Sunday, September 29, 2013


Fall was my favorite time of year. The cool crisp air, the lengthening darkness in the evening, the crunchy leaves, pumpkins, Halloween. It was my FAVORITE.


Now it's here and as much as I'd like to enjoy it, everything hurts. I can't describe it as bittersweet, because that to me means there is as much bitter as there is sweet. I don't have that.

Every day as we near his bramiversary, the days get harder. Some of this is the anticipation of the day, but most of it isn't. It's something else. It's these final moments with him, like we're approaching a second death of sorts. Everyday is an anniversary of a final moment with Bram. Every Halloween decoration, every time we go to target (which is a lot, we are target junkies), the need for sweaters, salted caramel cake pops, football season, A beginning to talk and say things that Bram way, planning Christmas presents, T's birth day. There are so many little moments that seem mundane but in it they are HUGE, huge reminders of him.

I'm dreading the thought of knowing I haven't heard him say "I la you mommy" in over a year. That I haven't felt his arms arm around my neck in over a year. That I haven't gotten one of his big dramatic "MWUUUUUUUAAAAAH!!!" kisses in over a year.

I half expect to get to his last day and have it be that day all over again. Not to relive it, but to save him. To be able to take back this year of hell. I'm ready to be done. I'm ready to hold him, and see him, and love on him.


that won't happen. Reality is cruel.

I want to be surrounded with friends in these moments, but I can't ask. I can't burden them more than I already have.

The hubs and I are struggling with flashbacks that increase on the daily. Even now, he just went out with the baby and I made sure to tell them both how much I love them in case they don't comeback. I had no idea how much this would change everything.

But I feel Bram. I think of him, and then I feel him. Or I'll feel him and then think of him. I'm still so grateful to be him mommy. I love you billar. I wish you were here. 

Monday, September 23, 2013

Feeling normal

I'm sure some are jumping for joy to see that title. But it doesn't not mean what you think it means.

Today I can't help but think of a fellow warrior mama I met at Judi's house. The first time I saw her she was sobbing away. So hurt to have lost her son and it had been well over a year. Every meeting she openly expressed her pain. She popped in my head today because she was a gift I didn't realize I had received.

Last night we had gone through cards, and his clothes looking for someone's info and couldn't find it. The process of going through it, of seeing that he was actually here, feeling him so close, and so far.... it wrecked me. I couldn't eat, I was sick to my stomach, my heart was pounding a hole through my ribs, I could barely breathe. My sweet husband was brought to tears. So we stopped and held on, to each other, to the memories of our family complete with Bram, to our precious babies living and dead. Learning how to just BE with this ache.

So this morning as my eye peeled open from yet another restless night filled with nightmares the beauty of her came to me. She taught me that there is nothing wrong with the way I feel, because for a warrior mama this (and you women know what I'm talking about) is normal. This is never going to stop and it's brave mamas who have shown me that they still hurt years and decades later, and that is ok.

Thank you C, thank you for sharing your handsome wonderful son J, and for gifting me with truth without ever knowing it. <3

Sunday, September 22, 2013

Birth is as safe as life gets

I've talked about Bram's birth a few times here, even shared the story. This weekend was the Trust Birth Conference in Sydney, Australia, so friends were posting some great reminders. This past week a local station once again ran a story on "Freebirth" or as many call it family birth.

Bram's birth was an accidental family birth and it was amazing. I read some commentary on the local freebirth story and it was overwhelmingly "I'd rather be safe than sorry" and "If I gave birth at home I would have died" but these are apples and oranges. Birth starts at safe, everyone you know was born, every person who has ever walked the planet was born. Yes there was death and problems, but they haven't gone away. Childbed fever was spread because physicians thought it was silly to wash their hands between examining a dead person and a healthy living person. We've also made extreme advances in sanitation and nutrition. But this is a tangent and not my intent. And even then, even birthing with every technology available, we still lose babies because we cannot control life and death.

Bram's birth was perfect. I allowed him to enter the world on his terms. Peacefully. Protected. Loved. I am SO thankful for how he got to begin his life. All this hope and promise bundled into a tiny beautiful person. He was born at home, without assistance, and we aren't lucky, that's just how it worked. Because birth works. It matters how we treat our babies when they are born. He was never scrubbed roughly, or treated for STDs in his eyes or body, he was never separate from his mama.

