NICU Remembrance Day

Dear Jordy-Bug,

Last week I had a dream about you. This is only the second time it's happened since you died. Your sister, your brother, and you were playing on Mommy and Daddy's bed. As the big sister, you were making sure they didn't get too rowdy or fall off. You were exactly as I have pictured you in my mind: sweet, loving, protective, and kind, with beautiful bright blue eyes. The only thing that wasn't as I had imagined was your hair color. It had lightened up some, so you looked even more like your siblings than you did as a baby (and less like your Momma.) Despite the change in hairdo, it was absolutely wonderful to see you. Somehow, though, I woke up with tears on my cheeks. You would have been 3 1/2 years old on that day. I was wrecked for the rest of it.

I trudged through the day, crying at the drop of a hat. Later in the afternoon I discovered through my fog that Neonatal Intensive Care Remembrance Day is not only a thing, but it's this month. I've been a bereaved mother for 3 years, 5 months, and 26 days. Yet somehow I had no idea about it. Maybe it's because nearly all of the bereaved parents I talk to have had a miscarriage, a stillborn birth, or knew their baby would die within hours of birth, so they didn't spend any time in the NICU. On the other hand, most of the people we know who have children who did spend time in the NICU brought their babies home to grow and thrive. Our experience is rather unique, at least among people we know.

In all honesty, I've been struggling a lot lately...even before the dream. Daddy is very busy with work and football, and I spend a lot of time alone with your siblings. I absolutely cherish that time, but let's be honest, there's not a lot of high level conversation going on between a 2-year old, a 7-month old, and an old lady like me. So, it gives me too much time alone in my head; that's always a dangerous thing. I obsess about issues and people in my life...you being the most important person of all. There's the guilt of not mothering you as much as I mother our living babies. There's the sorrow of not being able to experience new things with you. There's the mixed emotions that come with looking at your sweet photos and knowing there will never be any new ones. And there's the tears. Tears that I haven't allowed myself to cry for months and months. Those tears are flowing pretty easily these days. Although I hate to cry, I feel like it's necessary. I've been holding back on my grief since I found out I was pregnant with Joslyn. I had new hope (which is awesome), and I think it cushioned the pain of losing you for a while. Then Tyse came along and I found myself busy, busy, busy raising two little earthly crazies, which obscured the grief even more. However, going back to work in August after maternity leave opened the flood gate. You should have started preschool. I should have been posting photos of you in pigtails with your lunch box and backpack. Instead, I watched all of the other moms post first day photos of their 3-year olds and I cried. I feel like I haven't stopped crying since.

On Saturday I'll remember you, just as I do every other day...hour...minute...second of my life. I pray that you remember me too.

NICU: March 28, 2012; One of your very last cuddles with Daddy.

I love you, Bug.

Two Little Girls, Two Little Birthdays

Dear Jordy-Bug,

Tomorrow your sweet, rambunctious, precocious little sister will be two years old. TWO! I have a feeling you are two very different girls. Joslyn is all about action: singing, dancing, swimming, coloring, chattering, and socializing. I imagine you as a bit quieter, a tad more contemplative, a smidge on the cerebral side. Still, I think you would be the best of friends.  I imagine her coaxing you out of your shell, while you keep her grounded (and maybe even out of trouble.)

For Joss's 2nd birthday, we're going to Rooftop Church's summer party for some mini golf, bouncing, bubbles, music, and ice cream. Then we're coming back home for a dinner of pizza, salad, and a special cake created by one of Mommy's former students. It's a pretty basic celebration for a two year old. I notice as I plan things for her, though, there's always something niggling at me...almost holding me back. For instance, last year we bought her one small gift (a little basketball) and visited Grant's Farm. Even with that very simple day, I felt guilty. Why? Because no one gets YOU anything for YOUR birthday. We usually release some balloons and have cake (we completely dropped the ball on those this year because of the arrival of your new brother), but there aren't any packages with your name on them. There aren't many cards that come in the mail (a couple thoughtful friends still send them.) Don't misunderstand me, I don't want gifts showing up at the house...I don't want anything for me, except to know that you're loved and remembered. So, as a belated birthday present to you, I'm asking our friends and family to honor you at the Share Walk for Remembrance and Hope. That can come in the form of registering to walk with us, registering as an Angel in the Crowd (for those unable to attend, but who want to receive a t-shirt and program in the mail), or by sponsoring the walk through a monetary donation (below.)

