8 Years

August sixth. It's the day we "celebrate" Luke's birthday. Celebrate always seems like a strange word for the day. But I guess that's what we do. This year it happened to be on a Tuesday and we happened to be in Utah which also happened to be "Two Dollar Tuesday" at Thanksgiving Point." Jeremy tells me, "going there is something Luke would like to do." So that's where we spend the first half of the day and then on to our regular traditions of pizza and a hike. Being in nature always just feels like the right thing to do. A little closer to God. A little closer to heaven. A little closer to Luke.

Eight years. It was hard to believe it's already been eight years. I know for some time heals and for others the grief is still so rich and deep that they scoff at that saying. I'd say for me it has healed. I wonder how that might be different if I had lost a child whom I'd KNOWN versus a child who I only carried in my womb. The thought of losing one of  my other kids who I know and who are an intricate part of our daily lives seems like such a greater loss, one that I'm not so sure time would heal.

We strangely haven't been in Utah on August 6th since 2011, the year Luke died . . . the year Luke was born. Trevor took the kids on "tour-de-Utah" pointing out different places. In Provo it was simply things like "that's where your mom and I lived when we were first married" or "that's the building I took most of my classes." But on the way down  to Provo stop was a bit more melancholy. "This is hospital where Luke was born. This was the parking lot where I was when I called Grandma to tell her Luke had died."

I wasn't really in the mood for going down that road of all those emotions. So maybe in avoidance or maybe in a recommitted effort to actually do something to pay-it-forward I quickly told my family I'd be right back and hopped out of the van and went in side. Nothing looked familiar. They have either remodeled the labor and delivery wing or I was in such a fog walking in to that hospital eight years ago that I wasn't seeing my surroundings --only feeling the depth of the laborious task ahead of me - to get the baby out of me. What an awful terrible chore a woman has to do. I don't feel that way about birth. I love giving birth. But to have to birth a baby who is already deceased, that feels like one of the most cruel challenges a woman has to face. Writing these words I can almost feel it. It sits in front of me. It's a wall. It's something that feels impassable. Yet somehow in that foggy haze of emotions I put one foot in front of the other, checked in to the hospital, changed in to a gown, got all hooked up to monitors and IV's and began what felt like the longest road in front of me.

Eight years later much of it still seems blurry. Was that just because of how I was feeling or has time added the filter that softens the edges and makes it all less poignant?

So here I am in the hospital again and I'm introducing myself to a woman, I've already forgotten her name. I don't shake her hand for fear that I might still be sick, yet I greet her with a big smile and explain why I'm there. It's only an instant before I'm waving my hands at my eyes as if to dry out the tears that I feel welling up beyond my eye sockets. I feel it in my throat and eyes, "Today is my son's birthday who was stillborn. I gave birth here 8 years ago." I don't cry and just as quick as it came the emotions descend back out of my face, perhaps to my core where they are buried and only surface occasionally now. I ask her about the items they give to families who experience loss. She walks me across the corridor to a closet that has a permanent sign next to it "bereavement supplies" and I am somehow reminded of a fact I knew but push aside and forget, people...no...babies are dying all the time. Sometimes it feels like those sweet gifts were just for me, but no, the premature dying just keeps on going. I guess I don't think about it often because that's just too hard. I'm better at life when I can push that pain back down inside where it sleeps quietly as if it were hibernating. I'm good with it there. Yet I don't want the pain to be so forgotten that I don't reach out  and do my part to give back. So I take a quick visual survey of the things they provide to families of loss and start scheming how I can provide similar items, if needed, at my local hospitals.

Then just as rapidly as I raced in to the building I scurry back out to our van filled with three waiting children. How different that exit was than my previous exit. When I had rushed in to the building I had not only looked around for familiar details but was quickly taken back to the strange, strange feeling of leaving a hospital empty handed. And as I sit here and type my mind turns to the moment of turning my baby over to a stranger, albeit a kind stranger, nevertheless a complete stranger. A moment you have never even conceived or entertained, but suddenly you're living the moment of someone taking your baby. As I sit here now I regret not taking more time. More time to just be and observe and to hold. But I guess no amount of time would have been enough. I could have sat in the labor room for a week holding my baby and it wouldn't have been long enough before I had to hand him over to the mortuary employee.

