I'm "that" girl

Wow, it's been awhile since I've posted. And promises have been made of a giveaway. Those promises will be kept....but just not yet. Still working on what I want to do...

So, I have decided that I probably should change my profession. Being a special education teacher at the Early Childhood level is full of rewards, mostly that being the children and the families. I could come home everyday and post a "cute kid" story on Facebook if I had the time and energy. I also work with some amazing families who basically take you in as a member of their family within the first few years of working with their child. And finally, I do have some great co-workers. Co-workers who I personally call some of my best friends. But here's the kicker....I work in a school of all women. And even when I go out into the preschools/daycares to support my students, it's all women. Women who are either similar in age to me or are older. And what do women around my age or older have in common...well, most of them. They are buying homes. They are getting their masters. They are getting married. They are married. They have children. Or they are pregnant.

Hmm...where do I fit? Oh, yeah... I am "that" girl. "That girl" who when you are sitting in the lounge at lunch and you ask about how things are...you don't really know what to ask. You don't ask about my husband because you probably don't really notice the status of our relationship. You don't ask about my "house" or "yardwork" because I don't have any of that. You don't ask about my children...because unless you weren't working in the building a year ago, you know that I don't have a living child. And, of course, you wouldn't ask about a dead baby. You don't ask about going back to school because you know I probably can't afford it right now paying rent in Madison under one income. And since I haven't really pursued anything up until now, you probably don't think I'll ever do it. So, what do you ask? Hmmm....

I'm the girl that you may ask about what I did on the weekend. I'm the girl you ask about my mom or family. I'm the girl you ask general questions to....questions with little meaning. Not that my family means so little to me. It's just that at this point in my life...you wouldn't typically ask how my mom was. You would ask about my husband, about my family, about my career, about my future.

Now, let's go back to my profession. Working with women may seem like it has its benefits. Empathy, sincerity, people who care. And I do get all of those things. But I also get the feeling when I sit in the lounge of, "One of these things is not like the other. One of these things just doesn't belong." I don't belong to the club of women who are wives (well, not really). I don't belong to the club of mothers (well, kind of). The only club I belong to at school is the club of educators. And often....at times like in the lounge or retirement celebrations, that club of educators doesn't really hold the same meaning as the other two.

We, in the babyloss community, talk a lot about "the elephant in the room" feeling. That is definitely something I feel. Yes, it's partly because of my loss. And yes, it's partly because of my relationship status. But more than anything...it's mostly because this is my life. I am "that" girl. I am "the elephant in the room."

Who would have "thunk" it?!!

Today marks a big day in my life....a day that I truly never thought would come. A day that wouldn't have come had Kennedy not been a part of my life. It could be viewed as a joyous event...yet sad given the reason behind it. But it's still an anniversary no matter how you look at it. It's been a year. One year since I started this blog. 92 posts and 120 followers later....and I'm still here. I'm still writing. I'm still reading. I'm still commenting. I'm still grieving.

I never, ever would have thought in a million years that I would become a part of the blogging community. But then again, I never thought I would become a part of the baby loss community. When I sat down to write 365 days ago, I did not know what my intentions would be. All I knew is that I wanted to write. I wanted to share what I was feeling somewhere. I didn't know who would read or what comments would come out of it. But I knew it was something I had to do....just like support group or grief counseling was something I had to do. Since then, I have shared more here than I have shared with many that have been part of my "real life" for the past 29 years. This has been my sanctuary. My place to just pour my heart out and know it's okay. It's been my place to grieve for my little girl and to not be judged that it's time to "move on." I have been given affirmation of "no timeline," "no expectations," and "no judgment." I have been supported and loved. I am viewed as a mother.

My beautiful daughter, Kennedy, has been remembered. She has been thought of, prayed for, and celebrated. When her name is said or seen she is recognized as a human life. A little girl. A daughter. A child. I cannot begin to thank you enough for that. As I wrote to a fellow BLM a few days ago, just the thought of someone saying her name or thinking of her, means more to me than any gift or prize. My daughter is "realer" to me when I can share her with all of you.

