Remembrance, Honor and HOPE

At the beginning of December we made a quick trip home to partake in the candlelight ceremony at the Angel of Hope to commemorate and remember our sweet daughter, Harper. Every year on December 6th they honor the names of children gone way too soon. It was beautiful. It was cold. It was sad. It was memorable. I can't fully explain how one 30 (ish) minute ceremony had so much impact on my soul and on my heart. There were many tears, there were smiles, there was heartache and there was of course my favorite of all; there was joy.

The president of the non profit organization began the ceremony, speaking eloquently and beautifully; he reminded us all of the meaning of the Angel of Hope: remembrance, honor and of course, Hope. He began to tell a story, a story that each and every person standing there that night, had somehow been affected by. As his voice began to crack we all knew what was coming, he too had lost a child. In 2003 his son was born still. The tears began flowing. I sometimes forget (or block out) the notion that these feelings will never go away. That 13 years from now, I will still be the mother of an angel. I will still ache for her every day until that day 13 years from now. And I will continue to ache for her for countless years after. Love. We can blame love for that ache and I am ok with that.

As the ceremony continued and the names of the children began to be read I looked around at all of the faces. There were hundreds of people there. Some were new to this game (like me) and some had been coming for a very long time. But what I noticed the most was how we all looked the same. We all had joined a "club" that no one wanted to ever be a part of. It's strange but true when I say: when you lose a child and you meet another mother of an angel, you may be a complete stranger and yet at the same time there is such a strong connection. It's a bond that I feel is given to us to help us get through the horrible times; to help lift us up when we need it the most. It's a part of our broken hearts, mending and grieving together. So as I looked around, I could feel that my heart yearned for each mother I saw standing there.

The music began and the tears began to flow, this was my new reality. At times I can hold the tears back, I can numb the pain inside, but this day, there would be no numbing. It was an official reminder: my daughter died. It was a beautiful song, reminding us all of the Angels around us. The names began to be read, for the first time I was thankful that my last name was at the very end of the alphabet. I needed some time before I heard her name. As the letters drew closer to W, I mustered up the strength and I readied myself. "Harper Lynn Wear", it was our turn to go stand in line and to place our flower at the foot of the angel. I was holding back the tears the entire time in line. As Levi, Adam and I finished placing our single white rose for our favorite angel I was stopped by someone I knew. Someone I hold dear in my heart and the tears began to flow and I couldn't stop them this time. We  both shared a pain now, one neither one of us ever agreed to bear, but yet here we were, still standing and still breathing. It was a much needed moment for this momma, to be able to let down my guard and to be able to breathe once again.

As the ceremony came to a close, I held Levi tight and I said a prayer. I know Harper is no longer suffering, that instead I am the one suffering for her. But every day that goes by, I can't help but wish she was here, I can't help but wish that I could see her smile, that I could hold her close that I could hear her giggle. So instead, I hug her brother and I blow a kiss towards her ashes each and every night. I know that she is still with us, I know that she is watching over us all and some days I remember that and think "how did I get so lucky?". She is mine and I am hers and for that I will be eternally grateful.

So for today, I will pick up another broken piece that had been shattered when I began this unimaginable journey and place it delicately where it belongs remembering my beautiful daughter and the joy she has brought to this family from afar.

Where there is Joy, there is also Sadness

Joyous Moments. They feel so different these days. They are happy, they are momentous, they are exciting. Yet there is more. There is a deep lingering of sadness that underlies the joy. Something I've never experienced before. How can someone be so incredibly happy and yet so incredibly sad at the same time? I've dreamed of some of these joyous moments my whole life (some of you know exactly  that one moment I'm talking about: Yes, the Cubs entering the World Series and WINNING of course) and yet here I am, jumping from the insides and wanting to hide at the same time. I've asked myself  "Is this feeling of sadness not really sadness, but rather guilt from feeling happy?" I'm not sure to be honest. These emotions are so raw and so new at times that it can be tiresome to attempt to sort them out. I'm pretty sure my other momma's of loss out there could raise their hands and say "Amen" to that statement.

I remember in those first few days after losing Harper the sense of feeling numb was about all that I could take. I didn't know what to think. I didn't know what to feel. I didn't know what to say. And I knew part of me was afraid to feel. I remember thinking at one point "I can't believe that I will feel this sad for the rest of my life." I knew at that moment how much of a life changer losing Harper would be. My worst nightmare had officially become my reality. It would be an unwelcomed change at first and it would be a change that I knew would never go away. It was what I labeled as my "new norm". There would now be the "before Harper" era and the "after Harper" era and I was going to have to find a way to cope with that and to understand that. It has not always been easy. In fact, it's been really really hard.

I find myself these days, when re-living my past, labeling each memory and each picture as "Before Harper" or "After Harper". My sense of myself and my family has changed drastically. I have grown. Some for the better, and some for the "yet to be determined" column. Mostly because I'm still exploring, I'm still figuring this new life out and I'm still mourning. Heavy mourning. And that's ok. I once thought I was immune to great sorrow. That surely there was no way it would ever find it's way into my life. But I was wrong. That was the "Before" version of myself and sadly that part of me doesn't exist anymore.  Sure, I still believe that life is filled with happiness, love, and joy... I haven't lost that, but I know now that life is full of so much more. Life is full of deeper meanings, of understanding this world we live in  and living it in the absolute fullest. It's about taking our experiences, growing from them and honoring them. It's about living with no regrets. It's about discovering that life is not black and white. Life is full of gray. So much gray. And if we allow ourselves to open up, to flourish and to nurture this life that we live, it will be the gray that gets us to the other side, that humanizes us. It will be the part that defines who we are.

So don't be afraid of the gray. I was. I was absolutely terrified of the gray. It's full of the unknown. It's full of the unimaginable. It's unorganized. It's rough. And yet, it has been so rewarding. So incredibly healing and I know I have grown immensely from my time there. 

Explore. Know that each day is a new day. A day in which we have been given life. A life that is full of so much deeper meaning and understanding. A life that is full of unimaginable moments. A life that is full of love, joy, laughter and cherished moments. A life that experiences sadness, darkness, despair and confusion. A life that challenges us. A life that strengthens us. A life that God has given us. Walk it. Live It. Love It and Learn from It.

That means today I will continue to walk this long and unfamiliar path on this unimaginable journey, I will walk through the gray and smile through the sadness and I will  pick up a broken piece and I will place it gently where it belongs knowing that one day I will see my little one again up above. *I Love you Harper Lynn

Can I really be "Thankful" at a time like this?!

I've taken a little break from writing lately since my emotions and life have been getting the best of me. It's been crazy. It's been messy. My motto the past few weeks has been "to stay as busy as possible" because when one is busy, one doesn't haven't to stop and reflect as often. And let's just say reflection has not always been my friend these days. As I was going through my fall decorations to start prepping for Pumpkin Spice and Football season I was taken aback by a sign I forgot that I hang every year above the fireplace. A sign that has always been a simple reminder to me, one that I've tried to live my life by fully. A sign that simply reads...

THANKFUL.

It's a sign that I hate to say, I have not had the courage or the strength to hang yet this year. It's a word I've been reflecting an awful lot on...  THANKFUL.

 Am I thankful? How can I be thankful after everything that has happened? I am blessed and I am grateful, but am I really thankful? Am I really suppose to read this word everyday? Why does this word taking my breath away every single time I see it?

