On Life

Life is such a beautiful mess isn't it?

I feel this so much more poignantly since the loss of our sweet boy Oliver.  Since his passing, I seem to look at the world in such a completely different way.

Joy is magnified by a thousand.  I bathe in the sound of Liam laughing.  I breathe in the fresh, crisp winter air and just feel it in my lungs.  I relish in all of the little things that make up my day...the smell of clean sheets, the way the windows shine after they are washed, how yummy iced cappuccinos truly are.

Sorrow is magnified by a thousand.  I cried when I received my Parenting magazine in the mail yesterday and realized I no longer needed to flip right to the "pregnant" advice, or peruse the "newborn" advice section.  I ache when I think of my good, good friends holding their new littles, and how empty my arms will feel.  I pine for the day when I can see my baby again. 

 

I took this as I was leaving for the hospital on the day before Ollie's birth.  I can still feel how happy I was that I was going to spend the morning listening to my baby's heartbeat.

Joy, sorrow, happiness, pain, enlightenment, confusion....they combine in this wonderful tapestry of the human condition.  These days it is hard to pinpoint what exactly I am feeling at any given moment.  When people ask that question....the question that all the grief stricken get many, many times a day..."How are you doing?"...the most honest answer I have come up with is that is depends on the second in which you ask me.  I may be sobbing and sobbing as I feel the loss of all the "what ifs/what woulds" (What color would Oliver's eyes have been? What would his voice have sounded like? What would it have felt like to see Oliver and Liam playing together? What would it have felt like to snuggle with both my boys on cold winter mornings?  What if this is all just a bad dream? The list goes on and on and on), but as I sob, I am also smiling.

I smile because Oliver was here.  He had weight in this world.  I felt him.  I knew him.  I smile because he blessed us and I believe his life will continue to be a blessing.  They say the Lord works in mysterious ways.  Well, I have faith that he will find a way to work miracles through the life and death of my son.  I may never know what these miracles were, but that is okay.  I am planning to help God out on a few of them. 

This post is a little bit of a rambling of my confused mind.  But I guess the point is that YES, life sucks sometimes.  Life is cruel, and unrelenting, and often makes us question what the freakin' point of it all is.  But life is also SO, so beautiful, and purposeful, and filled with grace.  It is NOT fair that I lost my son before he even had a chance to live, it is NOT fair that Liam will never get to meet his brother, it is NOT fair that my heart is broken, it is NOT fair that God chose Oliver to join him so soon.....but I am choosing, each minute of each day (sometimes not succeeding, but boy am I working on it!), to see the joy. 

I am hoping that Oliver, in Heaven you are smiling too right now and that you can feel my love radiating up to you. XOXO Baby Boy!

A Life in Pictures

Dear Oliver,

 

Baby boy, you were SO anticipated and wanted and loved!! I wanted to show you this... 

 

"They say that time in heaven is compared to 'the blink of an eye' for us on this earth.  Sometimes it helps me to think of my child running ahead of me through a beautiful field of wildflowers and butterflies; so happy and completely caught up in what {he} is doing that when {he} looks behind {him}, I'll already be there."
  ~Author Unknown

Oh, to hold you again would be Heaven!

On Being Grateful

Today I am feeling like I am angry at the whole universe.  Like I want to scream and curse and throw things.  So in honor of this, I am going to write about the things that I was grateful for today (confused? Welcome to my world right now! Where emotions makes no sense, and the road always leads somewhere unexpected.)

I am grateful for: Bill waking up with Liam (once again) so that I could have time to lie in bed for a little longer.  It takes me awhile to adjust to my new reality every morning now, so time alone is so welcome.

I am grateful for: Dropping Liam off for a playdate with his best friend Adeline.  He has been wanting to see her lately...he asked if she was driving with us to preschool both days this week...so I was so happy that he finally got some good play time in.

I am grateful for: A friend that loves my son like her own, and even though it is hard for me to be around her right now (her son Henry is due one month after Oliver was due...we had had so much fun being pregnant at the same time), she gets it, and is still there for whatever I need.

I am grateful for: The crummy weather today (freezing rain).  It allowed my little family to hunker down all afternoon and to just enjoy one another (and some extra nap time!).

I am grateful for: A job to do that requires manual labor.  We had just bought paint to freshen up Oliver's room prior to his death, so we have decided to just go ahead and paint the room anyways.  It feels nice to just "do" something productive with all of these thoughts running through my head.

I am grateful for: Time off from work! Oh how I would not be able to function there right now.

I am grateful for: Listening to my husband and my son playing together.  Liam was laughing so hard he must have had tears in his eyes! I love hearing them together.

