Dear Theodore {7 months}

Seven months old - 1/23/2015

Dear Theodore,

I'm three weeks late writing this, you would actually be almost eight months old by now. Let's just say it's been a crazy month. Cue mom guilt.

Month seven was a hard one. It contained Christmas without you, and a New Year without you. On your six month birthday we were in Oregon, and it was hard to be away from home, unable to do some things that we usually do on your birthdays like visiting your little grave. Two days later, it was Christmas. I am glad, I think, that we were able to be away for Christmas... I think it would have been pretty miserable for everyone at home. I'm glad especially for Judah's sake that we were surrounded by family and uncles to keep him busy and having fun. However, I hardly remember much about Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, and the day after. I couldn't sleep at night, and I had a terrible headache... it was partly from having a cold, but I know it was a grief headache. It was my body's way of grieving. I remember sobbing for a good hour when I woke up Christmas morning and saw your empty stocking alongside our full ones. I had no idea what a trigger that would be... I went and got your blue giraffey and put him in your stocking. Then I wiped my tears away and tried to enjoy the day for Judah. My headache stuck to me like glue, no matter what medicine or naps I took to get it to go away.

We said goodbye to family and flew back to Kansas City on New Year's Eve. On New Year's Day, we had our own little family Christmas celebration. This time I was a little more prepared, I had bought some sweet little baby toys and I stuffed your stocking with them. Judah delighted in pulling them all out for you. I had planned to donate them, but I just couldn't part with them... and Judah attached himself to several of them, so we will keep them for your baby sister.

After the New Year, I was so worn out from heavy grief and being away from home, it was like my body needed a couple of weeks to recover. Facing a new year without you - I think it was all just too much for a little while there. 2014 was hard to say goodbye to because it's your year - the year that I carried you and gave birth to you. 2015 is a year that you don't live on this earth. The first couple of weeks of the year are kind of hazy to me, I wasn't functioning very well and I think Judah watched too much Netflix. Cue mom guilt again. But then I found my feet again, just in time for your 7-month birthday. I started taking care of myself - eating better, going to a holistic chiropractor for my aching out-of-whack body, and exercising again. One of the things that has struck me on this grief journey is the importance of looking after yourself - your body, mind and soul. When I neglect any one of those areas, I struggle much more with every day life and the heaviness of grief.

On your birthday, we picked up seven blue balloons and let them go with your seven-month sticker and we visited your little grave. Judah gets a balloon too, and he always wants to let it go with your balloons. I know they don't really go up to heaven, but it's a helpful symbol to me of "letting go" each month and letting God carry my dreams for you. We got little matching windchimes, one is at your grave, and the other hangs above my kitchen sink. I ring it and think of you often.

I'm never sure when I start these letters to you what they are going to be like. Since I am writing this later on I'm able to look back and comprehend a little of what I was going through during your seventh month in heaven. I'm just so glad that you don't feel any of this - you are whole and perfect and there is no empty spot in your heart that misses me or life on this earth.

A dear friend, and deeply bereaved mother, sent me this quote a few weeks ago:

"Do not judge the bereaved mother. She comes in many forms. She is breathing, but she is dying. She may look young, but inside she has become ancient. She smiles, but her heart sobs. She walks, she talks, she cooks, she cleans, she works, she is, but she is not, all at once. She is here, but part of her is elsewhere for eternity." - Anonymous

A part of me is elsewhere, with you in heaven, until we meet there again. It is part of my identity now, and it is not easy to live without a part of your heart every day. I know it will grow less painful but it will always be with me, because you are not here. It's part of life on this earth - it will never be perfect because this is not our home... and never have I longed for home more.

We love you Theodore. I can just picture your chubby seven-month-old self delighting the hosts of heaven... though I wish you were here to delight us.

Love, Momma, Papa, Judah, and baby sister

Dear Theodore {6 months}

12/23/2014 - Six months in heaven 

Dear Theodore,

Today you would be six months old here on earth. We are in Oregon for Christmas right now, and when your big brother Judah was exactly six months old we came for a visit here as well. I can so vividly picture him rolling around and doing his army crawl on Grandma Driver's living room floor, giggling and practicing his new clapping skill. He had his first major bump here too - he was sitting up and he toppled over and bumped his forehead on the fireplace. I remember feeling like such a terrible mother to have let that happen to my sweet little baby! What I would give for the chance to see you roll around on the floor at our feet and giggle and clap your hands... to kiss your "owies" better and wipe away your tears, my Theodore.

It is wonderful to be here with family, but there are so many reminders of what should have been. Judah is having the time of his life with his uncles and grandparents and you should be here too, meeting everyone and delighting them with your chubby smiles. The airplane ride here was so easy - Judah loved it. But I kept thinking... this should be more complicated. I should be carrying you in my Boba carrier while keeping track of hand luggage and Judah. I should be balancing you in my lap, nursing you during takeoff while I reassured Judah that the loud noise and funny feeling as we lifted off was normal. Missing you goes so deep, so wide, and so far. I feel it in every part of me, and in every part of my life. It's always with me, wherever I go... to Oregon, or to the ends of the earth.

On Sunday in church there was a sweet little baby accross the aisle, peacefully sleeping as the service went on. I ached to hold your sweet sleeping self. Judah was happy and singing along to the Christmas carols - there was a children's choir that sang a few songs, and he was dancing around and wanting to be up there with them. It was so cute, but my arms just felt so empty... I wondered what it would be like for you to be squirming in my arms, watching your big brother dance around and getting excited with him. And then, just as the congregational singing ended, Judah very uncharacteristically fell asleep in my arms. His face was squished up against me and he looked six months old again. He slept for the whole sermon and I couldn't tear my eyes from his precious face. God knew that I needed to hold a sleeping baby. It wasn't you asleep in my lap, but it helped.

