Faith's Lodge

Dear Jordy-Bug,

Well, we're back from our trip to Faith's Lodge. We met several special mommies and daddies to some wonderful little ones up in heaven with you. We shared our stories and struggles, made crafts to honor all of you, ate some meals, played yard games (a little friendly competition made Daddy happy...and winning the "bags" tournament made him even happier), participated in a group therapy session, hugged, laughed, and cried with each other. The night before we left, we stayed up until 2:30am talking, laughing, and crying with Corina and Andy (Elijah's mommy and daddy.) It was emotionally difficult to leave. Knowing we had to say good bye to our new friends in a place where we felt comfortable for the first time in months, even Daddy had tears on Sunday morning. I felt a calming peace while we were there; except for that final morning, I was virtually tear-free for the first time since you died.

Today I went in to school for an all-day meeting. I found my tears again. En masse. The reality of going to work and seeing the world go on as usual hit me like a brick and helped me recognize how very special our experience at Faith's Lodge really was. Being around other parents who understand what we are thinking, feeling, and doing about your death is a huge comfort. Knowing we could talk about you at any time or burst into tears without anyone else blinking an eye, recoiling, or uncomfortably uttering a platitude, was incredibly freeing. Don't get me wrong, our friends and colleagues here (in the "real" world) have been wonderful and we love them for everything they are doing for us, physically and emotionally...but they just can't possibly understand us the way other bereaved parents of infants can.

Please do Mommy a favor and find Elijah, Cooper, Eliana, Landon, Devon, and Mac and give them big hugs from us and from their mommies and daddies. They miss their angels as much as we miss you, sweetheart. We love you.

Love,

Tears

Dear Jordy-Bug,

I had a few tears today, but I didn't break down completely. This is the first day since you died that I can say that. It doesn't mean that I don't love you. In fact, my love for you grows more and more every day. Perhaps it means I'm getting stronger and starting to heal a little. I hope that makes you smile.

I love you, sweet girl.

Love,

"Jordyn Bear" Follow Up

Dear Jordy-Bug,

I am absolutely floored. I sent a message to the ladies at Molly Bears to ask for their help regarding fixing the snout of your bear. I was hoping they would message me a tip or trick so I could make it more symmetrical. About an hour ago, I received a phone call from Bridget, the founder of Molly Bears. She talked with me, cried with me, laughed with me, and made it very clear that she wanted your bear to be absolutely perfect. She said it is her number one priority to get Daddy and me a "Jordyn Bear" that we love. She wants to start over from scratch and create her exactly as I specify. We were on the phone for 45 minutes; talking about you, talking about your bear, talking about other hurting moms out there. This is the best customer service I have EVER received...and she is not making a dime off of this. Hers is a not-for-profit entity devoted solely to comforting grieving mommies and daddies who find themselves with no baby to hold. Amazing. If you see little Molly up there in heaven, be sure to let her know that her mommy is a wonderful lady.

I love you Bug!

Love,

"Jordyn Bear"

Dear Jordy-Bug,

Today we received your "Jordyn Bear" in the mail from Molly Bears. You would think I'd be excited to rip the box open and see the bear. I wasn't. I looked at the box for a bit. Slowly, I opened it up, and hesitantly peered into it. The first thing I noticed was the lime green lady bug bow that was affixed to the bear's lopsided left ear. I thought, "Jordyn wore her bow on the right side and her little round ears were symmetrical." Then I saw the eyes, which were tiny and brown. I squeezed my own eyes shut and pictured your beautiful, bright, baby blues. When I saw the mouth, down-turned and angry-looking on the end of a huge, off-centered snout, I couldn't help but think "My girl would never look so mean and her lips were pink and perfect." I lifted the 7 lb, 6 oz bear out of the box and noticed a tiny heart attached to her chest. Immediately, I decided "It's too small; Jordyn's loving heart is 100 times that big." Upon further inspection, I saw that she was wearing a lime green diaper with sparkly lady bugs as diaper pins. Cute, but I requested a tutu similar to the one you wore in your NICU photo shoot. I found every flaw on the bear. Daddy encouraged me to "Just hold it; don't look at it." I laid her on my chest. The weight felt good, but I still burst into tears. I told Daddy, "I want our baby, I don't want this stupid bear!" He hugged me, held me, soothed me, told me that he felt the same way. It was then, in the comfort of his arms, that I realized this bear could have been made out of diamonds or hundred dollar bills and I still would have found fault with her...because she's not you. I don't mean to seem ungrateful. I know that someone from Molly Bears worked very hard on this bear and she was made and sent with love. I also know that several of Mommy and Daddy's friends and family donated their hard-earned money to Molly Bears to get us the bear faster. For that, we will always be thankful. But nothing and no one will ever take your place. This sucks.

