setting things straight...

I have avoided this.  I do not think the logistics of what changes I have fought for at the hospital CJ was born at have been something that we really need to discuss.  The outcomes have been something I am so proud to have been a part of.

But unfortunately my kids have now seen a post online that makes me look like a monster.  While the person who wrote it could very easily call me, she has decided to take the public venue. So I am going to clear the air. Here is one small logistical part of CJs story that I have vaguely covered before...

I was induced with CJ on Sunday evening.  He was born at 5:30am Monday.  A nurse grabbed a camera and took a few pictures for us.  Most were blurry with poor lighting making him look much darker than he was at an angle that make him resemble a little pug puppy (but so so cute!).  A cd appeared in my room just a few hours later with the company logo of the contracted photography company I will refer to as B.  I didn't give it much more thought than that.  Disappointed that we only had novice pictures taken on the photographer's equipment, assumingly placed on that cd by the same nurse.  Luckily my sister took one picture of each of our girls holding him with her iPhone.

After a few weeks, I found myself looking at B's company's website and searching the internet for information.  I was heartbroken to see that the company DID take pictures of babies born still as well as the wealth of professional photographer volunteers that the hospital could have on call that donate their services for bereaved families. With time I will become determined to insure every single baby delivered at that hospital have a professional photo shoot.  My obstacle was making the right contacts and figuring out where the current protocol fell apart for CJ.

I was visited once by an old friend who happens to work for B.  She was very sweet responding to my questions, but it stuck in my mind that she kept mentioning that they (the photographers) had lives too and couldn't cover the hospital 24/7.  I stuck with me to the point of nightmares. I understood this was just a job to her and she had a point.  So I started investigating.

I contacted 2 other photographers that work for B at other hospitals that were friends of friends.  I gathered mounds of info, but things STILL were not adding up. Eventually several months ago I had a meeting with the head of the bereavement department for the 4 hospitals in our area over several issues that could use improvement. We will call her RN.  Her compassion for our story was overwhelming, and she sprang into action.  Several things that may seem small to others were improved immediately.  Footprint cards that rejoiced in birth instead of reflecting death, kits to make hand and feet molds, retraining of the staff on the rights of families/services and options available to families, and finally the photography contract. She immediately met with B and planted the seed of our story.  Change was happening before my eyes in so many ways.

There was a history of crappy stories regarding B bouncing between the hospitals.  In a support group I heard of a photographer from this very company that refused to even enter the room. Moms have been treated for the most part respectfully, but the few blemishes were horrific.  But the biggest glaring aspect was the specific hospital we were at seemed to be a free for all.  So very simply,  administration pulled the contract and opened a conversation with the company while exploring other options.

Yesterday, after 10 months of this process I finally sat in on a meeting with B, RN, and  hospital staff to hear from B what has been addressed and the policies in place now, as well as showing a few nurses how to operate the camera in case of an emergency. The meeting of the minds was very positive.  After the meeting was wrapped up, I was chatting with the manager from B. My story timeline was discussed in detail to figure out what happened.  Then after over a year of not understand why I do not have professional pictures of CJ, it all fell together before my eyes.

I always assumed the photographer never set foot in the hospital on Monday. It was the only reasonable explanation.  I was wrong. There is absolutely no reason that my sweet boy did not have pictures taken.  The hospital is covered by a photographer 7 days a week by contract.  He was born at 5:30am and remained in the building until later that night. A photographer from B was there at 9am (or should have been. that has not been confirmed).  That photographer took the card with the few pictures the nurse took, edited them, made  2 black and whites, and burned it to the cd.  The cd was given to a nurse to deliver to me.

So a professional photographer looked at CJ's few pictures and burned them to a cd without ever offering to take photos.  A baby that was born just a few hours prior and was still available.

no feet, no hands, no profile, no bare head even.   Nothing of us kissing our sweet boy. Pictures with our priest where not a smidge of CJ is showing.  Just a blanket in my arms.

