Dear Theodore (1 year old)

6/23/2015 - One year old in heaven

Dear Theodore,

I'm nearly two months late in writing this down, but it has been running through my head constantly. My sweet one year old little boy, my heart is broken and missing you. Your first birthday happened in the midst of much craziness - we had just found out about baby sister's cyst, so we had multiple appointments with specialists and had to switch providers in order to birth her in a hospital instead of the birth center. I was in a car accident two days after your birthday and then your little sister was born just eight days after your birthday. I carried you every second in my heart and my thoughts, but there was not a time for me to sit and write your letter.

Subconsciously I knew that your first birthday would be in the middle of lots of activity, so I did a lot of grieving in the months and weeks leading up to it... I felt the weight of grief very heavily again. The actual day of your birthday was the one peaceful and calm day that week... there were no appointments, and I was able to do the few things I had planned on doing. I took flowers and chocolates to the birth center where you were born, I wrote thank-you notes (that I still need to mail, yikes!), and we visited your grave with the freshly laid gravestone. Nana and Grandad took us out for dinner, and Nana made you the perfect cake for a one-year-old little boy. I wasn't sure if I wanted to sing "Happy Birthday" or not... but Judah started singing it to you all by himself when he saw the cake with the candle lit, so we sang it with him and it was perfect. You were born at 8:46pm, so we went outside after we ate some cake and lit sparklers in the backyard around that time. I wasn't sure leading up to the 23rd what it would look like or even what I wanted it to look like, but it really was just what I didn't know I wanted. So many wonderful people participated in "Theodore's Thank You Day" and did acts of kindness in your memory - it brought peace and joy to my heart to see/hear/read about the things people did. The very next morning we were back to appointments and craziness, but I'm so grateful that God gave us the special, peaceful day that I was hoping for on your birthday. It was enough to get me through those few crazy weeks surrounding baby sister's birth.

I cannot believe that it has been a year... a long year since I birthed you and held you and kissed you for six of the shortest and longest hours on earth. You were such a big boy, 9lbs 12oz! You looked a month old at birth, so chubby and roly poly. I will always desperately wish for more time with you, to see you grow and change, to know you at one year old. As Judah likes to say "Baby Theodore is not a baby anymore, he is a big boy in heaven!"

I don't really know what else to say, just that we miss you so very much. I'm realizing more and more that no matter what our family looks like, there will always be you missing. And that is an ache that we will carry until we meet again - some days it is so very achy.

Happy First Birthday, my sweet Theodore. I am thankful for the peaceful day that it was here on earth, and that every day for you is like the best birthday ever... but I still wish that your face was covered in chocolate cake, and that we could all be laughing at how adorable you are.

Love, Momma, Papa, Judah, and Nella

The last "monthly sticker" balloons - 12 months old.

Visiting your grave

Judah always runs and lets balloons go in the field by your grave.

Birthday cake (chocolate, picked by your big brother)

Sparkler fun outside

We lit a sky lantern, and tied it to the fence so it wouldn't float away (fire hazard!)

Chocolate and flowers for the wonderful people at the birth center you were born at

Thank you notes (still writing them... and still need to mail them!)

Dear Theodore {11 months}

5/23/2015 - Eleven months in heaven

Dear Theodore,

Here we are, just a month before your first birthday in heaven. There were many times during the early days after you were born when reaching a year of grief seemed like an impossibility - how could we get through that much sadness, all those milestones and months without you. But here we are, and it's crept up on me in these final weeks of your little sister's pregnancy. I feel unprepared and unsure of how to celebrate you and desperately miss you at the same time. Your first birthday falls right in the middle of the week that baby sister will be arriving. We didn't necessarily plan it or want it that way, but that is how it has worked out. Navigating the joy of meeting her, and the pain of missing you and wishing you were blowing out your first candle... all in the same week.

