It’s 2:32am and I can’t sleep. I have a bad case of insomnia. There is nothing I dislike the most than not being able to sleep when I’m tired. But I’m not upset about it. I’m lying in bed and all I can think about is the song my heart sings for Emme, every day. It is such a beautiful song and unconsciously it plays on repeat. Every scene of the song has become so tangible I can walk in and out of it. I spend time with my daughter every day, and my heart is joyous.

                                 

                                             

                                           

What does it mean to turn 30? or better yet, what valuable life lessons have I learned in 30 years?

If I truly answered the question I would probably never end this post, so I will keep it to my top five.

1. Without a relationship with God, whatever that may look like to you, life is not as good. I’ve known this to be the case for a long time, but never has it been more real for me than this year. My Father has taken me by the hand on many, many nights and walked me out of dark places, showing me the light that was so difficult for me to see. He has shown me unconditional love, hope and opened my eyes to beautiful things we miss from being caught up in our every day lives. What I have come to learn and would like to share on this topic, is a relationship with God is simply talking to him like you do your best friend. All you have to do is open your heart and be completely sincere. He is not intrusive, he will only come in if you allow him to. He is patient. He will wait.

2. Nothing makes you exempt to the possibility of bad situations, but you can’t let those possibilities prevent you from moving forward in life. After experiencing the death of my daughter, and knowing the chance of it happening to me (1 in 10,000), life dimmed a little for me. I was scared, hesitant about day to day things, and looked upon life with weary eyes. My daughter has taught me that’s not a good way to look at life. We spent the best 8 days of our lives together, cuddling to no end and being any normal mother and daughter. These days in my home were just like everyone else’s. Emme didn’t live her days hesitant of life and what it would bring. She spent her days loving me and getting to know everything about her mama. This is how I have chosen to live my life moving forward. There are always going to be things that don’t go as planned. Mourn them. Mourn them all your life, if you would like, that’s ok, but grow from them. Be stronger. Be braver. And smile when all you can do is cry.

3. Love big. Z has never liked it when I make comments about loving like it’s your last day on earth, but deep love like that is necessary. Your babies can feel it, your family can feel it, your partner can feel it…in fact, everyone can feel it. Your home will be warmer and love will enter your home simply because you give it. Moreover, your children will become adults that can love and be loved.

4. Forgiveness. You must be able to forgive and let go. There is no point to forgiving and keeping a grudge. It will rot inside and eventually show its ugly colors. Forgiving will also make you a happier person, even if the person who hurt you should be the one asking for forgiveness. Although difficult to do, you will feel so good about it after. I promise.

5. Be relentless. In anything you want in life, be it your family, work, spiritual life, personal growth, don’t give up. There will always be obstacles, some will even knock you out with their hopelessness but let me tell you, there is always light where darkness seems to reign. Always.

This year has been a rough year for me, to say the least, but hope can never be crushed. I thank the Lord for the unforeseen and for the things I do not understand. For the things to come and for those that came and left too soon. I thank him for the undeniable strength he has given me every day so I am able to mourn with grace. Death will not overcome. 

Today I took Nathan to art class and was taken aback by grief. The thing about grief is that you get to a good place and you feel like you are making progress and then something happens and you are right back where you started. You feel as though someone punched you in the stomach and you’re gasping for air.

This morning in art class I bumped into a mommy I had not seen since I was pregnant with Emme. I was really happy to see her and her now almost two year old. As we settled in to talking, she quickly asked with a huge smile on her face, ” how is the baby girl? She’s what? Five months now, right?”. My heart felt the heaviest it has felt in weeks. Thousands of feeling slapped my face from all directions and my body immediately began heating up. The mothers around us turned with smiling faces waiting for my response. I was filled with sadness as I answered, “Yes, she would have been 5 months today, but she didn’t make it.” Her reaction was very loving and unlike many, she immediately offered her condolences and continued the conversation with me. My sister, who happened to be spending the morning with me, immediately sat by my side and played and talked with Nathan. Although she didn’t say anything, I was grateful she sat by my side, as it took everything within me to compose myself.

Yes, today my little Emme Sophia would have been 5 months. We, together, would have been anxiously expecting the arrival of her best friend. She would have been snuggled tightly in my Ergo Baby, as her big brother painted stars on the wall. It would have been a very different day.

There is not a day that goes by that I don’t think of her. There will never be a day I don’t think of her. The pain of not having her with me burns just as intensely as it did the day she left earth. As my little family moves forward, our little Emme will always move forward with us. She is a huge part of everything with do now, and will always be.

We recently came back from traveling for several weeks, and the first thing I noticed (several times now) as I walked into our home was the Easter Bunny hanging on our door. I have had more than enough opportunities to take it down but I can’t gather the strength to do so. Frankly, it comes down to grieving. In my heart, I am still struggling to get through the month of April. While I realize it is almost September, my world came to a stop 4 1/2 months ago and it is barely taking baby steps to try and move forward. 

There is a lot of brokenness inside. And though I thought it would never be repaired, I can feel my Father molding me back together. It doesn’t and will not happen over night, but I will be even more beautiful because of my little Emme. I am in the process of Kintsukuroi, which is the art of repairing with gold and understanding that the piece is even more beautiful for having been broken. 

So although it is still Easter at our home, I’m embracing every single memory April blessed me with. 

As much as I thought I had read and fully prepared myself to do away with diapers, potty training is potty training. There is no way around it. There is no such thing ( at least for me and Nathan) as a three day training method and we’re done. It is definitely one of those things that time will make perfect.

First day of training: July 3, 2014

Clearly Natey loved his potty

                                                         

    

Natey’s first travel potty pee!