Just a close up of his blurry face and a few family pictures of me with a ridiculous ponytail on top of my head in a hospital gown and smeared makeup.  This was my only photo memories of my son.  His ENTIRE physical existence on this earth in 6 crappy shots by a nurse with good intentions.

Think about that.  6 pictures.

Yes, sometimes babies need to be brought back from the morgue for pictures. The district manager of the B made it very clear that this is policy and done often. But he was still on the floor for some time. B employees work in a hospital and it is part of thier job.  They know it when they are hired.  But considering this photographer was on premises a few hours within his birth, THERE IS NO EXCUSE.  Someone CHOSE not to follow up on a very minimal, pathetic sitting (in the eyes of ANY professional photographer) and sent that cd to my room without another thought. It was not important.  We were not important.  It was good enough.  My first thought was I pray that the photographer is not someone I know.  To see my family on the screen and know I am there broken hearted and do nothing is deplorable.  This is not an expectation for someone to go above and beyond.  This is simply following through on the company contract and offering every baby in the building a proper photo shoot.

So yesterday my heart broke all over again.  As the pieces of the puzzle came together and we realized this did fall on the hands of one photographer who made a decision with the only memories I will have for the rest of my life.  I hope I never learn the identity of the photographer.  I will never forgive her for stealing those memories being captured from us. The photo we have enlarged and framed over our fireplace is of his hands. The only one we have of those sweet hands. Our funeral director took it with his cell phone after he dressed him.  We cropped out his dark, swollen face to protect our own hearts.  We are eternally thankful he took that picture as a spontaneous gesture to a grieving mom who never saw her son at the funeral home.  But now it just is a reminder that a professional photographer had an opportunity to snap a couple quick pictures of him while he was still a cute pink little baby and she chose not to.

I cried on the way home with the confirmation that CJ did not simply slip through the cracks.  But by the time I was home, I was at peace.  Those changes mean less regrets for the next families who have to endure this living hell.  They will be haunted by plenty other things.

My kids were smiles and so happy to hear of the changes.  I kept the B part quiet since I was still processing. I put on some coffee and sat down to prepare for a photo shoot with 2 adorable little girls later that evening. Sipping coffee, listening to CJ's soundtrack, and printing release forms I found contentment.

Then my phone rang.  "jen, are you online?"  a friend asked sounding urgent.  Of course I was. She directed me to a post.  Luckily when I found it I took a screen shot before I was blocked a few hours later from reading it.  It seems a B photographer has taken to social media to blast me.  My involvement with the hospital has obviously struck a nerve.

"I am repeatedly hurt by a friend blaming me for pain at a time when I reached out in friendship genuine caring only to have things used against me.  I can't believe healing can happen when you are soooooooo very focused on tearing down others that go out of their way to comfort people....."

The rest just gets uglier.

So here is my one any only time I will address this.  EVERYTHING I do is in honor of CJ.  My issues were with the policies of B, not any particular employee.  3 employees very clearly gave me the same run down of how things operate. The reputation and track record of past situations with B was well known around the hospitals and simply needed to be corrected.  RN had stories that ripped at my heart.  This was a situation waiting to overboil and I was just the woman to turn the heat up so it had to be dealt with!  And from what I have seen, they have been!  It seems to me that if you are so incredibly mad the level this was taken to for the sake of your reputation, maybe you were part of the problem instead of the solution.  This was business, pure and simple.  There are about 50 losses at year at this one hospital alone. 50 moms that hold their dead baby.   Every single one needs to be treated with the same respect, digity, and urgency that a sitting of a cherub faced live baby that brings in a nice commission brings.

Every

Single

One.

So today my friend list should be shorter, but I have to laugh that several more moms have joined following my online insanity.  I will be ok.  More cages will be rattled, change will be sparked, and people will remember CJ's name.  