Our days are pretty normal, almost a year after you were born. The fact that you lived and died far too soon is integrated into our lives, it's part of our story... not so shocking and jarring and all-consuming as it was in the beginning. But there will always be moments of shock and disbelief. One afternoon not long ago I feel asleep on the couch during Judah's nap, and my mind was in that sort of twilight between sleeping and waking. I thought of you and your birth and death and was in a state of total shock once again - did that really happen? Did I really give birth to you, my perfect but not breathing son? How? Why?

One of the hard things, which happens often, are the questions that all mothers are asked. Is this your first baby? How many children do you have? How old are they?... I get the "Is this your first baby?" question whenever I go anywhere without Judah. I say "No, actually it's my third" and kind of hope the questions stop there. Sometimes they do, sometimes they don't. Recently I was picking up our take-out order at a little Chinese restaurant, and a sweet older Chinese lady continued the questions... How old are your children? Boys or girls? And what is the baby? ... I smiled and said "My oldest boy is three, my second boy would be almost one, and the baby is a girl, due very soon". She didn't pick up on the "would be" and it was way for me to include all my children without raising more questions. And it made me feel like a normal mom, including you in the list. It's a hard thing to navigate though, how much to say so that I feel like I'm being true to myself and honoring you... and how much to not say to avoid the inevitible pain and unwanted comments.

Perhaps harder, though, is when people just innocently assume that baby girl is my second baby, and there is no easy or appropriate way to correct them. Or when someone confuses Judah by asking "Are you having a baby brother or a baby sister?" because in his mind, he has both. And he does. He often answers baby brother, even though he knows we're having a little girl... I think to protect your memory. He understands that baby sister is a different baby. It's just hard for him to grasp that you are not here with us.  He asks frequently if baby sister is going to live in heaven when she is born, to which we tell him "We hope that baby sister is going to come home and grow up with us!". He also often says things like "I miss baby Theodore. I wish I could play with him. He would like my firetrucks! He plays firetrucks in heaven with Jesus. Can we go see him there? Why did he have to go to heaven?" ... Oh, how I wish I could watch the two of you play firetrucks. I'm just so sad that you two will never get to be brothers on this earth.

We recently got a little red wagon and took Judah for a walk in it. Everytime I looked back to check on him, I wished you were strapped into the other little seat. I bet you would just have loved it, sitting like a big boy with your big brother. I know you are having so much more fun than we could ever imagine in heaven, but I still long for you to be here on earth having fun with us. I want to watch you figure out how to blow out a candle, and make a complete mess of your first cupcake, just like Judah did.

I miss you, little Theodore. This month I will work on your special wall in our room... full of your pictures and poems, your teddy bears, things that remind us of you. I want to have it all set up by your birthday. With baby sister coming and all the busyness of the next couple of weeks and months, I want you to have your own little spot. I'm not sure yet what we will do on your birthday, I know it will be in the middle of a crazy week... but I want to make space for celebrating all that you are in our family. Judah said recently "We should have a cake for baby Theodore's birthday!" - so we will definitely be having cake. Not an hour goes by that I don't think of you, not a second that you aren't carried close to my heart.

We love you, our little almost-one-year-old Theodore. One year in heaven for you, one year on earth for us - as opposite as it could possibly be. I'm glad you're the one in heaven with Jesus, wanting for nothing. A parent always wants the best for their child, and you have the very best.


Love, Momma, Papa, Judah, and baby sister

Dear Theodore {10 months}

04/23/2015 - 10 months in heaven

Dear Theodore,

Some days are just harder than others, and usually your month birthdays are days like that. I wake up with a deeper ache. It hurts more that there is only one little boy snuggled up next to me in the morning as we wake up. I stretch my arm over the spot next to me and shed some quiet tears that you are not there, while Judah builds his little nest on the other side.

To be honest, this month has had a lot of hard days. It kind of started out on the wrong foot for me - when we let your nine-month balloons go, the wind was weird and they got stuck in the tree in our front yard. I laughed it off, but it actually really bothered me. They didn't float off into the horizon like they usually do, and there wasn't a sense of release or "letting go". Instead, they stuck in our tree and slowly deflated or popped. I tried not to look at them. I am fully aware that when the balloons float away, they come down somewhere and get stuck in some random tree or pop or deflate.  I know it's silly, but having it happen right in front of my eyes was disheartening, and it just seemed to kick start a sad month.

