Changing seasons.

An odd memory keeps lingering in my mind today.

It was 2 years ago.  The trees were changing as was I.  Shock had worn off,  everyone had gone back to living, and I was lost.   Sobbing, praying,  arguing with God filled my days.   I felt alone and forgotten by most of the people in my life. The period of shock was much easier than this next stage in my journey.

I became explosive in every way. Some friends slipped away simply being unable to deal with watching me slip into my own hell, while others proved to be my angels.  They loved me through the smeared mascara, uncontrollable crying,  and anger fits. 

One weekend afternoon the normalcy of our household felt overly synthetic.  My life 2 months after losing my son had turned into a charade.  It was all too much and I crumbled.  My husband calmly walked to the backyard,  set up a chair, poured me a hot cup of coffee, and gently walked me outside.  He put a blanket over my legs and kissed my forehead before leaving me alone.   The tears burned and my soul screamed as I cried.  When I calmed down, he joined me. There was no need for words as he was living the same hell, just under different rules.  A grieving dad's emotions aren't cared for by others as a mom's are. After time we chatted.  I don't remember our conversation, but I remember the feeling.  He was the only one in the entire world who knew how it felt to lose OUR son.

I've met many moms who have lost babies these past 2 years, and over heard more heartbreaking stories than I can count.  And in the end,  I realize I am so abundantly blessed.   Even in my moments of deepest despair, my husband was there with me.  We wiped tears, took turns breaking down,  and used our last bit of strength to be kind to each other.  The loss of a child has statistically devastating effects on a marriage, yet somehow we pulled together even closer. 

This time of year is a reminder of change.  A time in my life I will never be able to restore in many ways.  But this year I'm trying to focus on the love and support we all shared over CJ.  My little boy brought us together in ways I never knew possible.  Hopefully he's watching me now proud of his mommy.  Hopefully the seasons continue to bring comfort and memories of love.   That's a legacy I'm proud to build for CJ....

Love.

Love and blessing to you all.  Happy belated All Souls Day 2015.

#doitforcj

What I would do differently as a 40 something mom. ..

Let's face it, I became a mother very young.  19 to be exact.   For whatever reason, becoming a parent was very easy for me.   I was always the teenager babysitting every week for families that paid me well to keep me.  Infants to school age,  I loved them all.   My sweet first baby was light of my life. 

Her sisters that followed in my mid twenties are no different.  Blessings that so abundantly filled our lives.  Of course I have my fair share of mommy tantrum stories from days when I felt overwhelmed.  But for the most part, we parented with old school values and common sense. 

Our kids had plenty of clothes, toys, and of course our love and attention.  Even on a tight budget,  while the newest trends may not have been possible,  but they always had plenty.  The first time I really remember putting my foot down and taking a stand was over video games. They were pretty much banned from my home except the first electronic reading books that came out. We were in agreement that our children would not be glued to the TV for their childhood.  Back then the first portable gameboys were coming out and our kids  simply went without. 

Yet I admit too often feeling inadequate.  I wanted my beautifully dressed kids (thanks to clearance and resale shopping) to have even better.  I envied other parents minivans that were a bit nicer,  or strollers that are a model newer.  I wanted our kids to not feel behind in any way.   Many of their friends' parents were many years older than us.  They are simply more established and in a different phase of life.  I laugh now at how young we really were.

I'm pondering all of this as I think about what type of parent would I be for a newborn today?

Calm.   One thing we really bring to the table with a house full of young women is a pretty calm environment.  Now I have my bad days,  but typically or home is drama free.   We are not yellers.  My kids each muttered they hated us once and never again.   They were taught to respect us and each other.   Hate is the f word of ugly words and absolutely not allowed in our home. 

Loving.   I didn't grow up on a home were we said "I love you" and very rarely hugged.  It left me screaming for physical attention as a teenager.   Our kids are snuggled and told they are loved and are amazing every chance I get (to the point of eye rolls).  Living these lessons modeled to them exactly the support we needed after CJ.  They would sit on the couch with my for hours while I cried holding my hand. Almost 2 years later,  they know exactly how powerful a hug is when they catch me crying.  There's a love and bond between us that would only be strengthened  with another sibling. I've always felt there is an over flow screaming for more babies.   My body simply hasn't cooperated.