 

My hope is that you are showered with love through their generosity, and the Share organization is blessed by being able to support other bereaved families. 

We love you, Bug. Keep watching over your sister and brother...and make sure you sing "Happy Birthday" extra loudly tomorrow so she can hear you.

Love,

My Right to Bare Arms

Dear Jordy-Bug,

I hate heat. I hate to sweat. St. Louis is a hot, humid city in the summer. Today it was in the upper 80s. Yuck. Despite the uncomfortable climate, I haven't worn a sleeveless shirt in public since my mid-twenties, when I got down to my high school weight. (I should note that in high school I thought I was HUGE...and compared to my size 2 friends, my size 12 frame was, indeed, seemingly immense.) Every summer since then, I've thrown on my t-shirt and shorts and hunkered down in the air conditioned house. When I had to be somewhere public, I didn't dare show more skin than was absolutely necessary.

Enter your sweet little sister and brother. When I asked Joss what she wanted to do today, she said, "ammals!" She wanted to go see some animals. Animals are outside. In the heat. Oy. I had two choices: play it emotionally safe and cover up my bulk with a frumpy t-shirt but be miserable when the sweat started to flow, or suck it up, bear my flabby arms, and feel more physically comfortable. Decisions, decisions.

Today I'm 50 pounds heavier than I was in high school, and I went to the park with Daddy, Joslyn, and Tysen in a tank top. I. Wore. A. Tank. Top. In. Public.

This is huge! (No pun intended.)

Of course, there was quite a bit of internal dialogue that led up to this decision. What would I be saying to Joslyn and Tysen if I didn't want to participate or I was crabby when engaging with them because I dislike my appearance? How do I set aside my insecurities and model self-confidence so I can contribute to raising a strong, healthy daughter, and a son who respects a woman for who she is instead of basing that decision on the size of her jeans? I want to enjoy your siblings to the fullest, not just watch from the sidelines as they laugh, run, and play with Daddy. I want to expose them to different experiences, not limit them to activities we can do in the 70° house away from judging eyes. So, that means I need to get outside and look at the "ammals" with them in good spirits...and a comfortable outfit.

Make no mistake. You also had a large role in my decision. I'm missing every single thing with you. Everything. I can't miss out with them, too. So I want to thank you, Bug, for my new found bravery. Because of you, I'm going to stop focusing on what I look like to me and start working on what I look like to Joss and Tyse.

Tank top? Check.

"Ooooooooh," look at the birds!

Swimsuit? Well, I'll work on that one. ;)

You make me a better person every day. I love you, sweetie!

"Notes of Hope"

Dear Jordy-Bug,

Share Pregnancy and Infant Loss Support is creating a "Notes of Hope" campaign that encourages bereaved parents, grandparents, siblings, family/friends and professionals to write a love note or poem to our children that will be published in a digital keepsake journal in October during Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month. I'll admit that it took me a long time to sit down and write the letter. I'm not entirely sure why. Maybe it's because I'm consumed with Joslyn and Tysen. Maybe it's because I wanted to find the exact right words to say to you. Maybe it's because I miss you so freaking much that no letter is going to do justice to those feelings. I don't know the exact reason, but I finally sat down and wrote it tonight after tucking your brother and sister into bed.
  
Here's the final product:

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In memory of Jordyn Tyse-Dallas Sander ~ 3.14.2012 - 3.28.2012

Dear Jordy-Bug,

Three years. Wow. It seems like an eternity since we last held you in our arms. A lot has happened since you came into our world on March 14, 2012 and left so soon after. We said good bye for now to Grandpa Nockerts in July 2013, and two weeks later on August 1st we welcomed your little sister Joslyn. Your younger brother Tysen was born eighteen months after that in February 2015. Needless to say, it’s been a busy few years. Although we love your "rainbow" siblings with all of our being, we sure do miss our little Bug.

Your sister and brother are too young to understand your story, but Joslyn recognizes you in your photos and calls you "Sissy." When she sees a ladybug, she says "Bug!" and then "Sissy!" Often she stands in front of your curio cabinet, staring at your urn and trinkets. It warms our hearts that she’s getting to know her big sister; it's really remarkable how she has taken to you and your things.

Parenting a child in heaven and two on earth is an emotional balancing act. It breaks our hearts when we think about everything we're missing in your life, while we celebrate all the milestones in your siblings’ lives. We pray that what we miss with you will be made up when we finally join you in your heavenly home. Until then, we hope we do you proud while raising Joss and Tyse. Our promise to you is that they will continue to learn about you, grow to love you, and help us keep your memory alive.

