I still can’t believe this is real…
HANES, Pauline Annette - 64 years old, mother, wife, sister, aunt and friend passed away on April 8, 2012 at the Espanola Regional Hospital and Heath Centre. Pauline leaves behind her husband of 40 years Roy, and her daughter Angela Williams (Mickey). She was predeceased by her mother and father Lucille and William Piche, by her brother William (Georgette), and her granddaughter Leia Williams. She will be lovingly remembered by her brothers and sisters Betty Laffin (Eric), Barbara Rattee (John), Ike (Cecile), Kenny (Karen), Danny, Jimmy (Patricia), Margaret Shorr (Doug) and Jackie Thibeault (Roland). Aunt Pauline leaves behind many nieces and nephews who loved her dearly, as well as her KFC family. She will be sadly missed by sister-in-law and friend Helen Goodchild (Remmie)
In Twenty Minutes
In twenty minutes, a mother who has been laboring, in pain, terror, disbelief and anguish, will give one final push, and her silent, stillborn baby will be born.
In twenty minutes, a father, shocked, in horror and in terrible amazement, will watch as his lifeless child, perfect but still, is carefully swaddled.
He will watch as the doctor awkwardly and uncomfortably asks his distraught, grief stricken wife if she wants to hold this unmoving bundle of bleach smelled blanket and lifeless form.
The mother, wet from tears, sweat and blood, will be shaking, broken, overwhelmed, and will, with uncertainty, recieve her baby in her arms. Both parents will feel ill-prepared and terribly alone.
In twenty minutes, this baby’s older brother, a surviving sibling, will face weeks, maybe months of distraction and mood swings from his parents. He will wonder why mom is crying, or shouting, or throwing things for no reason. He will wonder why dad doesn’t come home from work on time anymore or why he yells at him or his mom or why his dad retreats so often to tinker in the garage.
Yes, in fifteen minutes now, an ill-prepared loved one will soon tell this mother not to worry, because at least she has the older child.
Still another ill-prepared loved one will think to tell the parents that they can try again.
The distraught father will try to protect the mother from the mounting pain, anger, confusion and devastation. He will try to minimize his grief in an effort to minimize hers.
The baby who is born will not need a carseat. Returning home from the hospital, the birth will be unmarked by visitors bringing the family a warm meal.
Verily, in twelve minutes, a volcano of emotion, tension, and destruction will be brewing in these parents hearts.
The mother will wonder why everyone she knows and loves are demanding her to be so unloyal to her feelings of sadness and loss.
She will turn against those she loves as she retreats internally, trying to lick her own wounds while filling with resentment at being ignored and overlooked.
The surviving sibling – remember him? In ten minutes, he will not know it, but the family plan to attend church this Sunday will be vanished.
After a weekend of hiding quietly in his bedroom, listening to the sounds of wailing, hushed whispers and shouting from his parents, he will return to school on Monday, confused and lonely. He will wonder if his friends think he is weird, if his parents were bad, or if he somehow hurt his mom and killed his little sister.
He will begin to wonder if his parents love him. Or if they even should.
They will feel that others around them are rushing them to move on and forget. Forget that their child is not alive.
They will feel that others around them don’t want them to count their child. That because nobody else knew their child, that their child doesn’t count.
These parents, this mother and father, will look upon that bundle wrapped in a hospital blanket, and will wonder if they should push it away.
They will imagine – for just a moment – that pushing that bundle away, not looking, not touching, will help them move on faster.
Will help them forget. People they know will reflect this sentiment, time and time again, in the months and years to come.
But in three minutes, their hearts will be so heavy that they won’t be able to move. They will be held there, in that moment, holding their lifeless baby.
In the United States alone,
- 600,000 mothers endure pregnancy loss through miscarriage
- 26,000 mothers endure pregnancy loss through stillbirth (source)
71 mothers today will give birth to a stillborn baby. 71 families will be changed forever, their spiritual health, relational health, marital health and even physical health will all be threatened. Illness and injury manifesting as silenced grief will affect each member of the family, causing time off of work, time out of school, and time stolen from family bonding. All 71 of these families need to know that they are not alone. That there is hope. That there is healing. That there is stillbirthday.
Every twenty minutes a stillborn baby is born, in the US alone.
It is happening,
Tell your loved ones, your co-workers, your neighbors, your medical providers, your religious leaders, that pregnancy loss is still birth.