This month also contained Easter, which was just hard. Another "holiday" without you... more traditions that should have been with two boys... egg hunts and Easter baskets and enjoying the beautiful spring. Judah was very interested in the Easter story this year, and it was hard to explain it to him in an age-appropriate way. It's not an easy one to comprehend even as an adult. It was such a tender subject for me this year, and I was a bit of a wreck for most of a week. He died and rose again, to save us from our sins... so that we can be together in heaven one day. I just struggled so much with the reality of this world, the suffering, the pain, the separation from loved ones. This life on earth, it is a Holy Saturday. The dark wait before His return, before the "He is Risen!". Some days it seems too much to eek out an existence and hope is hard to grasp.

The countdown to your baby sister is getting shorter, and the emotions and anxiety that go with that have also really hit me this month. She will be born within days of your first birthday in heaven, and I wish I knew exactly when she will arrive so I can prepare my heart a little more for the onslaught of joy and sorrow that will happen in the same week. Moving through the weeks and milestones at the same time of year as I did with you last year is bittersweet. Never in a million years did I think I would be pregnant again this year - I thought I would have you in my arms. "The mind of a man plans his way, but the LORD directs his steps" - Proverbs 16:9.

O God, who holds all souls in life; 

and calls them unto Yourself as seems best: 

we give them back, dear God, to You who gave them to us. 

But as You did not lose them in the giving, 

so we do not lose them by their return. 

For not as the world gives, do You give, O Lord of souls: 

that which You give You take not away: 

for life is eternal, and love is immortal, 

and death is only the horizon, 

and the horizon is nothing save the limit of our sight.

- Rossiter W. Raymond

I came accross this poem some time ago, and I've read it over and over. Yes, God gives and takes away... but not in an eternal sense. Only on this earth. This sorrow-full earth. God gave us you for nine short months here, but for an eternity in heaven. As far-off as that seems, and as painful as this life on earth is... we will see you again. A sweet friend reminded me today that time in heaven is different from here on earth - maybe for you, no time at all will have passed until we meet again in that whole and perfect place in the presence of our Savior. That brings me peace. I cannot protect Judah from sorrow and pain (that is hardest part of being a mother), but you are in the very arms of Jesus - never to suffer, never to want, never to miss us or long for us like we do for you.

A year ago right now, we had just moved into our first house - bought with the  anticipation of bringing you home to our own house. One of the main reasons we decided to buy a house was so that our children would have a place to really call "home"... to put down some roots here and settle in. This is your house just as much as it is ours, though you never got to come home to it.  I am very attached to it - you lived here inside of me for two months, and I labored here with you before I knew you were gone. It has harbored us during our grief, and helped heal us with it's bright and airy atmosphere. Our first house has very much become our home, and you are very much a part of our home.

I can never predict when a hard day is coming, or what odd thing will trigger deep grief. There have been many hard days this month, and it's been draining. I can understand why - we are getting closer to the one-year mark of saying goodbye to you, and closer to meeting baby sister all at the same time. I am anxious, exhausted (I guess two pregnancies in less than two years will do that), and grieving. I just miss you so much. As we were leaving the cemetery today and climbing into the car, Judah said sadly "But what about baby Theodore? I really miss him"... like he wanted to somehow take you with us. Sigh. We all really miss you. You and baby sister are going to be my Irish twins... I wish you could both be here on earth. 

We love you, little Theodore... 10 months old, I can hardly believe it. We've lived a lifetime in 10 months, it seems. And yet I can vividly relive the day you were born. I wouldn't change it for the world, except of course to have gotten to keep you here on earth with us. I love that I got to carry you for nine months, and that we got to meet you... heartbreaking though it was. You are worth it all.

