Happy New Year!

I remember exactly what I said on Facebook on December 31, 2011. That 2011 had kicked my butt and I was looking forward to 2012 with hope and peace.

And then 2012 sort of kicked my butt too. Crap.

So now we're entering yet another year. 2013. And what am I?

Glad for a fresh start.
Scared.
Hopeful.
Grateful.
Cautious.

I'm trying really hard not to brace myself for another butt-kicking. It might come, but I'd rather trust that God will carry us through whatever he has for us, just as He has so faithfully the last year+.

Dates

Some dates are so significant. And sometimes I hate that. It's one thing if the date is a birthday or anniversary--a happy event. But when it's the anniversary of your baby's death, or the due date of a baby who didn't make it, then dates kind of suck.

Today is a significant date for two reasons. First, it is six months since I miscarried Charlie. And second, today should have been Charlie's due date. Double whammy. Just another chapter in the book of Things Are Not the Way They Should Be. 

And subsequent loss is such a tricky thing. Because beyond the emotions of missing Charlie and wishing I really was 40 weeks pregnant, there is this counterpart that says, "There should never have been a Charlie! Hannah should be here, and she should be 9 months old." But she's not. So there was a Charlie. And now there's not.

Christmas butterflies courtesy of Carly Marie.

Bean Sprout Baby!

Last fall, I taught myself how to crochet. And as the fall progressed with all of its craziness, crocheting became very therapeutic.

After the holidays last year, I decided my very unofficial New Year's resolution would be to open an etsy shop in 2012. At with just a couple of months left in the year, I've done it!

Please, take a look! Enjoy! :)

http://www.etsy.com/shop/BeanSproutBaby

one year

Grief is funny.

Not "ha ha" funny. It's unpredictable and annoying. It's necessary. It's messy.

If someone had sat me down on November 2nd last year and said, "Here's what you've got to look forward to in the next year. Here are the losses, challenges, and CRAP that await you," I don't think I would have necessarily welcomed that news with open arms. "Bring it on! Let's see what we can handle!" No. Please just let me keep living my normal, easy life. Please.

However, looking BACK at this past year from here, having survived it, I'd do it again. What? Yes. I'd do it all again because we've not only lost this year. We have gained. We have been gifted with so much. Amidst the pain, there has been life. There has been hope. We have felt God near us in ways that we never have before.

Rather than get into this more in writing, I will share the video from this weekend's services. I was honored to  share our story during our annual "Novembering" services. It was a very sweet, humbling time.

My portion starts around 14:20 and runs roughly 9 minutes. But if you can spare the half hour, I think Steve's intro and closing are really poignant, and Wayne's story is very sweet as well. And the video ends with the scrolling list of names that our community has lost over the past year. Even when you don't know someone on the list, it's always such an emotional part of the service. Both Charlie's and Hannah's names are on the list, which Elizabeth Hunnicutt accompanied with her amazing song, "Grows Hope."

https://vimeo.com/52875936

(Sorry you'll have to deal with following a link. My non-premiere vimeo account won't let me embed) :)

Fall Garden

In fall
the garden is spent

having given its all.

Cucumber vines lie exhausted on the ground

Tomato plants list to one side

Cornstalks stand dignified and empty

Sunflower faces droop earthward, 

shades of their former selves.

All that has not been claimed lies moldering in the dirt--

          a bruised tomato, a forsaken pepper...

                    a misshapen pumpkin, a trampled stalk of beans.

What came from earth is returning

to the place from whence it came.

There is an intimacy here,

          in the fall garden,

                    gazing at living things in their demise.

I want to avert my eyes, avoid this tender grief.

Is this life or is this death? I cannot tell.

Ah, but there is beauty here

          amid all this death and dying.

To have given one's self fully

at least once

that is the thing.

To have spent oneself in an explosion of color

          to have offered one's body for food,

                    one's very soul for nourishment...

It is an unseemly generosity,

beauty of another kind.

In fall

the garden says, "This is my life, given for you." 

And we are fed.

Ruth Haley Barton

Sharing

On Thursday afternoon this week, I got an email from one of our pastors. He asked if I'd be willing to share some of our story during our annual Novembering (remembering lost loved ones) services next weekend. As in, during the main service. In our not-so-tiny church.

I said yes.

And then I felt like I was going to throw up for about the next hour.

But I knew as soon as he asked that it was something I needed to do. As I told him, any opportunity I have to tell our story and maybe help one person through our experience, it means that our babies haven't died in vain. That there is a reason for everything we've gone through in the last almost-year.