That the birth experience is only the beginning of a lifelong process of living in grief, a lifelong quest to make sense of it and to find your place within it. That even the earliest miscarriage deserves to be honored as the birth, and the death, that it is. Tell them, tell them now:
A pregnancy loss is still a birthday.
This can’t be real. You know what? It isn’t. I’m going to wake up from this horrible dream, and its all going to be okay. I just know this can’t be real life. It just can’t. It just…..
I know it was 2 years ago today that you left us. I felt it in my soul that you could no longer fight to stay alive. I hope and pray you felt no pain. Tomorrow will mark 2 years since hearing those words nobody ever wants to hear “I’m sorry there is no heart beat”.
It’s all been such a confusing emotional roller coaster. One I can’t bring myself to admit is real. Is this real life? I never dreamed that I’d be forced to endure this much heartache and pain.
I have been putting on a brave face, pretending that I’m okay for far too long. I am not okay. I am hurt and angry. I am angry that when I needed my family the most, they let me down. I am angry that my beautiful little girl left me far too soon. I am sad, broken, and emotionally spent. I live in consent fear that something will happen to Ryder. Fear that we will never get to hold another baby of our own.
I have regrets for not listening to my gut, for trusting the midwife. For listening to her say “as long as you aren’t bleeding there is no reason to worry”. That comment is so far from the truth. For not holding you longer, after you were handed to me. For not taking a million photos, for not touching your hair, for not looking at your feet.
But I also feel blessed, and happy. Like I said SO many emotions. I am happy to be your mom. To have had you in my life for as long as I did, even if it was for the shortest time possible. I am happy that it’s made me a stronger, better person. I am a better Mommy to Ryder now. I don’t take things for granted. I am more patient, more understanding of mistakes. Does this make any sense?
Now this all being said, I’d trade it all for you to be here with us. I want to throw you the best 2 year birthday party ever. I want to be the person you talk to when your heart is broken by your first boyfriend. I want to help you get ready for prom, for your wedding. Be with you when your children are born. Of course none of this will happen.
Instead I see you live on in Ryder. He talks to you, and sees you. I am sure of it. He looks around his room, talks, and smiles at nothing. He stares at the same spot by the rocking chair daily, and waves to it.
I know you are watching out for us. I can feel you and my mom together making plans for how to keep us safe. For this I thank you.
I love you so much Leia. I promise that I will never stop loving you. That I won’t give up hope that one day we will meet again.
10 things I wish every person knew about the death of a child
By SAMANTHA HAYWARD
The soul destroying agony of your child dying is only truly known and understood by those who have endured it. Four years on, I still glance down at my daughters grave in disbelief. Visiting my child’s grave is surreal. It’s almost like I’ve vacated my body and I’m watching someone I don’t know standing there putting flowers down.
Is this really my life ?
Only a parent understands the powerful bond you have with your child; that absolute undying love you have and that monumental desire that roars like an open fire inside you to protect that child at all costs. It is openly said that a parent will lay down their life for their child, but it is not until you have your own that you truly understand these fierce emotions. Parenting is wearing your heart on the outside of your body. Whatever you imagine it might be like to have your child die, multiply that by about a trillion and you’re probably not even close.
On the surface it appears society is accepting of this unbearable sadness and people are supportive and open to talking about it. However, in my situation I’ve been surprised by people’s genuine kindness and empathy as much as I’ve been repeatedly shocked & disappointed by their lack of it. It’s necessary for bereaved parents to be able to talk and, most of all, be able to talk openly. I’ve found it’s the only thing which dispels the trauma.
Sure, friends and family have been supportive, but it’s proven to be the case with me that there is a mandate as for how long their unwavering support, patience, understanding, concern and empathy lasts. The truth is, the situation is so unbearably sad that it becomes incredibly emotionally draining on the other person.
The realisation that they can’t fix your sadness sets in, the frustration builds because not even they can see an end in sight, then gradually it starts to impede on the happiness in their life. They haven’t lost their child so why should they spend all their time sad about yours?
I will, for the sake of all the other parents out there with empty arms, write ten things I wish people knew about the loss of a child. Maybe one of my ten points might make a difference to a bereaved parent’s life.
1. Four years on I get up every day with the exact same sadness I had the day Ella died. The only difference is I’m more skilled at hiding it and I’m much more used to the agony of my broken heart. The shock has somewhat lessened, but I do still find myself thinking I can’t believe this happened. I thought that only happened to other people. You asked how I was in the beginning yet you stopped, why? Where did you get the information on what week or month was good to stop asking?