Love, Momma, Papa, Judah, and baby sister

Dear Theodore {9 months}

3/23/2014 - Nine months in heaven

Dear Theodore,

You were born on a Monday, the 23rd of June. This month and last, your month birthdays have been on a Monday. It's been strange. I always look back to Sunday the 22nd of June with such heartache - it was the last day before our world crumbled and would never be the same. And it was SUCH a good day. We went to church... I still have the bulletin that Thomas and I played the connect-the-dot game on while taking sermon notes (how old are we?!). We came home, had lunch, and skyped with Nana and Grandad. Then off we went to Touch-A-Truck where Judah had the time of his life climbing through dump trucks and firetrucks and tow trucks and school buses. From there we went straight to our church's summer picnic, complete with inflatable water slides, pools, and sprinklers for the kids... it was so fun and we got to talk with many of our church family. I was hugely pregnant with you and everyone was excited that you would be here any day. The whole day, I just had this feeling that it was our last "hurrah" before our sweet baby boy arrived and we started our new life with him. And I guess I was mostly right - except for the devastating fact that we would be starting our new life without you. We had no way to know that before the end of the week, we would be having your memorial service.

Nine months ago right now, on another Monday, I was in labor with you. The physical agony was nothing compared the pain of the knowledge that I would be giving birth only to say goodbye. Your birth has given me the courage to face every day since then. I think to myself "If I got through that, I can get through anything... I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." Women often say that giving birth is the most painful thing you might face on this earth... I can guarantee you that it's not. Giving your baby up to heaven is... it is true physical, mental, emotional agony.

Bereaved motherhood is a hard journey. Nine months in, most days are manageable... I can take care of Judah, get housework done, prepare meals, run errands. But there is always a hole, always something missing. On hard days and anniversaries like today, the hole seems bigger and more achy. It's like being desperately hungry, only nothing will satisfy you. It's a deep ache that longs for you to be home with me, my Theodore, and yet recognizes that this earth will never be home.

There is a song by David Crowder that plays through my mind often:

"Come As You Are"

Come out of sadness

From wherever you’ve been

Come broken hearted

Let rescue begin

Come find your mercy

Oh sinner come kneel

Earth has no sorrow

That heaven can’t heal

Earth has no sorrow

That heaven can’t heal

So lay down your burdens

Lay down your shame

All who are broken

Lift up your face

Oh wanderer come home

You’re not too far

So lay down your hurt

Lay down your heart

Come as you are

There’s hope for the hopeless

And all those who’ve strayed

Come sit at the table

Come taste the grace

There’s rest for the weary

Rest that endures

Earth has no sorrow

That heaven can’t cure

So lay down your burdens

Lay down your shame

All who are broken

Lift up your face

Oh wanderer come home

You’re not too far

So lay down your hurt

Lay down your heart

Come as you are

Come as you are

Fall in his arms

Come as you are

There’s joy for the morning

Oh sinner be still

Earth has no sorrow

That heaven can’t heal

Earth has no sorrow

That heaven can’t heal

So lay down your burdens

Lay down your shame

All who are broken

Lift up your face

Oh wanderer come home

You’re not too far

So lay down your hurt

Lay down your heart

Come as you are

Come as you are

Come as you are

When I feel the weight of sadness and grief, I often say to myself... "Rest for the weary, rest that endures... earth has no sorrow that heaven can't heal". On your month birthdays, I give myself the whole day without plans, because I never know what I will feel. Today I woke up with Judah, and the morning went fairly normally. I read something that made me choke up a little, but then I was ok again. As the hours went by, though, I've had this headache that's been building... like a storm brewing. I put Judah down for his nap, and he had some hard questions about life and death, and why Jesus had to die on the cross. I felt so inadequate to answer them in a way that he would understand. As I rocked him and sang "Jesus Loves Me" before he climbed into bed, I felt the floodgates begin to open... I managed to hold it back until he was tucked in and on his way to dreamland. I sat down to write this letter and let the tears out as the headache slowly faded. I call them "grief headaches" now, and they often surprise me, but I'm learning to recognize them. One of the things that's hard for me right now is that each month, it gets more difficult to picture you at an older age. We are only three months from your first birthday in heaven. It fills me with sorrow when I realize this is the month that Judah started walking and looked so grown up to me... and I will never know what you look like at nine months old. Earth has no sorrow that heaven can't heal...