I am grateful for: My son Liam and my husband Bill.  They are the best things in my life, and the reason that I am still moving forward right now.  It is so tempting to stay in bed all day and just cry, but my Liam is like a force of nature.  He sweeps me up in his path and makes me smile.

I am grateful for: The small amount of time that I had with Oliver.  I wouldn't change those months/weeks/hours for the world.

I am grateful for: My extended family.  I can feel how much everyone cares for me, and how much they are all praying for my small family, and though I don't have sufficient words to express myself, I am so grateful to each and every one of them.

I am grateful for: My faith.  I know that my God can take whatever I throw at him, and boy have I been testing that this month.  I know that Oliver is safe in His arms and that brings me peace.

So, although my heart is broken, there are SO many things that I am thankful for! I am going to keep reminding myself about these things over and over again.

Dear Oliver,

It has been two weeks and one day since we said hello and goodbye to you.  Two weeks since our worlds were rocked.  Two weeks.  And we will never, ever be the same.

You arrived with the snow, just like your big brother Liam did.  It seems as though snow = babies for me.  Two nights before your birth there was a crazy snow storm in Petawawa.  I remember leaving work around 8:30pm, driving halfway home and having all of the street lights suddenly turn off.  The world seemed so quiet and still.  Daddy and I lit candles and just snuggled together, safe inside our little house.  Unbenownst to us, a candle that was lit beneath our bathroom mirror was slowly heating up the glass above, creating a large crack throughout.  Looking back now, this crack was like an omen of things to come.  No more perfect after this night.

The morning of Saturday, December 22nd was beautiful.  The storm had passed and the air was SO clear and clean.  The sun shone so bright, making the snow sparkle like diamonds.  I spent a stressful morning dealing with Walmart on the phone.  I had ordered photo mugs for your Great Grams and Gramps over a week prior (they were supposed to be 1hr photo mugs) and they had lost not one, but both orders at separate times.  Christmas was approaching, we were due to depart for Ottawa the next day, and I was determined to get this gift in time.  After finally sorting it all out, I said a cheerful goodbye to your Daddy and Liam as I left for the hospital.  Your Daddy called out not to take too long as we had lots of packing to do, and I replied that I would take as long as was needed to ensure you were safe (plus I could have spent every day listening to your heartbeat on the monitors at the hospital if they would have let me).  Saturdays visit to the hospital was purely supposed to be a double checkup kind of visit.  You were absolutely fine on Tuesday, but our doctor wanted to just make sure after a few days had gone by, that things were still looking ok.

I entered the hospital room SO prepared, and yet so vastly unprepared for what was to follow.  I had brought my slippers as I had forgotten socks on Tuesdays visit and had cold feet all day (I hate socks...you should know this about your mom!).  I had a cold can of ginger ale in my purse just in case you were sluggish again...it would get you moving.  I had a magazine to read just in case it took awhile.  The nurse put the cold gel on my stomach, and began looking for your heartbeat.  I joked with her about how everyone had had trouble nailing down your heartbeat since the very beginning.  You always seemed to dodge the monitors.  But this time she was having no luck at all.  She decided to get the Doppler type of monitor instead.  While she was away I pushed at my belly, willing you to roll over or move so we could hear you (no worry yet).  She had no luck with the Doppler either so went away to get someone else to try (worry started creeping in).  The doctor on duty came in with a small ultrasound machine (more worry!).  The moment I saw the screen I knew.  You see, I knew you little man.  I knew what kind of movements you should have been making, and I knew exactly where your heart was and that it was not beating.  I knew.  No one said a word.  Finally I said, "he's gone isn't he?" and the doctor confirmed that yes, you were gone.  How does one react in a room full of strangers when their world suddenly stops? I asked for privacy to call your dad, and your Nana and Poppa.  Your Daddy had to be so strong as he was alone with your brother Liam.  I am sure he wanted to just break down, but instead he helped Liam paint a picture to help make Mommy strong when she got home.  Nana and Poppa, and Grandma and Grandpa arrived from Trenton in record time.  While we waited for them we packed on autopilot, and sat down to explain things to Liam.  We told him that you had died, and were now safe in heaven with all of the angels.  And we told him that we needed to go and say goodbye to you that night, so Grandma and Poppa would stay with him.  He seemed to take it all in, and made a comment about how his baby brother had fallen down.  Then he continued chatting about Santa Claus.  Oh to be in the mind of a three year old!