I decided that we'd hike the Grotto in Payson canyon. Hardly a hike, more like a little walk to a charming waterfall. We had done it when I was pregnant and then with family in town for the funeral somehow we decided to do it again. It just seemed like the right hike to do on his "birthday" since we were there. Being back I could clearly see myself in my red athletic-style swishy pants (that I've long let go of) walking the path. I was walking with family even possibly chatting, with my hands in my pockets, yet carrying something. Carrying the weight of the fresh, fresh grief. When grief is that fresh it is tangible. You feel it. Always. Even if you're smiling, you feel it. Even if you're talking about something else, you feel it. It's thick. It's ever present. It's consuming. All consuming. 

Now as we hike the trails with our kids I look around and notice the charred trees from last year's summer fire. I think of those trees engulfed in flames and completely consumed. There is no escaping it. There is no avoiding feeling it when you're surrounded by flames. Those trees were showing me the consumption that grief carries. That consumption that does, like the flames, pass. But you're ever changed from it. I am no longer engulfed in the tangible nearly taste-able woes of grief, but my limbs are charred, like a tree that is split open to reveal its history through the markings on its rings, there will always be years that I know are marked with those consuming experiences.

How different life is for us now. The aches and longing for parenthood have been filled overflowing with parenthood. I ached for this life. Back then I was probably committing to never complain about anything regarding being a mother. Yet it's hard. It's hard work. The challenges are every growing me in to a new person. Yet this is the life I chose. It's not easy, so I recommit to finding the magic, the moments of smiles, the laughter, the silliness. All the things I longed for. They're here, but it takes more work to find them than I would have thought.

Silly kids surround me as they explore and splash and play --the colors of the rocks catch my eye. So vibrant. So varied. These rocks remind me how different we all are and how different grief can be for each of us. Yet the water washes over all --shaping, changing, and making anew.

*****

Luke,
Your brother and sister speak of you often. Your name has brought mastery to the letter "L" as we practice our letters. We don't know what you're like, but the kids like to think they do! May you be keeping busy watching over us and doing whatever work there is to do beyond the veil of this mortal existence. Oh how we look forward to you joining in on our crazy shenanigans! 

With love,
You mommy

Mountain Escape to Honor Luke: 4 Years

We seem to have created a bit of a tradition for the anniversary of Luke's "birthday." The first year was so strange. . .  do we celebrate? Do we mourn and grieve? What do we do?

So we found ourselves taking a hike together. And have been able to be in nature each year since.

This year Trevor was scheduled to be at scout camp and we didn't really have plans. I decided I'd take the kids and meet up with him in the mountains for a hike and decided, very last minute and by the graces of a friend who helped us have a place to stay, to make a weekend getaway of it.

With all of the packing and other commitments of the day we departed just in time for rush hour traffic and were not going to make it to the mountains in time for a hike.

Yet I think God knew it was a special day and gave us something more wonderful than a little hike together. He gave us a vista that would never be forgotten.

The children had finally settled in to our car ride and Clara slept while Jeremy watched a movie. Cruising along the freeway, even before we climbed the mountainside we were enchanted with a rainbow that we were driving right towards. The evening sky was a perfect blue filled with the loveliest white and grey-blue rain clouds that were just dazzling with the evening light shinning through and the rainbow lingering. It was absolutely beautiful. As Lightening McQueen finished his race a little voice beckoned for another movie. "No, it's time to just look out the windows now and find things to see."

"I see trees. And clouds. And rocks." He could see it too. The beauty that surrounded us.

I saw my favorite August flower. The little yellow mini-sunflower-like flowers that grow in bunches were scattered along the roadside as we climbed up the mountain. I thought back to these yellow flowers that were blooming every in and around Payson. These flowers were the sunshine and brightness that brought me a bit of happiness, that reminded me of God's love for me, and were such a comfort to me through the month of August just four short years ago.

