weeks and I though he was trying to scare me with the NST to be able to get induced then. I was adamant that Jensen would come whenever he needed to. “He’ll come when he’s ready,” I would tell the doctor. There wasn’t any reason to take him out early…

Today I woke up and remembered that appointment and the thoughts I had after it was all done. It stung. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I would have just complied and been induced at thirty-seven weeks. My mind told me after he was born that he would have lived if I would have just listened, but my stubbornness killed him. Those thoughts haunted me in those early weeks. Honestly, they subsided, until I woke up and theese flashbacks came.

Guilt.

It’s the one thing I’ve been afraid of with his birthday coming up. Would the memories and flashback show me something I missed? Something that would have saved him? If I would have just been scared enough and let them induce me, would he still be alive? Instead of writing this now, would I be chasing him around the house?

Let me tell you, these thoughts crush my chest and take my breath. I would have and would do anything to have saved him, to have him right here with me.

I hate feeling like I failed him.

What It Feels Like Not to ‘Claim’ My Son.

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There hasn’t been a moment during this loss journey where I haven’t claimed Jensen. When the moment is right during certain conversations, I talk about him. I would never force conversation on a person, but if there’s a chance, I seize it. Some part of me knows that it probably makes others uncomfortable. He’s my son, so I don’t find it weird or strange to talk about. I’ve had strangers and students I sub ask if I have any kids or remark about my Jensen tattoos and ask. Each time, I beam with pride while I show him off.

That’s the way I wanted it to be when I was pregnant and it’s not going to change because he died.

But, life screws everything up.

Here’s another secret for you all… I’ve been dreading getting my taxes done. 2016 was a roller coaster ride that I’m okay being done with now. Yes, it’ll always be Jensen’s year, but I’ve finally found peace with it being over. Too bad I have to comply with the government to not go to jail over this ‘tax’ matter. (Please read that with sarcasm, I’ve always done my taxes and I think I’m a pretty good citizen). Well, technically, I called because my mom put the number in my phone and pressed send…

Long phone call short, I gave her my name and got a date for an appointment, then she started asking the typical questions you need for your taxes. I knew it was coming and I knew the answer I had to give.

“And do you have any kids?”

The question vibrated in my ears and throughout my body. I swear it felt like a five-minute pause before the biggest betrayal tore past my teeth.

“No.” Not in the eyes of the government for me to claim him. 

I can’t claim the baby I grew in my belly for thirty-eight weeks and two days. The baby that was loved and nurtured for his whole life. Who had a name and a birthday. The one that I labored and birthed, knowing what the future held. My whole pregnancy and his life cannot be claimed. Which is the reason why I never got a birth certificate for Jensen and the reason when they ask if I have kids, I have to say no. His life is just a blink to them. They don’t understand how hard it is to lie to the tax people when you say you don’t have any children.

Obviously, I could tell them I have a son, but he was stillborn. Then I would have to hear he doesn’t count and that’s not true. He counts to me and to so many other people. The fact is, I don’t want the money you get for having a child or whatever. I want the satisfaction of the government opening its eyes to the fact stillbirth happens. That these children are real and they matter. That this 1 in 160 statistic in the United States is absolutely too high and unless there is conversation about this, it will stay right there.

Some might think I’m being dramatic here, but it is as simple as ‘claiming’ my son on my taxes. Just as it’s simple as giving him a birth certificate. It’s breaking the silence and letting people know I gave birth to this child. It shouldn’t matter if he had passed, I’m still a mom and he’s still my son. We should be recognized for that from the government.

Jensen counts. I’ll always claim him. That lie I told the tax lady felt like a huge injustice to his memory and everything I stand for.

I know she heard that silence and my resistance to answer. Who wouldn’t? When I hung up and went back home, I cried… and then cried some more. I kept telling Jensen I was sorry. That he’ll always be my son, but with things like this I’m not allowed to claim you. I have to follow their rules, but I want to change them. One day, I hope a bereaved mom will be able to confidently say how many children she has. She’ll be able to tell them that her child has passed, but they still count and the other person will agree.

Because our babies do count and they always will.

After everything that happened last night, the ways of the world offered me a way to put Jensen’s name back out there. When my therapy was done, I went to Lowe’s to get some more sawtooth hangers for the Etsy shop. (Which thank you all for your support with it!). While checking out, the cashier asked me if I’d like to make a donation for a child to go to summer camp. Of course I said yes and I got this four leaf clover to write the donor’s name on…

I know one little boy who would have loved to help others out.

Happy forty-eight weeks in heaven, Jensen. Your impact on the world is noticed and you matter. I can’t imagine never having you here with me. There isn’t a moment where I’m not thinking of you. I miss you. I love you.

The Reason I Keep Going When I Know It’s “Not Going to Get Better.”

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This was Jensen one year ago today.

I was getting ready for my baby shower and asked the ultrasound technician to try to get as many pictures of him as she could. Jensen was posing on this day. He let her take pictures of his face, after he played hard to get and covered it with his hand. She kept trying to trick him so she could get a profile shot, but he wouldn’t cooperate.

That doesn’t sound like he was like me at all.

In a really nice, motherly voice I asked Jensen to please let mommy see the side of his face so all his family could see when they came to celebrate him. Within five seconds he rolled and let her take that picture. Then another one and another one. He stroked his hand on his chin and put his fingers in his mouth. I saw my son, so lively and with so much personality.

