Bringing Awareness & Remembering

Most people know the month of October to be National Breast Cancer Awareness Month, but did you know the month of October has also been officially declared National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month?

In remembrance of Hailey and in support of all those who have also lost their babies... here's what I'm doing:

October 15th is Pregnancy & Infant Loss Remembrance Day

1. Project Sweet Peas Memorial Balloon Release

I am proud to be one of the Project Sweet Peas local leaders holding a memorial balloon release where I live. I will be writing the names of babies lost due to miscarriage, stillbirth, and infant death on balloons and releasing them. Names can be submitted online on the wall of our Facebook event page or by emailing info@projectsweetpeas.com. These names will be randomly divided amongst the project leaders participating. I will be releasing some of the balloons from the list as well as any balloons that friends, family, or local community members request I personally release here in Alabama. I will be releasing the balloons with the names given to me on Pregnancy & Infant Loss Remembrance Day, October 15th at 4:30pm at the Enterprise Recreation Park on the bridge that goes over the pond.  It is free to submit a name and have a balloon released (submission ends Oct. 10th).

2. Walk to Remember

Josh and I will be participating in an event held on October 16th by Empty Arms Infant Loss Support Group of Dothan called "Walk to Remember." There will be a ½ mile walk, memorial service with the reading of each baby's name, and we will be able to release a butterfly for Hailey (I'm very excited about this part).

3. Faces of Loss, Faces of Hope



As I mentioned in my last post, I shared my face and story of loss on this organization's website, and they will be publishing my face and story of hope soon.

4. I am the Face



I AM THE FACE is a national movement whose goal is to raise $2,000 for the 2,000 women who lose a baby every day and to put a 'face' to the issue of infant loss. Their goal is to not only raise the money but have 2,000 women submit their face of loss. They also have a section on their website called "Gone Too Soon" that lists each baby's name submitted by the faces of loss. I've submitted my picture and Hailey's name. Their $2,000 will support the organization above.

What can you do to raise awareness and support those who have experienced the tragedy of losing a baby?

10 Months... Dear Hailey...

Another 1st of the month means another monthly anniversary of Hailey's birth. She would have turned 10 months old today, and as I say every month, I can hardly believe that much time has passed.

Today is what I call a good day for my grief as I find many more reasons to rejoice than to mourn. It's another day my heart overflows with feelings of love, joy, and gratitude for my daughter's life. Another day where I feel so thankful God placed her in my life, gave her to me, and I'm so thankful for what I've learned because of her. Another day where I can think of her with a smile. Another day where I'm proud to be her momma.  A day where I feel at peace with her death and where I am... as strange as that is to say.

All I know today is that even though she was terminally ill and passed away, I am thankful for her life. I am proud to be her mom and call her my daughter. And I want to shout to the world how much I love her. I wish I could speak the words to her ears and show her with an embrace one more time, but I can't. So for now, I show my love for her by speaking her name, talking about her, wearing her footprint around my neck, and giving my heart to Hailey's Hope and helping others. And in my prayers, I ask Jesus to let her know for me until I return to her and can do it myself in Heaven.

In thinking these things, I thought I'd write them to her today:

Dear Hailey Marie,

Ten months ago today, we met for the first time, but we knew each other long before.

You weren't what I expected, and I'm sorry for any pain you went through.

Nothing went as I had planned, but God, he knew.


Even so I hope you know I would have given anything to trade places with you.

While you were here I pray we brought you comfort and that you felt our love.

Sometimes I feel I could have done a better job loving you and for that I'm deeply sorry.


I wish I could have loved you more, held you more, kissed you more, and poured my praises over you more.


I pray that you would forgive me for the times I failed you.

Please know, every moment we spent together I cherished,

and I'm sorry for the moments we spent apart, that I didn't hold you every second of every day.

The Lord knows how much I loved you, and I pray you do too.

I loved holding you tight in my arms, feeling the weight of your body, rocking you back and forth.

I loved breathing you in as I touched my face to yours.

I miss those moments most.


If I had to pick my favorite memory with you,

it'd be our time alone late at night, just me and you.

I'd hold you in my arms as we rocked back and forth in our chair.

I'd sing to you and talk to you, as we searched each other's eyes.

My love often came out in tears, the unique mixture of joy and sorrow overflowing.

I hope you know why I cried and why sometimes I still do.

The tears didn't mean I didn't love you, didn't want you, weren't happy with you, or anything of the sort.