And here they were. Scattered along the road, just for me.

My heart is happiest when I'm in nature despite the fact that I'm a city girl and currently could not live without the conveniences of the city. Yet here I was on this special day completely surrounded by a world that even though it was all new to me felt more like home than ever.

Home.

Home is when we are together with the ones we love.

Though we weren't with Luke we felt a little closer to him that day.

And it wouldn't be a day to honor someone without commemorating them with pizza. Our family's new favorite pizza restaurant in California, Lou Eddie's.

So good we went back again before we left the mountains!

We were also able to still go on a family hike, it just had to wait until later.

*****

And of course a big thank you to Grandparents who were so thoughtful to provide flowers both on Luke's grave and for us.

Words Cannot Convey

I suppose this early morning is the quiet that I’ve been looking for. Life with a baby lends its self to a very occupied day. Mornings often start before I do (Hello 5:15 am), nap times are filled with my “to-do” list which often just includes things like “shower” and “feed me.” I, of course, wouldn’t have it any other way. Jeremy is my world and I am happy to devote my life to him right now. Yet it doesn’t change the fact that I need just a little more quiet time. Time for me. Time to think. Time to write. And time to reflect.

I’ve missed having half a day to sit and think and write about my thoughts and things pertaining to Luke. Perhaps as I continue to improve my daily routines I can allow that to be a part of my life again. Perhaps not a half a day, but some time. Just a little bit of time for Luke.

So this morning I suppose it is a blessing that after an early morning feeding with Jeremy I couldn’t fall back asleep. The house is dark, it is calm, and I can hear the rain outside the window.

The rain. Sometimes it’s more of a feeling that it brings. Reflection. It’s hard to know what feelings to focus on. The details. The facts. It all starts coming back it mind. It never really left my mind, but the rain and the quiet morning bring it back up to the surface.

Wednesday. That was book club day. The day I spent reading to finish the book in time for that evening. The day I noticed Luke wasn’t moving much. He never moved much though. The book club. The friends. The conversation. The laughter. The insights. The talk of birth and anticipation and waiting. The drive home. The long dark drive home. Laying on the couch trying to feel movement. Sometimes he moved more at night. Sometimes. Worry. Concern.

Thursday. The day I knew. Movement –there was none. The day I wept. I showered. I wept. I wandered the house. I wept. My baby! Dear God, what am I to do? I’m supposed to be a mother right now. Why?! What am I supposed to do with my life now. I was paralyzed. I knew he was gone. I sat numbly on the couch. Paralyzed.

Denial. Everything is fine. I’ll serve. I’ll go to work. I go to the church to finish my visiting teaching reports. Evening preparations and summertime BBQ. Everything is fine.

Friday. Denial. Everything is fine.

The prenatal appointment. “You guys, this isn’t good.” Her big, caring eyes told it all as they penetrated my soul. Ultra sound. Doctor. Hospital. Induction. Phone calls. Texts. Prayers. Lots of prayers.

Blessings of angels. Labor. An un-medicated, beautifully strong, quick labor. I prepared for that.

Saturday – the stroke of midnight—we behold my son’s precious body though his spirit no longer resided within.

I did it. My work was done. I gave him a body. The body that one glorious day will be his again.

*****

The pain, the heartache, the emotions rise in me as the rain quiets outside. I can’t dig deeper. Not now. It hurts. It’s time to let it settle again. For a season. The memories are still there. Still as vivid as ever. The details are so clear in my mind. The emotions still sting my heart. It’s still there.

The memory is painful. The journey is hard. The love is strong.

*****

My darling little boy, we regret not being able to know you while you were here. We are certain you are ours forever and that our family has a guardian angel in you. Your second birthday would be next week. Trains? Cars? Planes? I wonder what you’d prefer. I’m thinking of you at this special time of year. I love you little one. Love, your mommy.

1 Year

As I wrote about ...last week brought my mind back to the events that took place and lead up to Luke's birth. Because it was leap year this year the days things occurred were misaligned with the date by two days. So even though Luke was born on Saturday morning on the 6th, this year the 6th didn't happen until Monday. Nevertheless I thought through the events on the days they happened and continued to think about the events of last August through Monday.