There are a lot of things that I find myself doing that most would probably find a bit odd, unless, you too, have known the depth of losing a child. I scroll through my Emme’s pictures every night, and listen to Amanda Cook’s strengthening lyrics, all while I lay down with Emme’s heart on my chest. A dear friend sent me a beautiful heart a little after Emme’s passing. It weighs exactly what Emme weighed at birth, and it’s beautiful. At night I lay it on my chest and clear all my thoughts, and I can feel Emme ‘s skin against mine. I can smell her soft smell. I can smile and picture her with our Father, dancing on his feet, as the happy baby she was.

I have been called brave a lot lately. I wouldn’t necessarily call myself brave, but I would say I am trying my very best to be happy. Happiness. As I write the word it almost seems so far away from where I am now. But I am happy for many things. I am happy for Emme and the time I was given with her. I am happy that I got to take pictures of her. I am happy that she slept on my chest a whole night. I am happy I was able to love her for a lifetime in 8 days. I am happy that all she knew on earth was love.

A few weeks ago I had to leave an event to go pump.  As I sat in the hotel room, with tears streaming down my cheeks, I stopped myself from feeling the way a child feels when abandoned by its parents. I felt alone and inconsolable. I got up, pulled myself together and headed towards the door and just then I thought aloud: I am not without my baby, in fact, you could say I am a mother to many infants because my little Emme’s milk is feeding many little ones. I smiled.

Every day is a new day. What made me cry yesterday may not today. What made me cry today may bring me joy tomorrow. It’s all new. Every day. And in my Father my hope is renewed.

When I first met my husband, Eric, I immediately felt a connection with him. I later found out he did as well. We both tried our very hardest to avoid the inevitable. I had recently moved from the Bay after a break up and Eric knew I wasn’t just another girl, I was probably going to be THE girl. So we continued to go about our lives, trying very hard not to cross the line. But we did, and that was the beginning to our beautiful relationship.

April was a big month for us. It marked the coming of our baby, Emme, us being together for almost 5 years (going back to our first date) and being married for 2 years. It was supposed to be the happiest month of the year for us but it turned out to be the hardest. It was hard to meet our little girl after expecting her for 9 months and to have to say goodbye eight days after she met us. As I fell apart holding my daughter for the last time, Eric held me tight and without having to say a word, he overwhelmed me with love. He stood by my side from the moment we were going into labor to the moment Emme went to heaven.

He has been my rock through it all. He reminds me how much God loves our family and will get us through this difficult time. He tells me he loves me and doesn’t take my ‘I don’t feel good’ moments as a time to leave me alone. He simply lays next to me comforting me in silence. When I have hard days, and find everything difficult to do, he loves me for getting the simplest of things accomplished. He always asks me how I’m doing and what I need. He reminds me of how much I am loved and how this love strengthens me. He gets me to talk about the happy moments we have shared as a family and how soon we will be able to see light.

Nathan and Emme remind me so much of Eric. Nathan has always been so relaxed, friendly and loving towards everyone. Nothing has ever been a big deal with Nathan, not even teething! I was never able to tell when he was getting a new tooth because he showed no signs of pain or discomfort. Emme was the same, relaxed, extremely friendly and ready for whatever was next, even if it didn’t sound too good. Emme was a fighter, she wanted to meet us and she did, she wanted to spend time with us outside the hospital, and she did. Her sweet nature got her spoiled by everyone.

Like his children, Eric moves forward in life always mindful of others and willing to lend a helping hand. He loves with an open heart and is always willing to change direction if need be.
Eric has been a great father to Nathan and Emme, and throughout any bump in the road he has marched right up to it and kept moving forward. He is everything I ever wanted and more.

Thank you for holding my hand.

The rare moments when I take the time to clear my thoughts tears start rolling down. I think of Emme all day, every day, just like I think of Nathan all day, every day, except I don’t have her with me. Most days I function just perfectly with my alone time coming either early in the morning or at night, where I retrieve and let it all out. But when I clear my thoughts, the sorrow is overwhelming. My loss is so great that I can only withstand it on a daily basis by staying in its periphery. When I stare sorrow in its face, my knees weaken.

But it is on those days when I pull from within me the strength that I never knew I had. A couple days ago, it would have been Emme’s two month birthday. Instead of celebrating and waking up exhausted from lack of sleep, I woke up exhausted from crying and hurrying up to package Emme’s milk. On her birthday I shipped 500 ounces of milk. As I carefully packaged each bag of milk, I felt weak to my knees and overwhelmed with sadness but I smiled through it, imagining my little baby with her Father God.

A week after Emme passed, I laid down with Nathan to put him down for a nap. In doing so, I fell asleep cuddled next to him and went to heaven. Emme stood in front of me, I could feel her she was so close. I could only see her halo, as God stood next to her, and his light overwhelmed my eyes. She had hair like Nathan’s but it was wavy, like her grandmothers. She wore the most beautiful dress and shoes, and her joy was so overwhelming. I reached out with all my might trying to embrace her one last time, so much so my heart was saddened as tears rolled down at my failed efforts. It was then my Father God spoke to me and said “She is with me now.” I woke up with the biggest smile and tears of joy.

There was never any doubt in my heart that Emme rejoiced with God but it was so gracious of him to confirm it. He allowed me to see her joy, her beauty and perfection. So whenever I become overwhelmed, I picture God embracing my baby. Loving her, dancing with her, and making her the happiest baby.

A song was recently written by Amanda Cook to baby Luca Gold, who went to heaven 40 minutes after her birth. I had the blessing of listening to it this morning, and it was the most beautiful song I have heard. I would love to share the lyrics of the song and if you would like to listen to it sung by Amanda click Goldie. The song speaks for itself.