Patient.  This comes with simply being a bit more mature.  CJ had really taught me not to sweat the small stuff.  Laundry can stack up if I means my kids get my attention.  I have no desire to miss out on time with them to be stressing over cleaning.   We tackle it as team, then relax together.  I'm sure juggling supervising a toddler would be the same. It's easier to be patient when everyone works together.

Happy.   Our kids have brought us incredible joy from the moment we knew they were conceived.  Every single day they make me laugh.  I hurt to my soul knowing a time is coming when they are beginning to leave.   I never choose to have an empty nest already.   There should be little souls and toy boxes filling the nooks of my home.  Don't envy my ability to have glass shelving or fingerprintless furniture.   It's  all screaming for sticky hands and miscellaneous plastic toys.

I will never look at a pregnant woman in her 40s and assume her belly was a "oops" or mistake.   I see a woman with a beautiful opportunity to be the mom only maturity can help you be.   I wish others would stop asking or assuming my son was unplanned.   A surprised blessing after so many years of trying?  Yes.   But always part of God's plan for my life.   I'm hoping the rest of his plan had yet to be fulfilled. There's still lots of love,  patience, and happiness in my heart to share.

While my path unfolds,  I'll keep trying to stay positive.  That's how I #doitforcj!

Tears at a funeral

Hard doesn't even begin to describe today.  There are some things I could very easily avoid or refuse to participate in.  Many moms who have lost babies do.  One thing that I am incredibly blessed with is my faith. A big part of having faith is letting go and being there for other family members in their time of need.

My husband and I laughed on the way to today's funeral for my cousin wondering if it will be said in English or Polish.  The amens and pew aerobics are the same regardless of the language.  I was actually hoping the mass would be said in Polish so that I wouldn't understand the homily.

To my dismay, mass was said in English. We followed my parents into the second pew in the center of the church. I was directly behind his widow.  Not exactly where I could be inconspicuous. But I allowed myself time to let my mind wander to other things while going through the motions of mass.

After communion I thought I was home free. I had managed to make it through my first funeral since losing my son and had not collapsed. Not bad I thought. Then the final rites were said. The priest walk down to Arnold's casket with that smoking lantern that I can never remember the name of. He gave the final prayers while walking around the casket and instantly I was brought back to the moment when I realized mass was over and it was time to put my son in the ground. I tried to hold my breath so that I wouldn't cry. The problem with holding your breath, is eventually you gasp for air. And heaven almighty did I ever gasp!  And not just the typical grasping for air type of gasp, but the type that leaves you in a puddle of tears that you cannot control.

My husband held me up for the final few moments. At that moment I don't think I realized how loud I had been. With the final processional songs playing I realized the 2 pews surrounding us with all of my close family all had eyes on me. These are the people that understood that Gasp had nothing to do with my current happenings. Cousins and aunts kissed me and grabbed my hand in acknowledgement of my pain. I was hurting too much to be embarrassed.

Then as we walked to the back of the church, as if on cue, that wacky Holy Spirit decided to bring a bit of comic relief to my tears. A woman who I have never seen before grabbing my sleeve and started speaking to me in Polish. I very politely told her I did not speak Polish and when to walk away. We were standing in a tight mass of mourners shoulder to shoulder and there was no escaping her as she continued to excitedly speak to me as if we had not seen each other in years. Luckily one of my aunts was standing next to me and I was able to look at her and mouth the word "help".  As she smiled and jumped in trying to explain to the stranger that I was not who she thought I was, the giggles overcame me. 

In this  ridiculously painful moment, once again I was brought to giggles by the antics around me.  CJ was there letting me know it was OK I cry, but also to laugh. 

Later at the luncheon, a bit of humility washed over me as I realized my melt down occurred right behind his sweet widow.  She took a moment to come over and hug me extra tight/long and whispered to me "you are so strong".  I smiled and told her to just take it one day at a time. While I was afraid there would be hard feelings over my focus being on my own pain, there was only love.

In the end, I needed today.  I needed to be reminded off my faith in our eternity.  I was yearning for my hands to be held and extended family to simply let it be ok for me to cry.  I felt validated in my pain and reasonable in my grief.

Why do we wait for these occasions to be comfortable with someone's feelings to surface? Why isn't Christmas dinner a good time to show a few tears and hugs of support? Or any given Wednesday in a grocery store? Why is grief kept tucked away for similar moments to commiserate?  I'm here if you ever need to be miserable on a regular day.  Or a day that should be happy.  Or any time anyone needs an ear.  CJ taught me that.