Please give Grandpa lots of hugs and kisses, and know that we love and miss you more than anyone can imagine.

All our love,
Daddy (Dennis), Mommy (Kelly), Joslyn, & Tysen
xoxo

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It's been so long since I've written anything, I'm not even sure if it's coherent. Or worthy of you. But I did the best I could considering my procrastination (it's due tomorrow, by the way.) I try to honor God in all I do...and I strive to make you proud, too. I hope you like it, Bug.

All my love, 

Beware the Ides of March

Dear Jordy-Bug,

You know what's frustrating about grief? Pretty much everything. But you know what's REALLY frustrating? Not knowing when it's festering until it's too late.

Yesterday was your 3rd birthday. We didn't do much. In fact, with your new baby brother Tysen in the mix and me still recuperating from c-section surgery, we didn't plan anything special. We didn't get a cake. We didn't release balloons. We didn't light and release the lantern that has been sitting in the garage for months. We didn't even have a special dinner. We spent the day at home together as a family, tired from three weeks of sleep deprivation and a little sad. My lingering migraine didn't add to the fun. Although the day was entirely uneventful, we did sing Happy Birthday to you last night...three times (because Joslyn kept saying "Again!" whenever we finished.) But that's about it. All in all, it was a birthday fail.

By rights, today should have been better emotionally. We went to church with Grandma Nockerts, had a nice brunch, and then came home to relax and watch the Wisconsin Badger basketball game. I still couldn't shake the migraine and was a little cranky, but I thought that's all it was. After the overtime Badger B1G Championship victory, Grandma and I started to prepare dinner. That's when it all started to unravel. The child safety lock on the cabinet door wouldn't open. I cursed. I couldn't find a pan that fit the ribs just right. I grumbled at Grandma. The faucet wasn't spraying water with enough force. I snapped at Daddy. The sink didn't hold water as I was doing some of the dishes. I started to cry a little. The oven didn't seem to heat the ribs all the way through. I about threw them on the floor. There it was. My boiling point. I dished up Joslyn's and Daddy's plates, waited for Grandma to sit at the table with Joss, and I headed for the bedroom, where I grabbed your Jordyn Bear and erupted in tears.

How could I be such a terrible parent and not do something special for you yesterday? Why did I let my tiredness and attention to your siblings eclipse your special day? I knew that the balance of parenting a child in heaven and children on earth was going to be tenuous. I just didn't know that I'd let you down so soon. I'm trying to give myself some grace, but the Mommy guilt is overwhelming.

After my brief cry (I only got to melt down for about ten minutes before Tysen screamed for a feeding), I contemplated the situation and started to think a bit more clearly. The conclusion I came to was this: whether we celebrate your birthday with a month-long party surrounded by friends and family or sit on the couch just hanging out with each other, we love you more than life itself. That will never ever change. Ever.

We love and miss our big 3 year old! Here's hoping your celebration in heaven was a little more festive. Happy Birthday, Bug!

Anxious Anticipation

Dear Jordy-Bug,

On the eve of your little brother's birth, I feel like I should have something profound to say. Mostly, though, I miss you intensely and I'm anxious. Anxious that the delivery will be as traumatic as yours...or even your sister's, which put me out of commission for 14 hours after her birth. Anxious that he won't be completely healthy. Anxious that we'll leave the hospital with empty arms again.

So, I'm not going to try to be profound. I'm going to try to breathe. And relax. And pray. And enjoy the last several hours of this tiny little life inside of me. Stay close, Bug, because I have a feeling we'll be talking often between now and tomorrow morning.

I love you, sweet girl.

Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. 

Phil 4:6-7

Love,

Baby's First (and hopefully only) "Sext" Ever

Dear Jordy-Bug,

Yesterday, Daddy and I went to the 20-week ultrasound (anatomy scan) for your littlest sibling. Among other things, we found out the gender. I figured I should try to do the gender reveal in a clever, yet non-nauseating way. While I was thinking about this, it occurred to me that I had actually gotten to the point where I was excited about sharing the gender news with friends and family. This was a breakthrough for me.