This afternoon when he wakes up, Judah and I will go pick up nine blue balloons to let go when Papa gets home, and some bright flowers to bring some light and beauty into the house. We'll all go visit your little grave... Judah will ring the windchimes and spin your pinwheel and we'll pray. It's not how we pictured celebrating your birthday every month, but it brings us some peace. One of my projects this month is planting a little flower garden memorial in the corner of our yard next to your hydrangea... plenty of bright colors and beauty.

We love you, Theodore Robert. I have no idea how heaven works, but this month I will imagine you taking your first wobbly steps surrounded by angels and light and love in the presence of Jesus.

Love, Momma, Papa, Judah, and baby sister

A few pictures during labor with you, nine months ago right now:

Close up of my necklace, that I wore during labor with you and with Judah

Precious snuggles

Dear Theodore {8 months}

2/23/2015 - Eight months in heaven

Dear Theodore,

I'm writing this late again, next week you would be nine months old here on earth. These letters to you are emotionally draining for me, but so important and healing. It is hard to find time to sit and write when Judah is keeping me busy. He doesn't like to see me upset so I try not to write letters to you when he is watching. It's just one of many things that make me wish you were here with us, so that all of our lives could be intertwined more effortlessly.

Month eight was a busy one, a cold one, and a sick one. Judah had a week-long stomach bug, and then we all got bad colds that took weeks to go away. I started on a bit of a health quest because I was sick of being sick with all the winter germs and revamped our eating, making our own sourdough bread, milk kefir, cultured vegetables and cooking healthy food each day. This takes up a lot of time and energy but it has really helped. Knowing that I am feeding myself and my family good nourishing food has been uplifting for me. Judah also turned three, and we had his birthday party last month. It was lots of fun, but as always I couldn't help but wonder what it would have been like to have you there. I remember last year on Judah's second birthday thinking "Next year Judah will have a 7.5 month old little brother crawling around on his birthday!".

My dreams of you are all I have - I will never get to see you at 8 months old, a year old, 8 years old, 18 years old... And every month I have to let go of that a little more. I can sort of imagine what you would be doing, having watched Judah grow up. At 8 months old he was a speedy crawler, he could stand alone, and he was walking everywhere with his little push walker. Nothing was safe! Sometimes I look around and imagine how different life would be if you were here - we'd have the fence up around the TV. We'd have gates on all the doorways. The alphabet fridge magnets would be pushed up higher out of your reach. I'd be wrestling with safety locks on the kitchen cupboards. The pile of clean laundry would be your playground. There are a hundred little things that I think of every day, and then have to let go.

It snowed several times and it was cold cold cold. The cold makes me sad anyways, and being stuck indoors doesn't help. Ever since we buried your ashes on your one month birthday, it's hard for me when it rains or snows. My momma heart irrationally wants to run to your grave with umbrellas and blankets. I don't... because I know with absolute certainty that you are not really there. But your grave is one of few tangible links I have with you... it's your precious little earthly body... and I am your mother and there are so few things I can do to mother you on this earth. So it's hard for me. This probably seems strange and morbid to people who have not buried a child or a loved one... it's one of those things that I hope no one ever has to understand.

We found out baby #3 is a little girl in the middle of month 8. I knew from the very beginning with you and with Judah that you were boys. This time I just couldn't tell, though I kept thinking "well maybe this one is a girl" and then instantly saying to myself "no that's impossible, we're a boy family!" - I guess that should have been my clue that it was a little sister! It is such a joy to think about having a little girl. But my heart hurts a little, too. Judah won't have his little brother buddy like I had imagined the two of you. We won't get to use all the sweet little boy clothes (this time). Our lives will be filled with new little girl things, which is so happy... but I miss you, my little boy. No one will ever replace you.