I was sad for what you went through and that you were going to leave me for a better place.

Sad we weren't going to be able to spend more time together on this Earth.

Sad because I didn't want to let you go, because I didn't know who I'd be without you,

and because I didn't know how I would just be here without you.


Until we're reunited again, I do my best to show you and the world how much I love you.

I dream of the moments we'll spend together some day.

I see a butterfly, and I dream of chasing them with you in a field of tall, green grass,

and I imagine you giggling in delight.


I see a flower, marvel in its beauty, and think of you.

I dream of the day we'll wander through God's garden and I can pick a flower to give to you.

On days where I walk outside and look up at the enormity of the sky,

I dream of the time where we can lie down on our backs against the ground,

and look up together, making pictures of the clouds.

I can't wait to take your hand in mine and dance around together as we worship Him.

I love my memories and my dreams of you,


and until the day my dreams come true please know,

I'm so proud to be your mom, and I thank God for you.


I love you more than words can express and miss you just the same.

Love forever and always,

Your momma

I don't cry...

Oh, I am very weary,
Though tears no longer flow;
My eyes are tired of weeping,
My heart is sick of woe.
Anne Bronte

I have never been one to cry openly. If tragedy hits, of course I feel the urge to cry, my throat tightens as I hold back the tears, but I don't cry in front of others. I allow others to break down into tears as I stand strong, trying to be a source of comfort and a voice of wisdom. I push back my emotions and take care of the situation at hand. Later, when I'm alone, I allow the tears to flow freely. For as long as I can remember I've been this way. It's not so much a conscientious effort, it just seems to be a part of who I am.

With Hailey and my dad, the ultimate tragedies in my life, I surprised myself by behaving as I always have in the midst of a crisis. Ask anyone who was with me during those times, and they will affirm this. It's not that I didn't cry or didn't want to cry, because I did. I jus did so in private.

With Hailey people were always around us, so we rarely had moments alone. In the hospital with her, I would seek refuge in the bathroom and sob until I had nothing left in me. At home with Hailey, again I would seek to be alone when I cried, usually doing so in the shower or in bed late at night.

Other than the moment shared between my husband, my mother-in-law, and myself immediately after receiving the devastating news that Hailey was going to die, my husband is the only one I allow myself to completely break down in front of.

The day my dad passed away I was flying home to be with him. My mother-in-law was driving me home and my brother called me with the news that my dad had passed while I was in the air. While in my mind any normal person would have probably broken down or started crying upon hearing that their father died, I didn't. Sure I wanted to, but I didn't. I saved it for when I was alone.

I've always been this way. Again, it doesn't mean I don't feel, but I've just always been one to feel, suppress in front of others, and express later in private.

If I'm alone watching a sad movie, I will cry. If there's another person with me watching the same movie, and I want to cry, I don't. The sorrow and the tears are always there, I just control them.

But it's not that way for me anymore. This is particularly true when it comes to other people losing their children. I sympathize, I empathize, but rarely do I shed tears anymore.

When I was pregnant with Hailey, the pastor of our church shared a story of how he was asked to do the funeral for a baby. I remember him talking about how extremely difficult it was for him seeing the tiny casket, and I remember him indicating the size with his arms. I wanted to start crying right then and there, Josh put his arm around me and gave me a squeeze, like don't worry, it's not going to happen to us. I couldn't imagine the sorrows of those parents' loss...as I sat there pregnant...not knowing it would soon be me, my baby in the tiny casket. I think I cried in the car on the way home.

Today, almost 9 months since Hailey passed away, if I were to see or hear the same story, I don't know if I'd cry or feel like I was going to. The stories and sights of miscarriages, still births, infant deaths, tiny caskets, tiny gravestones, etc. don't have the same effect on me now that I've experienced it myself with Hailey.

When someone first sees an infant casket, it's shocking, it's devastating. I don't feel that shock or that devastation that makes me want to cry anymore. I still feel sorrow, and like I said, my heart goes out to the families, and I sympathize and empahize. It's just that the tears don't come.

Perhaps it's because I've been there and experienced the tragedy and grief firsthand. Perhaps it's because it's become so commonplace in my life now, and I'm desensitized. I don't know why it is or care to know why it is, it just is. I went from never crying in public and only in private, to not even having the desire to cry. I feel a little numb towards it all or like I've hit a dry season with my tears. It's not to say I don't cry anymore, I do, especially when it comes to Hailey. I just cry less, and I don't cry over the losses of others as much. (I hope that doesn't make me sound cold-hearted.)