I spent the day trying to decide how to handle this, and it turns out my incredible flock of angels once again swooped in to try to spare my heart with some damage control. My circle of supporters is bigger and more ferocious than I would ever want to take on myself !  And I love every one of you.  But I ask you all to let it be.  I have put enough info out there to honor CJ without retaliating in an ugly way.  Let's all just delete her impulsive message and not share it any further. Everyone breathe.

And smile!  Think of all of those cute little piggies that moms will have molds of.  Sweet little fingers photographed to be framed.  Remember my efforts have educated the staff of fantastic support outlets for when the families return home empty handed.  My work is far from done, but holy heck!!  I can't believe how far we have come in a year!

Because let's face it,

I may ruffle a few feathers

 but in the end all that matters is that I

#doitforcj

Words and the appropiate use of the F word

I'm frustrated. 

Surprise, surprise!

How do I deal with people that should love us through anything that are holding a grudge for things I said a few months after I lost my son?  For standing up for myself and admitting my feelings were trampled by their actions?  For once, standing up and saying ENOUGH?

Why do we continue to apologize for needing to protect our hearts? Why is it my responsibility to mend fences with people who have decided to avoid us during the hardest time of our lives over words?

Words.

Honest, pure, hurt derived, heartbroken, angst riddled, overstressed, sleep deprived, emotionally empty words.  Words that I probably strung together wrong in the eyes of those who are used to me kissing their ass.  Words that have been stifled for many years and many occasions due to an upbringing that urged my to keep the peace, be pleasant, and never make a scene.

Yet words that I have no desire to apologize for.  A discussion would be the reasonable response you would think, but instead we have been comically shunned.  Comically as in who stops speaking to people who you should love unconditionally, especially when they are in a living hell?  The only other place I can think such behavior could originate is cruelty, so I prefer to find it comical.

Sometimes after YEARS of hurt feelings, you explode.  Or even worse, implode.  The end result is a mess either way.  It's just the difference of destroying yourself, or taking down a few bystanders with you.  Evidently I am the explode type. 

All over words.

That brings me back to the purest text message of my life.  I sent a text to the most prayer driven man I know when we got the heartbreaking news that we had lost CJ.  I needed prayers of biblical proportions.  His response was so perfect.

"FUCK"

This man who I knew would drop to his knees in prayer for us summed up that moment so perfectly.  The response was completely shocking, over the top, and perfect.  It showed me in that moment that I didn't need to share another word.  He understood the gravity of the situation.  He asked nothing else and i have no doubt he was with us every step of the way until her got to hug me for the first time in over 20 years at the funeral. That's is a friend.  How crazy blessed am I to be that loved? My gratitude for that text is immeasurable.  We knew we were not alone and he was there for the long haul.  All with one obscene word. I still feel his prayers around me daily.

Loosing your child is an obscene situation.  Having to survive it even more so.  I have imploded to a point where parts of me will never heal.  I have exploded and some have cowered and chosen to leave us.  But many, many more have inched closer to us knowing the danger.  They wear the battle wounds of being on the front line as we fired desperately into the darkness in an attempt to protect ourselves.

Those tattered angels show up with wine and owls when I think I am completely alone and forgotten in my pain.  They quietly helped us pay for our son's headstone when we thought we would have to chose between tuition for one child or a headstone for another.  They realize our need to live life and push us by sending us out to enjoy ourselves with concert tickets and dinner gift cards.  They continue to pray for us and understand too well the pain in our eyes despite our smiles.  That army of love has helped me deal with those who bluntly pout with anger and hurt feeling over words.

Words.

Seriously??

FUCK

I'll be contemplating making peace for the sake of my sweet husband's nerves.  But not apologizing.   I did nothing wrong.  I am giving myself a pass on the typical guilt trip I force upon myself.   Because in the end,  I'm surviving.  In whatever form it may take, I #doitforcj.

*** please be sure to subscribe and follow my blog.  I appreciate the shares and hope to get many more!!   With every share comes the chance for someone who thinks they are alone in this journey to hear another crazy woman digging through the same crap.  Or maybe we can simply learn to be kinder to each other.  All of us.  Heaven knows I can always use the reminder! #doitforcj ***

The chairs of my kitchen...

