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May 2, 2022

Today was my first day alone. Truly alone. You aren’t in me. I wonder where you are always. Are you like a dreamy angel floating around behind me? Are you sitting at the bar top watching me walk back and forth in the kitchen? Or are you truly just sitting on a cloud in heaven looking down? Where are you, Oliver? I’m told to not cry. That he wouldn’t want to see me sad. But I don’t want him to think I don’t think of him. I think of him every second of the day. There isn’t a thought in my mind where he isn’t flooding it.

I hope there is a parallel world where everything went right. Where he is alive and I’m starting our day together. Waving goodbye to his Daddy as his truck drives off and we walk into the house together ready to take on the day. Where there are no sad tears and what ifs.

We are headed home next week for a whole 8 days. And when I say we, Oliver is coming too. I’ve never been more ready and excited to go home. To be in that southern heat. The thick summer airs. Where the sun just beats down on you and covers you in its rays. My soul needs this so bad.

Home. A funny concept when you are a military family. Where is home? Is it our house that we live in? Is it where I was born? Where I grew up—because for most military families that’s in so many places. Or is it where I spent most of my life? Or is home just a feeling? Washington isn’t home. I’ll miss this state. But I wont miss having to drive down 512. Where driving by the hospital is inevitable. Where you get a perfect view of that top deck of the garage where I had to hand you to a stranger who put you in a bag and drove off. Where I literally felt my heart breaking. My body wasn’t mine anymore. I felt empty and useless. I’m ready to go home—my beautiful North Carolina. Where my momma and daddy live down the road. Where my sister and her husband host Sunday dinners. Where I know every winding back road even with my eyes closed. Where I can call my brother and he’s always down for a ride around town.

This grief journey I know will be long—a lifetime. Full of ups and down and a few sideways too. I want to continue to blog my journey. Our journey together as a family moving forward with loss. I hope that you find it as therapeutic as I do. My goal in this isn’t to have people feel sorry for me and think I’m a broken person. I mean, I am but I’m putting the pieces back together. Grief comes in so many shapes. I hope that when you meet a loss parent or know of someone going through a loss, you send them in my direction. I learned so much from the parents I have met throughout our ordeal. I can’t thank them enough for the gift they unknowingly gave me. I want to give that gift back to as many people as I can. I plan to write Oliver’s birth story and share it with you all. Will most likely be in parts and probably take me time to get it all out. Thanks for reading

May 10, 2022

One month. A whole month has come and gone. The worst part was that it was without you. It’s crazy how time can seem to take an eternity and in others, it flashes by. For months I envisioned how many ways your birth would have gone down. Honestly, I thought about it all the time mainly to prepare myself. I thought of the best-case scenarios mostly. Ya know—to “stay positive”. I only allowed myself to envision the worst case one way. It would happen, I would handle it with grace and not lose my shit. (spoiler alert, I lost my shit).

Months ago, I looked forward to what I’d have you wear for your one month picture. I would lay you down on those cute blankets. Make silly noises and faces to get you to look at the camera.  But instead, I stole an picture of one of the blankets we were undecided on getting you from Amazon and I layered an image of the outfit I had packed for you in the very small chance we took you home. You would have been swimming in it. But you would have still looked so stinking cute.

In reality, right now, on your one month…. what do I even call this? Your birthdate? Death anniversary? We’ll brainstorm that later. Right now, you’re in your “travel case”. It too, is stinking cute. We had to use a biodegradable urn so we could get through TSA with no issues. Your normal urn is in our checked bag. Your cute little travel case has a PNW tree line vinyl wrapping it and your name is included.

Call me weird but I felt like I had a little skip in my step knowing I was carrying you around the airport. Butterflies in my tummy knowing soon you’d be where I love to be the most. Jason and I sleep with him in the bed every night. Each morning we put him on his shelf. When night falls we fight on who gets to keep him on their side. Our parenthood is weird but its ours.