You might ask, "Why wouldn't you be excited, Mommy?" For people who haven't lost a child, their natural inclination is to look forward to finding out the gender (mine definitely was when we went to the scan for you.) However, for us now it's a whole different bucket of emotions and obsessions. Sunday afternoon I felt the knot in my stomach. By the evening, I was pretty spaced out and not really focusing on the things going on around me. Monday morning, I was even more anxious, a bit testy, and short with both Daddy and Joss. I was probably even more nervous about this ultrasound than I was with your sister. I'm another year older; another year increases the chances of genetic problems with the baby. Along with that, every physical anomaly I had ever heard about in our support groups blinded me as it flashed into my brain. Every diagnosis that was "incompatible with life" played itself out as a cacophonous tune in my head. I was overwhelmed. Normal people don't think like this. They think "I can't wait to find out if the baby is a boy or girl!" They might also spend a few minutes on "I hope s/he is healthy," but not to the extent that people who have lived through the death of a child and the subsequent sharing of hundreds of awful, awful stories that no one should have to tell or hear do. When we say, "We don't care what the gender is, we just hope the baby is healthy," we mean it with our whole hearts.

So, bright and early Monday morning, we anxiously made our way to the perinatal center, where we expected to see a different ultrasound technician than our favorite tech who knew our family's story and did all of Joslyn's scans. When we scheduled our appointment, we were told that she was not in on Mondays. Much to my great surprise, Ana popped her head into the waiting room and said "How are you guys? You're pregnant again? How wonderful!" My anxiety eased just a tad as I said a little prayer of thanks for putting her on the schedule that day. Before we started the hour-long test, Ana asked how my anxiety level was with this pregnancy. I told her I was mostly okay except for the last 24 hours. Then the tears came. She handed me tissues and said everything is going to be great with this one. As she patiently and painstakingly walked us through every anatomical structure and measurement, explaining what they meant, she reassured us that the baby was beautiful and everything was looking good. Another breath and release of tension. The perinatal specialist then came in to go over a few of the same things and also talked to us about the risk of Down Syndrome. Panic. She reassured us that at this juncture, everything is pointing to a healthy baby and that we're not going to talk about potential problems any more. Breathe. "We're going to do the same routine that we did with Joslyn, OK?" I nodded in the affirmative. This means lots of ultrasounds, non-stress tests, blood tests, and doctor visits. I'm okay with that, because clearly I need the reassurance that these tests bring, even though the time leading up to each one is stressful.

After we left the appointment and my anxiety level started to return to an acceptable level, I starting processing everything. I thought to myself, "For now, this baby is healthy. I'm going to rejoice in that bit of news and go from here." I thanked God for giving us the gift of another baby when I wasn't sure I would even have one to hold in my arms. I also thanked him for the staff at Holy Tony's Perinatal Center and their compassion, as well as the good news we got from the scan. Then I pictured you and Joslyn chatting about whether you wanted a brother or sister. [I'm sure she's communicating with you when she stands in front of your curio cabinet and stares, or when she holds on to your Jordyn-Bear with all her strength.] Did the conversation go something like this?

Joslyn: "Mommy's having a baby."
Jordyn: "Yes, and I already have a little sister, so I want a brother."
Joslyn: "What's a brother?"
Jordyn: "It's a boy that is related to you."
Joslyn: "Oh, then I want something else. What's it called when it's a girl related to you?"
Jordyn: "A sister. I'm your sister."
Joslyn: "Oh, I already have one, then. OK, I'll take a brother."
Jordyn: "I'll tell God."

And so it was done. Baby Sander #3 is, indeed, a little boy.

His first (and hopefully only) "sext."

Clever, huh? ;)

Thanks for helping God decide how to round out our family, baby girl. I love you!

Love,

"One of Each"

Dear Jordy-Bug,

It's been quite a while since I've written. In my defense, I've been pretty exhausted since May. This little Jellybean sibling of yours is taking quite a toll on me in the form of exhaustion and periodic morning sickness. I didn't really have either of those issues with you or your Sissy. So, my theory is that this one is a boy. We won't find out for sure until October (yes, we're finding out...I'm a planner and Daddy doesn't like surprises), but my gut instinct says 'boy' because this pregnancy is so different from the other two.

This topic has come up a lot lately because people naturally ask, "How are you feeling?" and "Do you know what you're having?" I usually tell them "Tired and queasy, so I'm guessing it's a boy." I think I'm going to stop saying that, though, because on multiple occasions, the person asking then says, "Oh, that would be great, because then you'd have one of each!"

Ummm.

No.

I have three children.

At this point, I can either choose to make the conversation awkward, or I can walk away. I generally excuse myself without further ado.