It has been a long week.  As soon as anyone starts to sniffle or cough, my mind goes to worse case scenario.  A trip to our family doctor with the sickest of the bunch put my heart at ease a bit.  Today I played a lot of catch up and I'm happy to report while my house is a wreck, I just caught up on all of the work for my business and I'm ready to tackle a few appointments this weekend.

So in the midst of tripping over dirty dishes and laundry, I decided to tackle a new kitchen challenge.  Homemade granola bars. Even bigger challenge? Drafting the girls to work together to make it happen!

So the 3 of them measured, melted, combine, poured, and pressed with minimal bickering.  I ignored the "why do WE have to do this?" from one kid and another being a bit bossy. For the most part, they were working together and hopefully learning something along the way.  I stood back and watched and couldn't help but feel CJ's absence so desperately that I needed to walk away to wipe a few tears.  He should have been having chocolate chips snuck to him by his sisters while he played at their feet.  They should have been asking me to grab him because he was underfoot. 

What those sweet girls don't really realize is they were contributing to a decision we made for them many years ago.  From the first disgusting jar of baby food I offered to our oldest, I was determined to do better.  We couldn't afford fancy baby food making systems, so I simply cooked for my toddlers and froze portion in ice cube trays to be stacked in baggies in the freezer for when there wasn't something on the table they would enjoy.  When they started school, I was equally disgusted with the school lunches. Our oldest had a fresh lunch packed for her almost every day until she graduated highschool.  And now that she is commuting for a semester, we have added her lunch to the stack we prepare again. 

It's those simple moments that I am so proud of the effort we have put into raising our kids.  It's also when CJ's absence simply kills me.  I constantly think about how if we were old school with his sisters, he was destined to be raised old OLD school.  This would be to the dismay of so many well meaning people who live to constantly remind us how things have changed in parenting. 

CJ would sit at the table with everyone for daily home cooked meals. When older, his lunchbox would have fresh fruit,  homemade granola bars, and preservative free sandwiches on fresh rye bread just like his sisters.  My boy would have been raised on a crazy mix of Polish/Mexican cuisine that we all enjoy. 

You see, my kitchen in the center of our home. It's were there is always plenty for unexpected guests.  Dinner menus are text out to guarantee the kids chill at home with me for a bit on a Friday night.  He would learn that at home the kitchen is a place to explore (like making our own granola bars), spend time together, keep traditions and create new ones,  comfort and nurture, and even work out our differences typically happen around the kitchen table.  Our table that has 6 chairs.  A constant reminder of our missing child.

Tomorrow there will be a crazy big pot of pezole simmering for dinner.  Big bowls of hot food will be ladeled out, kids laughter will fill the house, and I'll sit back and soak it all in.  One sweet missing giggle will hurt and probably bring a few tears.  CJ's one year anniversary didn't lessen my pain.  Instead it only reminds me of milestones he's not here to enjoy with us. I should be spooning my sweet 1 year old homemade soup tomorrow, not visiting his grave. 

For now I have slip the dishes left over to deal with for tonight's granola bar endeavor.  I spent an hour individually wrapping each one just right.  Next is tomorrow's lunches and prep for tomorrow's dinner.

Make dinner as a family.  Be thankful for the souls around your table and mindful of the missing.  But above all,  go old school.  Turn off the electronics, make eye contact, and embrace those sweet moments.  #doitforcj

#doitforcj today and always!

I can't help myself.  I tend to end up in conversations with perfect strangers anytime I am standing in the dreaded eternal Walmart line.

But before I even got that far today, 2 interactions I witnessed had me thinking.  First a mom had a toddler in a car watching a movie on an iPad.  I followed her down a few isles.  The only time she spoke to the child was to warn her if she talked, she would take the iPad away.  My heart broke for the child as well at the mom and the experiences they were missing out on together.