#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.

What I have learned during year 1

With the anxiety of CJ's 1st birthday behind us,  I'm being asked quite often what are the biggest lessons I've learned.   Here's a few of my favorites...

When you don't know what to say,  the only correct things are:
I'm sorry.
I love you.
I'm here for you.

Teenagers share love in such a pure way. Thier ability to empathize and comfort is boundless.

Dog are angels on earth.  They provide companionship and comic relief nomatter the life situation.

Husbands cry.

Sleep is mandatory to survive,  not a luxury.

The closest people to you,  who love you the most, are often not the best support when grieving.

Waterproof mascara is a farce.

It's ok to not be ok.

Some people will take advantage of you when you are at your absolute lowest.  It's ok to walk away from them.

Cemeteries are for laughing AND crying,  often on the same visit.

It's ok to say no.  Not every offer to "help" is actually helpful.

Bad days are inevitable.   Be gentle with yourself.

24 hours.  Once you hit 24 hrs,  you MUST get out of the house! You can cry just as well sitting in a park as at home.

It's ok to cry in public.  Most people will look away,  but the one who takes the time to stop and talk to you will carry your story with them forever.

Life DOES go on.   It hurts at times, but there is so much left to be enjoyed.   Take a deep breath. Pull up your big girl panties,  grab your sunglasses,  and get out there!

#doitforcj

Angels everywhere

I had an encounter while visiting CJ the other day.  I didn't think much of it then. Last night I had a dream about it.

I was standing quietly feeling pretty hallow.  Usually I sit down if I'm alone,  but this day I was feeling very detached.   After just a few moments I heard a man's voice call out "you must be his momma. I'm so sorry".  On the other side of the fence stood an elderly man.  His eyes were so caring I tried to stifle tears.  

"yes, I am" I managed to say.   The man's gaze moved to CJ's stone.   "My wife and I cried from our porch watching your beautiful family the day the headstone was delivered.   We don't know your story, but think of you often".

I thanked him awkwardly,  not quite knowing if I should explain further or even leave.

He then told me they say hello to him every time they pull into thier driveway.  His wife insists on calling him baby Christian, but he prefers Chris.  I smiled and told him that we nicknamed CJ. He smiled back at me and replied "then CJ it is! " and turned to walk back to the shed where he had been working.

Such a simple interaction.   He wasn't pushing for an explanation like most do.  Our story of how we ended up with our son a few yards from his property didn't matter.  He was simply giving a grieving mom's heart the acknowledgment it needed.  My son exists.  He is part of our family.  He had not been forgotten.

Last night I had a dream about CJ's neighbors.   We were all sitting in the grass watching his stone being delivered.   Above us were angels watching over us.  Atleast a dozen beautiful angels who's faces I can't remember.  One of them said"let's call him Chris!" and another answered in a familiar voice "his momma calls him CJ".  Overlapping voices called out "hi CJ".  And then those angels flew behind us. I turned around to watch them disappear into the elderly man's home.

There are angels everywhere.   They have protected us, prompted me to keep breathing,  tickled us back into laughing,  wrapped thier wings around us when we are hurting,  and lead us to places of hope and healing.   When you meet one,  you are blessed.

I am very blessed.

#doitforcj

some answers aren't in a books store...

This week I found myself in the self help section of the bookstore.  Remember when that was THE big trend?  That time has obviously come and gone. 

I started in the parenting section.  That is what I'm doing, right?  Trying to figure out how to parent an angel?  I found books on single parenting, parenting a child with ADHD/diabetes/multiples/strong will...  Nothing for us angel moms.

After walking around awhile I had to surrender myself to one of those polo clad practically teenage store clerks. At first I quietly inquired looking for books on grief.  "sure! We have a bunch!" he replied with a bit more enthusiasm than I was in the mood for.  I followed him the best I could as he walked at a cheetah's pace through the store.  He proudly pointed on a 2 foot section on the bottom rack.  I thanked him and to my relief he left me to sift through myself.