We knew Luke's "birthday" was coming up and Trevor was supposed to be working out of town on the sixth, but he opted to not be gone and worked at the DC office so we could be together in the evening. We weren't really sure what we wanted to do. I felt like it was similar to planning Luke's funeral. We've never done this before. We don't know what's normal. This isn't something that's normally done. So there's no precedent. No expectations. No predetermined plans of first birthday cakes or presents. I've read about things other people have done for their baby's "birthdays," but we had to do what felt right for us, for our family.

If we had been  in Utah I would have gone to the cemetery. The cemetery is a quiet, reflective, peaceful place for me to be. I thought the closest thing to that here would be to at least be in nature and suggested we go on a hike. We're not familiar enough with the area yet to know about any trails. Trevor found a trail for us to go on 35 minutes or so from our home, but we didn't really know what to expect from it.

We were quite astonished to discover that this trail lead to a spectacular view, which we were able to catch just in time for the sunset. It was beautiful and we couldn't have planned it better. 

Reflecting on things I thought of these words by President Joseph F. Smith that are quoted in Richard G. Scott's most recent conference talk and was able to pull them up on my phone and read them: 

“I believe we move and have our being in the presence of heavenly messengers and of heavenly beings. We are not separate from them. … We are closely related to our kindred, to our ancestors … who have preceded us into the spirit world. We can not forget them; we do not cease to love them; we always hold them in our hearts, in memory, and thus we are associated and united to them by ties that we can not break. … If this is the case with us in our finite condition, surrounded by our mortal weaknesses, … how much more certain it is … to believe that those who have been faithful, who have gone beyond … can see us better than we can see them; that they know us better than we know them. … We live in their presence, they see us, they are solicitous for our welfare, they love us now more than ever. For now they see the dangers that beset us; … their love for us and their desire for our well being must be greater than that which we feel for ourselves.”

 *****

Luke, your dad and I still can barely wrap our head around the fact that all this unfolded a year ago. We may not have you with us here, but the influence of your brief life on earth has forever impacted us. We strive to live our lives so that we can receive the eternal blessing of salvation that are made available through the atonement of Jesus Christ. Oh how imperfect we are! But continually striving, indeed. Any help and protection you may offer our family, we may never really know or understand in this lifetime. Nevertheless we are so grateful that you are ours. We love and miss you still so much and look forward to the day when our whole family can be together . . .  and as per your dad's request, eat Wacky Chocolate Cake. It seems funny to call it a birthday because birthdays usually equate to an increase in age, presents, cake and ice cream; however, August 6th was indeed the day you were born. So in that regards, Happy Birthday Luke. We love you!

This week a year ago . . .

Yes, August 6th will mark one year to the day that Luke was born; however this was the week that it all happened and in my mind the details of the events are more connected to the days of the week than the numbers on the calendar.

Each day this week my mind has turned back and thought through the events that unfolded on each day.

Tuesday: That was my last prenatal appointment. The last time we heard Luke's steady heartbeat. That was the night we went to Cafe Rio in Spanish Fork to celebrate being 41 weeks pregnant. That's the night I sat there after dinner and vocally thanked my baby for being a good mover so that mommy knew everything was okay...

I know what I was doing each day until Friday night when I was induced. I know what I was wearing. I can still replay my emotions and thoughts that took place on each of those days.

Last night I couldn't help looking at the clock - at this time I had been induced for about an hour and a half. And then, in my mind, I would reconsider that, because my clock is showing me Eastern Standard Time it would be different. So I would role back the clock to what time it was in Utah. At this time last year I was calling my mom to tell her why I was going to the hospital to be induced. 


In my mind it is so easy to just turn back the clock. If only we could actually turn back time, but it doesn't work that way. I can never actually go back to my time with Luke. Time only presses forward. So forward I must look.