I’ll never forget this day. 

He was alive and growing perfectly. I was happy. Life was good.

I knew that in the next two months my life would be forever changed, but had no idea it would in the way it did. There was no sign he was going to be born silently. Jensen hit all his milestones and was monitored twice a week. All these precautions and the worst still happened. The doctors and books I read never prepared me for this type of motherhood. I was thrust into this dark and isolating world where babies die and moms had to live without them.

Somehow death stole my son and I’m never going to stop feeling that pain. I had thirty-eight weeks and two days with Jensen. This might sound like a short amount of time, but this was Jensen’s forever. It was my son’s whole life. That fact doesn’t get easier with each day that passes. There’s not a cure-all or replacement for a baby dying, nor will there ever be. It’s the reasons why I’ll never be move on from my son or this grief journey.

I’ll never have my Jensen back.

Death will have always entered my body and not have taken me.

The memory of that silent delivery room will not fade away.

I can’t forget feeling the painful emptiness that took over my stomach in the days following his birth.

My physical body may have healed, but inside will always feel like a fresh wound.

Time doesn’t solve these problems.

I know that. I’m not okay with the fact and I don’t want to accept any of this, but I’m here living this life. There are times I want to quit. Just clock out forever because what makes me so special to live and Jensen not? On average, I ask myself that around 50 times a day and my answer is always the same.

You can’t quit on Jensen. You can’t let him see you fail. You have to take the steps he’s never going to take. You are his mom. You feel so very deeply because you loved him so much. You have to keep going. 

The eleventh month mark is in just a few short days. I don’t know what this last month of the year is going to hold for me. It’s been an intense lead up to this point of time and I’m guessing it’s not going to be the best month.

There is a lot going on in my head. The memories of this month last year have become very tangible again, which I wasn’t expecting. Like today, it’s hard to remember and almost feel that pure bliss I felt on this day, exactly, last year. My mind is going to revisit a lot of days this month, especially in the weekend that led to Jensen’s birth last year.

Hopefully I’ll be able to put them to words. Not only will it help me try to calm myself and figure the thoughts out, I think it’s going to be beneficial for others to be in this loop. I have a feeling I’ll discover more. About what? I don’t know. But it’ll be here in writing.

Grey Woods Design.

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Tuesdays are always emotional days for me.

I’ve talked and wrote about them extensively throughout the past forty-seven of them. On the day he was born, I knew I’d always have trouble tackling them. It was the day my life had changed on. They’ve transformed into a day I’m forced to begin my grief week again, instead of being happy Jensen’s getting bigger and learning how to do more.

There hasn’t been one that I haven’t cried or been so angry about all the weeks that have passed. Some have brought me smiles as I remember the moments I had with Jensen and all the love he still brings me. If there’s one thing that’s for sure, it’s been a year full of eventful Tuesdays.

Including this very special one.

On the Valentine’s Day post, I shared a picture of Jensen bear and the love wood slice. Although starting an Etsy shop had been on my mind for a few months before that, I wanted to see if anyone would actually be interested in what I was creating. Honestly, I didn’t think anyone would. Grief has a great way of making people’s confidence go down the drain… and all parts of the self, but I’m not getting into that today.

Since that post, I’ve been trying to make some more things that my heart was telling me. I pulled out two pieces of wood that I’ve had my eye on for a while and then ideas started pouring out. Some that I haven’t even posted yet. Once I was pleased with what I made, I took pictures, uploaded them here, and started the process of making listings on Etsy. As anything, I’ve written and reread through everything to make sure it was as perfect as it can get.

I thought, as a pretty sentimental person, that I would  open shop on a Tuesday; I thought it’d be good to have another positive one in the books.

Everyone, I want to introduce you to my Etsy shop, Grey Woods Design:

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This little shop’s purpose is to help me be able to create through my grief and keep my mind busy when I’m home alone. More important, it’s going to be my labor of love. I am hoping it’ll give me some kind of spark in a way that I’m able to mother this concept I have imagined then created. I’m very anxious about how the shop is going to go, but I am SO excited to get my first order and help others remember and honor their child. Of course, this is for living children as well. But, it’s another way I can share a part of Jensen and I’s story and breaking the silence around baby loss.

One more thing I’d like to share with you all is why I named the shop what I did.

Grey. Obviously for Mr. Jensen Grey. I wanted and had to include my baby in this little business. Seeing a part of his name on there makes me feel like his legacy is continuing in a different way. It honestly makes me instantly smile when I see the color grey or the word. Just was the perfect part to add there.

Woods. All but one listing on the Etsy shop is made from wood. I wanted to be able to have that connection there. It’s also used because my life sort of revolved around wood products with my job, my house, and nature. Which, nature has always been a connection to Jensen and so it fit.

Design. I think this is pretty self-explanatory.

That’s the quick description of how I came up with the name. I absolutely love it. It is a perfect tribute to Jensen, but also to my creativity and lifestyle. Starting this venture (like I said before) is terrifying, but, like in all things I do, I hope it will be able to help someone and make them smile. That’s really what helps me heal. Knowing that Jensen and I can make a positive impact in someone else’s life is such a gift to this pained mama.

I hope you all are able to check Grey Woods Design out and let me know what you think. It’s always such a stabilizing thought knowing I have your support in this grief journey. Lately it’s been really rough and I’ve been quiet, but I’m still taking those steps with Jensen right there with me.