Next in the cosmetics isle, a very excited preteen was shopping for makeup with her dad who was in over his head, but trying.  As she asked him what he thought of the bright blue eye shadow she held up. I resisted the urge to giggle.  God bless him for being present!  I winked at him at I walked by and suggested to her how pretty the pale pink would look instead. She beamed at me as she happily switched to pink and dad mouthed "thank you" as I walked past.   Just taking care of my village I said to myself. Paying it forward.

I finally made it into a line and unloaded my cart. Just as I finished, I was ran into from behind with one of the motorized carts.  I actually lost my balance and fell backwards up against it just as she darted backwards in reverse.  I regained my balance laughing and turned around to find an elderly lady dressed to the nines looking mortified.  I laughed and told her no harm done and offered to empty her basket.  She was so thankful and we chatted while I stacked.  She asked my name, then replied she had a baby she named Jenny and she only lived a few months. I reached over and put my hands on hers and told her I was so sorry and I understand what it feels like to lose a child.  Her eyes filled with tears and she gasped "oh, no! What is your angel's name?".  I told her his full name and added that we call him CJ.  At this point the cashier is waiting for me to pay, but is too caught up in our conversation to complain.  My sweet new friends said to me "I'm going to thank God we meet today".

Me too, Ms. Annie. 

The cashier took my money and I noticed tears in her eyes. While I fumbled for keys, I watched as she loaded my new friend's cart and helped her dial her ride on her huge buttoned cell phone. The next gentleman in line stood smiling patiently. My village was feeling my little boy's love !!

How was your village today?  Did you engage or remain a silent observer?  I'm questioning if I should have engaged the toddler with the  electronic babysitter.  No day is perfect, but I can rest tonight knowing I tried. 

Tomorrow is another day to #doitforcj !!

Another baby in a dumpster...

Some days hearing news of another baby found in a dumpster or abandoned is enough to make me hide crying at home.  It shakes me to my core.  I find my soul screaming WHY??? And in the next breathe I hurt so desperately for them I wish I could simply hug them.

So tonight you are going to learn part of my shocking truth.  While my political stance may differ, my personal beliefs for myself are prochoice.

Let's go back 22 years.  I was a freshman away at college at age 18 and pregnant by a boy I barely knew.  Terrified doesn't describe the fear I had. 

How many young women out there have had it drilled into their minds and hearts that if the were to get pregnant, their parents will "kill them"?  Or be disowned and left homeless/broke/alone?  How many have found themselves alone and terrified when parents follow through on these disgusting threats?

I'm going to challenge your hearts for a moment.  How is raising our girls terrified of becoming pregnant prolife?  How is bullying a young mother into hiding or aborting prochoice? 

We have created this disgusting trend of dead babies.  We as a society can battle until we are blue in the face our political stance on the topic.  We protest both sides of the discussion with gruesome signs or catchy slogans.  But when an 18 year old girl gets pregnant from a boy from the wrong side of the tracks, what do we really do as a society? A community? As human beings?

I am one of the lucky ones, but my parents were crushed and very embarrassed.  I thought I was making things right by agreeing to marry the baby's dad.  I went through the steps of a crazy fast wedding (didn't want that baby bump showing at the alter!) and once my name was changed, my parents allowed themselves to fall in love with their grandchild when she arrived, but not a moment sooner.

I was in a very violent situation with a new baby when I made the scariest decision of my life. I packed up a backpack and a diaper bag and left.  I had nowhere to go but back home.  They allowed us to live there while I divorced the monster and went back to college, but every moment I lived there I felt like their dirty little secret.  My daughter was the most loved little girl on earth, yet my own family couldn't get past how she came into this world. I felt the disapproval every moment of every day.  Our relationship was tarnished.

I could have easily been one of those girls giving birth in a bathroom.  Panicking and placing my baby in a ridiculous place.  I acknowledge that not to shock, but to put a face to the stories.  I am one of the lucky ones who somehow found the strength to face a family who felt humiliated and betrayed by my actions.  A baby was brought into this world to be absolutely the best thing I have ever done in my life. She changed everything.  My world as well as everyone around me.