I am amazed at what you all have given me. Without this blog, I wouldn't have been motivated to start my own Face2Face social group. Or be in the process of starting "A Walk to Remember" in Madison in October. I wouldn't have people who live "literally" all over the world who I would call my friends. Friends who I feel closer to than some of my "IRL" friends that I have had for years. It has been a year of growth. A year of progress. A year of change. And a year of hope. Thank you for your friendship, your tears, your words, and your hope. I am who I am today because of Kennedy. But I am also who I am today because of you.

I would really like to do a giveaway of some sort in honor of this day...but since it has kind of caught me off guard, I'm not ready to do so just yet. Please check back throughout this week as I gather my thoughts to think of an appropriate giveaway given the celebration. Sending much love and hugs to you all always....

Alissa

The grief I feel for me

Just a couple of hours ago, I was able to catch up on recent postings of other babyloss mommas, which led me back to a consistent emotion of mine. The feeling of loss of who I was. The grief I feel for me. The me that was before. The me that will never be again. I know I have written before in various posts about this topic, but it rings so true to me each time I think about it. I think this is where I am now. This is the "stage" in grief where I look at myself and hurt for me. I obviously hurt for the loss of my daughter. I miss her. I miss the life that she would have here on Earth with me. And most of what I feel for me is because I miss her so very much, but it's a different feeling. This just isn't pain and aching for her. This is pain and aching for my life. The life I wanted. The life that I thought I had. The me that I wish I was.

On Reid's momma's post, "A minor epiphany in yoga class," she writes:

"All the babyloss books talk about dealing with the loss of a child but where is the book that tells me how to deal with the losing myself?
Where are the condolence cards for the loss of self?"

And she's absolutely right. Where is the book about finding your way to who you are? And how about those cards? Why isn't there one that says, "I'm sorry for the loss of your baby and for what you will go through because of it. I'm sorry that it will change your life immeasurably and never go back to the way it was before." Or maybe I just need the one that says something similar to what a high school or college graduation card would say, "Good luck on this next step in your journey called life." That one pretty much sums up the way it feels. The unfortunate thing about that last card is that when you receive it after graduation, it's typically because you chose to advance or make that change your life. This is not the change I wanted. I didn't ask for this life. I didn't ask for what has happened.

I think it hurts more when I look back and think about the simplicity of what life was like over 2 years ago now. I didn't really have a clue how everything (or so it feels) would just fall apart. I mean, sure...there were problems, especially with my marriage, but I was naive to it all. I was naive to life in general. Now, I sit here, and miss that. I miss that I'm not the girl who wants to spend every waking moment (or so it felt) with family and friends. I miss that I don't rejoice over every baby announcement that my friends make. I miss that there are people in my life that I just have no interest in spending time with anymore. I miss that simple, basic everyday joys don't have that safe effect on me anymore. I miss that I just feel heavy a lot of the time. Sad. Scared. Confused. Hurt. I miss that I'm just not "her."


Not the best pic, but look at that girl....she's happy. She's even happy-go-lucky. Who would have thought that about 4 years later, I would feel so different. Yes, time has happened. Life has happened. And maybe there's a level of acceptance that I just haven't reached yet. A level of acceptance of who I am today, instead of the grief I feel for the person I was. I can't go back. I have to keep pushing on. Living this life. Finding out what else is store for me. My hope is to keep finding pieces of that girl in the picture. And putting those pieces back together. I know I can't completely be "her" again. The picture will look different. Distorted. Blurred. Too much has happened. And like I said, life has happened. But maybe there will be a time when I don't grieve for "her" so much. Maybe there will be a time that I'm just happy being the me I am today. Maybe....

'Cause maybe in the future, you're gonna come back
You're gonna come back around
Maybe in the future, you're gonna come back
You're gonna come back
Oh, the only way to really know is to really let it go
Maybe you're gonna come back
You're gonna come back
You're gonna come back to me

-"Maybe," Ingrid Michaelson

A bittersweet holiday

My heart aches today. It almost feels like it aches more than it has in a long time. And only people in this community would truly understand why my heart aches so much.