I love and miss you so much, honey.

P.S. "Jordyn Bear" is coming with us on our grieving parents retreat at Faith's Lodge. I have some ideas how I can make her more like you before then. ;)

Love,

Got milk?

Dear Jordy-Bug,

The day you were born, I wasn't able to hold you. I wasn't able to nurse you. But I was able to pump my breast milk in preparation for your future feedings. Expressing the milk that my body made just for you helped me feel like a good mom, and I wanted to be the best Mommy that I could for you. Knowing that breast milk is the healthiest option for a newborn, I pumped. Every four hours. I pumped. Even when it meant I had to leave you in the NICU for a half hour to do it, I pumped. (Eventually, I did it right there in your room behind a curtain so as not to miss any more time with you.) Even when it meant waking up during a much-needed two-hour nap in the middle of the night. I pumped. Even when we realized you weren't going to make it. I pumped. Even after you died. I pumped. Maybe I convinced myself that if I kept pumping, you couldn't actually leave us. In my hopefulness, I dreamed that you would be drinking it in the very near future. In the back of my mind, though, it occurred to me that it may very well be sent to a milk bank to help other newborn babies who were fighting for their lives.

The last few days of your life, the nurses in the NICU gave you some of my milk through a feeding tube and you tolerated it very well. We were pretty sure that they did it for our benefit, though, not yours. Although we hated seeing that bright orange tube coming out of your nose, nourishing you with my breast milk was an incredibly personal and wonderful experience that I am privileged to have had. We thank them for their thoughtful gesture.

After Daddy and I returned home from the hospital, two of the NICU nurses brought the milk we had stored in the hospital to our home. We diligently put it in the deep freeze to await transport to a milk bank. I researched various options, and finally settled on the Mother's Milk Bank of Iowa because they use the milk directly for critically ill infants, they aren't part of a company that charges astronomical fees for hospitals to obtain the milk, and they are the closest operational milk bank to the St. Louis area. I went through the screening process, which included a phone interview, written interview, doctor release, and blood tests. I was deemed a "healthy, viable donor" by the very kind woman who runs the bank. Unfortunately, they can't use the first few weeks worth of milk because I was taking medicine for high blood pressure during that time, but they sent me a cooler and instructions on how to ship the rest of the milk to them. The cooler has been sitting in our living room for over a week. I had no idea how emotional it would be to pack up and ship your precious milk away. And the thought of throwing away the first several bottles makes me physically ill. I just can't bring myself to do it. In fact, we plan to send all of the milk to them because it seems impossible for us to actually dispose of any of it. Maybe they can use the first batches for research. If not, I don't want to know about it.

So, I intended to ship the cooler last Thursday. Then I was going to do it on Monday. Tuesday came and went. Now it's Wednesday and it's still sitting here empty. When I told Daddy that I found a place to buy dry ice, I started crying. He hugged me and said he would like to go with me to get the ice, pack the cooler, and take it to Fed Ex to ship. He knows I may never do it if I have to do it alone. He also thinks I should keep one of the first bottles to soothe my anxiety over shipping off the rest of your priceless milk. He's so loving and so patient and so kind. I don't know what I ever did to deserve such a wonderful husband. I'm very sorry that you didn't get to experience more of him. It breaks my heart that he never got the chance to be the awesome Daddy that I know he would be to you. (I'm crying again.)