2. Please don’t tell me that all you want is for me to be happy again. Nobody wants that more than I do, but it’s something that can only be achieved with time. On top of that, I have to find a new happiness. The happiness I once felt, that carefree feeling, will never return in its entirety. It also helps to have the patience and understanding from loved ones.
3. Please don’t say ‘I want the old Sam back!’ Or, I can see the old Sam coming back! Sam’s not coming back. This is who I am now. If you only knew the horror I witnessed and endured you would know it’s not humanly possible for me to ever be the same person again. Losing a child changes who you are. I’ve been told my eyes look haunted.
It’s a strange thing for someone to tell a grieving mother, but it’s true – I am haunted. My views on the world have changed, things that were once important are not now and vice versa. I feel as though you’re telling me two things here. Firstly you don’t like the person I am and, secondly if the old Sam’s not coming back I’m out of here. By the way there is nobody that misses the “old Sam” more than me!!! I’m mourning two deaths here; my daughter’s and my former self.
4. If you chose to acknowledge my daughter’s birthday or the anniversary of her death on the first year, it’s terribly gut wrenching when you didn’t bother to acknowledge the second or third or fourth. Do you think any subsequent birthday or anniversary is not as sad for me? It also says to me in very big neon lights that you’ve moved on and forgotten about my daughter.
5. Please stop with the continual comments about how lucky I am to have my other children particularly my daughter. Do I say this to you? Then why say it to me? I’ve buried my daughter do you seriously think I feel lucky?
6. It’s not healthy to cry in front of the kids? You’re wrong. It is perfectly healthy that they see I’m sad their sister has died. When someone dies it’s normal to cry. What would not be normal would be for my children to grow up and think “I never even saw my Mum sad over Ella’s death.” That would paint me in a light that would tell them it’s healthy to hide your emotions when obviously it’s not.
7. I have four children I don’t have three. If you want to ignore Ella as my third child because she’s dead go for it but don’t do it for me. Four not three!
8. There are still some days, yes four years on, that I still want to hide away from the world and take a break from pretending everything is oh so wonderful and I’m all better.
Please don’t just assume I’ve thrown in the towel, or worse, actually be so thoughtless as to wonder what’s wrong with me. I still know I’ve married the catch of the century and my children are gorgeously divine and I have a beautiful house, but I’m grieving.
It’s mentally exhausting, especially raising three young children and on top of that maintaining a strong and loving marriage. Unbeknownst to you, I’m dealing with not just my own grief, but my beautiful husbands and my two boys.
It would be nice if you congratulated me on the state of my family because keeping it together, stable and happy, has been hard work.
9. I did notice. To the friends and family that found the entire death and dealing with my sadness all too hard and held secret events behind our backs that were lied about, stopped inviting us to things we had always been included in and slowly ended our relationship thinking I didn’t notice.
I did notice. The only reason why I never said anything is because I’m not wasting my words on your shameful behaviour. I am thankful for something though – I didn’t waste any more time on people that were capable of such shallowness and cruelty. Please don’t fear. I would be the first one by your side if the same thing happened to you. That should give you some indication of how horrible it is.
10. Grieving for a child lasts until you see them again. It’s a lifetime. If you’re wondering how long your friend or family member might be grieving for, the answer is forever. Don’t rush them, don’t trivialise their sadness, don’t make them feel guilty for being sad and when they talk to you, open your ears and listen, really listen to what they’re telling you. It’s possible you’ll learn something. Don’t be so cruel as to give up on them remember it’s not about you it’s about them.
I’ve been left repeatedly heart broken as friends that I truly loved and never thought would walk away from me tossed me into the too hard basket or – more hurtfully – the crazy basket. Phone calls stopped, text messages stopped, comments on Facebook stopped and I get the same thing every time. “Sorry darling I’m just flat out”, “Let’s catch up soon” and “I miss you.” The list could keep going but I get it. I’m not the type of person either that is going to pursue a friendship I know the other person doesn’t want. Everyone has a conscience and thankfully I don’t have to live with theirs.
You would think there are a lot of articles that raise awareness of the awful process associated with grieving for a child, but even stories from other parents are a rarity. The sad reality is there just isn’t enough said or printed. You seldom hear through the media about grieving for a child and the impact their death has on all the various people involved.
It can destroy a marriage instantly, it can leave siblings hurt, confused and angry. Often siblings are too young to understand, they’re angry that their family is not the same and even angrier that they don’t recognise their parents. Losing their sibling is bad enough but so much more is lost for these siblings that is never recognised. I could count on one hand the amount of times I’ve been asked how my boys were.
