Not a creature was stirring

The house is quiet. As I look around I see remnants of Christmas. Scattered boxes, wrapping paper and a few toys that didn't get picked up. The tree is still up and lights our dark living room. A stocking full of Santa's delivered loot is hung with two wrapped presents nearby, temporarily untouched.

Spencer will be home in six days. The stocking will be dumped and the presents from Santa will be ripped open in a flurry of excitement. The decorations will be taken off the tree before it is removed from the house. The boxes and paper will be thrown away and the toys put in their place. The house will be bustling with activity again.

These last six months I have tried really hard to not allow myself to dwell on what I would be missing out on with Palmer. I have allowed myself only two 'indulgences' of sorts. Both of my boys would have been six months old at Christmas so I often use Spencer's milestones to indicate what Palmer would be doing about now. My first indulgence is wondering if Palmer would be crawling. Spencer crawled for the first time on Christmas eve. My second is an image I have of Spencer sitting under the tree with Scott getting ready to open a present.  From birth pictures, my boys look so much alike. I can only imagine that being Palmer under the tree. I had been relying on my memory until finding this picture on Christmas day.

As I sit here tonight in the dark, I can only count my blessings. I was blessed to view Christmas through Spencer's eyes. I watched his excitement as he opened his presents, played with his new toys and tried on his new jammies and Agent P slippers. I watched his eyes light up as Scott and I opened our presents that he picked out all on his own. If we didn't have Spencer I can only imagine what this holiday would have been like. As I sit here in the quiet, reality is rearing its ugly head. I can only think of the other moms and dads who spent their Christmas in a quiet house. No frenzied excitement.  No wrapping paper strewn about. No toys to step on or pick up. Just deafening, painful silence.

With Sprinkles on Top

Oh sweet baby ~

I can't believe it has been six months already. Holidays, birthdays and of course the six month mark all seem to be the tough days to get through. So I wasn't quite sure what to expect of today ~ but all I felt was peace ~ no anxiety or sadness. It felt similar to the day you were born. So incredibly peaceful. Carys' mom remarked how she hoped we would  touch heaven the day you were born. I have to admit, I was sort of confused with what she said. How could we touch Heaven?  She said the feeling was unbelievable and truly an experience we wouldn't mistake. She was so rooted in her faith that I knew I couldn't question it, just be open to what was about to come.

I figured out pretty quick what she was talking about. I have never experienced such an overwhelming sense of peace and tranquility as we welcomed you, a tiny, perfectly formed child of God into the world . I believe part of our comfort that day was to experience just a portion of what was in store for you when you were welcomed Home. Your dad and I weren't the only ones who felt it. Complete strangers talked about the peaceful atmosphere surrounding our room. It was undeniable. Today was no different.

I thought tonight we should have birthday pancakes to celebrate your six month, heavenly birthday. Pancakes, special peanut butter, sprinkles, chocolate chips and candles. Your brother was so excited to celebrate and blow out the candles, but I think you already know that.  Happy six months sweet baby, happy heavenly birthday to you.

That Mom

At this time six months ago we were welcoming family and friends to our home in the anticipation of Palmer's birth. It was a happy time mixed with the fear of the unknown.

Since Palmer's birth, society has painted me into 'that mom'.

That mom whose baby died. Oh yes. Don't you remember me telling you about her. She is the one who had that baby that died. No. Babies don't just die. She must have had a miscarriage. Yeah. A miscarriage. That sounds better. If we call it a miscarriage it is easier forgotten. Besides no one actually knows their baby will die before it is born. So yeah. It must have been a miscarriage. There is no way she willingly carried him to term knowing he would die.

Oh no. Here comes that mom. Don't make eye contact. She might start talking about her baby that died. We can't let her bring it up or mention it at all. Quick. Turn the corner. Oh I hope she didn't see us.

That mom is crazy! Who thinks rain can make you feel closer to your dead child. I hope she feels comfort in all that delusion she is living in.

Oh. Its that mom. Oh poor thing. Well lets make sure we are super supportive but please, at all cost, we need to avoid mentioning her babies name. Christmas is coming and we just can't say his name out loud. We don't want her having a break down at the mention of his name.

That mom. *sigh*

I really hate to burst some bubbles out there but I am not that mom. Who I am, is that mom who delivered a full-term infant who was born with a beating heart. I am that mom who loved her son unconditionally, and yes, chose to continue a pregnancy knowing the end result would be death either during birth or shortly after. I am that mom who mourns her son in her own way and on her own time and will not be told that she is doing it wrong.  I am that mom who continues to embrace the plan God has for her son and who rejoices in the fact that she has an angel looking down on her from Heaven.

I am that mom who wants to talk about her son ~ especially during the holiday seasons and those special anniversary dates. The moment we stop talking about those we lost, is the moment we forget about them. I am not going to crack or crumble at the mention of his name, but I will if he is forgotten. I am my own person and will never let society paint me into 'that mom'. I am Palmer's mom.