To honor you, we will get that life-giving milk to the milk bank so other babies can thrive...except for that one bottle that I will keep forever. [Update: Daddy and I mailed the cooler on our way to Faith's Lodge on Monday, July 23rd. I couldn't have done it without him. I kept the first bottle of milk that you hadn't used (you drank everything dated prior to March 17th) and the last bottle I pumped while you were still alive on March 28th.]

I love you, sweetheart.

Love,

4-Month Birthday in Heaven

Dear Jordy-Bug,

Happy 4-month Birthday, baby girl! I hope you are celebrating like crazy up in heaven with all of your friends and with our family members who have passed. Make sure you give Great Grandma and Grandpa Nockerts and Great Grandma and Grandpa Thyes big hugs and kisses and let them know that I think of them often. If Uncle Danny tries to get you to pull his finger, don't fall for it! Daddy misses his grandparents too, so be sure to tell Great Grandma and Grandpa Sander and Great Grandma and Grandpa Bagsby that he loves them. Maybe Jesus will even join in singing "Happy Birthday" with them all. What a joy that would be for you.

I can't help but wonder what you'd be doing if you were still here with us. At four months, I can see you holding your little head up while you're having some tummy time, following your Pooh bear with your eyes and reaching for him as Daddy holds him up for you, and laughing out loud or even squealing in delight as we play with you. That would be absolute music to Mommy's ears. Maybe you would even start rolling over, a first major step toward mobility! I picture you turning to look at Daddy when you hear his voice as he returns home from football practice. What fun as you start babbling, or even blowing raspberries at us. I wish we could see you do all these things and so much more, little one. I wish. I wish. I wish. But since we can't, we'll imagine it in our minds and in our hearts. Some day, when we see you again, you can tell us about and show us all the things you can do. I certainly hope there are cameras in heaven, because we don't want to miss a thing.

We love you more than anyone can imagine, Jordyn. Happy birthday.

Love,

"Normal"

Dear Jordy-Bug,

Good morning sweet girl! I wanted to write to you today because I have lots on my mind. For the last week or so, every time I wash or comb my hair, it falls out in gobs. I asked my friends about it and most of them said it was "normal" after having a baby for this to happen. It got me to thinking. My postpartum life is anything but "normal."

I remember before I even went in to the hospital to have you, people said, "You'll forget all the pregnancy and labor pain as soon as you see that sweet face." They were partially correct, meeting you made all the pain seem insignificant. But the part no one foresaw was that all of the physical labor pain was going to be replaced by new, deeper pains when you died.

All of the postpartum issues that "normal" women deal with are overshadowed by the beautiful baby snuggled on their chest. But not for me. Experiencing the abdominal pain and bleeding following your birth was a souvenir of the time that you lived inside me; but it was also a kick-in-the-gut reminder that I didn't get to experience the fruits of my labor (literally) for very long. Feeling the engorgement of my breasts as they filled with milk was a miraculous experience that told me I could nourish you; but packing it away in a freezer to be donated to someone else's babies was a stab in the heart. Seeing the stretch marks on my belly helps me remember you kicking and rolling around in my womb; but knowing I earned my "tiger stripes" yet I am not able to hold you any more, is a twisted irony. Watching my feet grow out of my shoes by a half a size told me we were healthy while I was pregnant and I imagined pushing you in your stroller through the mall, looking for new shoes; instead, I wear flip-flops and avoid leaving the house if I don't have to. Carrying your precious little self for nine months on my right side (you were just too cozy there, I guess) caused my hips to go out of whack, so I figured we'd "get in shape" together by going for walks on Grant's Trail; but you're not here to walk with me, so I limp along, nursing my aching hips and my broken heart. Riding the postpartum hormonal roller coaster as I returned to my pre-pregnancy self and learned how to be a mommy was expected; because I'm distraught over losing you, it has turned already volatile situations into complete meltdowns. Being sleep-deprived would remind me how much you needed me; I'm still sleep-deprived, not because you need me in the middle of the night, but because I need YOU.