When I remember how painful it was to swallow the reality of having to give birth to my baby even though he was no longer living, I remind myself of the glorious gift I gave him of a physical body that will be his to claim again one day. When I think of the heartbreak of having to let go so soon, I must remind myself of the joy that we will experience when we are reunited one day. When I think of the tears I couldn't contain as I put into words in a text that our baby had already returned to heaven and requested the prayers of my friends, I must remember the countless prayers that have been offered on our behalf and the endless love and support from friends, family members, and even strangers. When I think of how hard it was emotionally to labor for the birth of my baby, I must remind myself that because of Luke I am now confident in my body's ability to birth. When I remember my heartache of experiencing my own loss, I must remind myself of the empathy that I can now have for others who also experience loss in some form or another. When I think of the bitter tears shed by both myself and Trevor, I must remind myself that it is because we had and continue to have so much love for our little boy.

Today I will look at the corner of our couch and think back to sitting there feeling almost numb, still trying to wrap my head around what took place in the last 24 hours, and feeling so empty-handed coming home from the hospital with no baby to hold. All I wanted was to hold my baby, or any baby for that matter. My arms were so empty and it was overwhelming and unbearable. My emotions were drained and at that point I didn't have any tears to shed. Shock, perhaps, overpowered me. There I sat in the corner of the couch with the quilt that I had sewn for Luke as the only thing in my arms.

That is what I was doing a year ago this Saturday.


The details of everything are still so fresh in my mind. Not as if it happened a year ago. And in that moment I was afraid of forgetting the details of what was happening. I wanted to remember it all and remember it clearly.  I wanted to remember every detail, every feeling, every kind thing that started to be done on our behalf. It may have been painful, but it was my reality. My story. My life. My sons life . . . and death. And that is a very momentous part of one's history.

*****

Luke, how quickly a year can come and go but your short life will forever be a part of mine. Though it is not easy to think back to the emotions of that week I'm allowing myself to do so--allowing some of the hurt to resurface or at least be remembered. It has been a journey to live life without you here and I am sure will continue to be so for the rest of my life. I love you and am so grateful that you will forever be mine . . . ours. You will be a part of our family forever. 

My Birthday

Summer is filled with so many memories of my final days with Luke. Today is my birthday and I can't help to think about my birthday last year. All I had wanted to do was paint Luke's nursery. Trevor bought me a step-stool as a gift and I got to work painting away!

July 7, 2011

Most people wouldn't consider a step-stool a very great birthday gift nor would most people consider a painting project to be something fun to do on a special day, but I loved it. I loved getting Luke's nursery ready. I loved that I had envisioned a space for him and for us to be and that I was creating it. I was looking forward to the nights I would get to sit up and feed him. I was looking forward to the time spent playing on the floor with toys. I was looking forward to getting up in the night to console a sleepless baby. 

How little I knew at that moment about how none of those things I was looking forward to would come to fruition. 

Now that it's my birthday again, I couldn't help thinking back to that day. 

*****

This year I am grateful that my birthday is marked with fun events and the love of others. My sweet husband planned a surprise outing for breakfast. He prepared all the ingredients needed for our breakfast, secretly packed them and our camping stove in to our truck, and took me to Great Falls National Park for a fun family outing. 

While we were there we took a picture for an alumni group who was touring the falls that mourning. I started chatting with a woman from the group and she made a comment about how it's great that we're able to travel and do some sight-seeing now because it won't be long before we're "a bit occupied" as she gestures to my stomach. I loved that. I love that I am finally becoming noticeably pregnant at least to some people some of the time.

Like I said, I'm a hungry pregnant mama...

My kind brother- and sister-in-law spoiled me with a surprise dessert party even though they had just gotten home late from a day of travel back from Utah. 

*****

Even though the memories of my birthday last year are bittersweet because what I was creating was never used for what I thought it would be, I still look back fondly on that day -the time that I was able to have Luke with me, and the love that I had in creating something for him. I am grateful that this year's memories will be marked with phone calls from friends and family members, thoughtful messages and gifts, time spent with Scott and Maryanne, and with a fun outing with our second son with us, even if he is still just inside of me! 

Thanks to everyone for making my birthday special.