"I just can't",  that's what I've been telling myself. I'm not ready, it's too much. I need time.

Oh that ache, that deep ache that tugs at my heart over and over has been working overtime lately. It's making me feel feels that I know I am not ready for at this moment. I'm grieving, I'm trying to move forward and I'm trying to see the good in each deed and each person that comes my way. I'm trying so hard some days, and now I am somehow suppose to be THANKFUL?

I looked at Adam the other night and said "I think I need to buy a new fall sign for the fireplace" and he stared at me puzzled (partially because I'm pretty sure he has no idea what our "fall" sign even says until it's put up, but that's totally ok) He quickly uttered the word "Why?". I told him exactly how I felt, "It's because it reads "Thankful" and I just really don't think I feel Thankful this year."

His response to this is exactly why I love this man. He has always been my clarity when my emotions become too involved. He has always been my strength when I feel weak in my knees and in this moment his words found a way to pick me back up. He looked me straight in the eyes and said.. "Kate, that seems a little harsh. Aren't you thankful for Levi? Aren't you thankful that you are alive? Because I am"

{A part of my story I haven't shared yet is how the day Harper was born, my body began to fail. My placenta began to pull away and my body went into shock, I was bleeding out and my blood pressure was dropping fast. As soon as Harper was whisked away to NICU and as soon as my doctor could get as much of my bleeding stopped my epidural was pulled and I was escorted by my doctor and the rest of the surgical team to ICU where I would spend the next 30 hours. I was immediately started on a blood transfusion and later followed with a platelet transfusion. I didn't realize how serious the situation had turned until my follow up appointment when my doctor told me "You were the last person I thought I'd ever have to worry about losing on the table." My eyes were opened. That day, I lived for a reason. That day I remained here on earth, a wife to the most perfect husband and a mother to two beautiful children on earth.}

When I look back at this moment, I remember. I remember that I was left here for a purpose and I needed Adam to remind me of that, to remind me that I can be THANKFUL this year and that it's a word I shouldn't be ashamed to use. I will never be thankful for what happened to my daughter, I know this. But I can be thankful for so much more.

I am thankful for life.

I am thankful for joy.

I am thankful for Levi's laughs, his hugs and the love he brings.

I am thankful for my amazing husband.

I am thankful for friends and family who have picked me up at the lowest of times.

I am thankful for loving a tiny soul so much that I have a reason to be sad.

I am thankful. I can be thankful.

I've learned and accepted now that "Thankful" no longer has to be a scary word for me and I've discovered how it means something so much more to me. I've stopped looking at the superficial some days and found the deeper meaning to life. I have to open my eyes to my surroundings, I have to live in the moment and I have to treasure each and every day. Harper opened my eyes to this world and for that I am Thankful. She helps me flourish as a mom and a wife each day of my life and for that I am so thankful.

So today I am going to be thankful, thankful that I am able to pick up another broken piece on this unimaginable journey and place it delicately where it belongs enjoying each and every moment with my incredible family and knowing that this journey will bring me one day closer to seeing my little Angel.

Harsh Realities

Right when you think you are finally getting a grip on this new life you are living, right when you feel like you have control of your emotions, right when you think the deep sadness and darkness that once surrounded you has began to lessen you feel it again. That ache that is so deep within you it's impossible to escape. It's as if the outside world knows exactly when to throw at you that harsh reminder that your child has left you. As much as you try to escape the feelings, as much as you try to escape the pain and as much as you try to escape the dark memories; you can't.

The other day at work I was walking down the hallway when I saw an adorable little boy who I imagined was pretty close to my son Levi's age. Since I work in a skilled nursing facility a small child under the age of 10 is a rare sighting. In front of him I saw his mom pushing a stroller and walking behind him was what I could only assume his grandmother carrying a beautiful chunky little baby in her arms. As I walked behind these adorable kids I saw what could have been my future flashing before my eyes. But instead of dwelling in the sadness I decided to ask the mom how old her little boy was

"He is so cute, how old is your oldest?"

"2 years and 2 months"

"How perfect, I have an almost 2 year old at home and I thought your little man looked to be about his age."

"Oh man, you must have a pretty big guy if he's about the same size as this one and not quite two."

I responded with, "Yea he's not the smallest of the bunch."

The grandmother then turns to me and says: "But I bet you don't have one this size at home" and held up the cutest little blue eyed, pudgy baby I had seen in quite awhile.

My eyes, just like they have experienced much too often these days started to well up, so I quickly answered "You're right, I don't have one that size."

The daughter turned around at that point and said "See Mom, she was one of the smart ones."

I can't even write these words without tears streaming down my cheeks. The pain I feel when I re-live this conversation is just so real. So incredibly real, that sometimes I wish parents who have lost their children could wear a sign that says "I'm a mother/father to an angel." I wish that mother had known that I would have given anything to have what she had. To hold two perfectly healthy, happy babies in my arms, to have them close in age and to watch them grow up together. I struggle every moment of every day with the fact that I will never get to see Harper grow up, that she wasn't healthy while she lived her earthly life and that I had to witness her take her last breath in my arms.

One thing I've learned for sure in the realm of grieving is that reality is so harsh sometimes. You can't escape it and you can't avoid it, it doesn't stop for you and it doesn't always cater to your needs. When you've lost your child you have to learn to survive within reality. You have to re-learn how to breathe, how to walk, how to function and how to strive without a piece of yourself. It's unfair, it's unthinkable and it's tragic but it's also necessary. Mothers of infant loss most definitely learn very quickly what true strength feels like; not because they want too necessarily but because they have too. My soul has never ached so much in my whole life and yet here I am: still standing, still breathing and still moving forward. Some days I'm not really sure how it is possible. Reality wants to knock me down at times, wants to remind me of the darkness and the sadness that floods my being but strength is knowing that there is light and strength is believing that one day that light will shine through again and that one day we will be reunited for eternity and all will feel complete. So when reality comes knocking at my door, I've learned to take a deep breath, roll with the punches and picture my beautiful baby girl shining down on me from up above.

So with that image on my mind, today I pick up another broken piece on this unimaginable journey and place this particular one where it belongs with the hope that one day this journey will look complete once again and I can hold my beautiful daughter in my arms and tell her how much her mommy misses her and loves her.  *Harper Lynn*

I Hope You Dance

This past weekend we got to witness the most beautiful wedding ceremony, one where you could just feel the love that filled the room from each and every corner. It was such a special day for such an amazing couple and when it came time for the Father/Daughter dance I could feel that little tug in my heart that I've been feeling so often these days. That little tug that sometimes pulls a little harder each time and causes my heart to ache a little bit longer.  I could feel the emotions creeping up: the sadness that tries to take my breath away and the darkness that attempts to overshadow the light. But then the song started to play. It was the most beautiful melody, a melody that enabled the light to shine through and show the love that had once encompassed the room. As the lyrics began to play I found the words to be so incredibly soothing;  they were finding a way to encourage joyfulness through the immense sorrow.

" I hope you never lose your sense of wonder,
You get your fill to eat but always keep that hunger,
May you never take one single breath for granted..."

"Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens,
Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance,
and when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
                I HOPE YOU DANCE"

These words started to fill my soul and the more I listened to them and watched the loveliness of a father and daughter dance before my eyes the more I began to allow myself to see the beauty again. I could understand how easy it would be for me to sit this one out though, to cower in the corner or quickly walk away in order to spare my heart from feeling that little tug again; but instead, I was learning to accept these feelings and I was finally learning to dance through them. At times it feels like the most awkward dance, where my arms may not be in rhythm with my feet or my movements might feel totally out of sync with the music but yet at the same time I am so proud of myself. As the song tells us, I know that I have not picked the path of least resistance and I have promised myself to not sit this one out.

I know that I will always wish for there to be an extra person with me while I'm dancing. I will always wish that with each family picture we take these days you could see four visible people. That when I speak of my daughter you could picture a beautiful, happy, and smiling almost four month old. I will always wish that I didn't have to leave that hospital with completely empty arm, with a heart that was shattered into too many pieces to count and a soul that felt like it could collapse at any moment. I will always wish I could still live that naïve life where these types of feelings felt impossible to imagine and even more so out of reach. But I can tell you there is ONE thing I will most definitely NEVER wish for. You will at no time find me uttering the words "I wish this never happened." I am forever grateful for those three whole days that I got to soak up what life on earth with two amazing children felt like. I always joked when I was pregnant with Harper that having a girl felt like such a "game changer" and how true those words ring in my heart right now. Harper was a definite  game changer in our family, but within all the sadness of her leaving she has brought us so much joy. Harper has taught us to appreciate the small things, to cherish each breath we take and the ease that comes with it and to give thanks for the beauty in which we live. To say it simply, she has taught me to keep dancing and to love without limits.

Today, my husband Adam and I celebrate five years of marriage and today is undoubtedly one of those days where I remember and acknowledge how truly blessed I am. Sometimes it's been hard for me to see the "blessings" through the gloominess, but with this celebration comes a joy that words will never be able to describe. This is not how I ever imagined our marriage to look like when I said "I Do" five years ago. It's been messy, so much more than I could have ever believed and yet through these messy times we have found a love so much deeper and so much fuller than my imagine could have allowed. Adam and I have been through more than someone who just turned 30 should have ever experienced, we have seen more sadness than a happily married couple of five years should ever have felt and yet we have made it through and we have found the light in what will hopefully be one of our darkest moments. I'm not saying that because we survived this tribulation that the road before us will be easy but I am just so grateful that every morning I wake up next to this man and I thank God that I get one more day on this earth to spend with him. There is nothing I would change about the "Kate and Adam Story" because it is our story that has helped me develop into the woman I am today, the mother I am today and the wife that I am today. I know Adam is always and will always be by my side and I know he will always be the one saying over and over to me ... "I hope you dance."

So within the celebrating that today will bring, I will pick up another broken piece that has been scattered along this unimaginable journey and I will place it where it belongs knowing that I have been truly blessed with the most amazing man by my side, the most beautiful baby girl in heaven and the most inspiring son here on earth.

* HAPPY FIVE YEARS OF MARRIAGE, ADAM: Let's dance all day long!! I LOVE YOU *

Just Keep Swimming

The other day Levi had his first "official" swim lesson and boy was he ecstatic. As soon as we entered the pool area I couldn't get him to calm down, he incessantly pointed to the pool, screaming "Wa Wa" at the top of his lungs while squirming ferosciously to wiggle out of my arms. Levi loves to take on new adventures, sometimes keeping Mommy and Daddy on their toes a little too often but we welcome it nonetheless. He's just so amazing, usually a very happy kid with a strong will and yet so incredibly loving. As I watched his Dad take him into the pool for his "waterbabies" class I watched with a full heart at how much this little child had grown up and how much life he gives to us. I watched as Levi learned to turn his head to the side, as he put on little flippers and learned to kick in the water and how he unwillingly floated on his back for a few seconds (not his favorite thing!) While I watched Levi learn all of the new and exciting movements and experience sensations he had never felt before all I could think of while watching is how much learning to swim reminds me of life after loss. A bunch of un-natural movements and feelings that when learned and accepted turn into something beautiful, something that allows us to move forward and onward through rough patches, allowing us to breathe if we know how and sometimes throwing a bit of unexpectedness our way.

Learning to swim is not an easy task. I know the difficulties it has since I taught it for such a long time (learning from the best since my Dad taught swim lessons for over 30 years). It's a lot of unusual and odd motions, it's learning to breathe and stay afloat , it's learning to move forward when your body just wants to sink and it's putting all these acts into one glorious movement to get you where you want to be. It usually starts with a kick, the most common of all the kicks is the "flutter" kick, where you quickly move your feel up and down.  It's what helps propel you through the water, it's the piece that brings power to this new experience . But that's not all that it takes to keep you afloat, it's just the first piece of the puzzle to helping you learn. Then comes the arms, large screwy movements that are in an entirely different rhythm to your legs. A movement that when performed perfectly helps push the water down and behind you in order to move you faster and faster; allowing you to achieve your goal much more efficiently and smoothly. When your fingers don't grasp the water in just the perfect way though or your elbow doesn't bend at just the right angle when coming out of the water you may lose momentum. One small abnormal movement may hinder your progress forward and require you to work a little harder to catch up. But alas, even with all of this you still have one more key component to be taught... You need to learn to breathe.

Continuing on with life after losing Harper has to be one of the hardest things I've ever had to, it's a daily struggle to find the beauty within this experience. It's learning to ride the waves and power through them when they decide to hit; it's knowing ahead of time that some waves are bigger than others and you must find a way to breathe, even though it may be difficult at times. It's learning that sometimes you may not have the strength to power through, so instead you flip to your back and float through them, watching them carry you as you go. But the hardest part of losing Harper, and the hardest part of swimming, is learning and remembering to breathe in this new environment. It's Hard. As soon as I feel like I've discovered how to power through, a new wave hits and I find myself gasping for air; looking for the fastest way out of this wave of emotions. And sometimes I'm able to power through, kicking with all of my might and sometimes I've learned to let the emotions take me on this journey and I willingly flip to my back and ride them out.  Sometimes that's the safest route to get to where you are going, because the more you fight the more resistance you might encounter. Similar to being sucked into a rip tide, where it is safest to swim parallel to shore until the tide brings you closer to land.

Harper has taught me so much about myself, she's helped me understand that suffering and pain come from a beautiful place, a place where love is so abundant and so flourishing that it can become endless. She's also taught me that pain is pain, and sometimes that pain will never go away but that doesn't have to stop us from leading a fulfilling life. You can't let pain be the wave that pulls you under and never lets you breathe again. At times you will find yourself holding your breath as the water pours over you, but with each breath will come a new breath and new understanding of what you just encountered. You come out stronger and better because next time you will understand the fight a little bit more. Never Give Up.

So today I will kick a little harder and breathe a little deeper as I put together another broken piece on this unimaginable journey. Today I will bask in the glory of finding a love so deep and so pure; a love that will one day bring me back to my daughter again.

Daddy's Girl

Lately, I haven't been feeling very strong but in true "Kate" fashion, I've been trying harder than ever to not let it change me, to not let it affect me and to not let it control my life. But there is one person in my life who sees it everyday, one person who knows that I struggle often and knows that sometimes the darkness tries to prevail. The same person who I also know will never let the darkness overcome, who will pull me up every single time that my knees make me crumble to the ground and who will willingly stand next to me each time and willingly do it all again. That person, as most of you might know, is my husband, Adam and it only feels fitting to tell you all about the amazing man that he is while celebrating Father's Day.