I was the best story many had to gossip about.  I had broke up with the  stereotypical high school boyfriend for this guy?  My "friends" as well as their parents found plenty to chastise me for.  One parent even said to me if it had only been the old boyfriend, things wouldn't look so bad.

Bitch.

And I was one of the lucky ones.  My baby was loved.  Everyone fought over time with this precious child. I was part of the package that was tolerated.  Nobody encouraged me in a loving way. Instead I felt like a walking billboard for birth control.  I felt my entire village waiting for me to fail so they could swoop in and fix my mess again. To this day I over apologize for the most ridiculous things. From school, to work, to parenting, my every step was constantly scrutinized.  My right to privacy was somehow ripped out from under me because I was a young, single parent.

A few years of night school, working full-time, daycare/preschool, and I began to like myself and the life I was building for us. Around that time I began looking at apartments for us and making plans to finally stand on my own 2 feet.  That year I met my husband.  When I found my own spark again, was building towards a future, and liking getting up every morning, I was able to share my life with the man I never knew I was dreaming of.

But I will always be that 18 year old girl who was terrified.  My subsequent pregnancies never felt quite right.  I was always a bit embarrassed by my swelling belly.  The physical reminder of that horrible year brought great anxiety.  I would not allow anyone  to take pictures of me or touch my belly.  I felt such joy to have my children, yet embarrassment. 

With CJ, my age and maturity finally allowed me the ability to enjoy the little moments.  I let go of so many old feelings of inadequacy and marveled at the changes happening to my body.  That embarrassed 18 year old still lingered in the shadows, but I had better control over my emotions.

So why do these women make these incredibly horrendous decisions with their newborns?  I don't know.  But if I am one of the incredibly lucky ones, they must feel completely without options.  I hope to break this trend with my daughters. I pray I am succeeding in being an example of how to stand up for your beliefs. But most of all, they need to know that I will love and support them through every moment of life.  My heart is always open to them as well as my arms.  We will get through anything together.

I am breaking the cycle by talking not only about sex, but self esteem. We discuss the reasons girls find themselves in the arms of boys and how there are consequences for every action.  I concern them with honoring themselves and feeling good about the decisions they make instead of threatening them with isolating them from my love. Mix in a healthy dose of my faith and experience.  Watching your mom loose a baby in your teen years is an eye opening sneak peak into heartbreak. Reality is something we have been forced to deal with in our home in multitudes.

But what about those dumpster babies? We have created this mess.  We need to fix it.  Or we have to accept dead babies in dumpsters.

Food for thought from a teenage mom...

#doitforcj

Mourning more than just our past...

A very special lady who lost her first baby at 8 months has become someone I look up to.  Introduced online, he posts and blogs are so  beautifully positive yet honest.

After a busy day, I finally sat down to do a bit of work on my laptop and opened a window for fb to return a few messages.  The picture that popped up took my breath away.

The picture was of her newest child squatting on the ground touching the picture of his sister on her headstone.  These 2 beautiful children look so much alike and about the same age.  The moment was so sharply beautiful and I'm blessed to witness it.

What extremes.  To stand at your first child's grave with your youngest at the same age as when she was buried.  What strength in faith it must have taken to snap that picture. 

After a few moments smiling in awe, my reality knocked the wind out of me.  That sweet moment of life after loss I may never experienced. 

I have several moms that are such  beautiful examples of thriving after a loss. Every single one has a "rainbow". A rainbow is a living baby born after a loss.  While I can only imagine the anxiety of subsequent pregnancies, my jealousy of every single cherub face is starting to take a toll.

How do I end a chapter of my life with such tragedy?  Will I ever heal the way so many others seem to with the help of those rainbows? There's an ache of empty a arms that is often written about. There is no way to  understand that ache without living the nightmare of losing a child.