My heart aches because my baby is not here. And it aches because she isn't here to share tomorrow with me. Tomorrow is Mother's Day. An internationally shared holiday where mothers around the world are revered, loved and cherished. A day when those who hold a baby here on Earth are given the opportunity to glow with pride over their precious little ones.

Yet, those without a baby on Earth, are forgotten. They are asked about what their plans are for Sunday without even thinking about how difficult the day may be. They are asked what their plans are with their mothers, rather than thinking about what this day should be for them with babies of their own.

The entire month of May gears up for this day. Cheerful messages are sent to "other" mothers. Carefully prepared gifts are created all week long in schools by tedious little hands who love their mothers so. Various stores slogans change to "what you should get for mom." Hallmark creates thousands of "perfect" cards to say the "perfect" message of what your mother means to you. Even the post office prepares for this day by making appropriate packaging.

And every little bit of that hurts...and stings. And is a reminder of what I don't have and may never have. Mothers of babies only in Heaven do not receive those cheerful messages or cards with their babies handprints in them. They don't look at those slogans or cards without a wistful feeling in their heart.

All of it makes me miss my baby even more. I miss my Kennedy. I miss what my life would be with her in it. I miss what Mother's Day would be and should be for me as it should be for any mother. It shouldn't be a day of pain. It should be a day of celebration and joy. A day full of sunshine, rainbows and butterflies.

Instead this is what I feel....sadness, bitterness, and the great desire for the day just to be over. I know my sweet girl understands. She sees me sad. She doesn't want this for me. She wants us to be together. To share this day. She knows I love her. She knows I don't really need a day to be recognized as her mother. She just knows it hurts more because it's a reminder that she's not here with me. A day when I cannot truly be the mother to her that I would like to be. My little girl made me a mother. And I am eternally grateful to her for that title. Just wishing things were different. Wishing she was here...

Mother's Day

I thought of you and closed my eyes,
And prayed to God today.
I asked what makes a Mother,
And I know I heard Him say:
A mother has a baby,
This we know is true.
But, God, can you be a mother,
When your baby's not with you?
Yes, you can He replied,
With confidence in His voice.
I give many women babies,
When they leave is not their choice.
Some I send for a lifetime,
And others for a day.
And some I send to feel your womb,
But theres no need to stay.
I just don't understand this God,
I want my baby here.
He took a breath and cleared His throat,
And then I saw a tear.
I wish that I could show you,
What your child is doing today,
If you could see your child smile,
With other children who say:
We go to earth and learn our lessons,
Of love and life and fear.
My mommy loved me oh so much,
I got to come straight here.
I feel so lucky to have a mom,
Who had so much love for me.
I learned my lessons very quickly,
My mommy set me free.
I miss my mommy oh so much,
But I visit her each day.
When she goes to sleep,
On her pillow's where I lay.
I stroke her hair and kiss her cheek,
And whisper in her ear.
"Mommy don't be sad today, I'm your baby and I'm here."
So you see my dear sweet one,
Your children are Ok.
Your babies are here in My home,
They'll be at heavens gate for you.
So now you see what makes a mother.
It's the feeling in your heart.
It's the love you had so much of,
Right from the very start.
Though some on earth may not realize you are a mother,
until their time is done.
They'll be up here with Me one day,
And you'll know that you're the best one!
~Author Unknown

A sign of hope and remembrance

I really feel strongly in so many of the beautiful blog hops that take amidst this amazing land of baby loss families, so I felt it necessary to participate in one of them again today, especially since I believe the Small Miracles one is just about ready to close. I'm still not quite sure if what I'm going to write about is a miracle or not....but I thought it was as close to a sign of hope as anything else I have in my life right now.