The tiny flutters of your little brother or sister in my belly remind me that I was exactly this pregnant with you last Christmas... wondering what you would look like, and how you would change our family. I still wonder what you would look like now at six months old, and I'm still finding out how you've changed our family. This month I've found it hard to be content. I've found myself feeling like God is a puppet master in the sky... carelessly pulling on strings and jerking our lives around. How could he take our son?

But... how did He give His son? Knowing what would happen to him here on earth... knowing the frailty of human life, the hardships that he would suffer and the ultimate sacrifice he would make for all humanity. Still He sent Jesus to earth in the form of a tiny helpless baby, forsaking all of His infinite power, to suffer and to save the world. Christmas is the beginning of the still-unfolding story in which death itself gets killed. One day there will be no more death - no more perfect, sweet little babies will die an inexplicable death. This world is so broken, never have I felt it more than I do now. But no matter how wrong and disjointed and unbearable this world seems... one day, all will be set right. We will see you again, my son. Because God gave His son.

"Bless all the dear children in thy tender care

And take us to heaven to live with Thee there"

Six months ago today you were born into our arms for a few short hours, though your soul was in heaven. You were already in God's tender care. We love you, Theodore, and we miss you so much this Christmas. Sleep in heavenly peace, my sweet baby.

Love,
Momma, Papa, Judah, and Baby #3

Dear Theodore {5 months}

11/23/2014 - Five months in heaven

Dear Theodore,

I can't believe it's almost been half a year since you were born into heaven. This month has been rough. I can't point to one reason exactly. The weather is getting colder - the cold and the dreariness are not good for my psyche in a normal year... and this year is far from normal. The start of the holiday season, which was meant to be so different. Time is just marching along with no regard for the ache in my heart. The world is changing and moving on, holidays and birthdays are happening without you and it's been so hard for me over the past few weeks.

At five months old, Judah had just figured out how to sit up. He was so fat and roly-poly and delightful. I just love this age. We are missing out on the thousand little joys that you would be giving us each day. The precious little giggles, the chubby snuggles, and the cute little things you would be doing. There is grief in every part of our day, because you are absent. Sometimes it's easier for me to see God's hand in our grief... the grace and the mercy and the purposes that I know to be true. Other days it is hard to claw my way out of the depths of missing you, and this month has had many of those days.

I'm a week late writing this, because I just couldn't bring myself to. It's an acknowledgement of the passing of time. With Judah, it was a mixture of joy and a little twinge of sadness that he was growing older each time I wrote an update. Your monthly letters are much more sorrowful - I wish they could be happier for you. I think another reason this month has been so difficult is that you wouldn't be a newborn anymore at five months old - and all I know of you is as a brand new baby. Giving birth to you and pulling your little body up to my chest... and the six short hours that I got to hold you. I never got to see you grow any older. The further we get from your birth, the harder it is to imagine what you would look like now. And oh, that is hard for a momma's heart.

Perhaps another reason this month has been difficult is that I am now ten weeks pregnant with your little sibling. I will write down the whole story soon. This is such a joyous thing, but it comes with plenty of hormones and anxiety. The day we went in for our first ultrasound, I had no idea of the terror that would grip my heart as the tech searched for a little heartbeat. The last ultrasound I had was when they told me you were gone. I grieve for the blessed innocence that I had when I was pregnant with you and Judah. I will never again take for granted the beautiful sound of a heartbeat.

Judah has gone through a cognitive development leap recently, and he is grieving for you on a new level. He grasps what has happened even more deeply and is often sad that you are not here. We are flying to Oregon in a few weeks for Christmas, and the other day he looked at me and asked seriously "When we go on the airplane up in the sky, will we find baby Theodore? And he can come with us?". One of the hardest things as a parent is when you cannot protect your children from things that hurt them. Judah misses you so much, and I wish he didn't have to. He is very protective of baby #3, and often asks "Can this baby come home with us, Mama? Will he play toys with me?". It breaks my heart into a million pieces that he is worried about this new little one at the tender young age of two.

Theodore, we miss you so much. I'm not sure how to celebrate this holiday season without you. I am trying for Judah's sake. We put up our Christmas tree in mid-November to try and bring in some Christmas warmth and cheer. We got a beautiful gold star for the top of the tree for you, my bright star. A dear, sweet lady is making a Christmas stocking for you to match ours. I have read and been warned about the difficulty of the holiday season after loss. I thought I was prepared for it, and that it would be all right. Goodness, I was wrong.

Sweet baby boy, I am so glad you are spared the torment that we feel being separated from you. So grateful that you are in perfect peace. The miracle of Christmas is close to my heart this year. A little baby, sent to save the world from sin. In many ways, I feel that you are our own little miracle, given to us for many reasons. Some we have seen already, and many yet to be revealed. It is helpful to be able to see God's purposes, but it does not make loosing you any easier. In my broken humanity, I would trade it all in a second to have you in my arms.

Theodore Robert, our perfect little one. Happy five months in heaven. Though I know time means nothing there, the passage of time here is significant. Each month I have to release my dreams of you a little more, heal a little more, breathe a little more. We love you so much. We go through this holiday season, and life, as a family of five now. One sweet boy in our arms, one sweet boy in heaven, and one little one cradled inside me.

All our love,

Momma, Papa, Judah, and Baby #3