Sweet Theodore... we just miss you. This letter seems a little disjointed... I just wanted to write down what I felt during month eight. It's not pretty or flowing but it's real. We miss you. It always hurts. We wish you were here.

Love, Momma, Papa, Judah, and baby sister

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

Dear Theodore {4 months}

10/23/2014 - 4 months in heaven

Dear Theodore,

This fourth month since losing you has been strange. So busy and full of new and fun things. We are living life fully - busy fall days full of playdates and MOPS and errands and cooking and playing and eating. It's just like I imagined this fall season to be, but... so very opposite.

The busyness of this month has not allowed me to really stop and process things. I can tell when I need to slow down and take some time to reflect and really allow myself to grieve... and this month there have been too many days where I have ignored this feeling. It's not good for me to stuff grief down because it just comes out in other ways. It is hard to find a balance. Perhaps the hardest thing is that it is even necessary that I have to find a balance between involving myself in life and grieving the loss of you. You should be here, part of all the busyness... giving us those moments of joy that instead we are missing out on each day.

I have felt a little dry this month - usually words flow freely and I am able to express myself. I seem to have reached a point in my grief journey where things are hard to express, and I've had to come to accept that. It's the awkward in-between... that will be awkward and in-between until we meet again. I'm no longer in the hazy grief fog that enveloped me for the first couple of months, but the grief is still very much there... because you are very much not here. Life is more clear, and though this sometimes makes the pain sharper, I am also more able to involve myself in things and enjoy them. I'm not sure how to proceed other than to keep walking and trusting that God will lead me down this path between grief and acceptance. It is not a straight path... it's curled and twisted and spiralling. It does not have an end, at least not here on earth.

I have nothing profound to say today. Just that I miss you, my little boy. I ache to hold your chubby little self... to see you smile, to hear you interact with Judah, to nurse you in the middle of the night. I wish I knew how it felt to lug you around in your car seat whilst keeping track of Judah. I wish you could have come to the pumpkin patch and apple picking with us. I know you are living with the fullest joy in heaven... but I still wish you were here with us.

We love you, Theodore. Happy four-months-in-heaven. Every day for you is the greatest celebration of life... knowing that gives me peace.

~ Momma, Papa, and Judah

Dear Theodore {3 months}

09/23/2014

My sweet Theodore,

In the earliest days after loosing you, I would cling to the hope that in a few weeks... a few months... maybe the raw pain would subside a little, maybe each minute would not be so painstaking. Those first few days the grief was so enormous, it engulfed my body. All I longed to do was to rock you, but all I could do was to rock with silent sobs. Then came some numbness. Perhaps it was my mind protecting itself. I still could not function in normal life... even the thought of making Judah a sandwich for lunch was too much. I walked around in a daze for a week or two. It was as if I was on an anesthetic to numb the sensation of grief, and it numbed all other sensations as well. I once heard grief explained as a big fiery ball - intense and enormous. The only way to deal with it is to enter into the raw pain of the fire and experience the feelings to their fullest. This is the only way to make the fire ball smaller, to keep it from consuming you. And so in small increments I weaned myself from the anesthetic... I knew I had to walk through my grief, but I could only take it in small doses, one aspect at a time.  And slowly, I came back to life. It was not a life I wanted to come back to. I wanted to come back to life with you. Life as a family of four on earth. The blissful early days of newborness.

It took enormous will power just to get out of bed in the morning. I would do battle with myself... longing to curl up and never face the world, yet knowing I had Judah who needed me and a life to live here on earth. Gradually it became less of a battle to get out of bed, a little less daunting to go out into the world. I don't know how I would have done it without knowing Judah needed me, and my mom there to give me nudges in the right direction (and many cups of tea). And now here we are - three months from your heavenly birthday... living life. I go grocery shopping, try to keep the house in order, try to keep us all fed and healthy. We go to the gym, to playdates, to MOPS, to church. I carry you with me always in my heart. Wherever I am, whatever I'm doing. There will never be a time when I don't.