My small miracle is the idea of a 2nd baby and the belief and acceptance of my first baby that is seen and felt through people in my "real life." As many of you know, I am currently in a mess of a marriage and dealing with some issues of possible endometriosis which was recently diagnosed this past summer. My life has been completely rocked in the past 2 years...and some days I feel like there is no end in sight.

I have many days where I feel like a 2nd baby will never be in the cards for me. Like maybe it's not meant to be. Maybe Kennedy was my only gift of life that I will ever feel move or carry? Maybe my baby will always just be in Heaven...never on Earth? This has been a very scary thought for me, especially since I can't imagine not being a "mom" to a baby on Earth. Ever since I carried Kennedy, I feel more ready and excited to be a mom to a baby on Earth. I want that thrill. I want the hard nights. I want a little boy or girl to look at me and call me, "Mommy." I want it all. Yet, there are many times where I feel hopeless. Scared. I find myself saying "maybe" a lot. Or "if." I hate that. I want to say "when." When will that change? Will I ever believe that it can happen again for me?

However, just recently I have felt the belief from others in my life. Others who have tried their very best to support me through it all. Or even those who may have had difficulty being supportive, yet are finding ways to help me believe. First of all, there is my "BFF". She is the friend that recently had Kennedy's cousin, "Baby G." My BFF, or "B", has really been through it all with me. She came into my life 3 years ago as a co-worker (probably at just about the right time) and instantly became like a sister to me. She has seen me at my lowest...and probably at my highest. Yet, when "B" became pregnant last February there was some strain put on our relationship. But the strain couldn't take away from the friendship. We worked through it and "Baby G" was the first baby I held after the loss of Kennedy. One day, "B" and I were driving home after a home visit of one of our students. We were talking about "life" and "future" stuff. We discussed the trials of what life has brought me and what that could mean for me in the future. However, one comment that stuck with me was this: "I bet you will be ready to have your 1st when I'm ready for my 2nd." Then, she stopped and said, "That will be your 2nd too." Although, we were too close to school for me to acknowledge the comment and the tears that were coming to my eyes, I plan on telling my friend sometime soon. First, that she acknowledged by first baby girl...and secondly for giving me hope that someday I will hold a baby here on Earth.

The second person who has recently made the 2nd baby comment was my dad. A little history on my dad...I am "Daddy's girl" through and through. I am the daughter that loves playing sports and watching them. March Madness is my very favorite time of the year and this love affair started because of my dad. He taught me the importance of sports...and he also taught me who to cheer for. I am the spitting image of him in so many ways, from looks to our love for sports. But one of the most common characteristics we share is our desire to keep everything inside. The need to keep the walls of emotions up and not let anyone in. I have only seen my dad cry three times in my life....once at his brother's funeral, once at my wedding, and most recently at my grandmother's funeral. It's not a common sight in 29 years. Yet, I never doubt my dad's love for me and the pain that he has felt watching me grieve. He doesn't come right out and say it very often, but all it takes is a hug and his comment of wanting me to happy that lets me know how much it hurts him too.

This was evident after hearing a story that my mom shared with me one night during dinner with her. She and my dad had just returned from spring break vacation in Florida. As she was telling me all about it, she turned to me and said, "Your dad said something to me that I think you should know. One night when we were sitting on the beach, he turned to me and asked, 'I wonder when we will have a second grandchild?'" My mom said that she answered with tears in her eyes, "I don't know, but I wouldn't count on your son anytime soon." It made me smile and cry at the exact same time. My dad, the one who often tells me that miscarriage and stillbirth aren't uncommon and tries to make sense of the whole situation, had not only acknowledged my baby but had addressed that there may be a time that a 2nd baby would be part of my life. Because without actually hearing the comment, I know that my dad was talking about me. Yes, I have a brother, but he's just not even close to that point in his life just yet.

These are only two accounts, although there have countless others, that have recently happened that triggered that feeling of hope again. Of hope and remembrance. Two gifts that I wish for all of us. The hope of future babies here on Earth. And the lifetime of remembrance that our babies in Heaven will always receive from us and others here on Earth. People who give me those gifts are my small miracles. They are the miracles who have suddenly appeared and made it "better" or "easier." They make life bearable in times when it's not. They accept me for who I am and my story for what it is and are okay with it. They are the ones have helped me through this...and who I will need to continue on in this journey called life.