It's going to be a crazy weekend. The services are November 3rd and 4th. Last year, we found out Hannah had died on November 3rd and my induction began on the 4th. What a difference a year makes. We are also set to celebrate Hannah's birthday on the 4th, as well as attend a brick dedication ceremony where Hannah's brick is because we had one placed for Charlie as well. And then Monday is her actual birthday, and I'm sure I'll be a mess. Maybe I'll go to bed Monday night and, by the grace of God, wake up on Friday. Is that really too much to ask? ;)

Anyway, I'd greatly appreciate your prayers--right now, as I write out my story, for clarity. And next weekend, as I actually share, for peace and clarity. And that I wouldn't throw up, pretty much....

October 15th

In October, 1988, President Ronald Reagan proclaimed October as National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month, stating:

"When a child loses his parent, he is called an orphan. When a spouse loses her partner, she is called a widow. When parents lose their child, there isn't a word to describe them. This month recognizes the loss so many parents experience across the United States and around the world. It is also meant to inform and provide resources for parents who have lost children due to miscarriage, ectopic pregnancy, molar pregnancy, stillbirth, birth defects, SIDS, and other causes."

The co-founders of www.october15th.com decided on October 15th as a day where communities could better understand the pain of those grieving the loss of a child or children--a day to reflect on their pain and embrace them in love.

If you or someone you love has lost a child, you are invited to light a candle tonight at 7:00pm (in any time zone) for one hour to honor those lives lost.

All historical information given is courtesy of www.october15th.com.

This is why

After an unfortunate run in yesterday with an anonymous comment on an old blog post, I came across this post today on Franchesca's blog. And it could not have been better timed. THIS is why I write. And it's why I don't just write about the pretty, comfortable stuff. Because grief isn't pretty or comfortable. It's messy. And unpredictable.

And so I'll KEEP writing. Just try and stop me. ;)

http://smallbirdstudios.com/2012/10/12/why-it-is-important-to-break-the-silence-about-baby-loss/

Last year

My dear friend Amy coined a phrase that I find myself using a lot lately.

The ghosts of autumns past.

Normally the change in the temperature, the emergence of fall decor, and the too-early-emergence of Christmas decor/music/etc would be a welcome shift from summer. But now it just conjures up painful memories.

We're getting to the point in the year that, one year ago, our lives changed forever. So the next month is full of dates that were just normal days one year ago, but that will now forever be significant.

One year ago today was my 20-week ultrasound. We got to see our precious baby (choosing to keep the gender a surprise) and marveled at God's handiwork of tiny fingers and toes. Halfway to March 1! We ate a celebratory brunch at IHOP. :)

I remember a scrapbooking retreat, a girls' night out, a parent-teacher conference. And I was pregnant. Blissfully unaware that just weeks later, I no longer would be.

Halloween is probably the hardest day to think about at this point. That was the last time I really felt Hannah move. It was the last big event before the rest of that awful week unfolded.

And then my mind moves beyond November 5th. To the first surreal days of this new journey. To fitting into regular jeans way too soon. To picking up my daughter's ashes. To a trip to Duluth as a newly bereaved family. To surviving Thanksgiving. To dreading December and the happiness of Christmas. Because I wasn't happy. I was broken. And mad. And not pregnant anymore.

So what do these ghosts of autumns past do? They make me want to crawl in a hole. To put on my yoga pants and take a nap for about a month. To hide. To wallow. To despair. But really? That would just be giving in to these ghosts. These ghosts that have no authority to touch me in the slightest way.

So here's to not giving these ghosts power. Because I truly believe in the One who wants more for me than to dwell on how hard things were last year. One who encourages us to have hope in the future and believe there are bright days ahead.

Hannah's birthday

November 5th is quickly approaching. And since there's nothing I can do to stop that date from getting here, I'm trying to embrace it and think of the ways we can celebrate her very brief life.

In March, I had some very sweet friends honor Hannah's due date by releasing pink balloons. It was the most touching gesture, and I love the idea of doing it again for her birthday. Our family will be visiting the Angel of Hope statue where Hannah's brick is placed and releasing a pink balloon from there. If YOU would like to join us virtually, you are invited to release one pink balloon on either November 4th or 5th. (Just because it's easier to get our family together on a Sunday rather than a weeknight, we will be celebrating and releasing on Sunday the 4th). If you do release a pink balloon, I'd LOVE a picture of it! Feel free to email it to me at erinmbennett720@gmail.com or post it on Facebook and tag me.