Now this is the biggest book store chain you can think of.  I had to get on my knees to check out the bottom rack.  What I found was ONE book on loosing a baby- a 100 page manual to surviving the first few months.  I thumbed through it to see a chapter on what to expect in the hospital.  "Who on earth runs to the book store to pick this up before heading to the hospital?" I thought and felt myself growing cynical by the moment.  I was saddened to see that this little paperback was the only book on the shelf about loosing a baby.  There were a few about loosing a child and even more about loosing a parent or spouse.  But a baby seemed to once again be a hushed topic. 

But what was I really looking for?  Hope.  Most days I'm pretty proud of myself for just getting out of bed every day.  God has truly led me to feel His gifts differently for the first time in my life.  Hope, grace, love, peace.  All have changed meaning in my heart over this past year.  I realize that a perfect life was not what I was thriving for to feel happiness.  Yet even when I am able to put my burdens down and find a bit of peace in the quiet,  hope is still my biggest struggle.

What do I hope for?  That may sound silly, but I am stuck in such a middle season of my life.  What do I hope for?  That was the answer I was looking to find on paper.  Do I hope for the grace to allow myself to continue speaking in CJ's name to the medical community?  Or maybe for the peace to allow my heart to embrace the eternal love my son is basking in without pain or sadness?  But what my heart really is unable to get a grasp on is what to hope for.

It's easy to simply say I hope for a content life full of happiness.  Years of love and laughter with our daughters, family and friends.  But dare I hope for even more for myself?  I'm talking about selfish, honest, pure, and open hearted hope that really allows the desires I may not share with anyone else. That's the answers I'm really looking for!

Today is already tense around here.  Any time I show any more emotions than just simple niceness it tends to make everyone on edge.  My guess is they are waiting to see what hysterics I will be pulling out of my pocket today!  Plus being married to the baby in the family who after almost 20 years together still can not find the words "I'm sorry" in his vocabulary (despite typically being the crazy level headed one in the relationship) ,who not surprisingly took his coffee and walked off with crappy comments to our bedroom when I wasn't in a rainbows shooting out of my ass mood this morning, and will probably stay there egging on a nonexistent argument for hours.  I'm going to leave him there for awhile and allow myself the luxury of sipping my coffee and really thinking about what I hope for myself. 

Wishing you all a day of the type of self discovery no book can ever bring! 

#doitforcj

Follow my new twitter...

Check out Jen Ags (@livinlife4cj): https://twitter.com/livinlife4cj

He has risen, indeed!!

"He has risen indeed! hallelujah! hallelujah!" 

 

 

I look forward to participating in this exuberant response at Easter Sunday mass.  The holiest day of the year always lifts my soul to new levels.  This year as you can imagine, I was hesitant. God knew it because holy cow did he ever derail my plans!

 

Like so many other parishes, on holidays our masses are busting at the seams.  We left early, but not nearly early enough to get a seat in our church without searching.  So we decided to go to our church hall where an overflow mass was to be said.  I was a bit bummed.  Our pastor (Fr David who said CJ's mass) always says mass in the church.  But as we walked to the other side of the building, a feeling of relief washed over me thinking maybe I could just be another member of the congregation today- not a grieving mother.  Who on earth would recognize us in the over flow mass?

 

When we entered the hall, song sheets were being passed out by an adorable young boy with Down Syndrome.  My heart raced a bit.  We entered the space to find it nearly empty.  Seats in the 3rd row were easily grabbed and we casually watched the congregation gathering.  The overflow mass is usually a quicker mass (small musical groups, less formal) but what was unfolding before us was very unexpected.  A few families with special needs children began filing into the front seats.  One little girl in a beautiful white dress with Down Syndrome particularly caught my eye.  After several minutes of locking my glance to her, I finally started to listen to what was happening.  The overflow mass was being said in honor of the special needs families of our parish, AND 3 children were going to receive their 1st Holy Communion during the mass.  Families with children were funneling in at the last moments, teens were the musicians, and our Pastor had appeared to say mass.

 

I won't deny the tears.  During several moments, I simply couldn't help it.  During his homily, Father invited all of the children to come sit up front with him.  His patience with all of the beautiful children- some special needs, others not- was such a gift to witness.  He told them about our Pope and the beautiful acts of love that follow him wherever he goes.  Then he went on to explain to them in terms they could understand how last year, a parent passed his young boy with CP through the crowd into the Pope's loving arms.  The picture of them embracing was initially iconic, but now a common occurrence with Pope Francis. His message of love permeates all he does.  The kids eyes were glued as Father handed out a prayer card to each child with the picture.  I was a snotty, crying mess in the 3rd row by this time.  Luckily the moans, laughter, demands, and rejoicing of so many special children was my camouflage.  But Father knew and made eye contact with me several times as he spoke.  After mass, we wished Father a Happy Easter.  He leaned over to kiss my cheek and whispered "welcome home".  He was right- I have been coming to mass, but this was the first time I let my heart be at home.