13,128 hours

It has been exactly 13,128 hours since I found out my little girl had left this world to join the other angels in Heaven. That is 547 days. 18 months. 1 1/2 years. A lot of time. But then in the same breath, it seems like not enough time. Or like it was just yesterday.

As an Early Childhood teacher, I know what a child who is 18 months should be doing.
These are a few examples:
-starting to show interest in running but with very little coordination
-scribbling on paper (creating masterpieces)
-feeding herself with cup and spoon
-shows affection
-listens to stories
-some imitation

My daughter will never do those things here on Earth. But I do often wonder what she is doing in Heaven. I feel like her life has given me new goals and purposes to fulfill. However, I haven't really done a lot of thinking about what her mission is. When she left this Earth and entered Heaven, what is her purpose up there?

Sure, I have thought about how she looks down on me and keeps a watchful eye on all the people that I love. But what is her job up there? What is a baby angel's mission in Heaven? Does she provide the same wonderment and endearment that a baby on Earth does? Do people try to make her laugh and giggle? Does she fulfill that need to someone in Heaven that never had the chance to have a baby? I hope she does all of those things and more.... I hope my baby fulfills and follows through with her purpose in Heaven. I hope she brings sunshine and happiness to those around her as she does in mine down here.

Happy 18 month birthday, sweet Kennedy Kate! Love you always and forever.

She just doesn't "get it."

My plan for this post was totally different....I had other ideas in mind. And then I was shaken up by a Facebook message. A message that I awoke to this morning on a day with the sun shining and Earth finally looking a little friendlier in Wisconsin. I thought today would be a good day, and I still believe it could be. Just gotta get this off my chest first. I think?!

My message came from a really close friend of mine from college. A friend who I consider one of my best friends. A friend who I thought "got it." Let's call this friend "K" for anonymity purposes. K lives in Wisconsin, but is a little too far away that we don't regularly see a lot of each other. K is one of those friends that early on after the loss of Kennedy, she would regularly email or send cards just checking in on me. She would always say, "When you are ready, let's get together." So, we finally were able to meet up in June or July of last year. I think I was probably ready before that, but time just got away from us. K and I had dinner that night in a nice restaurant that allowed us to just talk and catch up on everything. She wanted to know everything related to Kennedy. And I felt very comfortable talking to her about it. We were even then able to discuss how things were in my marriage with K's father. She could see the pain in my eyes as I discussed both things....and really listened to me. I left that dinner truly believing that she "got it." That she understood how my heart was still breaking from the loss, the possible break-up of my marriage, etc. There was never a question in my mind.

Then, I saw K last September. Right around the time that I had decided to move out. She even had found a butterfly coaster that she had specifically purchased in memory of Kennedy. What an amazing friend! Again, K and I found time during the wedding reception that we were at to walk around and talk about life and how things were going. She was such a good listener and made me feel so comfortable to share all of my innermost feelings. I, again, left that night feeling secure in my friendship with her and knowing that she was on "my side." The side that supported what I was feeling and everything I was going through.

Which leads us to the present...well, kind of. K got pregnant in early October. She announced it right away....and was extremely excited about this event in her life. As she rightfully should be. And I was honestly excited for her. Yes, maybe a little jealous too, but truly excited and happy for her. K right away started sharing emails with me about her pregnancy....ultrasounds, doctors appointments, etc. I wasn't entirely sure I was ready for these emails, but I read them, and often would respond back. They were very difficult to read at times...but I wanted to be a good friend to her and show her that I could be supportive of her too. After all, this was the friend who had been there and showed me her support during some of my most difficult times. However, I realized that I would often talk to other babyloss moms or my grief counselor about these emails. I could see that they were harder on me than I thought. So, I think I stopped responding eventually, maybe right around the time that K found out her baby was a little girl. I remembered how I cried the night I found out. Again, not because I wasn't happy for her, but because I was missing my little girl.