Life is not safe. Obviously people die. Children die. Babies die. No matter where your child is born there is no promise of a tomorrow with them. There is only now. Make the now count. Make the now everything you wish for them to know in their life in case that's where your life or their life stops.

Birth matters. Trust birth.

Wednesday, September 18, 2013


I posted a couple things on facebook, but I want to share here as well.

"I was told Bram has been sending me messages all along. I wonder if he's been with me longer than I realize. Long before he was born, long before I met TJ. The number 17 has been a constant in my life. Every time I think of Bram for some reason 17 finds me."

It's not just the number 17, but the number 11 too. 11 that has pulled me and the hubs together from the beginning. His mom died 11 year to the day that my maternal grandmother died. Hubs and I celebrated 11 years together this summer. My maternal grandfather's birthday was 11-11. Bram was born at 11 o'clock at night. Bram died at at 11 o'clock in the morning. He died on 11/17. I enrolled in midwifery school the November I was pregnant with Bram and have to give annual reports that

I've committed myself to trusting this process of awareness, trusting where it leads me, being mindful being present. I see these lights from Bram. Things I assumed were negative but have been him always. I posted this on facebook after a phone call connecting with 2 women who have lost as well.

"Bram lead me today, he lead me to knowing I am loved, I am supported, I am not alone. Thank you Bram, thank you friends. I wish I could tag you all so you can know how much I love you. "

Its quite healing allowing him to lead me, to see what PTSD has blinded me from. Bram is a beautiful soul who keeps on loving me. I'm am so thankful for him, so thankful that I get to be his mommy.

I'm also thankful for those I've connected with because of him. I am humbled, honored, and forever thankful to you for being there. Thank you beautiful souls, thank you for standing with me, holding my space, being present. I know that this hasn't been an easy walk and I'm not sure if it ever will be for me. But I know I have you, and that's everything.

Saturday, September 14, 2013

Grief wave the September edition

I cried all day yesterday. First time in a while. I've done really well at ignoring my feelings, shoving it down, like some crappy commenters have suggested.

I gave up sugar, it's acted as a filler for the void that has re-shown itself without my comfort and coping mechanism. Health wise this has been a great thing to be rid of sugar. In the long run, emotionally I know this is a good thing. Feeling everything, to not avoid it, to be with the raw pain.

The pain is raw, it hasn't gotten easier, frankly I don't know where the last 10 months (in 3 days) have gone. I can't remember moments but frankly. It feels like he died yesterday. It feels like a thousand lifetimes without him. I just want to hold him. I just want him. I want to see his face. I want him to climb into my lap. I want him to play with his little brother.

We're heading into birthday season for us. And then holidays. The holidays came right after last year. So we just kind of white knuckled our way through. We were blessed, a dear friend's work adopted us and sent their Santa and Mrs. Claus. The boys had so much fun. And my friends gifted us with a book that brings me to tears every time I see it. I was able to give the boys everything they wanted. This year we don't have that luxury, but we'll find a way.

I also don't think there is anyway we can get to legoland for Bram's deathiversary. Maybe for his birthday. When he should be 4. I should have a 3.5 year old right now. And I don't and it's too much to see the gaping hole in my family, in our hearts every day.

I don't know, this post is about nothing, and everything. I miss my Bram.

Thursday, September 5, 2013

My rock

It's been a hard week here. I don't know where it came from but I was blindsided. Grief is humiliating. 

My husband is my rock. He held me as I wailed. He got me inside when I became so paralyzed by fear and panic I literally could not move. Too terrified to take a step forward and lose more, too terrified to step into our Bram-less house. Standing raw and vulnerable in our drive way, at the mercy of any passing on-looker. He rescued me.

I screamed at my rock that this mess of a human is me forever, he shouldn't have to deal with this. But he reminded me that this is ours. That Bram is ours. That everyday of hurt we live through is because we got to have Bram at all. 

Maybe he didn't say it so eloquently, but I knew what he meant while he insisted on holding me and told me "Im never leaving you" 

I don't know how we would have gotten this far without him. Our family rock, our safest place. Thank you my sweet husband. I love you and I appreciate you more than I could ever say. Im so glad Bram is ours.