There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that tells me I would not be where I am today, living the way I am today and finding the beauty in today if it were not for the rock that stands next to me each and every day. There was no way Adam was going to let this devastating situation change who we were in a negative way, there was no way he was going to let the sadness conquer us and there was no way he was going to remember his daughter in any other way but as a fighter. He was there to comfort when I needed to be comforted, he was there to hold my hand when it needed to be held and he was also there to say "Kate, get moving" when all I wanted to do was hide. But not only is he an amazing husband but also an amazing father.

Before we had Levi I had never watched Adam hold a baby. I would always wonder what kind of parent each of us would be and how we would cope with all of the new responsibilities. We had met so early in life that sometimes I still think of us as our 16 year old selves and it's hard to imagine us any other way. When Levi was born though, it was natural, it was instinct and it was pure love at first site. Adam was on top of things, I honestly don't think I changed a single diaper in the hospital. He was ready to take on this new adventure and he was seriously the best at it with such little practice. I remember I would watch in awe as this strong and independent man would cradle our newborn so delicately and so effortlessly.  How could I seriously love this man anymore? and yet there I was, finding myself falling more and more in love with him.

This past year, Adam's parenting skills were most definintely put to the test when I was hospitalized for four weeks while Harper and Mommy were under strict orders to take it easy. I was so fearful of how this would all play out because Adam was in the middle of busy season and Levi was beginning his "Mr. Independent" stage. Adam never flinched though, he never called me in a panic, he never complained and he made being a parent look so incredibly easy. He made sure we could face time each morning (when Mommy was awake to do it) and they would visit every single night in the hospital. Levi continued to flourish in school and everyday life and I watched that little 18 month old grow up so much with the guidance of his Dad along the way.

I have to admit though,  there were times I was terrified that I was having a girl because after having a boy I felt that a girl was just a complete game changer. I'm not sure why I would get these sudden urges of fear but it would usually distance itself within a few moments. There was one thing I did always look forward too when we found out we were having a girl; that was watching Adam become a dad to a baby girl. I couldn't wait to watch their relationship blossom and used to always joke with Adam that I bet Levi would turn into a "Momma's Boy" and Harper would turn into a "Daddy's Girl".  Adam would unknowingly light up a bit when we would talk about this because I knew he was ready. When I would ask are you excited it's a girl he would always answer without hesitation "Yes". I can't even begin to describe how amazing this man is because I don't think my limited vocabulary will do him justice. I seriously am so blessed, have I told you that enough times yet?

To this day my favorite memory will always be when I put little Miss Harper into her Dad's arms. Adam never took his eyes off of her sweet face and each time he kissed her a piece of my shattered heart was put back together. This was what I was going to miss most, the bonding and the completeness that our family was never going to feel again. We are always going to feel a little empty with Miss Harper so far away but we know that she is here with us each and every day holding our hands and helping us in every way she knows possible.

So this Father's Day I want to acknowledge all of the Dad's out there who are missing a piece of themselves today. I want us all to remember that behind every "strong" bereaved mother there is most likely a Dad helping to the put the pieces together as well. I know Dad's don't tend to show the outward signs of healing, but their insides were just as shattered as ours and require immense mending to heal the brokenness. So this Father's Day I'm going to pick up another broken piece on this unimaginable journey and together Adam and I will rebuild this path so that one day we are able to see our sweet daughter once again and Adam can hold his "daddy's girl" faithfully in his arms.

Happy Father's Day Adam!! * Love Levi and Sweet Harper *

Kindness, Sincerity and Empathy

To be an outsider in devastating situations has some difficult moments and I know one of  the hardest parts of watching someone you love go through tumultuous times is not knowing what to say or how to help them cope with the burden they now bear. I've had friends lose their parents, lose their grandparents, lose people very near and dear to them and I have found myself in that alarming  position where all I wanted to do was be there for them but I just wasn't quite sure how or what I could do. But let me tell you, I've now learned that it is just as confusing and just as hard to be on the other end of the spectrum as well. I was constantly asking myself: Will people judge me if I talk about my daughter? Will this person be upset with the words "my daughter died"? Should I show pictures of Harper? I think she's beautiful and perfect but what will everyone else see or think?  I had never known anyone close to me who had lost a child (and I hope it stays that way!) so I wasn't sure how to react or how others would react to me. I was so nervous, terrified to say anything at all. How is it that I wouldn't think twice about blinking an eye when it comes to posting pictures of my beautiful daughters birth in a "normal" situation but because her life had only lasted a short time I was so scared to mention anything at all?! I knew I had to say something though because the thought of so many people asking why my arms would be empty when meeting them made my heart sink deeper than I knew I would ever be able to pull myself out from. That moment when I posted my first words on social media regarding my daughter, not only did it make the unimaginable feel real, but I had finally experienced for the first time what it felt like to watch fear slowly dissipate and become something much more incredible, it had become courage.

I'm going to tell you now, when someone loses a child I know it is scary to find the appropriate words to say. Truthfully, there really are no correct words.  I know many people wondered whether they would upset me, or hurt me, or make the grieving that much more difficult but here is what I have learned though:  It is most definitely OK to talk about death, it is OK to speak that child's name, and it is OK to ask questions and be inquisitive. It may not always be the right time for the one grieving to answer some of those questions, but to know that you care and are wanting to know more about the life of someone so incredibly close to their hearts is EVERYTHING. As a newly bereaved Mom, speaking of Harper's death brings me a lot of sadness but it also brings me an insurmountable amount of joy. It reminds me of the impact she had and that even though three days flew by, she will be remembered in some way. In my eyes she will always be remembered as a fighter, a daughter, and an angel: nothing less. You can ask me all day long what happened, how it happened, when we found out, what she looked like, what she weighed, what the doctors did and so on. That was the life of Miss Harper Lynn and one I am so proud of and will talk about until the day I die. When I tell you about her, I am reminded of her, and that's a gift that I will always cherish.  She was brought to heaven way too soon in my eyes, but I know in His eyes she was brought there to fulfill  a journey I know nothing about yet.

Not everyone grieves the same though, so I truly can't speak for each person traveling this unimaginable journey. Some need more time than others, but trust me when I say, we all want to talk about our "missing" child and we all want to be reminded of how much they were loved here on earth. The honest truth in regards to this situation is that losing a child is undoubtedly one of the most unnatural feelings in the world and we as the child's parents need to be reminded of the "realness" at times. I cannot imagine anything more harsh in this world than having to walk into a funeral home and say "I'm here to pick up my daughter's ashes."  It's almost impossible to pick yourself up after re-living those moments and it's extremely hard to see where the beauty lies when uttering those horrid words.  But from the ashes we will rise, and within the rising we will find beauty again; for it is with death that we find redemption and within that redemption we will find a purity that is so whole, a purity in which we strive to discover each day of our earthly lives. But one must understand, to find the beauty within us during these incredibly dark moments is not an easy task, and some may struggle more so than others. We must always approach this subject with complete compassion. You don't have to always have the right words or know the exact right thing to say but you do have to always show true kindness, true sincerity and true empathy towards those in need for it is those vibes that will help the grieving soul better understand your intentions and your love for them as well.