I know that many new moms get into this "pregnancy bliss" time. Although, I'm not sure I was ever really there given the constant sickness I experienced throughout the entire time I carried Kennedy, I know that it's a little bit naivety that plays a role. This was the friend who was on the phone with me, 10 weeks pregnant, and was telling me how her husband had just put up the crib. She was excited...living the life of pure bliss....ready for this next step in her life....ready for her dreams to come true. How could I rain on that parade? The friend who had lost her baby girl 12 weeks from where she was. So, I joined right in. Talking about baby stuff, how she was feeling, etc. I genuinely wanted to know, but there was also a part of me that was putting on a "strong front." Guess it's probably easier to do over email and phone than if she had seen me "in real life." I'm guessing my face would have said it all, but maybe not. Maybe I am growing....

Well, as you have all probably figured out, the shower invite arrived in late February. Right around the time that I was sick and then was grieving for my grandmother. Yep, perfect timing, right?! I knew it would come. I didn't doubt it. Did I kind of dread it? Yes. But I had prepared myself....kind of. The beautiful "pink" note came sharing all of the events of a joyous occasion. An occasion that I knew I would not be able to attend. I knew this in my heart....yet, when K asked me about it in late March, I said that I wasn't sure yet. I believe she took this as a "yes."

Which brings us to this morning and the "message." Just a little lead up to the message, K had sent me an email a couple weeks ago wanting to get together on the 22nd. Unfortunately, I was not able to make that given other set plans for that day. After that email I sent back about a week and a half ago saying I couldn't make the 22nd and was not ready for the shower, I hadn't heard from her. I called her once, sent a couple text messages, etc. I figured something was up. So, finally, I receive a message from her. A message that made me cry. A message that brought up all of these feelings of wanting to move on. Or the desire to return back to the "old Alissa."

In the message, K writes how excited she was to see that I had RSVP'd "yes" (again...mistake). She thought it would be the perfect growing experience for me in taking that next step. She expresses that she cannot pretend to understand what I am feeling, but that she feels she has a better understanding since being pregnant with her daughter. Then, she went into writing about how she feels that I'm missing out on major events in my loved ones lives by not attending showers or meeting babies (in my follow-up email, I told her that I have met and held babies). She fears that if I cannot attend her shower then will I ever be ready to meet her little girl? (again...I have met and held other babies). She ends her message by telling me that I need to face my fears with the support of those around me. She wants to see me move through these rough times and maybe find some light at the end of the tunnel. She mentions that she wants to see me accept that maybe the things that are happening around me are for the better and are meant to be. She doesn't see me doing that right now, and thinks that I'm slipping away.

Sorry, if that was a little rough to follow. In other words, this is the way I took the message this morning, "I'm sad that I cannot be the one to help you through this enough for you to be ready to attend my shower. I wish that you were closer to being ready than you are. I worry that you are dwelling in the past and not realizing that 'everything happens for a reason.'" In many ways, it felt like she truly didn't get it. I know that wasn't her intention....or even to make me feel this way. BUT, it was a major letdown. Because I thought she did get it. I thought K accepted me and supported me no matter what. I thought she would be one of those friends (whom I have already had in my life) that would say, "It's okay if you don't come, but I had to send you an invite anyways." But she wasn't...and it hurts. And maybe it hurts more because I feel like I have been doing so well as of late. Like I'm stronger than I was two weeks ago, a month ago, 6 months ago. I feel like I'm connecting to people I had lost touch with in the last 2 years. I feel like I'm more comfortable talking about Kennedy and then leading into the break-down of my marriage. I do see a light, but then I get this message, and it worries me. It makes me feel as if I'm stuck. I hate that feeling. I'm ready to keep moving through this grief. I ready to find "healthy" ways to remember my daughter by setting up a Memorial Walk, creating a Face2Face group, etc. I felt like I was doing that. But maybe not to the extent that K wants to see...or maybe she's not seeing it since I don't see her or talk to her on a regular basis. Maybe she thinks I'm stuck just because I won't go to shower? I tried to express that in my message back to her, but I'm still worried she might not truly understand. But how can see? She hasn't experienced this. She can't begin to fathom what it feels like as she carries her healthy baby girl. She can try to imagine...but as we all know, it's much worse than you could ever even think.

