What I've Lost...and Gained

Dear Jordy-Bug,

Recently, a friend posted on Facebook about a substantial weight loss of which she is very proud (and she should be), and it immediately triggered memories of the times my chunky self has worked to lose weight. It didn't take long before I thought of how fast I lost "the baby weight" (plus 20 more pounds) after you died. This time, though, I didn't do it on purpose and it wasn't done in a healthy manner. Putting food in my mouth for the first three months after you left made me physically ill. So, those 70 pounds melted off by May. Yes, you did the math correctly (we'll say you got your number sense from Daddy, even though Mommy is no math slouch either.) I gained fifty pounds with you! It had a lot to do with the fact that my hips, back, and sciatic areas were so bad that I didn't get off the couch for half of the pregnancy. The Double Stuff Oreos probably didn't help either.

Of course, this conversation in my head then triggered another one...what else have I lost since you went to be with Jesus? First and foremost, I've lost you. I've lost the dreams I had for you. I've lost my future with you. I've lost my membership to the "mom club" where special people go on play dates and talk about raising their children to love God and be good people. But besides the obvious, I've also lost other things. I've lost my capacity to start or finish a sentence without tears being right behind every word. I've lost my joy in seeing other moms with babies or pregnant women. I've lost my ability to smile and mean it. I've lost my patience when dealing with people who complain about petty problems. I've lost the ability to have a stream of conscious thought that doesn't revolve back to you. I've lost the filter that keeps me from saying things I probably shouldn't share with others. I've lost my motivation to work or clean the house. I've lost a bunch of hair. I've lost my desire to socialize. I've lost my false sense of security. And I've lost my confidence that Daddy and I were meant to have a baby to raise.

I've lost a lot. But I also realize that I've gained much from you (and I'm not just referring to the crazy amount of weight I put on during our 9 months of growing together.) I've gained a greater appreciation for the miracle of birth/life. I've gained a more intense concern for the safety and health of Daddy, and of others who I love. I've gained a deeper desire to keep and nurture my faith in God, in order to gain His great inheritance in heaven and to see you again someday. I've gained an acute need to pray more, to get closer to the One who cares for you and holds you on His lap. I've gained a keen awareness that Daddy and I have some pretty amazing friends and a loving, supportive family. I've gained the insight that will keep me from taking those same people for granted. I've gained perspective on what really matters in this world. And I've gained the knowledge that Daddy and I made a gorgeous, healthy baby girl who we will love forever.

Today, as we struggle with our emotions on your 5-Month Angelversary in heaven, I want you to know that losing you was and is excruciating, but the lessons we've gained from you are priceless. Thank you, honey. We love you more every day.

Love,

Just Shut Up!

Dear Jordy-Bug,

Today I thought about this blog and how I hadn't posted in a while...and felt guilty. My internal dialogue went something like this: "But I don't have anything to say. Yet I have a million things to say. So, why haven't I written?" Does it mean I don't want to talk to you or about you? No. Unequivocally no. I want nothing more. But I'm starting to sense that those around me are no longer okay with me talking about you. I don't know if it's because I'm with different people now that I've gone back to work and they're uncomfortable with the topic and because I cry when I speak, or because nearly five months have passed and people have hit their limit on patience. Sometimes when I start to talk, I can almost hear the other person thinking, "Just shut up about your daughter!" But I will never shut up about you. I can't. I love you, I miss you, and I want to honor your memory. If nothing else, I will always talk to Daddy about you. He never tires of his sweet little girl.

On a less frustrating note, Daddy and I feel so blessed by the outpouring of love from our friends and family during the Day of Hope yesterday. We received over 100 photos of candles that were lit in remembrance of you and for all the other dear children who have lost their lives far too soon. I wonder if you saw all the flickering flames from heaven. What a sight that must have been. In case you missed some of them, I've included a few here. I'm also in the process of creating collages of all of the candles and will post them on Facebook for everyone to see soon. I hope the gesture made you smile, sweetheart. I bet you have a beautiful smile. I can't wait to see it for myself.

I love you, baby girl.

Love,

Back to School

Dear Jordy-Bug,

It's that time of year again. Daddy started football two-a-days on Monday of this week. He got me up at 6am to help him tie his shoes and wrap his cast. The same happened on Tuesday morning. On Wednesday, as I groggily finished tying a somewhat lopsided knot in his left shoe, he looked at me with his kind eyes and said, "You only have to do this for three more weeks." My original reaction was, "I guess that's not so long." But then it hit me, I would tie Daddy's shoes and wrap his arm and do just about anything else for him for the rest of my life if it meant I got to see him, talk to him, kiss him, and hold him every day. Thank you, sweet girl, for teaching me to cherish every minute I have with the ones I love...even at 6am.