It's almost comical in a very dark humor sort of way. When you are 40 and have lost a baby, you never have to worry about people asking you if you plan to have more kids.  Nobody dares to encourage such an idea. The most hurtful comment I have endured was that I should look at this as a chance at a fresh start. Ouch.  Would that be said to a woman in her 20s? Doubtful. She would hear she can always try again. Every time I hear a young mom complain about that comment, I always think how they don't understand how blessed they are to have choices.

Tomorrow I will once again face another day without tiny feet to kiss. Teenagers will come and go and my husband will leave for work. I will be home mostly alone catching up on work and maybe even a bit of sewing.  My heart will ache with every beat. My arms with continue to throb in actual physical pain from being empty. My mind will follow along the unending conversation with my son that began when we shared a body.  On the outside I will be a woman gallantly surviving and thriving after the death of my child.  My soul knows better. 

Some dreams you just can't simply walk away from.  They haunt you every moment of your existence.  Please don't suggest I enjoy the children we already have, or suggest I begin to look forward to our future grandchildren. Those are givens that take absolutely no effort.

Whatever God has planned for us, I pray every day for the peace of heart to accept.  We are starting to make serious plans to relocate in a few years. Plans are a huge step for us. Just a few months ago we considered the same but decided it wasn't time.  We would have been running away.  To see a future is comforting. I'd like a quick peak into who we will be sharing our time on earth with, but for now we just have to leap and see what happens.  Open doors and open hearts will always be available to any soul God finds fit for our path.

As always, I pray for all of you to feel the love of my sweet boy and #doitforcj. 

Tiny fingerprints

My TV doesn't have finger prints
Breakables sit on end tables,
And outlets are uncovered.

The staircase is unblocked
Jewelry is out loose on my nightstand
And a laptop is charging on the couch.

Our home is completely unbabyproofed.
There is no need.
Yet we have a 1 year old.

Do not tell me how you envy my life.
My quiet,  clean,  decorated  home
Missing the distinct messes of a toddler.

I would trade it all for tiny fingerprints.

Stupid comments

You all know how much I LOVE a stupid comment.   99% of things said to me are said from a place of love.  Even if it's awkward, I can appreciate the situation is awkward and feel so loved for the attempt.

But sometimes stupidity reigns it's ugly head.

I have received so many sweet gifts to help us remember CJ.  I love to share them like other parents get to share pictures of thier children.  I've never been a collector of anything,  so my growing owl collection makes me smile, and anything in his sweet memory touches my heart.

A bit ago,  the most beautiful owl drawing showed up in the mail on a really crummy day. I cried my eyes out when I opened it and couldn't wait to share.  This was a gift from a fellow baby loss mommy who has become a very special person to me.  I shared pictures before and after framing in complete gratitude.   The comments were so sweet and supportive.  I smile every time I walk by it framed on the wall.

This morning I shared a key chain the hospital gave me as a thank you from a speaking engagement.  Again,  the support was beautiful.  I think so many truly understand my gratitude and the comfort these things bring.

Then I got an inbox message.

"Maybe you should lay off collecting all these gifts from people.  Stuff won't bring your son back. "

No,  I didn't respond.   I simply clicked unfriend.

My only response I could come up with would be NO SHIT!!

I can not possibly show everyone how grateful I am every time you remember CJ.  The pictures of owls I get daily make me smile!  I love every single one and often those messages keep me from crumbling.  Every gift is cherished and put in a special place to bring us comfort and a smile.   Every card is saved and often I even print out messages to put in his scrap book. 

My 3lb10oz kiddo has moved mountains.  He has brought so much love into our lives.  Every time someone does something to comfort us, they are remembering him.   CJ's legacy of love continues to be infectious as people share with us how they #doitforcj.

So let me take a moment to thank all of our prayer warriors. That beautiful 99% that understand our desperate need to keep physical reminders of our son everywhere we look.   You are why I keep going every single day!  

Thank you
Thank you
Thank you

Xoxoxo. Jen