Prayer flags

A few weeks ago, Carly Marie posted something on Facebook about a project she was taking on in honor of Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day on October 15th. She is inviting people to make prayer flags and send them to her so she can construct banners out of all of them for a ceremony she will hold at the beach (in Australia, where she writes all of the names in the sand). Well, a few of us decided to make flags and send them together to save on shipping. :) Our shipping day is Friday, so I figured this afternoon that I better get them done. And this is what I came up with! I knew I wanted their names and dates, and I added Bible verses to them. I had bought a few other things to decorate them, but I liked how simple they were with just the embroidery and a little bit of ribbon. So I decided they were done. :) Can't wait to mail them!

Missing out

Once in a while, I am hit with how much of Hannah's life we are missing out on. Jack is downstairs cleaning his room right now and I just heard him say her name. And then I imagined how we'd be hearing her name if she were here. "Hannah just rolled over!" "Mom, Hannah needs a new diaper." "Hey, I think Hannah just woke up." She should have joined us in March, so she'd be about six months right now. We'd be starting solid food. We'd be making her laugh. She'd be blowing raspberries and developing a distinct personality.

Sometimes I feel like I'm doing really well. And then sometimes I feel like this post happened a lifetime ago. I'm mad that I don't get to use her name to talk to her on a daily basis. And then my iTunes plays Steven Curtis Chapman's "Not Home Yet" and I remember that life on this earth is such a blip on the screen compared to what waits for us when we die.

But it still sucks sometimes.

Color Me Mine

A couple of weeks ago, my friend RaeAnne invited us to join them at Color Me Mine (a paint-your-own pottery studio in Maple Grove) on Sunday the 19th in honor of August 19th Day of Hope. Instead of all four of us going, I decided to take Jack with me for some art time. :) Luckily we were some of the first ones there because it took us a while to pick out what we wanted to make. Jack finally settled on a basketball piggy bank, and I picked out two small boxes, as well as letters to adhere to the top for Hannah and Charlie. It was a really fun experience--wonderful to sit and chat with RaeAnne, awesome to do something artistic with my little artist, and amazing to make something for my sweet babies who live in heaven.

On Tuesday, we got a phone call from Color Me Mine that our stuff was done and we could pick it up! So we did right away, because Jack was REALLY anxious to see his basketball. :) I don't have a picture of that yet, but here are Hannah and Charlie's boxes that I made!

So many feelings!

If I were still pregnant with Charlie, I'd be approaching the point in my pregnancy at which I lost Hannah. But I'm not pregnant. So this day/week that I anticipated being very difficult is, instead, quite different. I'm obviously thinking about what we were going through last November as we approached the 23-week mark. But since I'm not carrying another life, I'm obviously not fearing another loss. So it's mostly facing a date that should have been significant in my pregnancy after a loss. But now it will be just another day.

We spent the better portion of the last week up north with my family. It was a great time of relaxation and fun, and I had some time to do some reading. In addition to plodding along in Anne of Avonlea, I also brought Turn My Mourning into Dancing by Henri Nouwen, which I've been reading on and off for a while now. It's SO good, and has the potential of being a really quick read, but it's also so RICH. I feel like I can only handle a little at a time. Anyway, reading some of it this week has been quite timely and refreshing. I feel like things are starting to heal. And while I would give anything to still be pregnant with my sweet Charlie, I know that there is some healing from our first loss that is still taking place--healing that wouldn't be taking place if I was still pregnant right now. So for that, I am thankful. The future feels hopeful again.

Molly Bears

Shortly after Hannah died, I heard of a ministry called Molly Bears. They make weighted teddy bears for people who have lost babies (to weigh as much as your baby did). Their waiting list is opened up once a month, so I signed up at the end of November to request a Hannah bear. At number 1628 on the waiting list, I knew it would be a while (the waiting list is sadly up to over 4000). So I waited patiently until a few friends got their bears recently because I knew I wasn't too far behind them. And sure enough, earlier this week, I got an email notification that mine had shipped!

The really amazing part is that when we lost Charlie, I emailed them to ask if there was any way to add to my "order" rather than adding another bear to the end of the waiting list. Within minutes, they emailed back to say they'd be able to add a Charlie bear to our Hannah bear, who was already in production.

This morning, I happened to check the tracking number they gave me, and it said "out for delivery." And I didn't even care when the mail carrier banged on our door and woke Leah up. :) I sneaked the box into our bedroom to open it alone. The first thing I noticed was that the bears matched. Clearly one girl and one boy, but they were family. And although my babies were not meant for life on this earth, they are brother and sister, and it's only fitting that they should look like it. The second thing I noticed, as I lifted the Hannah bear out of the box, was how heavy 14 ounces felt. I remember Hannah feeling very light (after having nine and a half pound babies, anything would have felt light), and I assumed my Hannah bear would just feel like a normal teddy bear and wouldn't require much of whatever they use for weighting the bears. But there is a significant weight to her, and I love it.