This life without you, as heartbreaking as it is, carries a whole new meaning for me. I used to be afraid of death, before you. It was so foreign to me. And then, you died inside of me right before you were born. I grew you from a single cell - I was your life force, providing you with everything you needed to grow from a tiny cell to a beautiful 9lb 12oz baby boy. The God-breathed process of creating life is just incredible. Because I was so intergral in your life (and I truly believe that you LIVED from the moment you were conceived), your death wrenched from me a part of my own life. A part of me is now in heaven - you, my son. Three months ago today as I labored and gave birth to you, God's presence was tangible in the room. It felt as though we were on hallowed ground. I was giving birth to a heaven-born baby. And I can no longer live as though this world is my home, which was all too easy to do before you died. I no longer fear death. I long for heaven. And I must live for God's glory while I'm on this earth. This is how it should be, and you gave me this gift, my son. You are living in His very presence, and there is no greater reminder to live for Him than having a part of my heart in heaven.

I don't pretend to understand it at all. There are still days when it is the hardest thing in the world to drag my body out of bed. There are still days that I have to enter into that fiery ball of grief and allow myself to deeply feel the pain in order to heal. And even on the good days, there is always a sadness, a constant sense that you are not here. We have seen such goodness, such love, such blessings already come to us through the loss of you, Theodore. Our marriage and our family life are so much richer and deeper because of you. Never have I valued and appreciated things to the extent I do now. I have more patience, deeper joy, greater faith... and such bright hope. Theodore Robert, "God's shining gift", you have brought so much to our family. What I don't understand, and never will on this earth, is this: God is all powerful - he could have brought these good things, these blessings to us and to others in another way - why did it have to be through the death of you, my precious son? Isaiah 55:8-9 "For My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways My ways, declares the LORD. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways, and My thoughts than your thoughts." His ways are higher... His ways are higher.

It resonates deep within me that you were appointed for a time, my Theodore. Ecclesiastes 3:1-2,4 "There is an appointed time for everything. And there is a time for every event under heaven... A time to give birth, and a time to die; A time to weep and a time to laugh; A time to mourn and a time to dance." You were given to us for a time. The time for your birth and the time for your death were devastatingly intertwined. These are the things for which understanding comes only in the context of eternity with our Savior. Your perfect chubby little body, your long fingers and toes, your perfectly curled little ears... you were completely formed and ready to enter our family. You were absolutely healthy, but for a freak accident - a blood vessel in the placenta coming from you started bleeding and you bled out. But I believe that God appointed your every moment - your life on earth was full in His eyes. You now live the fullest life possible with Him for eternity. And you have enriched my life beyond measure. Everything is different now. Weeping and laughing, mourning and dancing inexplicably woven together... sorrow is deep but joy is deeper. This world is more beautiful, and heaven is breathtaking. Words are more profound... love, joy, peace, and HOPE. We cannot make sense of suffering on this earth. This is our time to abide in love for one another and persevere with joy... knowing full well the time of no more suffering, no more tears, no more pain is coming.

Today, on your three-months-in-heaven birthday, I think back to the day you were born. The solid weight of you, my son. The musky sweet newborn smell. The utterly precious rolls and chub. The feel of you cradled in my arms, held out in front of me, laying up on my shoulder with your legs tucked under and your little bottom sticking out. I wanted to hold you in every way a mama holds her baby, because I knew I would only hold you once. The sight of you in your Papa's big strong arms... arms that longed to fix everything and protect his family... arms that longed to carry you home. The precious meeting of two brothers who would never get to share a room or fight over their toys. The beautiful hours we spent with your perfect little body are forever imprinted in my memory, with a constant longing for more time with you, my Theodore. I cannot help but wonder what you would look like at three months old - the smiles and giggles and coos that you would be giving us.