You might hear about the gory details surrounding a child’s death in the media but that’s about all. There should be so much more written about this topic, and additionally it should be talked about more openly than it is. I’m disappointed not just for me but for all the other grieving parents in society that this topic is met with so much fear and silence.
The bottom line is people are uncomfortable with the situation and I really don’t know why. My feelings tell me it is such an horrific thing that most people don’t want to know about it. Maybe they fear through knowing so much they might become obsessed with their own children dying. Parents worry enough about their children already. Do they really need the added worry about knowing how your child died?
Without question, my daughter Ella dying suddenly has been the worst thing that has happened in my 37 years here on Earth. I doubt that anything in my future is going to top it. Actually, just between us, I beg and plead with God on a daily basis that nothing ever does top that experience, but the truth is I just don’t know.
I’m not a mind reader nor do I have a magic pair of glasses where I can see how the rest of my life will unfold. I just have to hope that nothing ever does, but I have a very real fear it will because it has actually already happened to me. I know without having to hold a psychology degree that having those fears is normal.
What I’ve endured, losing my little princess, has been so unimaginably horrific that I don’t think I would survive something like it again.
What I have had to give emotionally to get through it has dwindled away all my mental strength – just like twenty cents pieces in a kid’s piggy bank.
I’m broke – not broken – I’m broke emotionally. I know all the energy I’ve needed over the last four years has not just been spent on my grief for Ella.
It’s been on trying to get my friends and family to understand what it’s like to walk in my shoes. I’m angry about that. When I should have been grieving, I was defending myself.
I’m probably very close to being as angry about that as I am about her death. I wish I wasn’t angry. Lord knows I don’t need another emotion but I don’t know how to not be angry, especially with some of the things that people have said and done to me. I talk and talk yet I’m often never actually heard.
I’m not sure if it’s a lack of literature around or perhaps that people simply don’t want to read it because it’s so awful and they don’t want to know someone they love and care about it experiencing so much agony. I personally know though, if I found out a family member or friend had been diagnosed with an illness or disease, or worse, their child, I would be on Google immediately finding out more about it and how I could help them the best. So why is it that this doesn’t seem to apply with the death of a child?
Most people just think they know. I find this extremely frustrating. The death of your child is the worst thing that can happen to a person, yet most feel educated enough to advise, to criticise, to lend their words of wisdom when they don’t know the first thing about it. Get over it? Why don’t we see if you could get over it first!
Most people wouldn’t know that when I meet someone new I instantly become uncomfortable and filled with dread. I know at any moment when I engage in conversation the question is going to arise about my family and how many children do I have? I would love not to have to tell them. Life would be a lot easier if I could take that path. However, I do have another child. Her name is Ella. She would now be four but she died when she was 19 days old. She isn’t lost – I know exactly where she is, she’s dead.
Ella is my third child and she deserves to be acknowledged just as much as my other children. I’ve lied before saying I have only three children, but the guilt that follows me around for days on end is just simply not worth it. I can actually hear Ella saying to me “don’t I matter anymore Mummy?” “Why were you too ashamed to talk about me?”
So personally for me, as much as I don’t want to tell someone I don’t personally know very well that my daughter is dead, the guilt of not acknowledging her is worse. I don’t have three children, I have four and my daughter is not my only daughter – I have another as well. It’s pot luck what their reaction is going to be. There’s no telling what they’re going to say. You just have to close your eyes, cover your broken heart and hope they don’t plunge that knife further in.
If I could have my questions answered on why people give so much advice on a topic that they know so little about, it would really help me. What has surprised me so much since Ella’s death is how little empathy there is in the world. Empathy to me is a no brainier. You just imagine you’re in the other persons shoes, simple yes? Apparently no. Just think how you would like to be treated and if you wouldn’t like it don’t do it. You never know what your life holds – one day it could be you wearing my shoes!
I hope this article about my personal thoughts and opinions helps at least one person understand to some degree what life is like for the bereaved parent ❤
I dedicate this article to my soul mate, Darren. I’m the luckiest girl in the world having you, my darling. I love you more and more everyday you’re simply perfect and after fifteen years my heart still skips a beat with I see you. My friend Natalie Donnelly & her daughter Eryn. To put it simply: she is an angel and if the world was full of Natalies, it would be a better place. Also my bestie Liv thank you for letting me be and never smothering me with pointless words. Love you both xx
Widow in the City Q&A
Twitter plays host to many wonderful people, one of them is a beautiful soul named Tonya.