With that being said, I once again will pick up another shattered piece along this unimaginable journey and relish in the knowledge that through Harper's death I have embraced a true miracle, one that has shown me a peak at redemption and a small glimpse of the purity that is so whole. Today, I will place that broken piece carefully where it belongs along this beautiful path and know that in doing so I am so much closer to holding my tiny miracle in my arms once again.

XoXo Harper Lynn

** One of the best messages I received from a close friend read like this: "I think about you all the time. Asking how you are doing is a really dumb question so, I hope today is better than yesterday"**

I Can Only Imagine

Sometimes it still doesn't feel like reality. Sometimes I feel like I'm going to wake up in the morning and none of this will have happened. I think I'm going to wake up with a beautiful baby girl lying next to me and I'm going to take a deep breath and let out a huge sigh of relief knowing that this has all just been a tortuous nightmare. I think about this scenario often, but then I remember that my nightmare is truly reality and that there's no going back in this world, and I suddenly feel like crumbling. That's the funny thing about grief, it hits when you least expect it and it usually hits with great force. I haven't been able to identify these so called "triggers" they often say associate themselves with grief. I just have moments; moments that burn so deep they take my breath away and I begin to stumble. I quickly wonder if this will be the stumble that brings me to my knees or if I'll find my balance and find a way to pull myself back up. I've been fortunate so far and have somehow found my balance each time, but I know that doesn't always mean I'll be that lucky.

Through this experience I've learned that there are so many different ways to bear the pain of losing a child and that there really aren't any "wrong" or "right" ways. Everyone has to learn through themselves how to move forward each day, and we have to remember that it's ok to feel stuck some days and it's ok to feel defeated some days. The most important lesson is to find a way to keep going; even in the darkness you must try harder to find a way and it is here that you will find the strength and courage within yourself that you never knew existed. It's an incredible feeling, one full of sadness and joy because it is here that you uncover a great discovery of yourself, you find a part of you that enables you to forge ahead in the face of pain but it is also here that you remember why you had to dig this deep within yourself in the first place. It's so incredibly tiring to constantly be searching for the deeper meaning so that you can pull yourself from the darkness but it's also so incredibly rewarding because it is through that deeper meaning we begin to see more clearly and more fully. Here is where your loved one lives and it is here where you feel a connection unlike any other,  where two worlds begin to feel like one, the connection between the earthly and the heavenly.

There have been many times where I have wished that I was not walking this journey, I've yearned to go back to what I now refer to as "The Simple Life." I want to live in my world where happiness prevailed, the world where I never knew what true sorrow felt like. I want to return to my old normal. The truth is though, I wouldn't be who I am today without this experience. I would have never known my true strength and I would have never known true love. I would have lived life at the surface without having to look deep within myself and understand the meaning of it all. It's then that I know that I wouldn't change this experience. It's then that I remember that the love I have for my daughter is so full that it spills over this earth.  I remember the courage and strength she had for her three short days, the same courage and strength she left behind for me to find so that I can continue to live this life without her here. I am reminded of how she has changed me and how I will always be forever grateful for the many gifts she has given me.

Grief helps me remember how precious this world is, it brings me closer to connecting my two worlds, the earthly and the heavenly. My imagination during these times wanders so deep and so far and it's in this moment that I've learned that there are just some things we can't imagine, even if we wanted to.  I say this because I truly believe I could have never imagined the emotions that I've felt along this journey before experiencing them first hand. I couldn't have imagined them because they weren't reality and I didn't even know these emotions existed. I know I've said, "I can only imagine" in different scenarios a hundred times but in all honesty I think I've learned through this that I really don't think I could have fully imagined. It is my belief that our minds block out the truest most deepest sorrows of the imagination to protect us from the harsh reality and only when reality hits, will you feel an inexperienced sense of emotion. It is here where you will have to uncover a courage and strength you never knew existed and it's here where you will find what true survival feels like. This is when I am reminded that the loss of a child is undoubtedly an "Unimaginable Journey."

Today though, I have decided that I am going to try to imagine what my sweet daughter experiences up above, knowing that I will not be able to fully understand the joy and tranquility of the after life because my imagination will only allow me to stretch so far. Today I will pick up another broken piece along this journey and place it sweetly where it belongs knowing that I'm one piece closer to experiencing life at it's fullest.

*Love You Harper Lynn*

"Firsts" can be followed by FAITH

After the loss of a child there are so many "firsts" you have to overcome. The first day living without them in your arms or in your physical sight. The first time someone asks you about them without knowing the circumstance. The first time you are able to speak their name without breaking down. Their first birthday without them here. This week I experienced a first, this week I had my first day back to work; back to reality, back to the norm, back to how it all was before the chaos began. I had so many mixed emotions regarding my return to work: fear, joy, sadness, excitement.  Would it feel like nothing happened? Would life just pretend to return to normal even though it wasn't? Would my mind be able to handle it all? I honestly couldn't tell you if I felt ready, but I knew I had to face the day at some point and the place that I had now found myself wasn't going to change, so it was time to take a deep breath, soak it all in and go for it.

It's been an overpowering week, to say the least, showing me each emotion noted above at some point but also showing me a sense of serenity and peacefulness; reminding me of the joys of life and the "normality" of life before this journey took a turn I wasn't predicting. I can honestly say that not a single moment went by that I wasn't thinking of her or wishing that I could answer those "How's your baby?" questions so much differently. My heart hurts so much when I think about her but I never take those moments for granted because it reminds me of how connected her and I were and how much I love her with every breath I take. If you take the time to look you can most definitely find a sense of beauty in sorrow, because without sorrow we would never know the reality of true grace and fullness.

Adam and I also met with the high risk fetal monitoring specialist for the first time since Harper's passing. He was the first one to embark on this unimaginable journey with us since he was the one to have found and diagnosed the hydrops.  He was the doctor who gave Adam and I the hope we needed to endure the four weeks in the hospital leading up to Harpers delivery and he was the doctor who helped me discover and  become a part of my daughter's personality and spirit in utero. Prior to the appointment lots of tears were shed because I knew seeing him for the first time and the closing of this chapter would not be an easy task. It was most certainly an informative meeting and during our visit we attempted to put as many broken pieces back together as possible.

 At one point during our chat the doctor looked at my husband and I and said "I have to tell you two there really is absolutely no medical reason why this should have happened. There is no reason why there should have been fluid around her lungs.  I'm so sorry we don't have answers but we do know that she didn't have any structural defects, her genetic make up was flawless and there were no infections to be found."

If I could have crawled into a deep dark hole at that moment I most certainly would have. I had been doing so well to lock up and contain the anger that I had felt so much after my daughter left this earthly life. If there wasn't a medical reason than WHY did this have to happen? WHY couldn't she be here with us right now? WHY were we the chosen ones to go through this pain and hurt?

My answers to these questions go back to when I was in the third grade. I remember sitting in class listening to my teacher lecture on eternal life and the joys of heaven; explaining God the Father and his master plans for each of us. I remember raising my hand to ask what I believed to be a very pertinent question "You may not have an answer to this question but how do we know that God truly exists and that there really is a heaven?" She smiled and looked at me and said "Actually Kate, I do have an answer for you." She walked slowly to the chalkboard and wrote in all capital letters one word...

FAITH.