I try to remind myself that most people have good intentions, but I would be ever so grateful if they would think before they speak. As I've stated before, one of my worst fears is that people forget you. It's easy for them to remember Joslyn because she's right here with us, and her antics are captured in photos and videos on a daily basis. You're not here physically. There are no new photos of you to post on Facebook. You're in my heart, but most people can't see what's in my heart. Sometimes I wish they'd look just a little harder...

I love and miss you, Bug.

Love,

April Showers

Dear Jordy-Bug,

Wow. I'm so glad April is finished. You'd think that March would be the most difficult month for us, but April was actually worse this year. My theory is that because Grandma Nockerts visited us during the last week of March, we enjoyed our time with her and sort of put off grieving your second anniversary in heaven. Then she flew back to Texas, and it hit us in it's entirety.

I've cried a lot since the end of March. In fact, I gave a new meaning to the phrase "April showers." Gobs of little things have come up this month that have exacerbated our already raw emotions, and I'm afraid I haven't handled them well at all. For instance, Daddy and I needed to get some paperwork together for a project, which included two years of former tax returns. When I pulled out the 2012 and 2013 returns, this is the first thing my eyes went to:

 

I'm not sure what was worse, 

seeing "DIED" next to your name on the 2012 return 

or not seeing you at all on the one from 2013. 

Either way, I cried.

Something as negligible as a tax return, a harmless question, a hastily scrawled note or muttered phrase, one little line in a song, a promise not fulfilled, a seemingly innocuous movie reference, news of a development I didn't expect, a misunderstanding with a colleague at work,...moreover all the obvious triggers like a pregnancy or birth announcement, seeing the last name of our NICU doctor on a standardized test booklet, or the myriad "sisters" memes on social media that remind me Joslyn will never truly understand what it means to have a big sister to protect her, teach her, and love her. These are the mundane things in life that send a bereaved mother over the edge. So many things. Every. Day.

I'm fairly confident that many people in our lives think we're "okay" now. We go about our daily activities with relative normality. But they don't see the anxiety, they don't see the tears, and they don't realize how fragile we are emotionally. I used to consider myself a pretty resilient person. Not any more. I overreact to situations, or I freeze and don't react at all. Then when I get to a more private place, I rant, scream, and/or cry. At least I'm getting it out of my system, but then I'm left with regret at the way I reacted (or didn't react) in the first place. [This is probably the stuff I should be unloading on a therapist not a 2-year-old, huh? Fair enough. I'll stop now, but it's making me feel a little better, so I can't promise it won't happen again. ツ]

So, it's May now. April is behind us. I don't know why I think the flipping of a calendar page will make everything better, but I have faith in new beginnings. A new month, season, school year...they all hold promise and hope. I'm not sure what this month will bring, but I'm banking on the "May flowers." We've had enough rain.

On a happier note, here's your baby sister on her 9-month birthday.
Though you can't be here to protect her on earth,
I sure hope you're watching over her from heaven.
She needs you. We all do.

Thank you for listening, Bug. I love you and miss you more and more with every passing moment!

Love,

God's Grander Plan

Dear Jordy-Bug,

I'm not sure why I never posted the Voices from the Rooftop service that Daddy and I participated in back in May 2012 (one day shy of your 2-month Angelversary), so I'm doing it now. Voices from the Rooftop is an opportunity for people in the congregation at Rooftop to share how the sermon series has affected them. I'd never been compelled to share during these opportunities in the past. However, I felt called to tell your story to our church family (and now to whoever comes across this blog), because you have had such a profound effect on so many people.

The sermon series that led up to this was called "Live to Tell: Why Telling People about Jesus is our Greatest Purpose in Life." God used the most difficult and trying time in our lives to show Himself to others. God worked through you and through us to reach many, many people with His grace and His love. We may not like that you had to leave us so soon, but He has a much grander plan for you than any of us could have imagined.

Some of this video may be a bit unintelligible as I stumble over some words, and I sniff a lot in an effort to hold back the tears. But I'm hoping that it's not so distracting that you can't make it through to hear what we have to say. I am grateful to have had Daddy at my side to help me through. Our part begins at 0:25:26, but the other speakers have important stories to share too. So if you have time, watch the whole thing.

This is for you, Bug. We hope we made you and God proud. We love you both. 

Voices from the Rooftop, 5.27.2012

"What I tell you in the dark, speak in the daylight. What is whispered in your ear, shout from the rooftops." --Matthew 10:27 (In case you were curious where the name of our church comes from. ;)

Love,