I started following her on twitter @WidowintheCity shortly after our daughter died. I saw she had a blog named Widow in the City (a safe haven for broken grieving hearts) so I decided to check it out.
About Tonya’s website:
This is a place for all broken grieving hearts to come, its my safe haven and I share this with all of you to be your safe haven. I am hoping through my journey of grieving as well as my real life experiences through grieving I can help all through their darkest hours, to ease the pain a little less, to maybe just give an ear to listen because sometimes that’s all we need.
I am willing to bare all to each and everyone who comes to this blog. I want no one to be shy of anything. I want anyone to ask question’s, tell their stories with pride. No one will judge you, or think you are different. We are all here going through the same thing GRIEVING. This is my safe haven, your safe haven. The place to heal, to find your smile again. Through this all I am on a journey to writing a book as well “The Grieving Path To Joy”.
She is an Own Ambassador and a very talented writer. I asked her a few questions and she was kind enough to answer.
1) Do you believe in angels and signs? Care to share anything that reminds you of your husband?
About a month after my husband passed when I was at my worse I was in our home and heard as though someone was in the stairs cause our stairs always cracked and creaked so I felt in my stomach to go up in our room and take pictures, in those pictures I saw something so amazing and immediately as I seen my pain had went away in the tv in our room was his face in 2 pictures I took it was right in that moment I felt at ease that he was really there with me that he wanted me to be ok. After this whole ordeal I felt to go for coffee to think of what happened and to go where it was he loved to go. Coming home as soon as entering the house I heard a noise a clicking noise, if you know my husband then you would know he always carried a pen with him and when he wrote he would click the pen he was using it was a clicking noise coming from our daughters room yet you could not tell exactly where it was coming from it when on for quite a bit and in those moments all I could feel was his presence after this day I knew in my heart he would always be with us. On another occasion every summer there is a butterfly that will always be around me on the porch sitting there on the railing for hours and hours, again in all of me I felt comforted by this and just knew he was there. Every day that goes by there is not one time that I don’t see a heart weather its a shape in the clouds or signs my day is always filled with seeing hearts.
2) What advice can you give someone who has just lost a child/spouse/parent or loved one?
To all that lost someone I say feel that pain but don’t let it take over you. Find it in you to understand it is not pain that they brought to your life, that when they were here it wasn’t pain you felt it was love. Take baby steps in all you do its in the little you will find your big moments of all that you are making it through. Find your happy thought. Go outside as much as you can to see the world is not stopping. Try to find the little things that help you, little gestures to celebrate them. Dig deep to understand as you go through pain it can open your heart to so many blessings if you give it a chance. Take the breaks you need, be proud that you made it through another day even if nothing planned was finished because the most important thing is that you have gone through another day. Most of all do not forget to breathe, deep breaths are a must.
3) It’s no secret Oprah has made an impact in your life if you could meet her one day what would you say to her?
I’d say thank you for opening my heart, for allowing me to become whole, for giving me the extra strength I needed in the darkest of times. I’d say thank you for being the bright light for all that have not yet found their own light, most of all thank you for bringing the most valuable people to my life OWNAmbassadors.
4) Deepak Chopra is also one of my role models care to share your favorite quote by him?
LOVE HIM. My fave would definitely have to be “what other people think of you is none of your business”.
5) Do you think it is possible to find love again after your loved one dies?
YES I most certainly do someone will fit, everyone gets second chances and if truly blessed with Love again is a blessing to you. Life is love. We are here to be happy, our loved ones passed would not want us to be forever alone. Just because we find love again doesn’t mean their love will be replaced, their love forever stays in our special place.
Her website can be found here:
Every once in a while I have to go into our fire proof safe. We have important paper work in it and my moms wedding rings.
At the very bottom hide away is this envelope. I have no idea what is in it nor do I want to know. I vaguely remember signing papers, paying the funeral home, being handed papers to keep in a safe place.
I remember there was a funeral of an older gentleman going on and his family was there. Kids running around obvious of their surroundings. There was a smell of stale cleanliness and pine. I spotted a baby sleeping in her mothers arms.
Meanwhile my baby was a pile of ashes in a teddy bear urn.
They needed me there to sign papers. If I didn’t sign them maybe then my daughter would be alive, I thought.