On top of all the "normal" issues after giving birth, I've cried so much that I injured my cornea wiping away the tears. Then I re-injured it wiping away more tears. Now it won't heal properly, because all my tears are washing away my eye's natural lubricant. "Normal" mommies don't have this problem.

Physically, mentally, and emotionally, I'm struggling. I just want to be "normal," but that will never happen while I'm on this earth. God blessed us with you, the most beautiful baby girl in the whole world; one doesn't just get over losing such a precious gift so easily. But I know "all the pain will be worth it" when I see your sweet face...in heaven.

I love you baby-girl.

Love,

Suffering

Dear Jordy-Bug,

Yesterday in church, the sermon was about suffering...and persevering through it to show the world our Godly light. Daddy and I have the "suffering" part down, but the other half is easier said than done. Some days I just don't care about the example I'm setting for others; I just want to crumple into a heap and cry. Yesterday was one of those days.

After church, Daddy and I went to a barbecue at Grandma and Grandpa Sander's house. There were quite a few people there who we haven't seen in a while. There were also two small children, a newborn, and a pregnant cousin. It was all too much for me. I was already raw from church, and I had to fight back tears as soon as I walked into the kitchen and saw the baby and the baby bump (both girls.) I didn't want to ruin the day for Daddy or for anyone else, so I tried to make myself scarce. First, retreating to the back room, and then, when it started getting populated, to the basement. I just could not stem the flow of tears. All I could think about was that everyone should have been huddled around baby Olivia AND you in that kitchen, loving on you both and fawning over you both. Daddy held Olivia for quite awhile toward the end of our visit. He looked so sweet with her in his arms. I think it helps him to hold her because he can't hold you.

I cried almost the entire time we were there...and in the car on the way home. I felt terrible that I was so anti-social to people I don't see very often. But a very wise friend of ours told me last night that "Even if they think you are a jerk...you have to just be a "jerk." Take a deep breath and decide what you have to give in a conversation, and do nothing more than that. This is not friend-making season. This is 'my daughter died and I'm healing my heart from this shitty situation' season."

Again, your Daddy was wonderful throughout the entire fiasco. He checked on me and gave me hugs...and he looked so sad that I was having a hard time. He just doesn't know what to do when I get like that. I don't know either.

Today, I took your kitties Echo, Murphy, and Milo to the vet. Echo and Murphy just needed their yearly checkup, but Milo has been very lethargic since we got home from Kansas City. It turns out that Milo was very dehydrated and his liver enzymes were out of whack from not eating. We need to get him to eat or he will have to be put on a feeding tube. I'm not sure God listens to prayers about kitties, but He might listen to you. Please let Him know that Milo is very precious to us, especially Daddy...and that we can't bear to see him sick, or to lose him. In general, we just need a break...losing you, losing other friends' loved ones, a cherished friend getting cancer, Daddy straining the ligaments in his shoulder, elbow, and wrist, me scratching my cornea, the tree at Daddy's other house getting struck by lightening and falling into the neighbor's yard, Milo getting sick...tell God that we still love Him, so there's no need to keep testing our faith.

We love you, too, baby girl.

Love,

Barrett's Memorial

Dear Jordy-Bug,

On Friday night, the Delmez family held Barrett's memorial service. Did you two watch it from heaven? It was a lovely tribute to a sweet little boy, but Daddy and I were wrecks. Watching the memorial video, listening to the worship songs (one of which was "Praise you in this storm," the same song that Jason and Michele sang at your memorial), and listening to the stories that friends shared, brought us back to the day that you were born...to the two weeks we spent with you in the NICU...to the day that you died...to the day hundreds of friends and family visited you at the funeral home. It was difficult to stay in the moment with Barrett's family and not relive YOUR life. I cried the entire time. For you, for us, for Barrett, for his family...

This was the 6th visitation/memorial we've attended, including yours, since March...three of the six were for children. Daddy is going to another one on Monday for a colleague of his. I can't bring myself to attend another one. I don't know how I made it through yours, much less the next five.

I love you, sweet girl.