We returned to the hospital around 5:30pm to start the induction process.  Not only were you gone, but I was going to have to deliver you as well.  The doctor did one last ultrasound before starting the process to ensure that your heart was indeed no longer beating.  I knew it was impossible, but I still prayed for a miracle.  There was none to be had at that moment.  Your Daddy and your Nana stayed with me as the drugs began their job.  The pain started fairly quickly (the same as when I delivered your brother), and continued through the night.  I tried a few pain relief drugs, some worked while others did not, but it is hard to tell if the physical pain or the emotional pain was worse.  I had just asked for an epidural (finally!) on the morning of the 23rd, and that is when you made your entrance.  9:18am.  It was such a bittersweet moment.  My body cried out with relief as you were born...the end of the physical agony..but my heart.  Oh how my heart cried.  I saw the tears pouring down your Daddy's face, but all I wanted was to hold you.  I don't even remember my tears at all.  I remember looking at you and thinking how truly handsome you were.  At only 27 weeks and 4 days, I was apprehensive about the way that you would look when you arrived.  I had no need!  Your nose reminded me so much of Liam's when he was first born.  You had the Vieau toes.  You had wavy dark hair like your Aunt Mel's.  You had ten perfect fingers and ten perfect toes.  You were perfect!  I smelled you in (just like I did when your brother was first born).  I kissed your features one by one.  I tried as best as I could to memorize everything about you. I don't know if it was one of the drugs finally kicking in (I suspect it was), or a combination of the drugs and just pure exhaustion, but I just couldn't keep my eyes open any longer.  So I nestled you in my arms and closed my eyes.  It was paradise just to feel you there with me.  Your precious weight, all 2 pounds and 11 ounces of you, safe in my arms.  If only time could stand still.

But time stands still for no one.  Eventually it was time to leave you.  Our midwife Megan promised that she would stay with you as we left, and that she would take you to where you needed to be.  She hugged me and cried with me.  I can say without a doubt that leaving you behind in that hospital room was the hardest thing that I have ever had to do in my life.  I kept touching your face and had no idea how to tear myself away.  Babies are supposed to leave the hospital with their families.  This was all wrong!  I barely remember the walk to the car or the car ride home.

I could recount the next few days, the whirlwind that was Christmas. The calling of the funeral home as we were packing to leave on Christmas Eve (seriously..how does one choose a funeral home? I picked the oldest/nicest looking house). The brave front that your Daddy and I put on as we squeezed as much magic as we could from our broken hearts so that your big brother could have a wonderful Christmas.  The way the days blurred into each other as we travelled between families homes.  How thankful we were to have our families around us, sheltering Liam and letting us have the moments we needed to grieve.

But what I really want to do is just tell you, sweet Oliver, how much your life has meant to us.  How blessed I feel to have known you for the 27 shorts weeks that I did.  From the first second that I found out I was pregnant with you, I felt so excited.  Like I had this secret inside that no one else but me could feel.  As sad as I am that I will never get to see the boy or the man that you would have become, I knew you for every single beat of your heart.  As I write this, the tears are falling, but I am also smiling.  Because you were, you are, so very special.  I relished in every single move you made (although I will admit to a lot of grumbling since you always seemed to find my bladder when you kicked), and will be forever grateful that your Daddy was even starting to feel your movements in the last few weeks we had with you.  I was SO sick throughout my pregnancy with you, but I loved seeing my stomach getting bigger and bigger and was finally fitting into pregnancy clothes properly.  I loved making plans for the Spring and Summer I was going to have with my boys.  Oh how much there was going to be to show you!  I hope that in time I can speak to others about you with a smile, and no more tears.  That I can find a way to honor your short time with us, and that someones life may be enriched because of you.

My prayer is that wherever you are now little man, you can feel how much we love you.  That you are happy and safe and waiting for us to join you.  We joke that no baby could ever be loved as much as you were upon your entrance to heaven...you have so many beloved friends and family that would be waiting there with open arms to hold you (and maybe even a little bantering about who would get to hold you first...just like your family on Earth would have done).  It brings us some peace to know that you will never, not even for a moment, feel any pain or suffering.  This world we live in is beautiful and amazing, but it is also filled with suffering and fear.  You, my precious one, will never know that.  You have known joy and love and peace.  And I promise that I will take you along with me for the rest of my life.  When I see a sunset that is particularly beautiful, I will remember to take you with me.  When Liam learns to ride a bike for the first time, you can run alongside me as we let go.  You will live on forever in our hearts and our memories, and in this way, you will never truly be gone.  I will cry, and ask why this had to happen to us, and yell at fate, and miss you....but underneath all of this, there is love.  And that will get me through.

Thank you Ollie.  For touching our lives, and teaching us so much about the nature of true love and loss.  I love you more than words can say, and cannot wait for the day that we are together again.  Rest in peace my love.  My baby boy.  Oliver Grayson Adams.

With Love,
 Mommy.