Who would have guessed that a third grade religion class is what has helped to give me the courage to push forward through this unimaginable journey. Who would have guessed that I would ever feel like I had to rely so heavily on one word; a word I now know holds so much meaning. Sometimes I beg the Lord to take me back to the days before this all happened, to the days where I was so naïve to what pain could truly feel like. But with those days there would be no Harper and my eyes would still be closed to the true meaning of life and the value each of us have while we are here on earth, whether it be for a long time or just a short little while.  I wish with all of my heart there was a different ending to my story but I am so grateful for the lessons Harper has taught me and the absolute joy she brings to me every day of my life. I have her to thank when I look deep within my soul and find strength I didn't know existed and discover a deeper more meaningful existence to my being. So with my little girl's arms wrapped around my heart and soul I will pick up another broken piece and place it along the path leading me towards her light so that one day I can hold her in my arms again and watch her as she smiles and tells me all about God's plan.

If Only He Knew

Everyday Life. It never stops, it's constantly going, constantly taking us somewhere and constantly trying to teach us some new miraculous meaning to each experience we encounter. It happens so fast and before we know what is happening we begin to just exist. We begin to drown out the deeper meaning of our existence and the glorious details of every minute.  How long had my eyes been closed to everyday life before this happened?! How often had I glanced at everything from the surface and watched the true meaning pass me by?! How often had I spoke to a stranger, simple words, and not truly understood the full impact those words might have had?!

"Baby!"

...said Levi as Adam held  him close while we waited in line. Levi was infactuated with the cutest little guy in front of us; he was all snuggled up in his car seat carrier, being held by his dad and just smiling from ear to ear.

My husband responded, "That's right Levi, that's a baby. Can you say Hi to the baby?"

The teachers at school had been prepping Levi for his baby sisters arrival, taking him into the nursery and having him "help " with the babies. They told me for months that he was a natural, that he loved going into the nursery to bring toys to each wiggly, smiling and happy little friend. I would always smile as they told me the stories and I would always be so thankful and grateful to know how lucky I was to have such a warm-hearted and compassionate first child as Levi.

As Levi continued to be entraced by this tiny human being the Dad of the little guy turned to look at me and with a huge grin on his face proceeded to say...

"Mom, I think this is a sign that he's ready for another one."

UGH! and just like that there it was, the gut wrenching throb to my entire body, that feeling that I had been doing so well to dull; it was now exploding in full force and it was sharp.  As sharp a feeling as it was the moment I came off that operating table on March 18th, as sharp as it was the moment the doctor told me that Harper's heart had stopped beating while she was cradled in my arms, there it was raw and without pretense. How was I going to hide it this time?  Every emotion that I had been trying to tuck away inside of me only to open on rare occasions had been kicked over and spilled everywhere. I was so vulnerable.

 I took a deep breath and quickly smiled back, managed to break out a little laugh and tried to direct my attention towards Levi and his new found friend again. If only this dad knew how much I would do anything at this moment to have my daughter physically with us. If only this dad knew how much Adam and I tried to build a bond and friendship for Levi to cherish with a sibling so close in age. If only this dad knew what the past two months had held for us and how that the only wish I had for this moment was that we too were holding a little baby in a carrier at this exact same time. If only he knew...

But he didn't know, and we won't always know the journey someone is on and the roads they have had to take to get there. Some people you will find are an open book and will tell you their whole life story in 5 minutes or less while there are others who will quickly smile, let out a gentle laugh and acknowledge your words all while silently being torn apart on the inside. And both answers are appropriate, both are examples of how grief wears masks that we may never see or know. Now that I've been a "wearer" of one of these masks I feel I  have been given a better appreciation and a better understanding of the everyday things. These unexpected moments that seem to always catch me off guard are crucial to my continued learning and explorations of these raw sentiments. These emotions and these unexpected moments help me locate where the broken pieces still reside and allow me to slowly and gracefully rebuild this journey that I have found myself on, knowing that this is what it will take to one day be peacefully reunited with my beautiful daughter up above.

Hope*

Mother.

The dictionary defines the word mother as "a female parent" but we all know this word stems from something so much deeper than that simple explanation. It is true that when we think of a mother our first thought might be that of a female parent but when looked at in a deeper meaning we can see this word for all of it's beauty. A mother is: a giver, lover, fighter, nurturer, educator, companion and so much more. She is the foundation for every family, the one who brings new life into this world. She knows how to demonstrate grace and beauty while facing the challenges of the world with extreme courage and strength.

There are those moments though where a Mother will be reminded of her pain and her agony, where grace and beauty will feel like a distant trait and strength will be hard to find. Today is one of those days. Today is a day that I am going to have to dig deep to see the joy, today is a day where I am going to have to look at something other than just the surface because today I am reminded that what my dreams for this day were suppose to be, will not be. Today I will look up at the sky, more than once, and wish that I could just see her one more time, or hold her one more time. Today I will look at the flowers still surrounding our house and think "I wish she was here." Today I will walk through my front door adorned by a pink cross and wish that it was hanging there for a much different purpose. Today I will be reminded that part of me is missing.

I know that today will not be easy, that today I will feel a great amount of sadness and that a part of me will feel empty. Today I will have to find the courage and strength to dwell a bit deeper in my soul  in order to find the beauty that I know surrounds me. Today I am going to rely on HOPE. I hope today that when I see the sun I am reminded of the light that she brings to me along with her brother. I hope that today when I see the wind blow I am reminded of the breaths I got to watch her take and I hope that when I feel the warmth of these two combined that I am reminded that I am so lucky to have been chosen to be her Mother and to get to hold her close.

Today, I will get to peer into the eyes of a little boy who helps bring me more completeness than he will ever know.  A little boy who will say "mom" and comfort me in my times of sorrow. As much as I want to yell to the sky this Mother's Day "THIS IS NOT HOW I IMAGINED IT" I will live for every moment with Levi and I will cherish every memory. A part of me is most definitely  missing on this Mother's Day but the other part of me is fully here; living life to it's greatest potential. Today I will pick up a broken piece and place it gracefully where it belongs so that I can keep moving forward on this unimaginable journey and be a Mother to an impeccable little boy here on earth and an immaculate little angel up in heaven. 

So I want to say Happy Mother's day to all of the incredible women out there, to those who celebrate today with huge smiles on their faces and to those who feel like a piece of themselves is missing. Women who have sacrificed so much each day to bring joy and life to the world, especially my Mom and Mother - in - law.... HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!

{*Harper, I hope I make you proud today. XoXo*}

One or Two: What do I do?!

It happened. The moment I wanted no part of. The dreaded, awful and terrifying question had been asked. The one I had been trying to avoid. The one I've been playing my answer to over and over on repeat in my mind since this all began. The one I knew I had prepared myself for. It's the question I told myself I would stay strong while answering. The one I swore I would never look back and think twice about. It was a simple question. Six pure and simple words that when put together to form a sentence sent off a panic within me. It was as simple as...

"How many kids do y'all have?"

I know, I know, this seems so silly, but for a mom who just lost a child this is one of the most difficult questions to answer. This was my first "official" outing after losing my daughter and I was so sure I was ready and willing to answer anything that was thrown my way, anything, but this. I was with a group of amazing moms, many of whom knew my story and what I had just went through and who were extremely supportive during my time away. We had all just been chatting away while decorating my son's school for the upcoming week. I mean how many times had I asked this same exact six word question as a conversation starter? I watched how each mom answered this simple and pure question so effortlessly and without hesitation and then I realized it was my turn. I felt my heart racing faster and my mind spinning, the room literally felt like it was 100 degrees as all eyes turned towards me and I answered...