It just sucks. There is no other way to put it. I think that I had put my heart out there for her to read and understand. And she can't. I get it... It doesn't make it any easier to accept...but I do get it. :(

We all have a bond...even college basketball coaches

An article about these three coaches recently went around the internet and on Facebook. Then, during the Final Four Show for the 2011 college basketball tournament, CBS paid tribute to these three men and their babies. I was truly amazed that my favorite sport and "season" had gone out of its way to talk about a topic that we all find to be "taboo" in society. Here was a 10 minute feature during one of the most publicized events of the entire year and being targeted to mostly men. I could hardly believe it!! It made me realize something, though. People are talking.... People are reaching out. People are making it known that it's no longer okay to just "shove it under the rug" or "move on." People like all of us. Thank you to all of you for sharing your stories with others and making sure that all of our babies are never forgotten.

What I will overcome....

"You may encounter many defeats, but you must not be defeated. In fact, it may be necessary to encounter the defeats, so you can know ~who you are ~what you can rise from ~and how you can still come out of it. " — Maya Angelou

The word "defeat": beaten or overcome; not victorious; "the defeated enemy"

To be defeated....to be overcome....to not win. To be the one at the end of the game who "lost." To be the one who fought tooth and nail for something but came up just short. Sounds very similar to what we have all felt after the loss of our children. A feeling of "loss". A feeling of "just coming up short." A feeling of incompetence. A feeling of not fulfilling our dreams.

I think we all do a lot of wondering...worrying....thinking about the what ifs. I know that we question the world. Our faith. Our health. Etc. We question it all because we try to make sense of a very senseless situation. I know that I have even had a very difficult time with the phrase, "Things always happen for a reason." When people would say that to me, I wanted to hit them. Ask them what reason there could possibly be for the death of a baby. Ask them why if there is an All Mighty God that He would take away something so innocent and precious as a child. There didn't seem to be a reason whatsoever. I didn't want to listen to the reasons. I just wanted my baby with me.

Although I still have issues with that phrase particularly because I feel that it's overused. I have come to find ways to think about the reasons. I may be more rational in my thinking of what Kennedy's life would have been like. What my life would by like. And the possibility of that it just wasn't meant to be. These reasons don't take away the pain. I think they just make me think clearer and maybe reach a level of acceptance of what my life is like now and what is yet to come.

This new level of acceptance takes me to the Serenity Prayer:

"God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference. "

There is a new level of understanding in me. A new level of compassion and empathy. A better understanding of some of the purposes that I am fulfilling in my life and in that of others. It doesn't take away my pain. Or my sense of loss. Yet, it gives me something else to think about. I feel the need to help others that have experienced similar tragedies such as we have. I feel the need to teach others about the journey through grief. A desire to help others understand that it is a life-long process and journey. I have renewed strength in figuring out where my life is headed and what path will take me there. It's interesting that one event has completely changed who I am....and what effect my life and Kennedy's will have on others.

Because in my mind, I have been defeated. I have been hurt...I have come up short. I don't have my baby here with me. The baby I went through hell to keep. For some "reason," it just wasn't meant to be. Yes, of course, Kennedy was sick. I was sick. But things like that can be overcome and lived with. However, that wasn't the case for me or for my baby. Kennedy is a gift to me no matter where she is. And she is a gift to others. Kennedy has left me with dreams to fulfill and people to touch. This "defeat" will continue to be a life-long journey. A journey to teach me ~who I am ~what I can rise from (which is a lot) and ~how I can come out of it (which I will always be learning). I won't enjoy the ride without my baby, but I will make the most of it in her memory.