Love,

Vacation

Dear Jordy-Bug,

Back in January or February, Daddy and I made plans for all three of us to visit my side of the family in Wisconsin over Fourth of July week. We were excited about showing you off to Uncle Steve and Aunt Bonnie, and to introduce you to your cousins Brett, Alex, Emma, and Leah. Our friends Kevin and Dee were anxiously awaiting meeting you too! When you went to heaven at the end of March, those plans changed. I just couldn't face the trip without you. So, Daddy and I decided to get away a little closer to home. Some of Daddy's friends offered us their house in Blue Springs, so we decided to venture out to Kansas City for a couple of days. Leaving behind your urn and all of your special things was really difficult, but I knew Fitz would take good care of your things, the house, and the kitties while we were gone. Even so, I cried a lot in the car on the way over there. I just couldn't shake the thought that you should be in the backseat cooing away or fussing in your car seat. We stopped for lunch at Steak N Shake, where I had a mini-meltdown because there were a few things wrong with my burger. Before you left, I would have dealt with it. Now that you're gone, I can't handle even the smallest problems. Daddy is always so patient with me, though. I'm lucky to have him for a husband. You're lucky to have him for a Daddy. He would have taken such good care of you if he had the chance. He takes such good care of me. In fact, he just handed me a tissue because I'm crying as I type this.

After dinner on Monday evening, we went for a swim in the neighborhood pool. There, a couple was playing with their young son and baby girl. I couldn't help but stare at them and imagine us doing the same with you. We didn't stay at the pool long. On Tuesday, we went to the aquarium and I kept imagining pushing your stroller through the exhibits and watching your little face light up when you saw all the colorful fish and funny looking creatures. On Wednesday, we headed to the water park, where I wished we could all go into the baby pool areas and splash around with the other little ones and their happy, proud parents. Thursday was our museum day. We visited the WWI Museum, where we saw a little girl (around 4 years old) who was bored beyond belief. It occurred to me that you would have had a really good nap during that time. I also made a mental note to avoid boring places when there are little kiddos in tow. LOL. After dinner, we headed back to the pool. We met a nice couple with a 6-year-old son. The mother asked us if we had any children. My heart swelled. Daddy told her that we have a daughter...I don't remember much after that except that she apologized for upsetting us. What she didn't understand is that she didn't upset us; we love to talk about you (even when we cry.) Unfortunately, it's incredibly uncomfortable for others to hear about your story.

Overall, it was a really up and down vacation. I was happy to get away from home and spend lots of time with Daddy, and the famous "Kansas City Barbecue" was awesome, but I missed you so much. Every little baby girl, every hair bow, every woman with a pregnant belly, every store selling girly stuff, every happy mom and dad, every...everything reminded me of you...reminded me that we should have been in Wisconsin and you should have been there with us. Someday, we'll have our vacation together. It will be in a place so beautiful, so perfect, that we won't need an expensive water park to have the time of our lives. Until we are able to hold you in heaven, sweetheart, know that Mommy and Daddy love you.

Love,

Team Jordy-Bug

Dear Jordy-Bug,

On October 20, 2012, Daddy and I are participating in the Share Walk for Remembrance. It is a memorial event at Creve Coeur Park (in St. Louis County) that provides families like us who have experienced the tragic death of a baby, an opportunity to openly acknowledge and remember you amongst family, friends and other bereaved families and to walk the steps you never got to take. Before the walk, there will be a service, during which your name will be read and balloons will be released in your honor. We will get a t-shirt that includes your name on it, along with many other babies who have died. We would love for our friends and family to join us, by registering to walk or by helping sponsor our walk. Proceeds from this event allow the Share group to continue to support bereaved families at no charge.

To register to walk with us, friends and family can go to http://www.nationalshare.org/2012-Walk.html. Please enter "Team Jordy-Bug" as the team name and "Kelly Sander" as the team captain. We are walking for "Jordyn Tyse-Dallas Sander." (You can walk 1 or 4 miles.)

To help sponsor our team, they can go to https://www.z2systems.com/np/clients/share/campaign.jsp?campaign=25&team=6&fundraiser=647437.

We sure would be thankful for their support and love!

Look for your balloons on October 20th, baby girl!

Love,