"I have one."

My heart immediately plummeted to the ground. It was the heaviest I had ever felt it since losing Harper and I don't think if I wanted to I could have picked it up at that moment to brush it off. I felt stuck, as if I couldn't move. I can't even begin to explain the emotions that succumbed to me immediately after answering that question. For a lack of better words I felt so ashamed of myself.

"Kate you've been practicing for so many weeks now how you would answer this.  Just say two and if they ask more questions than just say I have one on earth and one in heaven."

After a few minutes of feeling nothing but shame and guilt my subconscious was wanting me to yell out, "Excuse me! Can I change my answer please? I don't have one kid, I have two. Two beautiful children, you just physically can't see one, but she is here, right here, always and everyday!"

I bitterly just kept playing my answer over and over in my head for hours that day."One, I can't believe I said one." Why did I even have to question what my answer would be? Was I worried what the other moms would think if I said two? What do they think now that I said one?

This experience for me was incredibly eye opening and extremely life changing; it was a moment where I realized that I'm not perfect, this situation isn't perfect and I'm learning how to manage my emotions the best I can with what I have been given. I've learned that I don't need to be so hard on myself, that this isn't something you can prepare for and I've also learned how one simple question can have such an enormous impact on an individual. Just a few months ago I would have answered  the same question just like all the other moms: without hesitation, without fear and with a huge smile on my face. I know one day soon I will be able to answer in the same manner but I also know that there is a learning curve for me now and that it will take time and guess what? That is OK. My heart aches for my daughter and that is an ache that no answer or no person can ever take away. As Adam told me when I confronted him about this situation: "Kate, I don't think I'll always feel the need to tell someone my whole life story every time I'm asked that question. I know I have a daughter and nothing will ever change that, so don't be so hard on yourself."

His words are undeniably true. This past weekend we celebrated the LIFE of Harper. My daughter was physically here, in our presence, for three glorious days where even though she was kept sleeping, we could watch through monitors how much fight she had within her. Her heart did not want to give up and so neither will mine. My heart will beat stronger now because of my daughter. That is a gift I will cherish for the rest of my physical life. The heaviness I feel at times is because I ache for her; not because I am weak but because I remember. Because I will forever cherish those three days and the memories that came from them. Memories that will be engrained within me forever and memories that no one or no answer can ever take away from me. This new found strength is what makes me fight harder and in the end will make me that much stronger.

So if you want to know my answer, I have two children who both give me different perspectives in life and who both give me a reason to fight in very different ways. Two children, whom I love equally and whom I love with all of my being.  I may not always answer the same but I know that they have both in their own way helped me become who I am today, broken yet stronger. So with that, like I always do and always will for the rest of this unimaginable journey here on earth, I will pick up another broken piece that I've found on this path and place it delicately where it belongs so that I can keep moving forward and find the beauty in each and every day that I celebrate here.

"He cries because I can't see what He can."

I've been doing a lot of "grief" reading since losing my daughter in March, mainly of stories that have been written by inspiring and strong women who have gone through a similar circumstance. In the beginning it was such a struggle to try to see the positive in this devastating situation that we, as a family, had just experienced, so I tried to look for an outlet and for people to turn too. I was so incredibly overwhelmed at the time with inconceivable amounts of unfamiliar emotions and honestly it felt like a constant battle within myself each day to put my feet on the ground, smile and just breathe at times. With the help of others though and through encouraging words I was able to see the light each day, some days brighter than others but nevertheless it was there. I truly believe that people are put into your life for a reason and in some way that person is going to inspire you and help you grow.

The night we found out Harper was sick my OB shared a very personal story of hers that I had never known. With tears in her eyes she told me that she, herself, had been in a very similar situation: "Kate, I don't know if I've ever told you this but I lost a child to a Trisomy abnormality in the past and I know this isn't easy but I'm here for you if you need anything. I remember the day we found out Andrew was sick and part of me kind of knew. I decided that we would just enjoy every minute we had together and I made the decision to carry him to term knowing that his life on earth would be very short. I will be doing nothing but praying for you and your family and I wish with all of my heart that you have a better ending than we did." As she was telling me this remarkable story I could feel that this was no longer my doctor talking to me, but rather a mother talking to a mother and wanting nothing more than to not watch someone go down the same path.

Now that I've experienced the loss of a child and I too have been forced to travel down a very similar path, my eyes have been awakened and  I am just astounded by the courage and the strength that this woman has each and every day. I have thanked God countless times since the start of this unimaginable journey that I've had her by my side since that day. I mean, here is a mother who has lost a child, the hardest thing a mother will ever do in a lifetime and she is still willing to walk the path of unbearable pain with each and every one of us. Each time she chooses, to some extent, to relive the pain of that dreadful moment she experienced as well in the hopes of helping others stumble less. I remember telling myself a few days after Harper left his world that if she can do it, than so can I; because I know she will help me through it all. She saved my life the day Harper was born and in a way she has also helped save my soul and for that I am forever thankful.

Later, when I began to open up about Harper's passing the support and kindness from everyone around was astounding but most importantly it was the support from complete strangers whom I probably would have never met or talked to otherwise that spoke to me the strongest.  I will never forget a particular mom who lost her son a year ago from hydrops writing me these exact words:

"There are sadly so many of us, but I have met some pretty amazing women. Women that I consider my closest allies, whom I doubt I will ever meet in person."

How much truth I have found spoken in these words. How had I been so blind to this devastating life changing experience that has effected so many? One thing I've noticed amongst all of us moms is that we all say the same thing: we are changed people now. We are undoubtedly connected to each other in a way we wish we weren't but at the same time, extremely thankful that we are. I wish there was a way to write down on a piece of paper exactly what one feels during this unimaginable journey but there simply isn't.

There's a book that sits on my nightstand since the first night that my doctor gave it to me. A book that I've read in its entirety and then some; a book titled "I Will Carry You." It is one of the most rewarding reads and the best interpretation I've seen thus far of sorting through these wild and crazy emotions during this time. I began reading this book about a week after my daughter left this world  and while reading I noticed one particular line that took a forceful jab at my heart and kept bringing my eyes back to it so that I would read it over and over.  It simply read...

"He cries because I can't see what He can."

I have to believe this is the absolute truth. I have to believe that there is a bigger purpose for this to have all happened and that Harper had a much bigger role to play than I could have ever imagined for her. I have to believe that there is more to this world than the physical objects we see everyday because it is through that belief that I know I will get to hold this amazing human being once again. She was Adam and I's "new beginning to this new life" and while it's not the life we would have chosen for her we've talked about how she lives on within us and how nothing can ever change that.

I'm now ready to take my experiences and my emotions from all of this and move onwards to my newest read by another strong woman whose daughter was also diagnosed with non immune hydrops while in utero. Through the sales of her book, "My Journey with an Angel" and through her non profit organization she is raising money to encourage research in this rather "unknown" field of fetal abnormality. I pray that one day the abnormality that took Harper's life will hopefully not take that of another. I pray we discover more and more regarding this particularly sad diagnosis and that we begin to see more lives saved and I hope one day that I too will find a way to help join the fight against hydrops.

For now though, until that path is decided, I will pick up another broken piece on this unimaginable journey and place it thoughtfully where it belongs knowing that each completed piece brings me that much closer to my loving daughter.