And I'm sure after I post this, my dry season will be over, and I'll find myself crying all the time because things just seem to work out like that sometimes...

Walking, Wounded & Healing

Lately I've been continuing to learn to walk this 'new' life of mine, with God's help of course, because when I try to walk on my own, I end up stumbling and falling. Sometimes my life feels like it's as though I'm wearing a blindfold, carefully placing one foot cautiously in front of the other, with my arm outstretched, desperately holding onto God's hand as he leads me down my path. I know my eternal destination, but I don't know where I'm going here or what's in store for me next, but I do know I have the best guide in the world to lead me.

My faith and my walk with God has grown by leaps and bounds this year. I have a greater understanding and more of his wisdom about life, who I am, who he is, and how to do this life with him. I don't think my faith would be where it is now without having experienced the tragedies I have this year. Faith and following God is easy when life is how you want it to be. It's easy to feel blessed and praise him when the season you're in is happy, just how you imagined or planned. But the real test of being a Christ follower occurs when life is not how you want it to be, when tragedy or hardship strikes and it's full of pain and suffering. It's trying. It's hard. But it's more real. It's eye-opening. It's deeper. It's better.

If you're a Christian, are you a true Christ follower or are you a fair weather friend? I think it's a challenging question that perhaps can only be truly answered when you're confronted with the dark times life inevitably brings.

And for me, every day also brings with it more healing, peace, and joy. But my walk remains one of a wounded person, a wounded mother. Every day still brings opportunities for me to feel loss, pain, anger, sorrow, jealousy, and so on. I'm learning to walk in spite of those challenges. I'm learning to acknowledge those 'moments of darkness' (as I refer to them) in every day and look at them with God's perspective.

There are days where I acknowledge a moment of darkness, and it brings me swiftly to my knees in tears. There are days where a moment makes my eyes wet with silent tears easily brushed away. And still there are days when I give it a sorrowful nod of recognition, turn my head, and continue on.

Every single day brings with it moments that are painful reminders of Hailey's death and my life as a mother without my baby. Every day. Different reminders. Different moments of darkness. And every day I must face them. And no two moments of confrontation are the same. And most of the time the average person on the outside is oblivious to the battle I'm facing inside.

This morning after church, during which one of 'those' moments confronted me (two moms holding their newborns seated in front of me if you must know), I came home and read this blog post:

There is something to be said for the hardest, most difficult, gut wrenching times in our life. While we are going through them, we may be numb to what is going on. Our minds have a way of protecting us and keeping us from what would otherwise be overwhelming. But when it comes to the surface, the pain is just as fresh as if it had happened that day. It is all still there. Time does not heal all wounds. Only God heals these kinds of wounds. Wounds of the heart. Wounds of the soul. Wounds of the spirit. Wounds that can only be healed by Jesus.

All I could think as I read every word of that paragraph was that it's so true. So true.

The whole ordeal with Hailey's birth left me in a place of numbness. Sure I felt severe pain and cried only God knows how many tears while she was with us, but I was numb a lot of the time. It was perhaps a gift from God. That numbness gave me the ability to smile just as much as I cried, the ability to smile for a picture even when I knew our baby was dying, the ability to cherish the time we had with her, the ability to take care of her, and so on. There was a numbness there that enabled me to continue on so that I wasn't crushed by an overwhelming situation.

But like the writer writes, what has been numbed does come to the surface with time and over time and more than once. And that pain is always fresh and always there.

One of the greatest truths I've learned is the one expressed by the writer above. While time can help, only God has the power to heal these wounds of mine. And he is healing them. But it's not in a way in which they're healed, gone, and everything's perfect again. It's much different than that. And the true healing of my wounds, or yours, won't be experienced this side of Heaven.

Yesterday we went to the beach to go snorkeling. We had so much fun. And the average person on the outside might never see it or know, but Hailey is always with us. She's always in our thoughts. She's everywhere we go. It doesn't matter if there's a baby there to remind me or we're having a conversation about her or not; she's there on my mind, in my heart whether anyone is aware of it or not. Which is why yesterday you would have found us in the middle of our snorkeling and adventures on the beach stopped to sculpt a butterfly in the sand and write her name with the seashells.

Love you munchkin.