delighted to be » baby amelia

her. / december 4, 2012

We are happy.

…but are we really?

I guess this is a question for me. Am I really okay?

Most days it would seem like it. When I’m around others there is finally no room left in my head for negative thoughts. I don’t think about her, and I purposely block out and ignore any feelings or emotions.

Because I won’t cry in front of you. I just won’t.

…but some days when I’m alone and it’s quiet in the house I find myself falling apart. The permanent ache in my chest rises to the surface again and I can barely breathe. It’s like a riddle that’s impossible to solve: there are four of us, but yet there are only three.

Today negative thoughts are clouding my mind and as desperately as I want to push them away, I can’t. They’re stuck there and everything around me reminds me of her.

A little over three months ago, an almost-stranger spent hours and hours taking pictures of what little time we had with Amelia at the hospital. Her camera shutter clicked loudly in that quiet room, but I didn’t mind. With each photo she captured, more gratitude filled my aching heart.

I’d see this acquaintance at church on Sundays. But she wasn’t a stranger anymore; we were intricately connected and forever bound by the events that took place in that lonely hospital room. My heart would burst into a million tiny pieces all over the floor when I’d catch her eye and I’d be left alone, scrambling to put it back together again before anyone saw. For I am strong, and I will not let you see me cry.

As time has passed it’s easier to see this beloved stranger-turned-friend. Last week she took our family pictures, right in our humble abode. And my heart ached all over again. We are missing someone, aren’t we? We are missing her, I wanted to scream out. Let’s go find her, because she should be in these photos with us.

She should be with us, but she’s not. So pretend, for me, would you?

Pretend that there is a three-month old baby with squishy cheeks and chubby thighs being tossed high into the air in our kitchen. Pretend that in her wispy, blonde hair there is a headband with a big red bow to match the one in my own curly locks. Pretend that her older brother Jack is giving her a big, wet kiss on the lips while her mama and daddy gaze lovingly in the background.

Just for a moment, please pretend for me that there are four of us.

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12 weeks / november 19, 2012

Missing this girl today.

She would have been 12 weeks old. We would have been blessing her this week around our entire family in that beautiful pink dress.

I’m really missing the extra snuggle and kisses. I think Jack’s little spirit knew because all morning I got extra snuggles and kisses from him. I wish with all my heart that his extra love could make up for it, I really do.

This week will be hard. It will be full of intense, deep tears for the many members of our family that won’t be joining us, two in particular this year that none of us ever thought we’d have to miss so soon. Apologies in advance for the tears that will take up a permanent residence in my eyes until January.

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sandy eggo / november 12, 2012

Tyler and I will always have a special place in our hearts for San Diego. I was raised there, and Tyler landed his first (two) jobs there. So when we decided to move to San Jose, it was a really tough decision. But I knew we’d be back. My parents have taken up (very) permanent residence there, my sister and her family are also close by, and Tyler’s work’s main office is based there. There are always excuses to visit.

After I found out about Amelia, I decided with my sisters that I needed to plan a few things to get me motivated. After Amelia died, I didn’t want to mope on the couch feeling sorry for myself. So I planned a few things to get me out of a rut; essentially things to inspire me to keep going. One of those things was The Color Run, a 5k that drenches you in colored happiness. Clouds and clouds of the brightest colors you’ve ever seen, and the best part was it was impossible not to be surrounded in it.

It was liberating to run in the very same city we decided to become a family of four in, right back where we started. I wore my necklace and my bracelet with her named engraved on it, and as it repeatedly thumped against my skin while running I was reminded of her. In another circumstance it would be annoying to wear jewelry while running, but now it has the opposite effect. When I run she is with me, skin to skin. I was reminded of why I did this, and why I chose to carry her. I was reminded that my body is a unique gift from our Father in Heaven and I am so lucky to have it. I was reminded of the knowledge and capacities that I have. That my body is essentially whole and complete and beautiful. How lucky I am to simply be.

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teach me to walk in the light / november 6, 2012

Come, little child, and together we’ll learn
Of His commandments, that we may return
Home to his presence, to live in his sight
Always, always to walk in the light.

On Sunday, I lost it.

Church is always hard. There are babies everywhere. There are pregnant women and mothers of two (and three and four!) healthy kiddos that just don’t understand what they’ve got right in front of them.

Our lesson was about nurturing, and I just barely made it through with dry eyes. But then we sang “Teach Me to Walk in the Light” for the closing song in Relief Society, and I couldn’t even make it through the first verse without tears streaming down my face.

It’s the lullaby I sing to Jack, and the lullaby I sang to Amelia before she was born.

To think her little ears will never get to hear my cracked, off-key voice sing to her again just breaks my heart into a million pieces. But do you think she still attends family home evening on Mondays, and silently sings along to the hymns with us? And at family prayer each night – does her spirit kneel and pray with us?

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