"Begin each day with a grateful heart." : The day that started it all...

The day that changed it all. I can remember every little detail as if it happened five minutes ago, a day that no mother wants to ever imagine let alone actually take part in. A day that darkness would try to prevail: February 24, 2016.

That day started just like any other day, except for one thing... I just didn't feel well.  I remember telling my husband that morning "Something just doesn't feel right, I think I'm going to stay home and just rest today."  I was worried that maybe I had contracted the awful, horrible, terrible flu bug that the rest of my family had so kindly shared the previous weekend when we were with them.

I had a previously scheduled appointment with the nurse at my OB office that afternoon to check my blood pressure and protein. I figured I would sleep it off that morning and if I still didn't feel well I could just fill them in that afternoon.  The appointment started off just like any other appointment except for one thing... I still just didn't feel well. My nurse appointment turned into seeing my OB which turned into, "I'm going to send you to the hospital to run a few labs and tests. You can go home first and get some things or you can go straight there. I'm thinking everything will be fine and you'll be home in a couple of hours but let's just double check some things. I'll meet you there shortly.

I will never forget that moment when this "average day" took a quick spin, when my OB walked into the room at the hospital and told me she had called a Fetal Monitoring Specialist to come perform a follow up ultrasound because something didn't seem right with the one that was just performed. She explained to me that the general sonographer found extra fluid in places he shouldn't have but that she didn't really "trust" these readings because nothing was really adding up so to just sit tight and she would be back to follow up. At that moment I felt my heart racing a little faster so I began to talk myself down "Kate, don't worry, your doctor thinks it's a false reading, everything will be fine." Nevertheless, I remembered thinking it was time to text Adam and tell him he might want to start making his way towards the hospital as soon as someone arrived to watch Levi just to be safe.

The specialist arrived about 30 minutes later and began performing the ultrasound. I remember not watching the screen where he was examining every aspect of my daughter (which normally I would LOVE to watch) but instead I found myself studying his face and attempting to read every emotion or expression that crossed it. Nothing. Not once did he look away from that screen. I remember him asking me halfway through the exam, without looking up "Have you ever been tested for Down syndrome?" and how quickly I responded "No, my husband and I opted out of the early testing." Adam and I always opted out of any of the extra testing because we knew we would love this baby no matter what came our way. My thoughts than shifted gears into "Ok Kate, he's going to tell you Harper has Down Syndrome, definitely a game changer but no biggie, we got his." It was then that the most intense moment of the day happened. It was the moment when the specialist finally looked up from the screen he had been so intently staring at. It was the moment when he would look me straight in the eyes and I would see on his face an expression I will never forget, an expression I could tell he was trying to put forth with everything he had and one that I can only describe as his "doctor face". Later I would come to find out that he was most certainly holding back tears.

"Your daughter has what we call non-immune hydrops which for her entails fluid around the lungs, heart and under her skin. I have to be straightforward and tell you this is a very bad prognosis and this is not a place I would want any parent to be in. You and your husband are going to have a lot of hard choices you are going to have to make in the near future. If she does survive this, even the road to recovery will be very long and hard. I'm so sorry".

I'm sure there must have been more to what was said just then, but the rest was really just a haze. For the first time in my life I literally felt my world collapse as I then too had to put on my "doctor face" and try to make sense of everything he had just told me. It took every muscle in my body to hold me up on that table, to not fall to the ground and weep uncontrollably. I knew I had to be strong in that moment, for myself and for my daughter, Harper, I knew as a Mom the best thing I could do for my daughter now was to remain as calm and optimistic as my spirit would allow.  All I can remember thinking is "how could this be happening?. The only text I could muster up enough courage to send to Adam looked like this....

"Bad. You almost here yet? I don't think I can tell you over the phone."

A few minutes later Adam came through my room door and the flood of tears I had been holding back were released. I barely got the sentence out that our daughter may not survive when the specialist walked back into the room. Earlier I probably would have cringed at the thought of him coming back, associating him with nothing but sadness yet at this moment I was relieved because the thought of having to tell Adam the whole story out loud was unfathomable. I felt that the more I said these words out loud than the more they would become real and for now I wanted to believe that the  world around me was just a horrendous dream that in the morning I would wake up from and all would be forgotten; that everything would just be ok.

With the passing of our daughter 4.5 weeks later and with about a month of mourning underway I've begun to the see the world from a much different perspective. I find myself seeking out the light because it is there that I feel pieces of her. I look for the joy each day, the laughter, and the good moments because it is there that I feel a slight tug at my heart; where I find myself saying "This is Harper". It would be so easy to dwell in the overwhelming darkness and sadness that surrounds me but it's only there that I remember her, I can't feel her. I want so much  more in this life than just "thoughts" of my daughter. I have added a new saying in our house, "Begin each day with a grateful heart" because it is through that heart that we can begin to accept God's grace and mercy. He never said this unimaginable journey would be easy but He did promise to walk alongside us during each step we take. When seeking the light I am able to live this embodied life more fully and I am one step and one breath closer to being able to hold my baby girl once again. I see now that Levi, my son, is my reason for living this earthly life to the fullest and Harper, my beautiful daughter, is my reason to look forward for what's to come.

So with that I will pick up another broken piece on this unimaginable journey of life and place it carefully and thoughtfully where it belongs.

GRIEF will force you to look deep within yourself

GRIEF is a very heavy and cynical word for most, but I've chosen not to mistake this word for weakness or darkness but rather look upon it as strength and hope for the unexpected journey that has been set forth in front of me. Grief has forced me to look deep within myself, it has enabled me to find a courage and passion I never knew existed.

Today is the day I should be getting Harper all dolled up, pretty in pink and flowing in bows with a sign that reads "One Month" placed carefully and thoughtfully next to her while praying that for these next few minutes she stays as happy and content as possible. Unfortunately I'm not living in that perfectly planned out world, instead I'm living in what feels like the longest roller coaster ride that I can't seem to get off of and I'm praying for sweet Harper in a much different way. Today I am overwhelmed by grief.

Within the chaos, the unpredicted emotions and the sadness though I find peace in knowing that I can't think of a single moment out of the day that I don't feel her within my heart; I can't think of a single memory that she isn't a part of. She will always undoubtedly be a part of me and with that I take every movement I make or decision to be had with her guidance and with her strength. I use these moments because I've come to realize these uncertain emotions and intuitions are there to help guide me forward with what I now call my "new norm".

I would be lying though if I didn't say that there are very painful moments where I wish with every bone in my body that selfishly she was here; that I could hold her and sing to her and make her laugh. I long for the opportunity to have watched the bond between her older brother and her unravel and to see the amazing person I know she was destined to be. But then I am reminded in so many ways that I will get to experience moments like these with my daughter just in a new perspective. My daughter, Harper, was put here for a reason and I know God chose her as one of His angels in heaven for a much bigger purpose. I am overwhelmed with joy knowing that Levi will have one of the strongest Guardian Angels watching over him always. I am certain this is who my daughter was destined to be and this is the flowering relationship her and I will build throughout the years.

Today reaffirms me that we are not a family of three, but a strong force of four fighting on in the sorrow of death. Today I will dig a little deeper within myself and today I will find a broken piece and place it skillfully where it belongs in this unimaginable journey I call life.