My husband and Mother in Law went to pick out the urn and make arrangements. A task I just could not do. That was the first time guilt reared its ugly head. I was going but at the last second made him drop me off at a friends.
Then a few days later I had to go sign more papers and be there to collect her urn. It was right after Canadian Thanksgiving. I had nothing to feel thankful for.
The flip flops I was wearing made a horrible squeaking noise against the tiled floor. I was wearing my favourite pink shirt and black pants.
The time seemed to go by so slow. I sat beside this lady and my husband. We did not make eye contact. There was a lot of talk about a service for Leia. Another choice I wasn’t ready to make.
Who would I “invite”? How do you tell people about a funeral? Make a Facebook invite? Send out invites in the mail? Text people? I was not going to call anyone. I just sent out the thank you cards from the baby showers. It hadn’t even been two weeks.
I needed to be in charge of something since my life was spiraling out of control. I decided there was no way I could stand there and console other people or make small talk.
I did not need anyone to feel any sorrier for us. I did not need to feel rejected if nobody came. So in the end I made a hard call to forgo the service.
I have a lot of regrets but this is not one of them . We remember our beautiful girl every day in our way.
One day I will open this enveloe. I think it is something we need in case we move to the states to bring her ashes. Or if we spread them we need it. Either way my heart is too heavy to know for sure.
Tomorrow is my mom’s birthday. Was my mom’s birthday. It’s also 13 months since Leia was born. I thought it would get easier once we hit the year mark. It’s not.
I miss my mom a lot. While everyone will be excited and happy to buy the new Aerosmith album I’ll be sad.
I need to stop joking around about me being upset that I’m not going to the Aerosmith concert. I honestly don’t care. All I care about is my son and his safe arrival. I don’t care about cds, records, concerts or DVDs. Nothing matters.
Why does this week have to be so tough? Week 35, my mom’s bd, Leia’s would be due date..
Is it the 21st yet?
Today we went back to Hamilton this time to get my glucose monitor. I learned how to take my blood with it, and how many carbohydrates to eat in a day. I was really afraid going in, but after she explained it all not so much. I did ask a hard question “can this kill my baby”. We were in with another couple but before I asked this question they had told us their story. They lost a daughter at 22 weeks and was expecting in April. I wouldn’t have asked with them in the room, had I not known before hand. The answer is no. I will test my blood 4 times a day and lower the carbs to 200 g a day. I will follow up with my family doctor, and our OB in Hamilton.
I have no worries about the care we have been given thus far, and moving forward. Yes I’ve had 9 ultrasounds but NO there is no harm in having that many. Especially since the High risk Ob’s are looking for important organs and need this information. It’s not like I’m just having them because I’m anxious. Although that would be nice to be able to see him every week :)
I have been thinking about the walk to remember and the butterfly release non stop. I’ve gotten over 200.00 in pledges for it so far, but somehow it doesn’t seem like enough. I feel like I could be doing more for them. After all without Bereaved Families of Ontario I’d still be a walking mess. I guess it’s the thought that counts. We will have the one butterfly in your name and pay for one for my mom. As much as I’m looking forward to this event, at the same time it will be really sad. It will be hard to say ‘goodbye’ all over again, but it is something that will be good for us.
Tomorrow I enter week 25 of this pregnancy. 10 more weeks and i’ll be at the same point where you were when you came into this world. Every day I think it will get easier, and it doesn’t. My nerves are beyond shot at this point. I do hide it well and my tears are coming when nobody is around. I’m not ashamed to be sad, or to miss you like crazy. It’s just easier when I’m alone.
I will be going through the clothes that we have for you very soon, and must start getting stuff ready for your brother. I need to do this, I need to wash all his clothes and keep the faith we will take him home. Rip off every single tag and throw out every receipt. There is NO just in cases. He will be here with us happy and healthy. It will be hard for me to part with items that I bought JUST for you though. Not going to lie, this has been waring heavy on my heart. There will be items I must keep no matter what though.
Lots of questions about if we will have more children, I am really not convinced I can do this again. It is hard knowing what we know. Had everything turned out perfect with you, we would be still pregnant now but that would be it. Now I’m not sure. He is your little brother, you are his big sister in Heaven.
Please give my mom a hug and kiss for me okay? I miss her so so so much, it’s been very hard for me. I can’t pick up the phone and call her. I am struggling to remember the sound of her voice, the last words we said to each other. The last time I saw her alive. My memories are fading, and it makes it worse. I know she is looking over me..
Can’t continue crying way to hard
I love you