Yesterday was my first official day back for the 2012-2013 school year. You should have been on your way to your first experience at daycare. I should have been crying because it was our first day apart. Instead, I cried all day because we are always physically apart. Some of my colleagues have tried to reach out to me, but I'm inconsolable and forever fighting back tears. I don't want to be at work. I want to be with you. I love and miss you more than anyone can imagine.

Love,

The Empty Spot on the Couch

Dear Jordy-Bug,

Daddy and I are still recuperating from our first week back in the "real world" after our visit to Faith's Lodge. It was a doozy. Mommy had two full days of meetings at work, and kept thinking, "How am I going to be productive for an entire school year when just sitting in these meetings is exhausting me emotionally?" I was constantly fighting back tears. I can't imagine how I'm going to function when there are halls and classrooms full of students and teachers. I can't imagine what I'm going to say when someone asks me how my baby is doing. You are in heaven and happier than anyone can understand, so the answer should be "she's perfect!" But answering that question with a giant hole in my heart is unbearable (I'm crying just thinking about it.) Speaking of crying, I ended up at the eye doctor again on Tuesday afternoon because my crying has chapped my eye. Yes, I said chapped. The tears are still washing away the natural, protective coating on my eye and causing severe dryness and making it impossible to wear my contacts without pain.

As for Daddy, he had appointments to figure out what's really wrong with his shoulder/elbow/wrist. He is very claustrophobic, so he has been putting off the MRI his doctor ordered. His persistent research for alternatives and subsequent hounding of the medical staff paid off. The nurse scheduled a shoulder ultrasound for Wednesday morning. When he got there, he asked the doctor again about the acute pain in his elbow (the doc previously wasn't concerned with the elbow, just the shoulder and wrist.) He reviewed the x-ray and, lo and behold, he missed the fracture in Daddy's elbow. So, poor Daddy has been walking around for over a month with a broken arm and not sleeping at night worrying about the MRI. He had to see a different doctor on Thursday for his wrist, who cast his entire arm. He didn't handle that well at all (as I told you, he's claustrophobic and can't stand to be restricted in his movement.) So, after practically begging them, they sliced the cast in half to make it a "splint." He is still uncomfortable, but at least he can take it off when it gets to be too much. And at least he got out of the MRI. By the end of the day on Thursday, we were both at the end of our emotional ropes.

Even before you died, I was worried how Daddy would handle it when it was Milo's time to leave us. They have been buddies for almost 14 years! It was determined while we were at the lodge that the little guy had an inoperable, cancerous tumor in his gall bladder and liver. The day that we both dreaded came on Friday. We knew it was time to let him rest in peace because he had gotten very weak, unsteady, wasn't consistently keeping his tube-fed meals down, and was having occasional seizures. A little after 4pm, we took Milo around to each of the other kitties to say good bye. By the time we got out to the car, he was uncomfortable and scared. So in an effort to escape, he chomped down on my left thumb. I've never really been bitten by an animal before (playful bites by the kitties don't count), so I had no idea how much a puncture wound hurts. Holy cow! I knew he didn't mean it and I knew we didn't have much more time with him, so I tried to focus on making him comfortable and not on my thumb. At 4:30pm, we arrived at the animal hospital and the veterinary assistant led us to a room we had never seen before. It was painted green, with a table in the center covered by a soft towel, had homey decorations and comfy places to sit, and contained books about animals in heaven. I immediately turned to Daddy, who had already started to cry, and said to him through my own tears, "How odd and cruel is it that twice in less than five months, we've been led into a special room to watch our baby die?" After we took some time alone with Milo, the veterinarian came in and gave our little man a shot that sent him to you. Watching Daddy cuddle his soft, limp body took me right back to the NICU on your last day here on earth. I couldn't get the image of you in Daddy's arms out of my head. We cried together and left the animal hospital with empty arms. Just as we left the hospital in March. When we got home, the first things I saw were the indented, empty spot on the couch where Milo used to nap, and your Jordyn Bear, peering at me from the love seat. We want you both back. But since that's not possible, we want you two to be happy together. You're an amazing little girl and he's a special kitty. I hope you have lots of good cuddles with him, honey.

We love and miss you so much!

Love,

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,