Here are my babies! ♥

What Molly Bears does is so amazing, and they do it as volunteers of a non-profit. If you are at all interested in donating or learning more, please visit their website. 

Hope and Hearts Run

In a little over a month, we are going to take place in the 7th annual Hope and Hearts event, benefiting the Missing GRACE Foundation. Missing GRACE  provides resources and support to aid families who have experienced a pregnancy or infant loss, infertility, or adoption challenges and to advocate for proper management of pregnancies for all women. And as you know, we were very blessed to have Missing GRACE at the hospital when Hannah was stillborn. We've also benefited from their support group and other resources available at their Center for GRACE in Rogers.

On September 8, 2012, we will be walking in the Memorial Walk to honor our babies Hannah and Charlie, who are waiting for us in heaven. And if you are interested in joining us, there are a number of ways you can participate!

If you want to be there the day of the event, you can walk or run in the 5K or Memorial walk. ***If you are interested in walking with us as part of Team Hannah and Charlie, please let me know!*** You can also choose from a number of volunteer opportunities that day.

If you aren't able to be with us but still want to participate, you can make a donation! This is a link to the Team Hannah and Charlie fundraising page:
https://www.firstgiving.com/fundraiser/erinbennett/
Missing GRACE has been such a huge support for us in the last nine months, and I can't think of a more worthy cause at this point in our lives.

You can check out a more detailed list of all of the ways to get involved here:
http://hopeandheartsrun.org/minnesota/

If you have any questions, please feel free to email me at erinmbennett720@gmail.com.
Thanks so much!

10 years

Ten YEARS. That's nearly a third of my LIFE. :)

Ten years ago, while storms raged outside the doors and windows of our sweet little church, Dan and I became husband and wife.

The last ten years have held a lot. Joy. Heartache. Excitement. Sadness. Hope. But I can say with confidence that there's no one else in the world that I'd rather have spent the last decade with.

I love you, my dear! Ten years is a pretty big deal. But I can't wait for the next 50. ♥

three years

Leah Margaret!

You are THREE!!! I can hardly believe that just three years ago we were doing this:

And now we're doing this: 

We had a lovely, low-key Dora celebration over the weekend, complete with a Dora cake and LOTS of Dora presents. :) 

When I think about the last year of your life, it's so obvious how much you've changed. You've grown physically, and you have SUCH a little personality. It's beautiful. Like your daddy says, we're pretty sure God put a little ray of sunshine in you when He made you! You are simply delightful.

In addition to Dora, you are all about babies. In fact, you apparently have one in your belly! And tickling you too hard isn't good for the baby, as you have informed us more than once. ;) You also love to be in the water, and that's definitely a new thing this year. When we get our kiddie pool out, you are in it the whole time we're out there. And we've taken a couple of trips to the beach that you have thoroughly enjoyed.

One of your best friends truly is your brother Jack, which makes this mothers heart so happy. It's amazing to watch the two of you playing around, laughing, and being creative together. Not that you don't have your sibling "moments," but you are mostly pretty friendly. And the third piece of your friendship puzzle is definitely Lucy the cat. Whether she likes it or not (but usually she enjoys the attention), she is definitely the pawn in many of your games.

We are so looking forward to the rest of the summer and the next year with you. So excited to see what God has in store for you. We're so thankful for the beauty, energy, and life that you add to our family. Bless you in the coming year, sweet girl. 

We love you!
Love,

Mom ♥

Finally

I have been slowly collecting paper, printing pictures, and saving special notes. But tonight, just over eight months after Hannah's birth and death, I finally started her memory book.

Sure, it's just the first page. But I have a feeling this will be a lengthy process. Beginning was a necessary first step.

The heartbreak

My friend RaeAnne posted this article on Facebook and it's too good not to share. I found myself nodding along to so much of it.

http://www.jsonline.com/news/opinion/the-heartache-of-infant-loss-131289299.html


I could particularly identify with these:
It's resisting the urge to smack the clueless individuals who compare your situation to the death of their dog or who tell you you'll have another baby, as if children are somehow replaceable.
It's being shut out of play groups for perpetuity. It's skipping social events with expectant and newly minted mothers because, as a walking worst-case scenario, you don't want to put a damper on the party.
It's listening to other women gripe about motherhood and realizing that you no longer relate to their petty parental complaints because, frankly, when you've buried a baby, a sleepless night with a vomiting toddler sounds something like a gift.
Infant loss is pruning from your life the friends and relatives who ignore or minimize your loss. It's recognizing that, while they may not mean to be hurtful, the fact that they don't know any better doesn't make their utter lack of empathy one whit easier to bear.
Infant loss is more than an empty cradle. It's a life sentence.