Lord, help us. Help us live this life You have given us here on earth. Hold Theodore for us - hold him in Your everlasting arms. Help us in our time of grief and give us strength to live with hope until the time of rejoicing - when You will hand us our darling little boy for eternity with You.

Sweet little Theodore. Mama misses you. Papa misses you. Judah misses you. Your big brother includes you in every day life as he plays... "Mama I going in my firetruck now, with Papa and baby Theodore and tubby bear." It warms my heart while simultaneously breaking it. You will always be a part of our life, it will always hurt to miss you and I would not have it any other way.

We love you, precious boy

Mama, Papa, and Judah

We marveled at his perfect little self.

I just adore his squishy chubby little face.

Dear Theodore {2 months}

08/23/2014

Dear Theodore,

Today is your two-months-in-heaven birthday. I know you are rejoicing and praising Jesus - life is perfect and wonderful for you... what more could a mother want for her child? My greatest prayer and desire for my children will always be that they know Jesus. And you are in His very presence - you know Him better than any of us.

Life is a little harder for us left behind here on earth. We miss you so much. You would be two months old now, smiling and delighting us. I often wonder how you and Judah would have interacted... I imagine him being silly to entertain you and giving you endless hugs and kisses just like he did when I carried you for nine months. Everything I do is a reminder of the absence of you. Every time we go somewhere I feel like we're missing something because you're not with us. Our life is too simple. You're not here... joyfully complicating our lives with another squirmy little one to get ready, another car seat to buckle, a double stroller to lug around. I know that as time goes by, this sharp ache will grow duller. But it will never go away - you are my child and I will miss you until I see you again.

This month we finished putting away all of your baby things. We put a few things away immediately, but the rest took me a while. The house feels too big now - it's supposed to be cluttered with swings and bouncy seats and play mats. I should be tripping over your pack n play when I climb out of bed. But mainly the house feels too big because there's a whole person missing. You.

Two months... my mind cannot grasp the nature of time. On one level I can hardly believe it's only been two months. It feels like a lifetime ago that you were born. A lifetime that we have been living with this grief of missing you. And then again it feels like you were born yesterday... I can still feel the weight of you in my arms. I can still smell your precious baby smell and feel your soft skin. You are in heaven... perfectly whole and happy, but my selfish human mama's heart just wishes you were in my arms. The loss and grief is ours to bear. I am so glad that you do not, and will not ever feel this pain.

We have been so blessed to have your Grandma and your Nana be with us here over the past few months. Your Grandma was here the last few weeks I was pregnant with you and when you were born. I was on bedrest and she kept our home running. Grandma met you and held you, and got us through that first terrible, heartbreaking week. She put together your whole memorial service. It was beautiful. When Grandma left a week after your birth, your Nana arrived the same day. Nana has been here with us and helped us get through things like picking up your ashes, putting away your baby things, your little burial service on your one-month-in-heaven birthday... and just adjusting to life without you. Your Grandma and Nana's time with us was supposed to be helping us welcome you into this world and adjust to our new life as a family of four. Instead they have looked after us and held us together when we were falling to pieces. Nana leaves in a couple of days, and we will have yet another adjustment to make - back to "real" life. Such a different life than we thought we would be living just two months ago.

Theodore Robert... our precious son... oh, how we love you. It is the hardest thing in the world to be a parent to a child in heaven - our hearts long to be there with you but we know we are here on earth for a reason, and so we must stay here. Your big brother Judah has been the light of our lives even more so the past two months. He delights us with his imagination and his antics. He is growing up so fast and we love seeing his personality and his character develop. We are so thankful to have him to hold and love here on earth. Somehow we must find a way to love you from afar. It brings such deeper meaning to Hebrews 13:14 "This world is not our home...". I long for the day in heaven when we get to meet you and learn all about you. And that glorious day of Christ's return, when our whole family will be together again...

Hold him for us, dear Lord. And hold us, too.

We love you, Theodore.

~ Momma, Papa, and Judah