 

And in that moment of what seemed like such pain,  so much weight was lifted,  My son was in God's glory and today was the day to embrace it.  Not a time of deep sorrow as I had feared.  My tears were healing.  They were the gift of a release in my Savior's house.  My church began to feel like the home it had for so many years.  CJ was sitting in that mob of cute kids listening to the words with me.  He will always be with me in spirit until I get to join him in salvation.

 

After mass we made a quick stop at the cemetery.  We took turns taking pictures with CJ, wiped a few tears, but left with happy hearts.

 

Then typical chaos broke out when we got home.  Nate ran to the store for a few things I had forgotten with 1 kid, the other took a foster pup hanging out with us for a quick walk while our own 2 were pushed out the back door so not to be underfoot while I scurried to get a nice lunch on before Nate left for work.   My mind was swirling with the extra money I had spent on simple Easter baskets and groceries.  The stress of money always swirls with me STILL unemployed.  Then I noticed my phone flashing.

 

I poured a glass of wine and went to quickly respond to Easter text messages,  What I found was a note from a very generous friend taking a very large weight off of our shoulders.  A gift so generous and kind I am still without the proper words to properly thank her.  I looked up at my blessings swirling around in preparation for our small celebration, and my heart was instantly lighter.

 

We sat down to a traditional Polish lunch of barszcz, sausage, potatoes with bacon and onions, and rye bread.  Wine and beer, and a beautiful array of desserts rounded it out.  2 kiddos home plus Kate's bf joined us.  It was a delicious meal and I delighted in watched them dive in for multiple helpings.  We laughed, told stories of past Easters, and enjoyed making our own traditions and memories.  

 

So today, a day that I was completely convinced would be one of pain and grief, was a day filled with love, healing, and most of all HOPE.  Some days when your wallet is empty,  your children aren't under the same roof, and tomorrow is full of lingering obstacles, hope is a difficult thing to hold on to. I was reminded of the incredible love and hope that is wished upon us every single day.  I promise every one of you, I will try harder to stay open to it.

 

Happy Easter!!  My son is with our Savior!  There is no other place besides my own arms I would ever want for him.

 

He HAS risen, indeed!  hallelujah! hallelujah!

 

#doitforcj

 

 

 

 

 



Thank you!!!

"if everyone keeps breathing, nobody will faint".  These are the words our priest whispered to us at the alter the day we were married!  One of our favorite quotes all these years later.

Keep breathing.  Words we whisper to eachother often.  Today I saw my ob.  We talked about CJ like we always do, and she asked me how we have managed to not only survive, but bloom.  We spoke about faith, love, and hope.  But in the end, I explained that we just keep breathing.

I have had a hard couple of days.  Sleep has not come easy and the nights have been long and restless. With me unemployed, my husband had taken on the financial brunt of getting us through these hard times.  I have struggled with a loss of independence that comes with helping provide for my family. Preparing our tax return had also brought on a tidalwave of emotions with CJ not being acknowledged. 

While I sat fighting tears in front of a stack of financial documents and my laptop, my phone beeped with a message.  I read the words over and over.  Then, with tears rolling down my cheeks and I finally took a breath.  An angel was taking a burden off of my plate.  With a chunk of the weight on my chest being lifted, I could breathe.  And what do you know... Hope snuck right up through the cracks!

With all of the help, love, support, and prayers we have been gifted with, we have survived.  I will pay it forward for the rest of my life.  The lessons that CJ has brought to so many need to continue to be shared.  If I can help other grieving parents,  I will share our story for the rest of my life!

I started CJ's page and this blog as a place of hope.  Little did I know how many examples of selfless love I would experience. Thank you my angels for simply sharing this journey with me.  It doesn't matter if I know you personally or not, YOU are an incredible blessing in my life.  I humbly ask you keep those prayers coming as we continue to put the pieces back together.  #doitforcj

keeping all of my angel readers in thankful prayer tonight, especially a special soul who brought hope to my heart ...

Jen  xoxoxo

Finding hope through the pain

I wish I was making this next story up.  I still haven't decided if it was God's way of comforting me, or the devil rubbing my nose into his hate. I'll let you decide...

I had a room full of love and support when it was time to be discharged from the hospital.  My parents, sister, Nate, and the kids were all there trying to keep my spirits up as the time loomed closer and I became anxious to go home. 

Finally my discharge was complete.  My support group of 7 people walked protectively with my wheelchair to the lobby.  I kept my eyes down in an attempt to not make eye contact with any of the hospital employees who knew us too well. My husband ran for the car while everyone kept me company by the front door. 

I glanced a bit to the right and sitting on the floor next to my chair was CJ's carseat.  Well, an identicle one.  And strapped inside that seat was a tiny newborn baby boy wearing an outfit I had at home waiting for CJ.  This beautiful hispanic newborn baby boy was like looking at a ghost. 

The tears came too quickly as my family caught what I was looking at and took me out of the building.

How could my God be so cruel?  My sobs on the ride home were haunted.  I was realizing that I would spend the rest of my life looking for my son in every infant seat I saw.  How was I every going to live through this nightmare?

Since that day I've thought of that baby often.  If my daughter didn't confirm it had happen, I would swear I was hallucinating. But why?

I still don't have the answer. Dreams of twin girl babies have been a comfort (accept the odd part where my husband is walking around the house trying to find the one he put down somewhere!)  Christmas brought the suckerpunch of baby news cruely shared on my first holiday without my son.  I have watched 2 other sweet women rejoice in pregnancy announcements to be heartbroken soon after by loss.  Was that infant a way of preparing me for all of these experiences?  I will never know.

So I'm going to try to accept that baby as my first sign of hope.  I have heard from many women who can not be around a baby for years after a loss. Others who become obsessed with conceiving as if it will be their only chance of healing their broken heart.  Both I can relate to and fear my own life can easily mirror if I allow it. While the tears still fall and my heart still aches, I'll leave my hope in a God who will heal us.  His path for me is unknown, but if He can allow this hope to fill my heart, who am I not to accept it?

Tomorrow I see my obgyn.  She is a kind women who had cried and prayed with me through this entire story.  That office is never easy to visit for me. I always manage to be in a waiting room packed with very pregnant women.  I have a lot of questions for her, many which feel like I am sneaking behind God's back to get a sneak peak at our future.  Please send me prayers for strength and acceptance of a future full of unknown possibilities.  One day at a time I'll #doitforcj !

hope

30 days of complete hell.  I won't even try to sugar coat it.  For around 30 days I prayed for death to take me.  In my mind, there was no hope.  I would never live a life with joy ever again.  My amazing husband is such a fantastic dad. It made perfect sense to me that I could go be with CJ, and he would be here with our girls.  Then eventually we would all be together. The absence of hope had me googling the stack of prescriptions I was on to figure out the best lethal dose.  I was popping pain killers on top of antidepressants on top of anxiety meds.  Fevers persisted for a few weeks. I remember reading the pamphlet to an antibiotic I was on and seeing it was used for chlamydia and cancer patients.  That convinced me I was dying anyway.

Without hope, life stopped.  The woman/mom/wife/sister/daughter/friend I once was disappeared. Family awkwardly watched me struggle, not understanding the changes happening to me. Some friends decided to give me "space".  Very few had the courage to show up at the house and let me cry and share pictures. Those few were my angels. They started to reintroduce hope back into my life.

A new circle of friends began to emerge.  Friends on fb who would let me ramble online at 2am,  a woman from our church who had a similar loss 30 yrs ago,  and my mentor/babyloss buddy Kayleen who often read multiple long rambling emails from me full of despair and anger. This became my support system.  And I slowly began to let hope wiggle its way back into my heart.

One day I collapsed in Nate's arm sobbing for the life we once had.  I told him how desperately I feared the laughter would never return to our home. That all hope for us was gone.  The next day, we brought home a puppy. The girls were giggling and making silly videos of the ball of fur running all over the house. I heard myself laugh, and as tears ran down my cheeks full of confused emotion, Nate hugged me and whispered through his own tears "see... the laughter is back. don't give up hope".

I didn't. I won't.  I will continue to fight for every glimmer of hope. I will #doitforcj